#WORDS NOR DRAWINGS CAN DESCRIBE HOW THIS MAKES ME FEEL

[risingblackmoon]

I wanted to add more tags but I reached the LIMIT I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS A LIMIT BUT. BUT. GESTURES. HEY GUYS GO CHECK THIS OUT. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

I am handing you this 30 second song I wrote and sang

[shegetsburned]

❝ a man of honor ❞ w. kento nanami 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dearest reader. this author finds herself bearing the most curious of news, for it isn’t without surprise that the viscount nanami has caused ruckus amongst the young ladies of the ton, upon his arrival. gracing us with his presence, he has not yet announced himself eligible for this social season and, i believe, does not intend to do so. but doesn’t love find itself in the most peculiar of places when one least expects it? • — a/n. let’s just say that bridgerton has, yet again, a hold on me, also, i am in no way an historian nor a perfect writer but i do hope y’all can enjoy this different little piece.

.nsfw.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who, despite himself, had found the need to return to london for a matter of affair and is set on departing as unbothered by the social season as he was when he first arrived.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who has never taken his social standing lightly and knows he’ll be the object of many desires considering his status as a seven and twenty years old unmarried man. described as a man of honour, suited for the finest lady, but buried in his work and duties.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who attends most balls, making quick appearances here and there and avoiding hungry mamas at all costs, partially hiding in the gardens or engaging in business conversations with other suitors, always eager to return to his chamber. that was until he found the most beautiful excuse to not participate in any courting competition and declare himself ineligible to the ton. you.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who had found you hiding in the very same place he was, that night. a very debutante, who didn’t feel yet a need to marry. you had approached him in need of advice, not in need of a husband. you knew who he was but had no intention nor expectation for any kind of courteous exchange. you just wanted to know how he was successfully avoiding many of his greatest admirers without breaking a sweat.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who did not give much thought to the both of you talking at first, it was easy and the conversation never felt forced. you did feel like a breath of fresh air. you had attracted attention amongst the men of ton quite easily with your gorgeous smile and attentive gaze, which kento had immediately noticed but when you felt like he was really listening to the words you uttered, you became quite acquainted to the viscount’s presence.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami whom you had invited for dinner with your family and was confirmed to be quite the gentleman everyone said he was. well, at least, that’s how he appeared before your family. from across the table, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. the way you parted your lips to eat or placed your mouth so carefully around the gorgeous glass to drink hypnotized him. your warm smile and laughter were music to his ears, therefore most of his attention was directed towards you.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami whose thoughts becomes dreams in a matter of weeks. your body draws itself in his head. every time you graze his shoulder with yours, his heart flutters. he’s almost ashamed to admit that he’d rather sleep than awaken alone in his bed when he’s been having the most indecent dreams about the gorgeous debutante he’s unable to have. your words resonate in his sleep until they become pleads and moans he wishes to hear.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who despite his title, his honor and even his words, became aware of the fact that he wanted much more than being friends with you. although he didn’t want to burden you with his occupied life, he couldn’t help but boil when one curious man came to your encounter, asking for a dance. you weren’t a fool and quickly noticed the viscount’s name written all over your dancing card moments later. you did wonder how it would look to the eyes of everyone else, but he surely didn’t care.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who has privatized your company not only by dancing with you all night during the ball but also by inviting you to his estate in london. it wasn’t long before you realized how occupied he was but also how he tried his best to escape your chaperone and have you all to himself in his bureau.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who loathes the thought of not having you close to him. he had offered no ring nor promises, yet here he was, teaching everything your mama hadn’t. taking away every ounce of purity you once displayed to every other eligible suitor with his careful hands. you could still feel his lips along your neck and his hold around your waist hours after the act.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who truly believes he is a man of honour, even with your legs parted for his hand to explore your most sensitive places with your naked back against the walls of the library of his estate. the sound you make, he wished no other men to hear when it graced his ears, hurrying his movements and developing the most intense of needs. he trailed your back ever so gently to detach and remove your gown with such delicacy it made your whole body shudder.

˗ˏˋʚ viscount!nanami who, despite engaging in such shameful activities, roams around you, just as before. having eyes only for you and ignoring every little distraction that came his way. the rest of the ton surely did wonder how the most anticipated pairing of the season will officially come to be. many questions lingers in one’s mind when two individuals such as yourselves spend so much time together. had he purposely made you wait to attract the other suitors’ attention and find you as desirable as he did? had he already compromised your integrity and claimed you for himself in secret? he did fancy himself the gentleman, so why hadn’t the big question been asked already?

surely, you did know it wouldn’t be the last time you’d be able to call him "my lord" and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time he’d be able to look at you in the eyes and call you his lady.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[justblades]

⌕ LUSTFUL REQUIEM, 18+

⟢ yandere! blade x afab! reader wc : 1.7k

⟢ cw : fxck buddy! blade, dubcon, cervix kissing, degradation, toxic themes, filming, choking, somnophilia

❝ you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's. ❞

blade is not one to typically fall for eye candies as if it was a part of his everyday routines, no one piques his attention nor does the male has his eyes set on a person. it was not until long once he gets a taste of flavors of lust: commixing together, making a concoction he would never forget, that one day, he decided to yearn for more.

every beginnings are sweet nothings that eventually become bitterly endings - one could draw that conclusion as scenes continue to unfold, blade's grasp on your wrists tightening as he bucks his hips upwards, thrusting into your slit with little to no difficulties.

adorned by your melting features are the weak sighs you let out everytime he slips his cock into you, sweat and drool racing down your dewed skin. "louder." his voice was flat and stern, an intonation that pierces through your wary self. you part your lips wider so more natural moans come out just as the male orders you to, a smirk of satisfaction following suit once his wish is finally fulfilled.

"were you moaning this loud for that asshole earlier?" another question rises from blade's dry throat, dehumanizing queries coming out one by one the longer the session prolonged. you shook your head vigorously and shut your eyes, but blade bucks his hips with more force now, his cock's tip eventually meeting with your cervix. "don't give me that nodding and shaking your head, i only take words for an answer."

his brows tightly knit, frustration seethes out of his gritted teeth. "answer!"

uncertainty fills your heart to the brim as you slowly take a trip down the memory lane, recollecting the events that unraveled earlier that lead to this now-present, once future.

crimson hues seep out of the man's wounds, several of his teeth had fallen out already - his body failed to keep himself stable and the navy haired across him doesn't falter. he only continues. "i can do this all night." blade says with utmost confidence lacing his words, the bandages of his hand come undone, revealing such deep wounds that seemed to have never recover.

ah. you understand a part of blade's destructive behavior now. the reason he's like this was because you slept with another man behind him— "fucking slut. how could you do that to me?" he lets go of your wrists for a short moment, only for them to land back on the silhouette of your waist, cupping the margins to make your body shudder the deeper he pushes in- "come on. rock your hips like how you did as you fucked that loser."

it was only a connection solely established to cope with ephemeral temptations. shortlived feelings yet the hardest to resist is what describes lust best, especially for two beings who feed on nothing but these urges. it was a mutual bond, a shared understanding to not be cuffed by the confinements of this relationship, but blade crossed that fine line like it was a a puny boundary for him.

you should've known from the beginning. you should've been able to discern from the way his glassy eyes scrutinize your appearance everytime he realizes you just got back from the hands of another man. you should've been able to know from the way the words roll out of his tongue when he speaks out of frustration, no rational thoughts behind those lashed out actions.

amidst of all of that - it feels good to be filled to the brim by your fuck buddy's dick. regardless of how he beat the guy you were with into a pulp with no hopes of recovering, here you are, basking in the pleasures intercourse with blade had to offer. it felt gratifying, but it's also heavily contradicting.

the same hands he use to inflict wounds on people who got close to you are the same hands now gradually becoming tender in his touches as he pounds into your velvet walls - blade picks up this little detail, a sneering smile replaces his scowl in an instant. "are you feeling good now?" he leans to your face, the tall bridge of his nose few inches away from yours.

your eyes burn in crystalline reflections, perfectly reflecting blade's image as he presses his lips onto yours, tongues next in action, twisting and twirling altogether— fighting for dominance. "h. . hmm." you hum as a response, much to blade's delight. he quickly breaks it off however, a hoarse chuckle slips out next.

"i've become so whipped for you," blade muses, catching you off guard. he bats his long lashes as he trails your facial features up and down. "i can't bear the thought of anyone else fucking you like this." his dominant hand at present cups your cheek, the thumb finger drawing viscules on the dampened skin. blood rushes into your cheeks as you mewl at how his grip once more tenses, "at last, i can call you mine now." his smile felt rather eerie that you could only return a mere "huh?"

he shifts his gaze elsewhere, a coy smile replaces the eerie one in a blink. "i can't believe my fantasies are finally coming to real life." a crease between your brows forms but the male has your body flipped in 20 machs speed, your back now lays flat on the matress while his cock is nestled in between your lower lips, he rocks his hips forward to make friction, another string of mewl escaping past your mouth.

"but . . but didn't we agree there's no strings attached in this?" the atmosphere grows suffocating, blade's looming presence tripled, leaving no room for you to breathe. a click of tongue then chimes into your ears, "those agreements hold no meaning any longer. i've fallen for you . . and you have too. right?" the airway from your throat proceeds to become scuffed as his two hands wrap around the part, "b-blade i can't b—!"

he reinserts his cock back into your entrance and your cunt gladly accepts his intrusion, clamping around his shape as he continually molds your insides. "say you're mine. say only i have the privilege of relishing you like this."

'blade has gone insane', is what you thought upon hearing those bizarre words of choice. you're starting to fear for your life underneath the contrasting touches of your sexual partner, you had no choice but to fall prey to his temptations. his navy dipped scarlet strands tumble on his shoulders in every thrusts he does, he sports a look you've never seen before: a predatory gaze as he watches your lust ridden body, "i-i'm yours. . i'm all y-yours!" you yelp.

you could only hope he gives you a slack, even just a minute would be nice to indulge without him bombarding you with insults and offensive questions. "finally." he rejoices with another arrogant smile, solferino irises turning inwards at the halfhearted sentence that rang to his ears like sweet tones.

"ride me again." for the nth time, he commands you once more. you could feel all the fatigue gnawing at your bones, unable to register how much energy the mental state can drain oneself. blade sees you struggle and he helps you get into position with the help of his fists on your feet, "no, turn the other way around."

your back faces him while your hands are propped on his sculpted, bandaged thighs. this position out of the dozen ones you've already tried with blade strikes you as the most embarrassing one. your legs continue to tremble as you try to keep yourself up, but only now a late realization dawns in your mind as you get a clear sight of what's placed in front of the cabinet across the bed: a cellphone camera accurately leveled to catch both your bodies in one frame.

"hah, you just saw that now?" he pants as he reinserts his dick back into your entrance, your pussy spasms from being ravaged by his cock. "it'll be for our eyes only. i can never share such intimate moment with others, they're simply undeserving."

you wished that reassurance could've ceased your worries, but it didn't.

"this video will be our proof of love and my proof of property of you. this day marks my ownership of you." he murmurs, his deep voice meshes with the squelching sounds emitted from his cock kissing your pussy, and the jagged breathy mewls. "i'm so delighted all of my hardwork paid off, mmh. . ." low moans continue to bubble from his throat, his fingers sinking deep to your body.

"i don't want to share you anymore."

.

.

.

"those days are long over."

.

.

.

"hmph, are you listening?"

blade ascends from his position only to see your passed out state - he cracks a hoarse chuckle afterwards, seeing your frail figure right in the solace of his arms.

"this is fine. i can still worship your body regardless of your consciousness." he murmurs to himself, readjusting your position laid back again in the soft cushions. he coils his hands around his dick, tightening his grip to merit himself waves of pleasure. "ah, haah, i feel so good." blade's guttural moans bounce off the room's four walls, the male then swiftly rubs his tip on your entrance, and with little force, it slips back in. "i'm happy. i . . i know you are too."

all blade is a filth of sorrow, regrets and sadness. growing up, he never understood the charm of owning something. he'd always watch by the windowsill, a blank expression carved on his face, seeing children around his age gleefully claim what's theirs. perhaps . . his upbringing was molded that way for today. for today, he finally owns something now. something that fills the cup of his heart to the point that it's overflowing - something that could satisfy his perpetual yearning.

it is no doubt he'll never let go of you now— at present, you're nothing but a bird inside of a rotten cage. you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's.

that you're merely a timeless fodder for his everlasting hunger: a hunger to own and a hunger to love. at long last, he finally has one.

"i really love you."

A/N : the upbringing part is just my own and obviously not canon, it's more to expound on how he became a yandere for reader ^^ my masterlist !

[weeping-statue]

hi!! how are you doing?

can you write platonic Alva and reader who's struggling (financially, mentally or etc. doesn't matter) and Alva's in a role of a father figure<\3

(reader's gender doesn't matter)

thank you in advance !

Ofc!! Enjoy <3

“Don’t waste your tears on unruly people.”

Contains; Alva being Alva; mentions of slight bullying, mental health issues; people judging; artists struggle that i relate too;

You know they know. They’re watching you with their beady eyes, waiting to strike the moment you slip up. You can’t be anything but perfect. So when it all seems to catch up to you on those late nights, Alva is right by your side to tell you that everything is okay, and you’ll be alright <3

Alva is not the best at comforting strangers.

But when it comes to his dear friends he’s a pro.

A gentle hand, and loving words is all you’ll need from him in order to feel better.

Alva isn’t the only one with a small study, yet yours always seems to house wonderful ideas and creative solutions to bigger artistic problems that he’s never had the ability to think of.

He’s a genius in a few fields, but when it comes to drawing or anything artistic then it could use some work.

Maybe that’s why he was so drawn to you.

You made wonderful, beautiful things, and your smile reminded him of the child he never got to have.

It just felt like he had a duty to you.

And so when he comes to check up on you, to make sure you haven’t fallen asleep at your desk again, he instead finds what could only be described as a train wreck.

Balled up papers, smashed cups, thrown pencils and pens, and ripped up paintings as you sobbed on the floor.

Shaking and crying as you sought for a comfort that never seemed to come. The prayers of help that usually weren’t answered seemed to be deemed acceptable today.

How unfair.

It’s always when you don’t want it, their prying eyes, your weakness, their disappointment.

You wish he would just turn around and forget you ever existed.

Is it such a terrible crime to just want to feel okay?

To be normal?

To fit the standards?

Instead of all of that Alva sets his staff down carefully and kneels behind you. Arms wrapping around your stomach and pulling you in.

“Don’t fret my child, they cannot see nor hurt you anymore.” He whispers, stroking your hair gently. “The cruelty of man never ceases to surprise me. It pains me more having to see you all suffer than anything else.”

“It’s not fair! I just.. I can’t do this anymore, how am I supposed to live like this when everything is going against me?” Your hands grip onto his sleeves, looking up at him through tear stained lashes. “What am I doing wrong?”

That’s a good question, in his opinion. One he had to solve many times before. But this time he’s stumped.

“I am not sure. I suppose that is one you’ll discover on your own journey. All I can do is promise I’ll be there with you every step of the way. You are not alone, never fully.” He releases you from his hold, turning you around to face him. A hand on your shoulder and the other pointing at your heart. “I will always be here.” Tapping your chest to emphasize his point. “And you will always be here.” Now he taps his own chest.

The gesture makes you tear up again, lurching into his body. It only causes him laugh, arms securing around you again.

Alva would hold you until you’ve calmed, or until you passed out. And when you did, he would carry you back to your room and tuck you into bed <3

This is the first time I’ve ever written for Alva, I hope I did him justice

[subskz]

…i lost the tag limit war

the reader changing the subject the instant she feels seen by minho is such a subtle but valuable hint that i think says a lot abt the type of person she is, that moment really stood out to me! i know i literally just said this but right down to every minute detail, you've characterized both lino and the reader so masterfully it has to be the most enjoyable aspect of this story for me...and on top of that i just love how you write their conversations so much, they’re both such lil nerds…my intellectually stimulating smarties debating w each other even now 🥰 it all feels so comfortable and natural and draws me into their relationship w such ease!

their discussion abt colors is hands down one of my favorite scenes in all of invisible thread!! it's such an oddly heartwarming conversation and that perfect, out-of-the-box way of thinking that’s just so undeniably minho...it almost reminds me of synesthesia how he describes feelings through color! "the very essence of our humanity" "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean" the way you embodied each colors through emotions/experiences was so wonderfully done, i understood each one instantly like it was a picture being visualized before my eyes. it makes it even more touching that minho and the reader come to understand each other on a whole new level through that way of communicating their moods <3 and for some reason when he gives the example "i feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to" that really tugged at my heartstrings ㅠ it almost feels like he isnt just giving a hypothetical there, like he's giving a small glimpse into his true feelings without saying it outright. maybe he feels invisible deep down, too

them falling asleep together on facetime was so soft and tender ㅠㅠ leave it to lino to ramble abt sous-vide as a bedtime story and complain abt getting SCAMMED lmao the way that is actually smth he would say 😭 "he closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on" this line got me so good ): it seems at first that he's bringing the reader peace but she's bringing him peace in her own way as well...her feelings abt his eyes changing from fear to longing is such a lovely detail and HER COMPLIMENTING THEM!!! HIS STUNNED REACTION </3 "this is the first genuine compliment he's ever received" oh my god does my moss green theory actually have any merit.....does he really feel invisible to the world too...do not do this to me sahar ㅠㅠ but the way he thinks such lovely, adoring things abt the reader in that moment but instead of voicing them he whines abt being hungry....so endearing and so HIM i cant get enough of how youve written minho here ur singlehandedly reminding me why he is allegedly the love of my life

the kintsugi mention made my heart leap in my chest!!! "when you look at that vase, you know it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty" please...that sentence in itself is so moving when you apply it to the context of what the reader has been through her whole life, not just a single crack but repeated breakages. and for it to come from someone like minho; it feels like exactly what the reader needs to hear to truly begin to heal herself...he doesn't coddle her but is still so gentle, putting things into perspective like nobody else can w his unique worldview and mental strength ㅠㅠ and i think i just lost my mind realizing that this scene loops right back to the clay comparison you drew at the beginning of the story oh my GOD....the reader is like a clay pot molded by her mother, broken in places and repaired over and over to create smth still damaged but just as valuable...and lino is the gold filling in the cracks....sahar you are INSANE for this one im kissing ur brain and tucking it gently into bed

the scene w minho in the rain 😞 i was not prepared to see my meow meow upset...but i love the way you wrote it so much. how oddly quiet he is, even to the point where he's not commenting in class or teasing her, and that's the key detail that lets the reader know smth's off w him...i also love that nothing in particular caused his low mood. it's such a human quality, and he allows himself to be human and feel his feelings until they pass. "he knew his emotions would regulate themselves" i cant explain why this line stood out to me so much i really love it, i think it's just such a shining example of minho's mindset...not necessarily optimistic, but practical enough to not be completely swamped by the darkness either. it creates such an interesting contrast to the reader's personality to see how they both handle their emotions, w her pushing hers away and him letting them run their course. but the fact that he typically tries to retreat into himself until he feels better, yet strangely enough, he doesn't mind it as much as he'd expect when the reader catches him in a vulnerable state...my babies ㅠ i also really loved the part where he uses her shower and thinks abt the scent of her soap as he washes up, it's so so sweet n intimate i'm such a sucker for things like that ): there are so many small things minho notices abt her like it's the most natural thing in the world, they're both so attentive of one another

"you were both just trying to make it through the day" and "he knew he wasn't invisible. at least not to you" were critical hits to my heart...it feels like a breakthrough in their relationship—the first time the reader truly truly sees minho, all sides of him, and she accepts them all without question <3

the gradual progression of their friendship is so gratifying to read bc of how organically you made it all flow together!! i adore the entire sequence that shows us how they start to care for each other more and more…the casual intimacy of the reader applying her lip tint to his lips (and him not studying for his quiz on purpose 😭💗 come ON) lino worrying abt her eating enough, the reader tying his bangs out of his eyes, complimenting him so matter-of-factly, and him BLUSHING ALL OVER THE PLACE it’s so over for me x2 they are so tender in their actions even when they tease each other nonstop. it all leads up so perfectly to the point in the story where minho finds himself being drawn to her apartment without even realizing it when he doesn't feel well. the subtle shift from him initially trying to shut her out bc he's so used to managing his bad days on his own, to him eventually leaning in to her kindness and seeking her company instead...and the way she just understands what he needs immediately, allows him to sit in silence and simply exist in peace next to her. describing his mood as "too much of every color" really struck a chord w me as well...i'm just so so in love w the running theme of colors you included throughout this story, it's such a brilliant way to put emotions into words <3

the lil parallels here n there from the beginning of their relationship until now are so cute as well; how lino makes breakfast for her the first time and leaves before she wakes up, but this time, he promises to stay and eat with her...to not be invisible ㅠㅠ i think what's making me craziest of all is how they're both so hyperaware of each other's touch. like when their shoulders brushed while sharing the reader's umbrella, how the reader suddenly finds it difficult to concentrate on her book when lino holds her wrist as she shields him from the sunlight...and little does she know it's the exact same for him too, like when she rested her head on his thigh and all he could focus on was the sensation of her hair tickling him 😭 they are so enamored w each other and have become so tangled up in each other little by little...they don't even fully realize it yet but they've made a permanent place in each other's lives now

"you were already on the other side, you realize. his eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey" oh my GOD!!! ㅠㅠㅠㅠ her feelings abt minho's eyes changing from fear, to longing, to at last the comfort of getting to see the other side of those black holes...this line hit me like a truck it might be my favorite from the entire fic ㅠ i have a feeling i'll be saying that abt many more lines to come when you verbalize things in the most poetic ways imaginable heheh but this one truly got me so good, the delicacy in which you describe minho makes the reader's growing affection for him all the more heart-fluttering~

minho hesitating to wipe her tears )): the way he's so careful abt touching her in any unwarranted way bc he can sense that she shies away from skinship is so devastatingly sweet...and then him pinching her right after to make her stop crying NEVERMIND I CANT STAND HIM ACTUALLY. but the way he consoles her is so endearing and so so minho...very simple and sincere, he knows her well enough to immediately figure out the best way to take her mind off of the issue instead of dwelling on it. "you didn't care what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it" i've already pointed out so many lines oh my god i'm so sorry but each one is like another arrow through my heart ㅠㅠ i feel like this sentence is such a perfect testament to the reader and lino's relationship; they've both seen each other at their best and worst and it doesn't change anything abt their feelings, they care for each other unconditionally 😞 also the reader being afraid of physical touch bc she craves it is SO heartbreaking but so raw...i think it aligns so well w her past bc she's so used to either being invisible, or only being perceived negatively when she is perceived. it makes perfect sense how terrifying she'd find it to bare herself to minho when her whole life she's been deprived of genuine affection...you've really done such a phenomenal job of characterizing both her and lino i cant say it enough!

now...the entire final scene...where do i even begin...i had a feeling the climax of the story was going to hurt but not like this ㅠㅠ the reader's inner turmoil as she debates reaching out to her mother again, that conflicting mix of hating her yet somehow still missing her...it's such an inexplicable and confusing feeling for ppl who have experienced that kind of neglect but so so real and you captured it so candidly. it really added a whole new layer to the reader's humanity, for her to be unable to completely let go of their relationship no matter how painful it is to hold on to...for her to cling to the hope that maybe she could be worth smth to her mother if she did everything right ): i genuinely had the exact same reaction as her when you revealed that her mother had deleted her phone number...it felt precisely like a bucket of ice cold water to the head. the reader trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time where her mother stopped loving her was what really crushed me most...what a heart-wrenching sentence ㅠㅠ the fact that she's tried to hard to find solace in other places and people and tried to grow into her own person after entering university, but even so, those marks left from her childhood are still there...a vase full of cracks 💔 as much as it hurts to read, i love that you included this bump in the road of her healing journey and made a point to highlight that healing isn't linear

and minho 😭😭😭😭😭 the way he handled the reader's outburst is so touching...the way he's immediately able to recognize that her feelings are misplaced and smth much deeper is going on beyond what he sees on the surface...using that astuteness to put his own feelings to the side in the moment is so minho. this entire scene is just blossoming with powerful lines i can't forget, but i was especially affected by the reader saying "i'd need you and i can't afford to need someone else." it's such a tragic summarization of her in my opinion...how she went her whole life being unable to rely on anyone but herself, so the moment she's faced w minho, all her instincts say to reject it no matter how badly she craves that intimacy ㅠㅠ and lino saying "i'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me" is such a beautiful declaration of love...it's so selfless and unconditional, and it fits so seamlessly w how their relationship progressed throughout the story, how they were by each other's sides at their best and worst moments.

"the world doesn't stop because we need it to" "we'll make it stop" and then describing their kiss as like "seeing color for the first time"...i'm going to melt into an inconsolable puddle over all these callbacks to their first date together don't think i didn't catch the ways you weaved those in throughout this final scene..you made it feel so complete, like things have come full circle. i already mentioned how much i loved their conversation abt describing colors to the blind, so for their first kiss to be written that way, like the reader was blind to the true color of the world until she met minho....i am going to be ill that is so intensely romantic sahar ㅠㅠㅠㅠ

"he was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together." another heartaching line ): what a way to personify the quiet love minho provides...it may be invisible to everyone else, but not to her

i'm so sorry for my horrifically long comment haha but i'm just thrilled i was finally able to read this beautiful fic 😞 just as i'd predicted, you're a phenomenal writer!! the amount of love and effort you poured into it went above and beyond, i hope you're so proud of yourself for creating such a stunning work!! it's very clear to me how every interaction you wrote between minho and the reader was so carefully thought out and so meaningful to the overarching theme of the story, it's all done with care and purpose and there's smth special to be found in each line of dialogue! it's like you carefully stacked more and more on to the foundation of their bond until before we know it, there's an entire home there that they built steadily together. that kind of subtle progression is my absolute favorite thing. i'm also so blown away by how the reader's mother, though never actually making an appearance until the final scene, has such an heavy impact over the narrative. it's like she's a ghost haunting the reader's every action, every decision, every inner thought...i find it so impressive how you were able to incorporate that effect into the story without us even needing to meet the mother! and i must've mentioned countless lines that stuck w me throughout the fic, but just know that there are countless more i could've pointed out as well...you truly write so so beautifully. so poetic and emotive, but also not so flowery that it becomes hard to follow, i'm truly floored by your ability to achieve that perfect balance! on top of the story being so immersive in itself, your writing style made invisible thread such a genuine delight to read <3

this feels like the kind of story i'll be thinking abt for a long time after finishing it, the kind to revisit over n over bc i'm sure there are so many lil easter eggs you included that i may have missed! i'm positive i'll come back to it many times in the future hehe...but i can't wait to read more of your writing as well! ^_^

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

[switch-witch-erin]

This post is about the very experience of loving tickling, the feeling of shame for it, the feeling of being somehow abnormal, which as far as I know actually haunts many.

This is gonna be a long read, featuring my journey to finding peace in liking tickles + how I managed to clarify for myself that liking platonic tickling is a thing, and is, in fact, okay. I’ll try to make it as short as I can :,)

❗️All of this is just a reflection of my experience, please be respectful

First of all, I have to say that tickling has always been a main form of showing affection in my family — here

For my parents and siblings, it was of utter importance to never show “weakness” in any way or form, no saying “I love you”, no hugs nor kisses, no words of validation, only stuff like “study hard so you can get a better job in the future”, “don’t forget to wear your scarf, it’s cold outside”, so basically they showed their love through doing anything they could for me to survive and thrive, but without any affection. And since affection wasn’t allowed, my siblings decided to start disguising it by messing with me, like tickling me silly, claiming that they’re just teasing and pestering me, while also making it fun and entertaining. They were gentle and careful, especially considering our big age difference (I’m 25, and my eldest brother is 48), and it made me feel so loved and cherished that I never wanted it to stop. Most tickle fights happened with my sister, seven years older than me, and she’d let me win just to cheer me up, which also gave me an extra boost of joy and love for her.

Therefore, by the time I went to school, I was 100% certain that everyone liked tickling, they just played the game of pretending, while actually having fun. I was called a local tickle monster among my classmates and some of the teachers as I kept tickling my friends all over the school, and I was a very social kid, so it might have been around 30 people on my “wanted” list x) Thinking about it now, I don’t remember a single kid actually getting uncomfortable or disliking the tickling. Maybe that’s because my tickles were gentle and didn’t last long as I was afraid of accidentally hurting peeps and made sure to keep it light. There also was a girl, around 15 years old, who really liked me and treated me like a younger sister because she thought I was a cute kid. She’d hang out with me and some of my classmates during breaks, put me on her lap, tell the stupidest jokes one could possibly come up with, and then tickle me silly, saying “See? I knew it was funny, you’re laughing!”. Unfortunately, I changed schools, and we never saw each other again, but it was fun while it lasted.

When I got older, like 12 or so, I remember there was a girl who kept initiating tickle fights with me on a daily basis, that was so much fun, basically my number 1 reason to go to school at the time x). I was a little overweight and insecure about my appearance, so her willingly touching me (as well as hugging me after the tickling) and saying that my giggles were cute made me feel so much better about myself, no words can possibly describe it. She was definitely a lot rougher than me when it came to tickling, but it was fine, maybe because I wasn’t that ticklish, so it didn’t bother me much. I even remember teachers watching us and smiling. Back then I didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest, I treated it as any other form of fun activities, like playing hide and seek or drawing. Though it didn’t last long.

Next year, when I was 13, we got a new classmate, she was nice, but her mood kept changing every ten minutes, it was weird, probably a puberty thing, but still. We quickly became friends, and eventually, after about two weeks of getting to know each other, I started tickling her, and she became completely enraged. She yelled at me, slapped my hands away and started a whole ass rant about how people who tickle others are annoying and rude, while threatening to punch me if I tickle her again. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. It’s like my entire world got turned inside out, and I felt so guilty and ashamed of myself that all I could do was apologise and leave. Of course, now, as an adult, I understand that her reaction was way too intense, and I should’ve at least clarified that I didn’t mean to upset her. But back then I got absolutely mortified. As a cherry on top she started avoiding me like I did something terrible, and only in about three weeks she came up to me out of the blue and started a conversation like nothing happened. It felt weird, but I was so glad she seemed to have forgiven me I didn’t bother to ask questions. But that’s when the shame all tickling community knows started forming. “What if other people whom I tickled actually didn’t enjoy it? I haven’t seen someone tickling others as often as I did, what if it’s not okay to act like I do? What if I’m some kind of creep to others? What if I have been a creep this whole time, but no one bothered to tell me? Bad people don’t know or don’t care if they’re bad, they just do whatever they please, just like I did with my friends before. What if I’m actually a bad person? A creep?” Yeah, well, that was just the tip of the iceberg. Among puberty-related things, that made me feel insecure as well and I stopped being as social as I was, I closed off, but the need to have tickles in my life persisted, and I started watching those silly tickling moments from cartoons and anime posted on YouTube. Watching them has always made me smile, and it felt like a void inside me started to fill up. I can only compare the feeling to hugging my boyfriend or receiving support from my friends - that fuzzy feeling that makes life worth living. I remember panicking when these videos started appearing on my feed even after I deleted them from my YouTube history, as it felt like I’m doing something perverted and unnatural. Once, the videos popped up on my main YouTube page while I was watching stuff with my friend, and I was mortified. She didn’t question it, not sure if she even noticed, but I wanted to die right there on the spot. When I was thinking all of it over as a teen, I used to compare myself to creepy fetishists, who pile up various disturbing stuff in their PC folder just to open when no one’s looking. The thought made me cry so many times I can’t even count, as I couldn’t share with anyone about it, and I assured myself that I am a creep, so if I want to stop being one I should get rid of that liking tickling thing and enjoy “normal” stuff. So I deleted all of the saved videos, art and other stuff, unfollowed the creators and went on with my life. It was a difficult decision, but I was determined.

Several months later my classmates (13-15 years old) started a massive tickle fight, among like ten or so people, and it all was happening right in front of me. I was staring at them with googly eyes, sitting there all tensed up and confused like ??? You’re all not supposed to do that??? How dare you??? And it was mostly among boys, so one of them approached me with a big grin on his face, and some sort of Tarantino dialogue happened

— Hey, why aren’t you participating? Are you not ticklish?

— N-No…

And he proceeded to start tickling me, but I didn’t react, either because I was still shocked or because I didn’t want to be a part of it, I’m not sure myself. And when he saw the lack of reaction, I swear to god, he was UPSET. He lowered his head and pouted a little, mumbling something like “damn, okay”. I can’t say for sure whether he was upset because of me (presumably) not being ticklish, or because he wanted to make me react, but something in my head clicked. Like… “oh, you want tickles? I’ll give you tickles!” And I started tickling him back furiously. Nothing painful or uncomfortable, just rather intense as I targeted almost all of his upper body at the same time. The guy’s laughter was silent, and he leaned over, shaking with inaudible giggles, but he didn’t try to get away. Not even once. When I realised what I was doing, I stopped, feeling mortified once again. It felt like I was using him for my “perverted” needs, like I just submerged this boy to something he doesn’t enjoy for my “sick” pleasure. You know that feeling when you’re about to explode with crying, but you hold yourself back as much as you can with what little power you still have? Yeah, that was how I felt. When suddenly he sat up with an even bigger grin on his face than before, looked at me with such a happy, excited expression, and then turned to the others, yelling out “Beware! She’s not ticklish, and she’s a master tickler!” Then he glanced back at me and said “Hey, it’s not fair you’re not ticklish, you’re imbalanced! (Russian slang for someone or something way mightier than their group) Come with us, you’d be an absolute winner!” [Love men’s urge to constantly compete lol]

A school bell, indicating that the next lesson is starting, saved my sorry ass. Imagine how hard it was to concentrate on studying after all of that x)

By the time I came home I was so confused I could barely talk to anyone, completely stuck in my own thoughts. It seemed like they all were enjoying the tickling, and they were participating in it willingly, having fun together. No one minded getting tickled, and even though no one said out loud that they enjoyed it, it was obvious. So my brain gears started rotating. If it’s okay for others to enjoy tickling, why can’t it be okay for me? Yes, maybe I like it more than they do, but what’s so bad about it? Some people like martial arts, some people like drawing, dragons, marine biology, sports, massages, and I like tickling! It’s a special interest, my special interest. I do it because it feels nice, and not only it makes me happy, other people enjoy it too! Not everyone, naturally, just like not everyone likes being touched in general. But to people, who enjoy tickling, it’s a nice way to unwind and have fun. It’s some kind of monkey brain thing like “me make other monkey happy with tickles, other monkey happy = I happy”. Apes together strong x)

And slowly but surely I began my research, checking what it’s like to enjoy tickling, how it works in biology and psychology, why some people like it and some don’t, why some are more ticklish than others and whatnot. It was fascinating. Humans are so fucking weird (affectionately), there’re so many details, nooks and crannies that take part in our existence…

But scientific part aside, I decided to switch on my critical thinking skills as well and actually look at my situation from someone else’s perspective. And eventually came up with a basic scheme. The questions I asked myself were:

1. Do I harm anyone, including myself, by liking/participating in tickling?

2. Does tickling bring me joy?

3. Do I violate people’s boundaries by tickling them?

4. Is it considered inappropriate to enjoy tickling?

As a result, I came up with several conclusions, which can be summed up in one statement

“If tickling is consensual and brings joy to both parties, there shouldn’t be any problems with it”

Maybe you noticed that some people who don’t have tickling as their special interest enjoy it too! It is a form of affection after all, so, since it brings me joy, why should I be embarrassed about it? Don’t get me wrong, even though all of my friends know I like tickling (they saw my art, we’ve talked about it a lot, I share the news of what’s up with the community and many other things), sometimes I get so fucking embarrassed I don’t have words to describe such strong emotions. Fortunately, my friends are good people, they remind me that it’s okay… it doesn’t stop them from poking and teasing me, but can’t say that I mind x) Even people like my brother’s wife know about that special interest of mine, and ALL of them, and I mean EVERY SINGLE PERSON think that it’s okay. Some said that it’s even cute. But it still wasn’t enough for me to let go and enjoy myself, so I decided to contact a specialist.

By the time I became an adult I decided to talk about my liking of tickling with my therapist, and mind you this woman was definitely overqualified when it comes to all the stuff I asked her. Looking back at it I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it might have looked to her.

“Hello, my name is Erin, I’m 22, I really like tickles, both tickling and being tickled, is there something wrong with me? 🥺”

I bow to her ability of keeping a poker face. True professional. I don’t want to go into the details, but overall she said that enjoying platonic tickles is actually very common, especially for people on autism spectrum and those with ADHD (aka me). [Not that everyone who likes tickles should immediately get tested] She told me that she had a patient with severe autism, he had trouble talking to people, and he didn’t enjoy being touched. So whenever he wanted to express affection for his family members, he’d gently tickle their side a little and smile at them. Tickling was his love language. And, in case anyone is still wondering about whether tickling can only be a kink, I really doubt that it was anything sexual for him. By the way, you can read a post made by an actual psychologist regarding tickling not necessarily being a kink.

And since tickling has always been the main form of affection I received, it’s only natural that I carried it into adulthood. I’m 25 years old, a whole grown ass woman with a degree, a job, my own apartment and goals to achieve. Why on Earth would I drop enjoying something as lighthearted and fun as tickling because someone considers it weird?

The actually weird thing is telling people what they are, and what they’re supposed or not supposed to enjoy.

If getting tickled silly by my man is what makes me happy, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

Peace out, have fun, and stay true to yourself ✌🏻

Hope my post helps you feel at least a little better 🌸

[animereaderinsertwriter]

eclipse

Gojo x fem!reader

tw angst, pregnancy mention

This is the end of their story-- the one that will never be told, not really, not as it is, nor as it should be. After all, how can you describe an eclipse to someone who has never seen the sun?

beginning of their story here

ao3 link

“They're calling me, my love. There is a veil over Shibuya, and they're asking for me. I've got to go.”

She's so beautiful, sitting at our kitchen table. She's wearing only a thin black robe, and I can see where her breast swells sweetly against the fabric, covered, but tempting. Beneath the warm incandescent lighting of our dining room, she is resplendent; radiant, she casts no shadow, but surrounding her in a perfect circle on the floor is something darker than any shade. Absence clings to her like a second self, pooling in that moon-like circle, and I know that despite the scion that draws power from her now, she is still so very powerful that even Sukuna, safe as he is in his vessel, should tremble at the thought of us together. 

 When she speaks, she does not look up at me, and I know I am in trouble.  

“Then you must go.”

The tension between us is so thick that it's hard to breathe. She sits still as a statue, staring past her cup of tea. It's lukewarm. In the wake of stone-like silence, it sits, forgotten, and waiting to be emptied. 

She will not ask me not to go. It is against her nature to ask for what she cannot have, to demand that I choose between her and my duty. I'm not sure if that makes it all better or worse. 

“Say something, Satoru.” Her voice is stony and cold. “I cannot bear this silence.”

“I've got to go,” I repeat, as though saying it will make me believe it. “I have to.”

She stands. As she does so, the gentle swell of her stomach moves, stretching the fabric of her robe. She maneuvers gingerly around the table to stand before me, and my arms ache to hold her. 

“Oh, Satoru,” she sighs, cupping my cheek. “You don't need to convince me.”

I had not thought it would be this hard to answer the call when it came. It is the duty of the strong to protect the weak— this I have always known. As a result, being the strongest is kind of a drag. Always rescuing someone, protecting something, sacrificing this, living up to that— a total drag, but there is something worthy in it. Something honorable. 

Never before have worth and honor felt so antithetical to my own desires. 

“I’m not mad,” she says, more to convince herself than to convince me. 

“You could be. There would be a point to that.”

The hollow ache of Suguru resonates in my chest. Like him, I feel it's only fair to give the one I love license to hate me. 

She doesn't. She only shakes her head. 

“I always knew you were never really mine,” she says, and the words wound me. “I only— only ever had you on loan.”

Tears glisten in her eyes, threatening to fall. She does not let them. My stout-hearted love is too proud to let those tears conquer her.

Oh, but they conquer me.

“I am yours,” I lie, placing my hand over her own. “I always have been.”

“You're a terrible liar. Before you were mine, you were Geto Suguru’s— and before that, you were the Gojo clan’s talented heir, the strongest sorcerer in a thousand years.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she covers it with her hand. 

“No, Satoru.” She's firmer now, and as bitter as wormwood. “Don't argue with reason and sense. You must go to Shibuya, so go now. Go, though they bay for your blood. Go, though you will have no one to protect you, no one strong enough to keep pace at your side. Go and do as you must. Fulfill the duty that is demanded of you.”

“But know this, Gojo Satoru. When all is said and all is done, and you have drawn your last breath at the behest of a world that could not protect you, know that I will burn that world.”

I crack a nervy grin and take her hand in mine.

“You say that like you think I'm going to die.”

“My ability—” she hesitates, and a chill washes over me. “My ability is to sense and siphon energy. Not just cursed energy, but all energy. If you die within that veil, if you do not come back to me, I will suck the marrow from this world until I can draw no more. And when the world is withered, when my skin cracks with the white-hot blood in my veins, I will unleash my ultimate technique.”

“Supernova.”

I am numb with shock. She has not told me— has not told anyone— the full extent of her abilities. She always, always valued the safety of others over pushing her powers to their limit. That she has done so now means that she is serious about this— that she truly believes that she will need the full extent of her abilities. That she will use them. That, if I die, she will destroy the world that took me from her. 

“There is power gathering in Shibuya. Go safely there and return quickly back to me.” It is not a request. “Go now, before I change my mind and come with you.”

“You can't.” My response is immediate, decisive. I press my hand against her belly. “You've got your own battle to fight.”

Her face screws up at that. She hates the notion that she should be protected in such a vulnerable state. I'm pregnant, not dead, she is fond of griping— but a battlefield is no place for an expectant mother. 

“Don't piss me off.”

“She'll come any day now.”

“We're having a son, Satoru.”

I know that. I don't want to admit it. I long for a daughter— a tiny version of my lover, a soft and sweet child who will be allowed, if only for a time, to keep that softness. I will love my son because he is mine, but I mourn for the responsibility he will carry, for what he will have to overcome to be a good man.  

“Whatever you say, dear.”

I don't want to argue. 

She shakes her head at me, and I know a fight is inevitable. 

“I should be going with you,” she turns from me, head still shaking. She begins to pace like an irritated tigress, graceful despite her bump. “I'm pregnant, not dead. I should gear up and make you let me— you could not stop me, Satoru.”

She adds that as an afterthought, and, now that she has had a moment to consider it, looks at me warily. I know she is wondering if I actually could. If I would. She's tempted, I know, to test me on it. 

So I disabuse her of any notion of her coming with me. 

I stalk up to her, fierce and immoveable, and I put my hand at the soft, sweet curve where her neck meets her shoulder. My hand, too big to really fit, splays across her throat, and I bear the familiar freezing burn of her siphon even when she starts to push me, pulling more than she would naturally. She's trying to remind me of who and what she is, but I have not forgotten. In this, she cannot frighten, bully, or move me in any way. In this, I am unshakeable. 

“You will not go with me to Shibuya.”

Her eyes flash, and she slaps my hand away from her.

“I have every right to go with you! This— this— whatever they want from you— it is just as much mine as it is yours! I am a sorcerer, Satoru! I'm your—!”

She cuts herself off angrily. She cannot say wife. We've been hiding like little rats from the elders, trying to keep ourselves and our child safe from their influence. Now, the fact that I haven't made an honest woman of her is a panging regret. As it stands, the annals of history will not say that she was mine and that I was hers. They will not speak our names together. They will not tell of how greatly we loved. 

For some reason, that bothers me more than it should. 

“You're all that and more,” I soothe her, kissing her brow. “I know you don't want to hear it, sweetness, but your task is far greater than mine, and more perilous. For this, you're sacrificing your body, yes, your time, yes, but also your pride. I can understand the sting of it,”— Can I really? I try to imagine it, being told that being the strongest, that being Gojo Satoru, that answering the call to bloodshed, must be given freely away in favor of hiding safely away, and I sicken at the chafe of it— “but your pride isn't worth sacrificing our child or our vision for the future.”

I tuck a stray hair behind her ear. 

“You say they bay for my blood, and you say rightly. It's me they want. If I die— if they kill me— I will have met the kind of end that I want.”

She shakes her head, furious. Tears slip down her cheeks like sparkling dewdrops. 

“It might be a bit sooner than I'd like,” I muse, “but old age wouldn't suit me anyway. And anyway, I have yet to meet another soul capable of killing me— do you know of any force on earth that's a match for me as of yet, my love?”

My grin is silly and misplaced at a time like this. I had hoped that it would prove infectious, but the woman of my heart only scowls at me. 

“You're not funny, Satoru.”

“You're right, I'm hilarious.”

She sighs, long-suffering, and I gather her in my arms. 

“You're beautiful when you sulk.”

“Not sulking,” she sulks, shrinking from me.

“Oh really?” I stroke the crease between her brows. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“I'm sending my lover off to wage war, Satoru. Don't expect me to smile.”

Maybe she’s right after all, I think as I kiss her, soft and slow. Maybe I really never was hers to begin with— but if that's the case, then she never was mine either. Both of us, we would be only borrowed, on loan from the expectations that were thrust upon us. I chafe at the notion. Selfishly, I want to have possessed her; I want to own her from the soles of her feet to the crown of her beautiful head. 

When I cup her cheek, I find it burning hot and slightly damp. Her eyes, having closed to kiss me, bleed their tears in rivulets down her cheek. 

Perhaps this was always the difference between us. My yoke sits lightly on my shoulders. I love my power, my strength, and the duty that accompanies it; I am the strongest, and, for the most part, it fills me with leonine pride and god-like ecstasy. That has never been the case for my dearest love, the mother of my child. Her duty sits mountain-heavy on her. It always has. If she could escape it all, live as a normal sorcerer, not as the contingency, not as a wealthy heiress, and certainly not as a fragile, expectant mother who was pressured all her life by her peers to have a child not for love but for eugenics, she would escape it— well, she already has escaped most of it. I am the force that binds her to that yoke, that shackles her to duty. But I cannot help what I am any more than she can help loving me. All I can do is love her and hope that that is enough.

“Don't cry,” I murmur against her hair, holding her to my chest. “What will be will be. Have peace.”

“I will not have peace,” she softly, hoarsely cries into the soft cotton fabric of my shirt. “Not when there is so much to lose if I don’t fight for it.”

I hold her there for as long as I can. When we pull away, she wipes her tears with the back of her palm and looks at me tiredly. I just can't  shake the feeling that something about this is… final. 

“Go,” she says, regal, proud, and dreadful. “I love you, Gojo Satoru.”

It's a push and pull as always with us, and always like a blade against a whetstone, we sharpen one another. The sharpness in her steels me, and I kiss her forehead one last time in parting. 

“I love you,” I say against her soft skin. I murmur her name like a whispered prayer, and then I teleport to Shibuya. 

I already miss her, even before my atoms still from their long journey across the temporal distance. 

[zhoufeis]

What just bothers me simply about the discussion of TTPD being all so great is neither the fact that some reviewers literally ignore some of the very gruesome lyrics this album has to offer nor the fact that the whole album has the same tune and I could not tell apart these tracks even if I wanted to, no. After all, we can always argue that tastes are different... arguably. It's something utterly different that's bothering me.

It's three things entirely different.

1) The fact we pretend 31 break-up tracks, written entirely out of the perspective of victimhood, of some love stories are worth calling "The Tortured Poets Department". Mind you, Swift, I like love songs, I like break-up songs, I like them poetically, I like when they touch me. But writing 31 break-up songs (not entirely, right, more like 25 or so) for one album makes me wonder if there is anything deeper... more touching to write about. You stay on the surface describing relationships (romantic as well as parasocial) in which you come out as a victim. But the self-reflection is missing entirely. And if I learned one thing in language classes it's that it's poetically dull if we only ever stay on the surface. We gotta dig deeper. And I'm not referring to some poetic lines to make a song sound more beautiful. I'm talking about true depth, true self-reflection, something that makes you defenseless. Cause all this woman does is writing songs out of the perspective of defense - and victimhood. Never does she actually draw herself as defenseless or vulnerable, always knowing how to use the right words to make her fans defend her.

2) Which leads me to that other thing that really bothers me. Her PR team was more involved in this album than the persona of Taylor Swift could ever be. Or maybe Taylor Swift is only PR at this point. Maybe there is no actual person behind all of this. Cause if there's one thing that's utterly apparent, it is that this album hinges SOLELY on any media drama she was involved in. Everyone out there trying to decipher which song is about whom - is this storytelling? Is this poetry? If I only care about songs and judge them by who they are about? The beauty of music is that it binds people together, makes people feel heard or seen through the text and voice of another person. What she's doing isn't that. She is not binding people together by selling her songs as something that could happen to anyone, no, all of it is always only about one person's story - her own. She also doesn't create fictional stories to write about, things to further the limits of our imagination and tell a story that doesn't even exist, and never will. She doesn't use imagination, she doesn't try to connect to other people, she's trying only to connect people to HER. Can this album even be judged neutrally if everyone just knows about her relationships and is guessing who the songs are about? Is there one person out there like "I have never seen any of the TS relationship drama and the like, and I only like to review this album lyrically and sonically by the lyrics and tune within"? Because she is SO present in everyday media press, it is impossible to miss her relationship drama. So are we actually still reviewing Swift's album as a standalone media for its sound and lyrics? Or are we actually just reviewing TS's terrible love life which she apparently has no responsibility for? And mind you all - she knows exactly what she's doing. Don't even think for a second she doesn't know that you all are following her every footstep. Don't think she doesn't use it to her advantage. (Aside from that, she has been considered a storyteller for so long, but she seems to have a lack of stories she can come up with if the only ones she writes about are her own...)

3) Which leads to the entire capitalist thinking behind the release of this album. Not only did she publish 19 different versions of this album to be acquired, no, she also literally had millions of fans pre-ordering her (normal-length) album, only to drop an extended version right after its release. Which means that all these fans had to buy yet another album. And don't think she meant this as a surprise for her fans - she did that cause that's how you make money. Cause that's how capitalism works. And she's part of the problem.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The Right Reverend Mariann Budde, the Episcopal bishop of Washington, D.C., has a history of practicing what’s called “the prophetic tradition”: naming the world’s ills and calling out those who perpetrate them. In 2020, after President Donald Trump ordered the dispersal of Black Lives Matter protesters from Lafayette Square and then posed there for photographs, standing before St. John’s Church and holding a Bible, she expressed outrage. “Mr. Trump used sacred symbols to cloak himself in the mantle of spiritual authority, while espousing positions antithetical to the Bible that he held in his hands,” Budde wrote in an op-ed. When Trump ran for reëlection in 2020, she said that she had “given up speaking to President Trump.”

Yet earlier this week, from the pulpit of the Washington National Cathedral, Budde addressed President Trump directly and personally. Her nearly fifteen-minute sermon focussed on what she described as three necessary elements for national unity: dignity, honesty, and humility. Then, toward the end of her sermon, she added a fourth, calling on Trump to “have mercy” on those in America, particularly immigrants and members of the L.G.B.T.Q. community, who are currently afraid. The final two minutes of her sermon went viral, drawing ire from Trump’s supporters, who have commented that she should be placed on “the deportation list,” and that Budde is “exhibit A for why women should not be pastors, priests, or bishops.” Trump posted on Truth Social that Budde was a “so-called Bishop.” “She is not very good at her job!” he added. “She and her church owe the public an apology!”

Budde, the author of “How We Learn to Be Brave,” from 2023, has not apologized to Trump, nor to anyone else, for her remarks. On Thursday morning, she spoke with me by phone from her home in Washington, D.C. In a forty-minute conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, Budde reflected on what she’d intended to say in the sermon, the role of prayer in her life, and the responsibility of religious leaders to address the social and political realities of their time.

You’ve mentioned that your decision to speak about mercy came after hearing Trump talk about God’s will, and invoke the divine right of kings in his inaugural speech. Can you walk us through how you made this decision to speak out, and the role that prayer played in it?

I was starting to feel incomplete, just unsettled, about the three pillars of unity—that there was something missing. So I was struggling before Monday morning, actually, just talking back and forth with people with whom I was sharing my ideas and thoughts.

At some point on Monday—and I can’t remember when, but it was in the context of the sweeping descriptions of whole swaths of people in our society in ways that were so harsh and inconsistent with what I knew to be true, what most of us know to be true—the word mercy kept coming to me, mercy and empathy. I decided to stay with mercy, in part because I knew that, in that context and in that moment, I needed to honor the office of the President and the fact that millions of people, as I said, placed their trust in him and were counting on him to lead the country. He himself felt providentially spared to make America great again, as he said, but also to lead, right?

I was trying to find a way to bring into the room those who were not part of the vision of unity that he described in his Inaugural Address, and, indeed, the way he’s been talking about our country through the entire campaign. And, of course, I was in prayer. I was in conversation with different people within my own inner dialogue. And so I chose to ask for mercy, and I also tried to humanize the people I was referring to, who are in need of mercy—the people who are afraid.

I figured there were probably one thousand people in the cathedral that morning. And I was guessing that there were parents in the room of children who were gay and lesbian, or maybe even transgender, or they themselves were gay or lesbian, so they would know something of the struggle. I was trying to humanize, to bring us into that same spirit of when we get to know each other, we’re more alike than we are different. And also, in speaking of the immigrant population—and particularly those who are arriving into this country and taking on the tasks that keep our society going, often behind the scenes or at off hours, and doing really back-breaking labor—to say that these are people that many of us know. I wanted to bring them into the room, to help evoke the images of actual people, rather than broad categories or characterizations.

Writing—and you’re a writer, so I think you understand this—is a form of prayer for me. It involves everything, right? Every aspect of my being, all of my ego, my insecurities, my strengths. You know those rare moments when you feel like you actually have energy to write, and other times when you feel like you’re going to fall asleep in front of the screen? It’s all prayer, and so that was certainly a part of it as well.

You’ve spoken in the past about the uselessness of speaking to Trump, that you’re done speaking to Trump. I thought, as I listened, that yes, you addressed him, but were you speaking to Trump?

That’s really interesting. I guess when I said in the past that I was done speaking to Trump, I really meant I had given up any illusion that my words would have any influence on him. I did not see myself as one he would consider a credible voice to listen to. And I daresay that is still the case. Yet, in that moment, I chose to address him personally. I could have kept it in the broad third-person plural, like I had for the other three [principles of unity], right? We need these three things. We all need to do them. But I thought, in that moment, I would honor his office.

As a communication technique, family-systems people will often tell us that, if you really want someone in your circle to hear you, let them overhear you talk to somebody else. Like if my children, my grown adult children, talk to someone else about their lives, and I happen to be eavesdropping—I’m sitting over in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, you know what I mean—and they’re talking to a college friend, or they’re talking to a family friend or an uncle, they talk differently, and I listen differently.

I was actually counting on people overhearing me talk to Trump in a way that would communicate to them. So there was that. The other part was that I was very aware that I was not simply speaking to those gathered in the sanctuary of the cathedral but that we were actually part of a public discourse that had been going on throughout the political season. As I mentioned, there’s a certain amount of rhetoric that we take as normal now, and particularly so in political seasons, and it’s a really dangerous way to run a country. If we talk to each other like that all the time, we are going down a path of self-destruction as a nation.

You just talked about your kids, and, as a pastor’s kid, I have some experience of how the political can play out in the personal. I would imagine your kids are just so proud of you. How are they? How is your family with all this?

I have two adult sons, and they have both been so supportive. And, of course, they have friends, communities, and colleagues, and this has been a bit of a whirlwind for them. They are proud, they are grateful, but they’re also themselves, you know? These are things that they strive to live by every day. So, in some sense, I wanted to honor them.

I’m in my sixties now, so I spend most of my time thinking about how I can live in a way that puts wind in the sails of those coming up behind me in the years I have left, certainly as a bishop, and whatever time God gives me on this earth. That’s my most important work now: to encourage rising generations—all of us, really, but particularly those who will live on past my lifetime—to live in hope. To hold on to the things that build community. To work for the things that matter. To trust in God. To believe that there is a spiritual force beyond us that is trustworthy and a source of strength and courage. And these things really, really matter.

People are talking about only part of what you said. And so I want to ask, are there other things in your sermon that you’d like to draw attention to?

I think the whole beginning, which was the idea of: What does unity mean in a country of such diversity and difference? Can this country actually be the United States? That’s an age-old question in America, involving how we have lived through our aspirations and our failures to live up to those aspirations, and the people who call us to live up to them, and the ways we change.

That’s our story, or part of our story, but then we have this other overlay, which I was trying to describe. I think I first heard this phrase from Tim Shriver: the culture of contempt. We are living in a time when we are being socialized to respond to those who disagree with us on anything as if it were the worst possible thing that anyone could possibly think or feel.

And in that culture of contempt, the word “hate” easily falls off our lips. And I’m guilty of this—how easily I find jokes at the expense of other people funny, particularly if I disagree with those people. This has become so normalized. There’s a little bit of that that’s simply human, but when it’s amplified by social media it becomes part of the outrage-industrial complex: “Let me say something that is sure to cause offense, and then just watch everyone explode.” So how can we be mindful of that? How can we transcend that?

But, also, I can understand the sermon would have landed very differently if I had left the last part out. And, in fact, someone actually said to me, “You might want to consider not saying it, given how it will be received.” Someone I really admire, who works in the public arena—someone who is daily trying to uphold our values in the federal government—said to me, “Look, Mariann, you don’t have to go there if you don’t want to.” And I thought about that for a minute, and I thought, Well, but if I don’t?

She suggested, if I was going to do that, “One issue, do one issue.” And so I was focussing on immigration, and I was sharing it with somebody else. But I said to them, “What about what’s being said, particularly about trans kids and the L.G.B.T.Q. and what it’s like for them?” And then another person wrote to me and said, “You know, if there were one thing that I’d ask you to include . . .” So there it was again.

I try not to do this in isolation anymore, because I just need more eyes and ears to help me think this through. And so I was with the director of communications at the Cathedral, a dear friend, Kevin Eckstrom. And I said, “What do you think?” He said, “Yeah, yeah, put it in there.” And he himself is a gay man. And I thought, O.K. I wasn’t speaking in the abstract. These are not stick figures in my head, these are real people, my friends’ children. And so I knew what was going to happen, but if I’d just started with “Mr. President, I’d love to talk to you about your positions on immigration,” that wouldn’t have been appropriate.

“If you really want someone in your circle to hear you, let them overhear you talk to somebody else,” Budde says.

Listening to you, I think about Karl Barth’s famous dictum, about “preaching with the Bible in one hand, and the newspaper in the other.”

I was taught by someone who was taught by Karl Barth, and he was very fond of that expression. I think he even said, “The New York Times in one hand.” I think there are two ways that I believe about that, one very pastoral and the other more public-minded. I had a professor say once—and I believe this with all my heart—that if you know what people are thinking about when they’re coming into church on Sunday morning, it’s very important to acknowledge that. So if something’s happened in your immediate surroundings, the country, or the world and it’s on people's minds, he said, you just need to acknowledge it. That doesn’t mean it can be the topic of your sermon, but somewhere make space for that.

So I believe that, and I honor that to the best of my ability. And, sure, I think it’s important for us. It may not be the newspaper, always, it might be other sources of news. But to trust that Jesus came for the world. Jesus came for the world. It’s the world for which he died. And so to not be mindful of what is happening in places beyond our immediate sphere is a denial of the world that God loves. I’m all in on that one.

You spoke against Trump when he was on the campaign trail and during the Black Lives Matter movement. And I’m wondering if the response you’ve had now is larger than any you’ve had before. Is this a new moment for you?

The only comparison is to the response after the Black Lives Matter protest and the clearing of Lafayette Square. People had been starting to gather at St. John’s, and we were working to make the plaza a kind of resting place, a sanctuary where people could get food and sanitizer and face masks, and you could say a prayer with them, to stand in solidarity with those who were protesting peacefully. All that was being undertaken when this clearing thing happened. So that whole wave of response, both positive and negative, lasted for about four or five days in this same kind of whirlwind. The one difference was that there was a huge number of clergy in the D.C. area that wanted to join me in making a statement. There was this influx of people who said, “We want to go back to the plaza. We want to pray with you there.” And so there was this whole other thing to manage, which got out of hand. And then, like most of these things, the news cycle went on, and it all just went away.

This is day three of this particular cycle. So I can’t tell you if it’s better or worse.

You’ve received an overwhelming number of responses, both positive and negative. In the negative responses, is there a new sense of risk that you’re feeling?

To keep my own sanity, I don’t spend a lot of time reading the comments. But those who have been monitoring them are concerned about the level of violent speech that is embedded in them. But I honestly can’t say if it’s worse. I didn’t read them in 2020, either. Actually, my assistant at the time just said, “Yeah, you’re not reading these. You’re not reading these. You can only read these.” She only gave me the ones that were supportive. But I said, “O.K., what’s the ratio?” And she said, “Oh, it’s about fifty-fifty.”

I don’t know if it’s fifty-fifty here. But the people around me are almost universally concerned. I can’t say whether that’s accurate, or it’s just that there’s a state of fear in the air about the levels of violence in our society. I think there is a case to be made that we have become more violent in our rhetoric, and that there is greater license given to unguarded speech.

You have spoken in a radical and clear way about the root of faith, about what Christianity was, and Jesus’ message was. Do you see yourself in the prophetic tradition? What does bearing radical witness and being part of the religious left, if that’s fair to say, mean to you?

I think you could argue it a couple of ways. I would like to say I was being pretty normal. I don’t think I was saying anything that was all that radical, to be honest. I feel like it was pretty basic. Treat people with dignity, be honest, be humble. Care for your neighbors—not only care for your neighbors but care for the stranger. I mean, this is pretty basic spiritual practice.

Now, is it easy? No, it’s not easy. But you wouldn’t have to be a Christian or a person of faith to espouse those pretty universal values. But we live in a time and we are now led by a President who is, by his own definition, a disrupter. He’s really determined to disrupt the way our society functions. He feels a tremendous mandate to do that. He has a lot of influence. And, at least in his opening few days as President, he is leading the country in the way he promised in the campaign, which is harsh and inflammatory in its assumptions about whole swaths of human beings, and also what it means to be this country. So I would say, both as an American and as a Christian, I’m pretty much right in the center. If it comes across as radical, that just says something about the times we are in.

Of the many insults Trump levelled at you, the idea that your service was “very boring” made me laugh. I thought, well, how many Episcopal services has that man sat through? Because that’s pretty typical.

You know, it makes me laugh, too. To be honest, I find a lot of our services boring. And I try to liven them up a bit, right? I mean, we could always do better. And he’s certainly entitled to his opinion. Do those services go on? They do. There’s a lot of music. There’s a lot of different invocations of prayer. We had a lot of people to include in the service, so I could understand that he was feeling a bit restless. It’s not his preference, I don’t think.

I’ve sat in that very cathedral for several hours at a stretch.

Yeah, they can be long—we love our words.

I kept thinking of what you didn’t have to say, which is that you were a woman in that pulpit in front of a newly resurgent form of Christianity in America—whether we’re talking about conservative evangelicals or we’re talking about this kind of newly muscular Catholic opposition to women in the priesthood. You were ordained in 1989. Is that right?

That’s right.

The Episcopal Church first ordained women in 1974. So for you, being a woman and a priest and now a bishop, have you faced opposition?

Mild opposition; nothing compared to what the first women went through. I came after the hardest, hardest struggles and resistance had occurred. By the time I was elected bishop, there had been several women bishops before. So I would say I was blessed to be among those who benefitted from the ones who had come before me, and I have tried to remember them and honor them and open doors for other people, because doors were opened for me.

It strikes me that one of the aspects of your sermon that’s been missed is how pastoral it was. It was a message of care, and it was spoken with tenderness and humility. As a pastor, do you have advice to people listening to you about how to care for themselves and keep going at this time? How do you care for yourself? How do you keep going?

I think it’s a really good question. When I wrote “How We Learn to Be Brave,” I did feel that there was an internal kind of—well, you know, what Howard Thurman called “the sound of the genuine.” We are not on our own here. We are not isolated from one another. And there is a force at work in the universe that is ultimately for good which we can tap into and which can empower us. For people of faith, we give that very particular names. But even for people who are not there are ways to describe that sense of empowerment that is bigger than we are and can work through us in ways that astonish us. We can’t control it. We can’t evoke it on command, but it’s real, and we can count on it, and it allows all of us to do extraordinary things. When we do it together, then we can move mountains that seemed immovable before. And I do believe that, and I do believe that is the life of faith, but also you don’t have to be a person of faith to trust that innate human capacity to channel love, goodness, and real strength into our own lives and into the world. ♦

[dummiebrat]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal (Mentioned)

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: A monologue from a young Agatha Harkness, reflecting on her first encounter with Rio Vidal, a personification of death. Set in the aftermath of her Coven's destruction, Agatha is consumed by a mixture of fascination, longing, and existential recognition.

Notes: Tarot Symbolism, Rio Vidal (Mentioned), Salem! Agatha Harkness, Angst, Longing, Monologue and Existentialism.

Author's notes: This is my first time posting what I write, I hope you like it. English is not my native language, please forgive me for any mistakes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤI saw her first through the smoke and ruin, the embers of my world still glowing red-hot as if they might sear her image into my memory forever. Rio. Her name tastes ancient on my tongue, like the first breath of a long-forgotten prayer. She moved like the shadow of a storm, cloaked in night, her presence a force of nature that could strip the marrow from your bones and leave you grateful for it.

But even then, as the weight of her settled upon the clearing—upon me—I did not feel fear. No, fear had died alongside my Coven, their lifeless forms twisted and blackened around me. What I felt was something far more dangerous, far more consuming. Curiosity.

Her face is etched into my mind now, clearer than any memory I have of the women who raised me. Her beauty defies description, for how can one describe the juxtaposition of death itself? The hollow perfection of her skull, bare and gleaming like the moon, balanced against the soft humanity of her lips and the cold fire in her eyes. It is a beauty that demands surrender, a beauty that promises ruin.

And oh, how I wish to be ruined by her.

She spoke to me, and her voice was the end of all things. Low and steady, like the final toll of a bell, each word slipping beneath my skin to settle in my marrow. “You carry the weight of them now,” she told me, her tone neither cruel nor kind. And I, broken and burning, could do nothing but believe her. How could I not, when she was the very proof of the weight I bore?

In that moment, I thought of The Lovers. The tarot card that someone once showed me, the one she said was meant to guide my path. I used to laugh at it, at its foolish romance and impossible choices. Yet now I see it clearly, its meaning so sharp it cuts. The Lovers is not just about love — it is about union, about two halves becoming a whole and the impossible balance of what is chosen and what is fated. I see it in Rio, in the space between us.

She is death, cold and inexorable. I am life, wild and unyielding. Two forces that should repel one another, yet I feel the pull like gravity, drawing me closer to the void she carries within her. We are the two sides of the same coin, two halves of an unfinished story. Where her hands take, mine give; where her presence consumes, mine creates. And yet, standing before her, I feel as though I have never truly lived until now.

Her words lingered in the ashes that surrounded us: Death is not scary. Life is. How could she be so cruel as to speak a truth so profound? It is life that binds us, that breaks us, that chains us to one another even as it promises freedom. Life is the fire, the storm, the chaos. And death… death is her. Quiet. Inevitable. Beautiful.

I wonder if she knows what she has done to me. Does she see the way my fingers itch to touch her again, to trace the sharp lines of her face and learn the secrets of her unyielding form? Does she feel the tether she has wrapped around my heart, pulling me toward her with every breath?

Rio Vidal, death in human form. I should fear her, and yet I want to claim her. To make her mine. I have lost everything — my Coven, my mother, my innocence — but I will not lose her. She is the opposite of what I am, and yet I feel as though we are the same. Two flames destined to burn together, consuming all in our path.

I will find a way to bind her to me, to tie her essence to mine as tightly as life is bound to death. If she is the reaper of souls, then I will ensure she has all she needs. And perhaps, in giving her that, she will give me what I crave in return.

Her presence lingers still, like smoke in my lungs, like the memory of a dream that refuses to fade. She will return. She must. For how can The Lovers exist if one half of the pair is missing?

[thehollowwriter]

A Different Kind of Love

Summary: Morrigan monologues about Silas for 849 words. That's it. That's the fic. Old fish man yaoi for you guys.

Warnings: Mentions of death and murder, violence, blood,

(Pls reblog and leave a comment❤️)

Have you ever been in love? What did it feel like? Did it make you feel light and airy? Anxious and flustered? Confused? Excited? 

I’m in love. So horribly, irrevocably in love. It is not a tender, fluffy feeling, though. No, it was burning hot, a raging fire that never went out. Sea Witch, it makes me light headed.  

Do my passions cross into obsession? Maybe. I don’t really care. Silas is my everything. My perfect, beautiful, dangerous Silas. 

“Darling, you’re perfect.” I would whisper, and it just wasn’t enough.  

“I love you” never encapsulated his feelings like it should. “I want you. I need you. I crave you.” The love ballads I would sing, they weren’t good enough. I could love Silas, praise him, worship him, but none of it came close to describing my burning love and desire for my Silas. 

The delight and warmth that fills my veins whenever I see Silas and feel his touch was undeniable. The adoration and adrenaline I feel when Silas wrestles me to the floor during our games is indescribable. 

My affections re neither understood nor shared. Silas is delightfully dangerous, a violent Abyssal merfolk who knew how to survive and left no friends when doing so.  

Most people deemed him a cannibalistic monster or a loose cannon, but I love those deadly, unsavoury parts of Silas with all my heart and soul. Those claws could rip my face off, those teeth could tear me wide open, and I’d thank him. 

“Are you insane?” I’ve been asked more than once by more than one person. I wear my courting gift from Silas with pride and that prompts most comments at me, paired with expressions of both concern and disgust. “Don’t you realize that if he could kill an orca or... or an orca merfolk, he can kill you easily? Don’t you worry he’ll kill you once he loses interest? When he gets bored of you?” 

Maybe I am insane. I don’t really care, though. I know Silas won’t hurt me, at least not in the way others expect him to. 

It hurts when we fight, when we claw and bite at each other, but it’s fun. It’s delightful. We never actually try to kill each other, nor will we ever. It’s the thrill of it all, the familiarity, and the desire, it all combines to form an adrenaline-spiking moment of wonderfully painful bliss. 

The feeling of Silas’ teeth at my neck is a different kind of high, it gives me a sense of elation that tempts me to beg him to just bite down. 

Nobody else fills me with such warmth and love. Nobody else makes me feel such delightful ecstasy. There is only Silas. My wonderful, perfect Silas. 

I suppose one could assume my raging; violent affections would scare him off. But I know Silas. He meets me halfway. In fact, you could say he’s worse than me. 

Silas is not loud or talkative or expressive. Love songs, praise, declarations of his feelings, those sorts of things were not how he showed love. 

Silas’ love seeps through when he grips me tight enough to draw blood, paranoid and possessive. Whenever we sleep or swim of fight together, he holds me like a lifeline, like he’s afraid I would vanish if he dared let go. 

His love seeped into rough kisses and claws and teeth dragging across my body, scratching, piercing, drawing blood, but never badly wounding. I am worth his time, worth keeping alive and safe. 

His love seeps into how he’s killed for me more than once, snuffing out lives like they were mere candles. He wasn’t gentle or graceful with it either, no. It was violent and graphic, filling the water with blood and the stench of death. 

I should probably be afraid of someone like that. Maybe I was at one point. But now, common sense has long gone, leaving nothing but obsessive desire in its wake. Any sense of fear was quickly replaced with thrills of excitement and the wonderful realization that I was wanted enough to kill for. 

Silas rarely says “I love you” out loud, but he doesn’t need to. The words were in his every action, every gesture of affection, and every effort he made to ensure my survival and safety. 

“I love you,” I whisper, and and Silas will hum softly in response. It’s such a delightful sound, deep and reverberating. It makes my skin tingle every time. 

I want to kiss Silas every time I look at him and those gorgeous, mysterious eyes. Not just his lips, I want to kiss every scar, every tear or hole in his fins, every wrinkle and stretch mark and freckle. I want to love and adore and worship every inch of him. 

Silas is my everything. My husband, my friend, my sun, my moon, and my stars. 

There are not and never will be suitable words to describe how I feel about Silas, those raging emotions that swirl inside me and threaten to burst. But I know Silas understands me and what lies beyond the words. 

That’s enough for me. 

-End 

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

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this lil fic of Morrigan being unhinged lol, I had a lot of fun writing it.

What the fuck my tags disappeared?

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00

@krenenbaker @offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops

@inotonline @1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp

@skrimpyskimpy @casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls

@the-trinket-witch @ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord

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[kitasgloves]

Hostage

tracklist

— ♬ "It's not like me to be so mean, you're all I wanted. Just let me hold you like a hostage"

— ♬ Edgar Allan Poe x Reader, SFW, gender-neutral reader, brief depictions of stalking, obsessive behavior, and kidnapping, Poe having separation issues, 3.5k words, no beta

— ♬ NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE NOR ROMANTISIZE WHAT IS DEPICTED IN THIS STORY. EVERYTHING IS A WORK OF FICTION. READER'S DESCRETION IS ADVISED.

Solitude is most favored among those who linger in their thoughts for hours. Stillness and silence are required to think and call forth one's imagination. However, prolonged solitude can affect one's spirit. Being isolated from society for too long can wear an individual down. Humans were created to mingle and tangle with others; it's their nature. No matter how long one can be content in solitude, the soul will always long for another.

Edgar Allan Poe longed to find someone who shared his preferences. His being ached for the relatability of another human. Growing up, Poe was accustomed to loneliness, which in turn, made him draw near to it. With his dark reveries of mysteries and murder, he figured that it would be a challenge to encounter someone with similar tastes. Poe spent the majority of his childhood writing stories of horror, he was undeniably attracted to the morbidity of the human mind.

Poe considered himself a passionate and emotional man. Though sometimes his writings can paint him as heartless, he reassures that he is not without a heart. When Poe felt, he felt deeply. In love, anger, or terror, he felt them all in an intensity that was unusual to others. Along the way, he managed to find companions he could express his interests and talent for writing. He felt his spirit satisfied with simple human interactions, but he couldn't help but feel like something was missing. His soul yearned for more than companionship.

Admittedly, romance wasn't Poe's forté. After all, how can romance mix with horror? It didn't make sense to him. Poe wasn't familiar with the methods of wooing someone nor the experiences of new romance. His heart will be yet to be stolen. However, he has read plenty of books circulating around romance to familiarize himself and paint a faint idea of what love is. Pride and Prejudice, A Room with a View, and the timeless Romeo and Juliet filled Poe's imagination with the different faces of love. Love grants hope, joy, and even sorrow. It was difficult to describe the definite meaning of love when he hadn't even experienced it yet.

For a long while, Poe was captivated by romantic novels until he got so pathetically hopeless that he returned back to writing his usual mysteries. He did make attempts at romantic writing through poems, but it was hard to write about romance when you don't have a lover as your inspiration. Sometimes, he will sit by his windowsill during downpours pondering if he will ever experience romance or will be forever achingly long for it.

As though heeding his wordless wishes, Poe has encountered you. It was around Spring when the flowers bloomed, and the sun smiled down upon them when he had met you. Poe, in a rare occurrence, decided to go do his writing outside of his stuffy room. He settled on a bench at the nearest park and began scribbling a draft in his notebook. 

"Hello, would you mind if I sit beside you?"

When Poe looked up and met your eyes, he was speechless. A rare beauty graced him at this time of Spring. Your eyes bore the brightest colors as the sun caressed your skin. You held a book securely against your chest, and it was a novel that he held close to his heart. Poe blinked and gulped as he searched for the words to reply. However, he only ends up nodding his head instead.

You smiled and politely sat on the bench beside him, a respectable space was held in between you that made Poe wish he dared to remove. He turns back to his paper and finds himself out of focus, he has completely lost his train of thought for the next scene of his story. He sits there dumbfounded and unable to stop giving you lingering glances. You sat quietly reading your book with your legs crossed. Your features were filled with content as you delicately turned the page. Poe was transfixed by you.

Suddenly, you turned to your side to find him staring. Poe silently gasps as he reverts his eyes away and back to his notebook, pretending that he wasn't hypnotized by your aura earlier. You held back a smile as you observed the sheepish man. The brown curly hair that mostly covered his eyes, his layered clothing that didn't fit in with the season, and his elegant handwriting on his notebook caught your interest. Poe sweats as he thanks God, he didn't decide to bring his pet raccoon, Karl, with him for he knew he would only pester him to make a move.

"Are you a writer?"

You asked and pointed at his notebook. Poe stutters as he scrambles to find a proper response.

"I—I suppose so, but I'm not an established author...yet"

"Really? Oh, I like literature! What kind of genre are you writing?"

"Oh, just short stories and poems"

"About what? If you don't mind me asking"

"Ju—Just mysteries, murder, and horror..."

Poe found himself too afraid to look up as he covered his writing with the sleeve of his coat. He figured you wouldn't be interested but you've surprised him by inching closer. Your eyes beamed at him with fascination.

"That's so cool! Would you mind if I read a sample of your work?"

The writer panics as he flips through his notebook for the most impressive work he has written. Poe felt pressured as he wanted to amaze you with his talent. You found him flipping back and forth on his notebook, mumbling and deciding what to show you. The sight looks somehow adorable. Finally, Poe shyly hands you his thick notebook filled with his most precious and unpublished works. On the page, you notice his beautiful cursive writing of a poem entitled 'Nevermore'.

Poe was growing nervous with each passing second as your eyes read the poem silently. He thinks he's mistaken when he sees your eyes widen for a moment with astonishment. He kept tugging on the sleeves of his coat as he waited impatiently for your reaction. Eventually, you looked up to him with genuine amazement.

"This...this is beautiful"

"I—um...th—thank you, I haven't showed anybody that poem yet"

"Oh, what an honor! Your writing is very unique"

You complimented him with a smile. Poe's face felt unusually hot as he tore his eyes away in sheer bashfulness. You handed his notebook back and he felt a foreign spark course through him the moment your fingers touched his. He had never met someone before who immediately took an interest in his writing, most of the people he knew barely paid attention to his works or simply made fun of them. Poe is suddenly encouraged to know you.

"... Do you write too?"

"Oh no, I could never. I'm more of a reader"

You admitted with a flustered smile. Poe can feel the corners of his lips curling up as he slowly inches closer to you.

"My name is Poe, Edgar Allan Poe, by the way"

"Nice to meet you, Poe. I'm [Surname] [Name]"

When you held out your hand for him to shake, Poe instantly reached out for your hand and melted by the warmth of your palm even if it was merely a quick second. Ever since that Spring Day, Poe felt himself falling for you. He would begin meeting with you frequently at the park by the same bench. He spent the remainder of Spring getting to know you. Both you and Poe shared your favorite books. You would tell him exciting stories about your childhood, and he would dedicate romantic poems to you. He was beyond ecstatic now that he had the inspiration to write love poems. By the end of Spring, Poe has gifted you a bouquet of red roses and professed his love for you.

The beginning of Summer was promising. Poe has invited you over to his home and introduced you to his lovely raccoon Karl whom you spoiled endlessly. The blooming romance between you and the writer was prevalent through expensive dates. Poe has learned how to effectively shower you with gifts and affection, and you all returned them with your love-filled offerings. Poe continued to dedicate poems to you. By the end of Summer, Poe and you became lovers.

The opening of Autumn was exciting, it was Poe's favorite season because of the weather and Halloween festivities. The writer was thrilled to spend the rest of Fall with you either reading ghost stories or cuddling during the chilling weather. Poe was eager as he made precise plans. You occupied each waking hour of his mind.

Lately, you have been busy with personal affairs and Poe had to cope with being alone while you were unable to be there to shower him with your affection. He tried writing more poems about you or working on his new mystery novel, but he seemed distracted. He made attempts to find a new hobby, but it was futile. He felt restless when you weren't by his side.

A week has passed, and the writer grew anxious. You were spending less and less time with him and he got worried that his first romance would end tragically. Poe tried to do countermeasures to ensure your relationship with him wouldn't end. He would keep a cautious eye on you, making sure you went home safe and that you didn't have any nightmares when you slept. When the morning arrived, he would sneak out of your room without your knowledge. Poe followed you to your workplace to admire you and he avoided staying for too long to avoid gaining suspicion. You went to different places frequently and it was tiresome to follow you around that he eventually gave up.

When Poe felt desperate, he would send Karl to follow you instead. Fall was halfway over, and Poe was growing worried that you were slowly falling out of love with him. His heart couldn't bear the idea of experiencing the heartache he read about in novels. Albeit you would visit him sometimes and did your duty as a lover, Poe didn't feel reassured. He tried to calm himself by reading or listening to music, but the discomfort only grew worse.

Poe wants to be alone, alone with you does that make sense? He wants to steal your soul and hide you in his treasure chest. He doesn't know what to do, to do with your kiss on his neck. He doesn't know what feels true. But this feels right so stay a sec. Yeah, you feel right so stay a sec. And let him crawl inside your veins. He'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain. It's not like him to be so mean, you're all he wanted. Just let him hold you like a hostage.

Autumn was approaching its end with the beginning of the Halloween festivities. You were noticing weird changes in your boyfriend. Poe seemed antsy lately. He's been aggressively writing in his notebook and grumbling curses that Karl was too afraid to approach him. His appearance has been unkept whenever you visit him, including his place, there is scattered paper everywhere and you're left to question his mental stability. You try to make up for lost time with him but he's beginning to push you away that it was uncharacteristic. Poe was behaving unlike himself and it intrigued you.

You were aware that Halloween was Poe's favorite so made cute plans to watch a new horror movie or cuddle with a mystery book as a date. You felt bad for not being consistent with communication with him. When you approached him with your plans for Halloween, he seemed dismissive or angry that it annoyed you. However, you tried to calm your nerves to avoid saying what you might regret later.

"Look, if you don't want to do any of that, I'm open to do whatever you want, Ed"

Poe looks up from his desk, his eyes seem like he is glaring at you through his bangs and it makes you momentarily shudder. He sets his pen down and shuts his notebook. He stands up from his seat and walks over to you. His tall stature almost swallows you as he leans down to meet you in the eye.

"How about we go to that Halloween party your friend was throwing this weekend"

Your eyes went wide as you raised a brow at your boyfriend. Poe's white button-up was wrinkled with a few buttons undone, exposing his pale collarbone. His hair was all over the place, and it seemed like he was lacking sleep.

"But you hate parties!"

"I do, unless I'm with you"

For a moment, Poe's usual sweet demeanor returns on his features as he gently reaches for your hand and kisses it. You melted. Poe sighs as he corners you on his desk he leans down you kisses you. The kiss felt...odd. It was passionate but it's fueled with frustration. His hands start to roam your body as he plunges his tongue into your mouth with no warning. You moan in surprise as he French kissed you. He pulls away to trail kisses from your jaw down to your neck. Breathlessly, you shoved him away. Shocked and disturbed by his unusual actions.

Poe doesn't say a word while he stares at you before he turns away and leaves you alone. You stood there catching your breath and trying to comprehend what the hell was going on with your boyfriend. Karl crawls out from under the couch to rub himself against your leg. Your face relaxed as you picked up the raccoon.

"What's going on with him?"

Karl answers you with a timid squeak. The raccoon stared at you as if he was warning you of impending doom, but you shook your head and laughed it off. You carried Karl in your arms as you searched the kitchen for a snack.

You and Poe barely said a word but agreed to get dressed for the Halloween Party. You two silently decided to have matching costumes. The journey to the party was awkward since you two barely exchanged a word. The party was lively as drinks and people were flooding all over the place. Your friend goes to briefly greet you and your boyfriend. You ended up not enjoying the party because of how things were tense between you and Poe, he hardly glanced at you, and it gave the impression that he was upset.

Karl jumped off Poe's shoulder as he went to scurry god knows where. You took in a large breath and touched the writer's arm. He turns to you with a blank expression.

"Can we talk?"

You and Poe ended up leaving the party. Both of you were outside surrounded by the cold autumn air. You try to inquire about Poe's mood and the reason for his avoidance. Poe gazes at you as if stuck in a trance, he realizes how upset he has made you and it makes him look down embarrassingly at his shoes.

"... I'm sorry, [Name]"

The apology sounded timid but sincere and you can't help but sigh and walk over to your boyfriend. You give him a warm embrace that he returns gratefully. You smile up at him.

"Let's go home and watch a movie, yeah?"

A smile finally graces Poe's lips as he takes your hand before walking back to his place. You two didn't remove your costumes as you entered the door. You're convinced that all is well now that your boyfriend is smiling at you.

Poe couldn't describe the ecstatic feeling rising in him. You appeared so eager to be alone with him that it merely drove him delirious. He felt like he was going mad with fever after experiencing days without you. He spent his time scheming ways to make you stay with him for good to prevent tragedy. Taking you with him back to his home alone was the first step.

Gold on your fingertips, fingertips across his cheek. Gold leaf across your lips, kiss him until he can't speak. Gold chain beneath your shirt, the shirt that you let him wear at home. Gold's fake and real love hurts. And nothing hurts when he's alone. When you're with him and you're both alone.

You were settled comfortably on the couch ready to watch the movie when Poe entered with a book in his hand. This arouses your curiosity as he goes to sit beside you. There was an excited grin on his lips as he offered you the book.

"I just finished my latest mystery novel, would you like to be the first to read, my dear?"

The writer watches your eyes sparkle with delight with a gasp as you excitedly take the book from his hand. You admired the fancy and intricate design of the hardbound book before turning to your boyfriend.

"Oh my god, I would love to! Thank you, baby"

Poe observes you as you softly opened the book, prepared to read the first lines of his novel, but you were engulfed with a bright light that blinded you. A startled gasp leaves your lips as your body disintegrated into particles before entering the light emitting from the book. There was silence as the book shuts abruptly, completely trapping you inside of it.

When you fluttered your eyes open, you found yourself in a windowless and doorless room. When you rose from the floor and tried to walk, you discovered that one of your ankles was chained. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized you were chained to a heavy metal ball. You frantically looked around and tried to find something that would help you break free. However, the room was empty, and it heavily resembled a prison cell. Your lip begins to wobble as panic strikes your heart.

What just happened? From what you recall, you were sitting in the living room when Poe handed you the book for his new mystery novel. You furrowed your eyebrows in thought. You huddled against the wall and tried to keep yourself from crying. All of a sudden, a figure spawns in front of you. Relief floods your heart when you realize that it is your boyfriend.

"Ed!"

You rushed to him but were stopped by the ball and chain, you hissed in pain. Poe hid his hands behind his back as he stood and looked at you calmly. You were convinced that he was going to save you from this weird prison until a twisted smile rose on his lips.

"You look more beautiful than what I have initially imagined"

Poe said. Puzzled, you tilted your head at him. He walks closer and kneels down to your crouched figure. The dark look on his face sent a dreadful shudder down your spine. Your lip starts to wobble.

"Wh—What the happening?"

He chuckles and goes to pet your hair, but you flinched away. Poe hides the pinch in his chest with a smirk.

"I can finally have you all to myself"

"...What? Ed, what the fuck did you just do?"

A menacing laugh erupts from Poe's chest as you gaze at him with pure horror.

"I have successfully trapped you in my mystery novel"

"What?! No, you're kidding. Please, tell me you're joking..."

"Oh no, you will be forever stuck in this novel unless you solve the mystery..."

Poe leans down and gives you a condensing smile that made your blood run hot.

"...That I highly doubt because this mystery is impossible to solve, and you are by no means a talented detective"

"Why are you doing this to me?"

You feel hot tears well up in your eyes as you glared up at him. His smile dissolves as he stares at you eerily and you quiver back against the wall. Poe wants you to let him crawl inside your veins. He has already built you a wall and given you a ball and chain.

"It's not like me to be so mean, you're all I wanted. Just let me hold you like a hostage"

Poe stares at you breathlessly. You couldn't believe what you just heard. You prayed that this was only a sick joke or a nightmare that you were waking up you're going to wake up from. But every second you waited, your unfortunate fate became clear to you. Poe leans forward to embrace you, he can feel you shaking in his arms as he hears the silent sobs breaking out of your lips. Nonetheless, he buries his face against your neck. 

You'll never leave him, as long as you're trapped inside of his book, his romance with you will never end. Poe has lost sleep creating the most complicated mystery novel his twisted mind can create; he knows you can never be free because the mystery is impossible to solve. This truly felt a happy ending for Poe's life, there are no tragedies or heartbreak. For he will eternally hold you in his arms, and as his hostage.

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[inkymers007]

Fujiko Revamp & Rambles (Pokemon Horizons Oc)

Hi there! So I'm going to be doing something similar to my friend's, @khyiratw, ramble post. Because I so many ideas for Fujiko and how I'm going to write her and her crew into the plot.

So if you want to hear me go on about my oc! :D Btw most of the drawings are doodles/sketches done by yours truly.

🌕For those who don't know Fujiko's the captain of the Howlers. A group of pirates that take back stolen pokemon and give them back to thier rightful owners. As well as steal treasure from those theives and find treasure. The ship, The Howl Of The Storm, is Fujiko's pride and joy. Since not only did she steal it with her brother Ringo, someone who I'll talk about in the next post, but it was her first heist. I haven't decided on what the ship officially looks like, but think of it similar to Plasma Frigate in Black and White 2. It can fly but it's spends a lot of time in the sea.

🌔Despite Fujiko being the captain she doesn't look like the captain at all, nor does she act like it initally. She's very laid back and fun loving. Often getting into trouble for a thrill and because it would be fun. However she's cunning and very perecptive, picking up little details to use against her opponents. Thus making her a force to be rekoned with. Espeically if she's mad and serious about something. Since she'll go from some jokester, to someone cold and mericless.

🌓This attitude carries to her battling. With someone she likes or friends she'll playfully tease them. Regular opponents she'll banter with them trying to piss them off to get them to slip up and act irrationally. Meanwhile with someone she hates she or a battle more serious she'll be less talkitve and be more agressive ruthless.

🌒Onto some changes I decided to change up Fujiko's hair as well as her ace. The hair changed mostly for me, because it's very hard to describe Fujiko's hair color when writing. It's still gonna be long, but I might play with the colors as well as the stripes in her hair.

🌑Her ace has been replaced with a shiny Mimikyu instead of an Umbreon. This is mainly because I didn't want Fujiko to step on Spinel's toes by having an umbreon as her ace. That and I feel like it's more in character for Fujiko. After all Fujiko is Friede's rival and Mimikyu's have a rivalary with pikachus. I also think it fits her character very well since she's disgusing herself as a part of the crew rather than the captain to fool people. The mimikyu's name is Dusk and I might give them a lil pirate outfit because I think it'll be cute. :3

🌒Fujiko's team as of right now consists of Mimikyu, Salamence, and Basculegion. The reason why I'm holding off on revealing her whole team is because I want her to have two mega pokemon for her and with ZA coming up I want to wait until those megas come out to see if I want to incorprate them into Fujiko's team.

��I'm gonna be keeping the mega swords because I think it's cool. Here's a drawing of the sword she uses's to mega evolve Salamence:

🌔I'm working on revamping Fujiko's outfit. I thought that her original outfit looked bland. And while yes, that's the goal to not make her stand out I just didn't feel like was enough. I felt like there was something missing to her design and that it was lacking something. So I decided that I would redesign a bit and it's been fun! Here's a potential design I might use. I might change a few things, but otherwise I think it fits what I've been missing:

🌕If Fujiko was in the actual anime she'd show up in a handful of places and episodes to interact with The Rising Volt Tacklers, but not a whole lot. After all she doesn't have any connection to Rauka. And Friede's not going to tell her about it because you know... he forgot. :D

🌔Speaking of Friede, him and Fujiko are rivals. The two of them strive to one up each other and beat each other. Keeping each other on thier toes and inspiring each other. Whenever the two of them get word that the other is nearby they instintly go after each other. Seeing if one of them is slacking off or getting stronger. I won't go into to much detail into that because I want that to be a surprise.

🌓The only one who doesn't react that way is Roy. Because Roy gets really excited whenever he sees them fight eachother. The first time he saw them fight however he was kind scared, as he didn't know that Fujiko was a friend or not. After that though they were chill. Fujiko even becomes sort of a mother figure to Roy. She even went so far as to give him some books about Rayquaza. How she got those books may or may not have been through thievery.

🌒Each crew knows of thier rivalary and are just kinda like: "Ah shit here we go again." Some of them are even like: "God can you two just kiss already?" The only one who's chill about thier rivalary is Ludlow. Who knew Fujiko when she was a child. She looked up to him as a sort of mentor figure. So he knows she means well.

That's I got so far. But I'll hopefully come out more about the Howlers as well as thier dynamic with each other. So stay tuned. :D

[palettepainter]

I've always been a bit unsure with how I draw Animal in my style. I'm always worried I make him look too cutesy compared to how his character is portrayed as more wild and unpredictable.

But when you guys comment, message, or leave in the tags saying that if there were to be an animated Muppets show you'd want my design of Animal to be how he looks, is just the most sweetest, heart warming thing ever and is the highest form of a compliment I could ever hope to get!

I've always loved cartoons and admired all the effort that goes into even making a small five second piece of animation. Animation has always been something I've wanted to try but I've never really had the confidence nor the time to properly invest in learning the skill, but you guys saying MY Animal design is what you'd want to see in animation?? I don't even think there are enough words I can use to describe how amazing that makes me feel! Thank you for liking my art and the way I draw the crazy drummer man!!

[celestialaviva]

hi again! 👋 hope you don’t mind me coming back with a few more questions about the creator’s assistant au :D

do/did any of the cg, aside from green and purple, know or live with their birth parents? if not, do they remember anything about their parents (or other family members)?

speaking of parents: how’d mango and purple come to meet? and does green have any relation to mango, too, or did mango only adopt purple?

what role does gold play in this au? if he’s alive, what’s his relationship with purple?

any ideas/concepts for any of the dungeons so far? i think you’ve mentioned a sound dungeon and a plant dungeon in your other posts.. what other dungeon(s) do the cg + purple explore? :o

if you could describe each of the cg (+purple) in this au in one word, what would it be? also, i love your designs for everyone! esp how you draw their expressions; who in this au’s the most fun to draw?

i will possibly return with more later, but once more: that’s all for now :D feel free to answer any/all/none of these if you’d like, and have a wonderful rest of your day! *gives cookie*

Hello again! :0

I don't mind at all! Im glad with more questions UvU

You're always free to ask more! :3

1. All of the cg are orphans, and half of them remember their parents. Besides Green and Purple, Blue definitely still remembers hers and she adored them. Red and Yellow barely remember theirs. And... hm, I guess Orange is kind of a different story. Though, can you call him an orphan if Alan, his Avatar, is his guardian?

2. Well fhbfkf this is still something Im trying to figure out too. I will say, Mango only adopts Purple, and Green never gets to meet Mango at all. Here's how it kind of goes:

A tragedy occurs within the Heath family and Purple and Green sadly get separated. Purple is left behind at the slums with their parents. The two never see each other again (at least for a decade). Some time after this, the slums get burned down, but Purple was outside of the slums and he was barred from getting back inside. You can guess what happened to their parents...

Purple, being a coder and now a fresh orphan, is at risk of getting captured and becoming a slave.

For some reason somehow, Mango visits this kingdom. I do not know what for, or how yet, but he eventually finds Purple and takes him in. Mayhaps, he noticed Purp was one of the few coders in this kingdom? Nevertheless, he knows the kid was at risk for slavery. He certainly does not want that to happen to his fellow coders, especially the kids.

3. Sadly, Gold isn't alive in this AU. But! He serves as the reason Mango does what he does. If he were alive, Mango probably wouldn't be the chancellor of the prestigious coder school he founded, nor I guess, the ruler of his nation of coders. You could say his nation's the safe haven for coders, in the same way Acadia's kingdom's the safe haven for slaves from all backgrounds.

4. For now, the sound and plant dungeons are the main dungeons I have in the AU

I do want to add more, but due to the current concept of dungeons being tests to determine a potential ruler's candidate, which is more serious than a typical dungeon that isn't raised by an Assistant, it's kind of hard to really be flexible with them. I mean! The dungeons themselves, I like to imagine the environments inside them are unique depending on the Avatar that rules over them. The Avatars make their own rules for each of their own domains. But the rules surrounding dungeons are.... Uh

Okay. I'll be rambling- forgive me fjbskfbdk

It's a system.

First, the Assistants raise the dungeons. Then there would be people either chosen by the Assistants or simply ambitious enough who enter them with the goal of clearing the dungeon.

Avatars are beings that rule the dungeons. They oversee these people, and make them go through their handcrafted trial rooms. They are the reason dungeons in this world are known to be holes of death.

Whoever clears their dungeon will not only get you riches, but also the title of Ruler's Candidate and the power of the Dungeon Master themselves. The Avatar would usually choose whatever metal object on the Candidate's person, and make it their vessel. From then on, the Avatar will stay by their Candidate's side, allowing them to use their powers 'til the Candidate's death. They also serve as the main indicator the Candidate is, well, a Ruler's Candidate, who has captured a dungeon.

When a Candidate dies, the Avatar will then leave their vessel, and wait until an Assistant raises their dungeon once again. And that process starts all over.

A Candidate can have more than one Avatar vessel, meaning yes- they are allowed to conquer more dungeons- but to even achieve your 2nd Avatar, you'd need to be skilled with your first. Because Im pretty sure that an Avatar can sense a Candidate and their vessel, which would for sure push them to make trials hell.

.....That said, I just have no ideas beyond the sound and plant dungeons. The cg will absolutely die if they're not careful in these dungeons.

They're pretty important, for me personally. If the cg entered other dungeons, then they probably wouldn't be the kind of dungeons the Assistants raise. Though this is just a recent idea- so I need to think about this more. I do lean more to the idea of dungeons under the Candidate system being the only type of dungeon in this world. The world is magical enough outside of them I think.

The sound dungeon is the first dungeon introduced, in the same arc Orange, Green, and Red are introduced. The whole cg haven't met yet.

I don't have art of the Avatars yet so just have these. The notes are a lil old and some of these will most likely change, but the sound dungeon is ruled by Melodaize, the Sound Avatar.

The plant dungeon is the second dungeon introduced, but this time all of the cg are together (minus Purple, he's not really part of the cg's adventures). It is ruled by Bay Lauvar.

Avatars do in fact have minds of their own. Though they do follow the same system the Assistants follow to ensure a Ruler's Candidate, it doesn't mean they can't. . well. Be assholes, lmao. Think of Bay Lauvar like Dark in this AU. Maliciously compliant to the system.

Because Avatars have minds of their own, they have the ability to choose their vessel. Usually they would choose who they deem worthy for the Candidate title. In Bay's case, even though Green has an Avatar and is already a Candidate, they would choose Blue as their vessel, making her a Ruler's Candidate. Mostly because Green is in fact not skilled with his Avatar, and also Bay dislikes him- actually dislikes the whole cg, except for Orange and Blue.

Honestly, so much happens in the plant dungeon! But I only got stray moments in mind fjtkhkg-

The cg nearly die here. They were not ready to tackle another dungeon, but Bay isn't at complete fault for the cg nearly dying.....I guess, mostly at fault for Blue losing her legs- but they're not at fault for Green falling into a coma.

I do have a few thoughts for other dungeons- but they would be dungeons Chosen led his Candidate Freedom Guy Acadia in, when they were still around.

Anyway.

Sorry for rambling- hope this answers the question xbhfifbfj

5. That sounds fun :0 Hmmm

Orange: Innocent, perhaps? And I guess he comes off really naive and ignorant, to an extent. Green unfortunately has to deal with it, just like the unwilling big brother he is.

Green: Sly. He's greedy, and deceitful. Though pretty approachable for personal gain. I mean. Why else would he keep Orange around at first? But well, in Orange's view, he knows he cares about him more than that at least.

Red: Spontaneous. I find him very driven by emotions, and while I do think he may be impulsive at times due to them, it's not like he doesn't think about what he does often.

Blue: Sweetheart. Listen. She seems mom friend to me. She's very kind and compassionate and huggable.

Yellow: Cowardly. It's not like she's shy or a nervous wreck or anything. Rather, she's weak willed. She isn't very confident in herself either.

Purple: Prideful. He's kind of a tiny bit of an asshole and certainly confident in himself. I also think somehow he's doing better than the rest of the cg mental health-wise funnily enough. Not completely, but still lmao

And thank you! Im so glad you like them! ;0;

Hmm, overall, I guess Chosen? He's just very simple for me to draw, and I like drawing his hair. Within the cg, I find lil Orange fun to draw too! His curly hair's a tiny bit of a struggle- though thankfully not as much as when I first drew Green's hair- but still, fun! Wavy curly swoopies my beloved

Thank you for all the questions! And the cookie ;v;

I hope you have a wonderful day too! 💕

[mamayan]

Warning: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat•NSFW•Yandere•Dark Themes•BNHA/HxH

Just a short list of yanderes you’d be better off dead than getting taken by, ranked least to worst in my opinion. This is VERY dark, and will describe ways these yanderes may accidentally or intentionally kill you. I keep it theoretical because I don’t like it too much either but you won’t see me willingly write these characters as yanderes much because they are SCARY.

Let me know if you want a part 2, and feel free to throw in comments of those you think would make the “better dead than alive with them” list!

First up on this list is Izuku Midoriya, a delusional yandere with a wildly deranged way of treating you.

He first and foremost, does not care if you love him or not, he’s going to make you act like you do though (which is torture itself). Izuku is a caretaker sort of yandere, but he’s abusive in going about it. Not being good in the bath? He’s dislocated your shoulder so you settle down. Wanna be mouthy and not eat the dinner he’s trying to feed you? He’s dislocated your jaw/slapping you so hard you spit blood/ gut punching you.

He’s also very much into your tears, but it’s up to you how you cry in the first place. Whether it’s from pain, fear, sadness, happiness, or overwhelming pleasure, Izuku loves your tears. He loves any reactions he can draw from you that makes you cute and vulnerable for him. He will absolutely break bones and even make you watch him harm your loved ones to make you comply. He won’t kill you, no never, he loves you, but if you make any sort of mistake… he’ll make you wish he didn’t love you so much.

When you do become compliant and obedient, because he will make you, it’s hell then too. He goes crazy with a power trip when you willingly (not really) submit to him. He will humiliate and degrade you (without ever cursing at your or even using words like slut/whore/worthless/etc.) “You look so cute on your knees like that, and look! You did it all by yourself this time, such a good pet, I’m so proud. You didn’t even wet yourself or make a mess this time!” He’ll remind you of the time he knocked the literal air from your lungs to drop you to your knees, which caused you to be unable to control your bladder.

He’s damn creepy too and won’t let you use the bathroom alone, sometimes won’t even let you wipe. And no, this isn’t just reserved for urine. The first time you held it so long and accidentally pissed yourself out of retaliation, he forced you to wear a diaper for a month until you were “potty trained” again.

Sex with him is not mild either nor does he care if it’s consensual, he makes you beg for your release or risk being edged until you go insane. He won’t let up. He’s also a big man as an adult, and he’s not inclined to be gentle in bed with you.

His treatment is a disgusting combination of infantilization and straight brutality. He will simultaneously make you act/feel like a helpless infant, and if you don’t comply with that treatment or lash out in any way, he’s fucking you up. If you put up a fight long enough, it could enrage him and cause him to accidentally snap your neck in his attempt to force you to calm down.

10/10 a yandere I personally would rather die than have. He’s awful. Delusional and thinks he’s doing nothing wrong, he’s the #1 Hero! He can’t do anything wrong! A literal monster. Comfort yourself inside though that you as a darling to Izuku would act as a barrier preventing him from unleashing his unhinged sadism on the world. Instead it’s you that gets that burden. In your own way, you’re a hero too. Tread with caution.

Next on this list is Shizuku Murasaki, don’t let her cute looks fool you, she is an absolute nightmare to have as a yandere for two very specific reasons.

She’s forgetful and forceful.

Shizuku will kidnap you, lock you away from the world, and then forget about how long she’s been gone from home. In her mind, it’s only been a few days, you should have plenty to eat. What she fails to remember is how impossible it is for you to escape or call her or anyone for help, as all the food disappears and the water shuts off due to her not paying the bill. Starvation and dehydration have nearly killed you multiple times. To the point you cry and beg, have severe panic attacks, when she leaves you for even a moment. Shizuku will also mistake this behavior for love, and while so cruelly cooing and soothing you, tell you she’s only going for a few hours a few weeks.

When you aren’t worried for your next meal and survival, she’s also terrible at providing you with even basic necessities like tooth paste, soap, laundry detergent. Her forgetfulness in paying water/electricity/sewage is also a major downfall in your comfort. You’ll freeze in the winter and possibly die of heat in the summer. She forgot to give you extra blankets.

Oops.

Trash has piled up and grown moldy?

Oops.

No water to shower or drink in days so you’re forced to get water from the toilet and use a bucket for your waste?

Oops.

Passed out from lack of food or nutrition?

Oops.

She’s downright a menace when it comes to taking care of you, but somehow extremely good in keeping you locked up. You have permanent damage to your nail beds from trying to claw your way through the wood of the front door. You might be saved from punishments because she’s lazy in that regard, and while she doesn’t hit or yell at you no matter how nasty your behavior, there is no denying she takes what she wants. You’re hungry and dehydrated? That needs to wait, she wants to cum and she wants to do it on your face. You feel disgusting and caked in your own sweat and grim from a week with no shower? She wants to use her new strap she picked up, so it needs to wait.

You’ll live in constant fear of dying due to her neglect and it will be a painful, lonely, and sadistic end.

11/10 sadistic without even meaning to be. The severe neglect will kill you eventually, it’s a slow and agonizing end you can’t help fighting whether you like it or not. You’ll die in your own filth, maybe from a combination of air toxicity, infection, starvation, and dehydration. Better to off yourself early if I’m being honest. She might even forget you died in her grief when she finds you, so don’t expect a proper burial, she’ll let you rot in the bed until another Troupe Member (sadly likely Phinks) has to remove your corpse and clean up.

Next we have, Overhaul, or Kai Chisaki on this list. Don’t let his handsome appearance fool you, while he may be beautiful, inside he is mentally ill to the extreme. You think he’s a bad man for abusing and torturing a little girl?

Kai is just as strict of a yandere as Izuku, but combined with his warped view of you and his OCD, it turns downright terrifying. He kills everyone you love before he takes you, because in his eyes they are literal vermin that only wish to taint and ruin you. He will calmly explain in detail who he killed and how he did it to you. If that isn’t enough, any pets you have? Dead. Immediately. They’re filthy animals that will taint you. Human contact? Forget about it. You will never feel skin on skin contact again in his care, not even his. I see a lot of depictions of Kai being a sex god as yandere, but as a real one? Even in his own eyes, he’s not worthy of touching you. He exults you to such a degree that you aren’t even really human in his eyes. Of course, you’ll be treated like the finest glass porcelain doll ever crafted, but aside from sitting on a shelf to rot for the rest of your life, then nothing else is happening. You’ll likely go insane in his care, because of the stark white room he’ll keep you in, so devoid of germs or bacteria it’ll be nauseatingly clean. The lights will go off for you to sleep for only 8 hours, but after that it’s fluorescent lights glaring at you for the remaining 16 hours of the day. Your bathroom won’t be any reprieve. You’ll have absolutely no personal comforts. Food will be the SAME THING for every meal, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and so bland and boring you’ll struggle to accept your new life.

Kai, like Shizuku, is also a yandere that wont hit you… but he’ll use his quirk on you. He’s not above taking you apart violently and putting you back together over and over and over.

Eventually you may even try to anger him just for him to take you apart. To feel something. He provides no entertainment. None at all. Have fun with your own mind and solitude in that white room.

Kai is also the most likely to have a mental break, so if you cross a certain line, he may kill you accidentally. Things like trying to seduce one of his men (for escape purposes), trying to harm yourself, trying to harm him, being filthy (you might cringe at the thought of wiping your own feces on the walls, but eventually shame and embarrassment will leave you).

He’s most likely to snap and try and clean you himself, your act of rebellion by dirtying/hurting him/harming yourself will likely leave you in a situation of…

a). He accidentally drowns you in his panicked state of washing you.

b). He uses some type of chemical (bleach) which leaves you severely injured/burned and you succumb to your wounds before medical attention can save you.

Kai is out of his damn mind, thinks of you as if you are a God/Goddess, and if you break that delusion, he will snap. I also think he’d preserve your body somehow, and you’d end up in a Snow White case so he can always look at you.

12/10 batshit crazy and very scary. No human autonomy. I just can’t help but think he’d 100% use bleach to try and “clean” his darling and that’s not a fun way to die at all. Also, his form of worship is so skewed and warped it leaves nothing but a bad taste in my mouth. He’s the idolize and stick on a shelf type, a very lonely and isolated way to live. At least Shizuku let’s you watch TV when the cable/electrical bills get paid. Kai won’t even let you have a book. Prisoner of war PTSD which will eventually lead to real insanity from that white room and isolation if Kai doesn’t kill you first.