#actually its 5 am almost 6

[rushroulett3]

Look Back

just a doodle so its not the best nor has as much stuff id do for this

[rbtlvr]

AND ANOTHER THING. i know that on a meta level this is literally just How Video Game Bosses Work. but also with how well the game mechanics work into the story in many other cases i don't think it's unreasonable to look at it from an in universe perspective

SO

i think it really says something that loop only uses their stronger attacks in their second phase. i think it really says something that you have to bring them down to 0hp four (4) times, attacking them repeatedly + proving that you are willing to genuinely hurt/kill them, before they'll use their most powerful attacks on siffrin

[redyarns]

HELL WEEK IS OVER HOLY SHIT HAHAHAHHAHAA I LIIIIIIVE

[familyofpaladins]

Me: I have this idea for a fic! I think it will be about 9-10k words! A good amount! Not too little not too much!

*10k words later*

Me: .... I'm only half done. Haha... ha O_O

[yrlocalghost]

i finished isat

[running-in-the-dark]

my niece stayed with us last night. it was pretty fun this time, probably because I was feeling better (if I'm already in pain or exhausted, I can't handle it). after we dropped her off, we talked to my mother for a little bit, and then drove to my in-laws. we were there for a few hours and because the guys were busy outside, i ended up talking to my mother-in-law for most of that time. it was... kind of good? I don't know. she actually showed some real emotions, just a little bit, but hey that's more than ever before! I even gave her a weird little shoulder squeeze/side hug, it was so weird.

anyway, I almost fell asleep in the car on the way home because I was so tired, and actually did fall asleep immediately on the couch.

[phagodyke]

I have to be up for work in 3 hours and I'm gonna be real I think ive hit the point where I might not be getting any sleep at all. for fucks sake.

[cheswirls]

i have not touched crossfire in almost 24 hrs and its making me realize what a fugue state ive been living in for the past week. i got so much done today. this book has me in a chokehold deathgrip and im only on chapter 6 out of 9

[barnacles34]

Lost in Analysis (Winter x Male OC)

5k words, smut, fluff, happiness, data

Winter x Male OC

The thing about Junho Kim's[1] weekly debriefs with Minjeong Kim was that they followed a precise algorithm, an almost liturgical routine that both participants had wordlessly agreed upon circa Winter's third month of employment (viz. April 2024). The format went as follows: Winter would arrive at exactly 18:30 on Friday bearing a leather-bound portfolio containing the week's logistics reports, margin analyses, and projected Q3/Q4 modeling scenarios. Junho would pretend to study these for exactly twelve minutes while Winter sat in the ergonomic chair across his desk, her accent becoming pronounced in direct proportion to her anxiety level[2].

What happened on this particular Friday deviated from the algorithm in ways that would later prove significant, starting with Winter's arrival at 18:27[3].

"The Busan account numbers are off," Junho said, his photographic memory already detecting a 0.03% discrepancy in the third-quarter projections. The words emerged with the mechanical precision of someone who had learned human speech through technical manuals rather than conversation. "This is—" he paused, index finger tapping against his mahogany desk in a rapidfire motion that Winter had learned to recognize as his pre-explosion tell, "—unacceptable."

And then something unprecedented occurred.

Instead of her usual composed absorption of his critique, Winter's face crumpled into what could only be described as a squeaky whimper, a sound so incongruous with her usual professional demeanor that it seemed to physically stun Junho into silence. It was the acoustic equivalent of watching a Mercedes-Benz hiccup.

The algorithm crashed.

—

[1] Junho Kim, CEO of Quantum Logistics Solutions, net worth $2.3B (₩3.1T), possessed what his former Harvard professors called "an almost frightening capacity for data retention" and what his former therapist (sessions terminated after 2.5 meetings) called "a pathological inability to process emotional bandwidth."

[2] A phenomenon her roommate had dubbed "The Accent Anxiety Index," where her carefully practiced Seoul pronunciation would gradually give way to her native Busan satoori, ranging from barely detectable at Level 1 ("감사합니다") to full coastal at Level 10 ("아이고, 사장님, 이 숫자 영 아니네요").

[3] The 3-minute early arrival would later be explained by a complex series of events involving a broken elevator, two flights of stairs, and Winter's determination not to let her carefully constructed timeline collapse due to mechanical failure.

—

The following Friday's debrief began with Junho actually pulling out Winter's chair[4], a gesture so unexpected that she nearly missed the seat entirely. The portfolio was reviewed. The whiskey was poured (Junho's usual Macallan 25, Winter's Hwayo 41). And then, somewhere between the second and third drink, Winter's accent kicked into what would later be classified as Level 11 on the Southern Comfort Scale.

"You know what your problem is, sajangnim?" Minjeong's words carried the warm weight of soju and suppressed frustration, her carefully maintained Seoul accent dissolving entirely into coastal inflections. "당신은 인생을 마치 스프레드시트처럼 대하시네요. Everything must calculate perfectly, but people aren't numbers, and some of us are tired of being debugged like broken code."

Junho's finger stopped its habitual tapping mid-motion[5].

—

[4] A gesture learned from a WikiHow article titled "Basic Human Courtesy: A Beginner's Guide" that Junho had queued up on his tablet at 3:47 AM the previous Tuesday.

[5] Later analysis would reveal this as the exact moment Junho Kim, master of algorithms and logistics, encountered a variable his photographic memory couldn't process: genuine human connection.[6]

The office fell into a silence that could be measured in heartbeats (Junho's: an efficient 72 BPM; Minjeong's: an elevated 98 BPM). Outside, Seoul's financial district performed its usual Friday night exodus, the sound of departing Mercedes and BMWs creating a capitalistic symphony twenty-three floors below.

"시간이..." Minjeong continued, her Busan accent now operating at what could only be classified as Level 12[7], "Time isn't just money, 사장님. Sometimes it's just... time. Like those lunches you wolf down in exactly eight minutes while reading reports. Or these Friday meetings where you never actually look at me, just through me at some invisible spreadsheet floating in the air behind my head."

Junho's hand, still frozen mid-tap, slowly lowered to the desk. His photographic memory began involuntarily cataloging details it had somehow missed during their previous 47 debriefs: the way Minjeong's left hand always fidgeted with her portfolio's corner when nervous, how her voice carried traces of sea salt and summer festivals despite years of Seoul speech coaching, the fact that she had memorized his coffee preferences down to the precise temperature (81°C, no higher, no lower).

"I do look at you," he said, then immediately registered the statistical improbability of his own response[8].

Minjeong's laugh carried the particular timber of someone who had been holding it in reserve for approximately 11.7 months. "아니요, you really don't. You look at KPIs and performance metrics and quarterly projections. Did you know," she leaned forward, her accent thick as Busan fog, "that I've worn the same earrings every Friday for three months just to see if you'd notice?"

The earrings in question were small silver cranes, Junho's memory instantly supplied, purchased from a street vendor in Gukje Market during last quarter's Busan office inspection, chosen because their wings formed the mathematical symbol for infinity when viewed from the correct angle[9].

—

[6] A concept that would later require Junho to create an entirely new category in his mental filing system, located somewhere between "Acceptable Business Practices" and "Breathing Exercises (Mandatory)."

[7] A previously theoretical level on the Accent Anxiety Index, characterized by the complete abandonment of Seoul linguistic pretense and the emergence of what Minjeong's mother would call "우리 딸의 진짜 목소리" (our daughter's real voice).

[8] Statistical analysis of Junho's daily eye contact patterns, conducted by his personal AI assistant, revealed an average sustained eye contact duration of 1.3 seconds with all employees, making his current 4.7-second gaze at Minjeong a 361.5% deviation from the mean.

[9] A detail that would have impressed Junho greatly had he noticed it at the time of purchase, rather than at this precise moment when his brain was simultaneously trying to process the concept of infinity and the way Minjeong's eyes reflected the city lights like binary code translated into stardust.

—

The Hwayo bottle stood between them like a glass mediator, its contents depleted by exactly 73.4%. Junho found himself performing calculations he had never previously considered necessary: the precise angle at which Minjeong's smile disrupted his cardiac rhythm (42.7°), the correlation coefficient between her proximity and his ability to maintain coherent thought patterns (inverse relationship, R² = 0.97), the half-life of each satoori-tinged syllable in his auditory memory (approaching infinity)[10].

"There's a pojangmacha," Minjeong said, her words now performing linguistic gymnastics between Seoul and Busan, "down in Gangnam that serves 할매's 파전 just like back home. But you—" she gestured with her glass, creating small amber trajectories in the air, "—you probably have the exact caloric content memorized without ever tasting it."

"624 calories per standard serving," Junho confirmed automatically, then added, in what he would later recognize as his first attempt at human humor[11], "Not accounting for 할매's (grandmother’s) love."

The laugh that escaped Minjeong's lips was genuine enough to bypass all of Junho's statistical models for appropriate business interaction. It was the kind of laugh that made him wonder if his entire algorithmic approach to life had been operating on a fundamental error: the assumption that human emotions could be debugged rather than experienced.

"사장님," she said, then caught herself, "아니, Junho-ssi." The honorific shift created a quantifiable disruption in the office's atmospheric pressure[12]. "Do you know why I cry sometimes when you yell about the numbers?"

Junho's hands found themselves attempting to calculate an emotion he had no formula for. "I... have a working hypothesis."

"It's not because I'm scared or hurt," she continued, her Busan accent now wrapping around the words like a warm coast-side breeze. "It's because I see you turning yourself into code, like you're trying to compile a human being into binary, and..." she paused, searching for words in both Seoul and Busan vocabularies before settling on, "...그게 너무 아까워요."

The phrase hung in the air, untranslatable in its full emotional weight[13].

—

[10] A phenomenon that would later require Junho to create an entirely new mathematical framework he privately termed "The Minjeong Constant: Variables in Human Connection."

[11] Later analysis of office security footage would reveal this as his first non-data-related comment in approximately 2,847 hours of recorded business interactions.

[12] Advanced environmental sensors in the building's HVAC system actually recorded a 0.02% change in air pressure at this exact moment, though causation versus correlation remains a subject of debate among the building's maintenance staff.

[13] The closest English approximation might be "it's such a waste," but this fails to capture the uniquely Korean sense of regret for potential beauty lost to unnecessary efficiency, like trying to measure ocean waves in milliliters.

—

For exactly 15.4 seconds, Junho Kim—master of instantaneous data processing, champion of real-time analytics—found himself buffering. His mind, that perfectly calibrated instrument of calculation, attempted to run multiple subroutines simultaneously:

ROUTINE_1: Analyze the 2.3% tremor in Minjeong's voice during "그게 너무 아까워요"

ROUTINE_2: Process the 7.4mm dilation of his pupils upon hearing his given name

ROUTINE_3: Calculate the exact distance between their hands on the desk (23.7cm, decreasing by approximately 0.3mm per heartbeat)

ERROR: Stack overflow in emotional processing unit[14]

"I have a file," he began, then stopped, realizing that perhaps not everything needed to be classified and stored. "No, I mean... I remember every time you've smiled at work. Real smiles, not the ones you use for clients or difficult vendors." His fingers twitched, instinctively seeking a keyboard that wasn't there. "The data suggests that they occur most frequently when you're talking about Busan, or when you think no one is watching you arrange the office plants, or..." he paused, processing, "...or when you're correcting my humanity protocols[15]."

Minjeong's eyes widened, creating what Junho's brain automatically calculated as a 34.6% increase in their reflective surface area. "You... keep track of my smiles?"

"I keep track of everything," he said, then amended, displaying unprecedented runtime flexibility, "but your smiles occupy 43% more memory space than standard data points."

"아이고," Minjeong laughed, the sound carrying hints of sea breezes and noraebang nights, "only you would quantify feelings in percentages and memory allocation, 사장님[16]."

The Hwayo bottle now stood at 82.6% depletion. Outside, Seoul had transformed into its weekend configuration, all neon equations and binary dreams. But inside this office, something unquantifiable was compiling—a program written in neither Python nor Java, but in the ancient code of human connection.

"There's a logical error in your earlier statement," Junho said suddenly, his voice performing calculations it had never been calibrated for. "About me not looking at you."

"Oh?" Minjeong's eyebrow arched at precisely 27 degrees.

"I look at you approximately 2,347 times per day. My peripheral vision activates in your presence with 72% more frequency than baseline. I have memorized exactly 267 variations of your voice modulation between Seoul and Busan registers[17]. The error," he continued, his own accent slipping for the first time since Harvard, "is in assuming I don't see you."

—

[14] A phenomenon his Harvard professors had theoretically predicted but never successfully documented: the complete shutdown of pure logic circuits in favor of what they termed "human.exe."

[15] A private joke that had never made it past his internal firewall until this moment, referring to the way she subtly guided him toward more socially acceptable behaviors, like suggesting he say "good morning" to the cleaning staff or remember team members' birthdays.

[16] The honorific here carrying a new weight, somewhere between professional distance and affectionate teasing, a linguistic quantum state that would have fascinated physicists had they been present to observe it.

[17] This particular statistic would later become the subject of a 3 AM realization that perhaps "normal" CEOs don't maintain such detailed databases of their assistants' vocal patterns.

—

The confession hung in the air with the weight of a misplaced decimal point. Minjeong's hand, still holding her Hwayo glass, trembled at a frequency of approximately 3.2 Hz. The office's automated climate control system registered a sudden 0.7°C spike in local temperature[18].

"그래서..." Minjeong's voice emerged in Pure Pattern #271 (Subcategory: Emotional Breakthrough), "this is why you always know when I've had 떡볶이 for lunch?"

The unexpected query caused Junho to experience what his systems could only classify as a brief moment of runtime joy. "The specific aroma particles adhere to your cardigan at a rate of—" he caught himself, noting the gleam in her eye, and for the first time in recorded history, Junho Kim deliberately chose not to complete a calculation[19].

Instead, he found himself saying, "Your smile increases by exactly 23.7% when you eat 떡볶이. It's... optimal."

"최적화?" Minjeong's laugh carried notes of soju and starlight. "You're really going to data-analyze my happiness levels?"

"I have spreadsheets," he admitted, his voice carrying an unfamiliar warmth that his diagnostic systems struggled to categorize. "Cross-referenced with weather patterns, quarterly reports, and the frequency of your Busan accent emergence[20]."

"아이고..." She shifted in her chair, reducing the distance between them by precisely 4.7 centimeters. "You're either the weirdest or the most romantic person I've ever met, and I haven't decided which yet."

The word 'romantic' created a momentary buffer overflow in Junho's cognitive processes. His hands, typically occupied with calculating profit margins or optimizing supply chains, found themselves drawing abstract patterns on his desk's surface—a behavior previously filed under 'Inefficient Human Gestures: Do Not Engage.'

"I could..." he paused, processing, "...show you the data?"

—

[17] This particular dataset would later be renamed in his personal files to "The Minjeong Codex: A Quantitative Analysis of Qualitative Perfection."

[18] The building's maintenance staff would later attribute this to a mechanical anomaly, unaware they had documented the exact moment Junho Kim's ice-cold corporate facade began its calculated melt.

[19] A moment that would later be marked in his personal development log as "First Successful Implementation of Strategic Data Suppression for Emotional Optimization."

[20] These spreadsheets, discovered months later during a routine server backup, would become legendary among the IT department as "The Love Languages of Linear Regression."

—

Minjeong's eyes sparkled with what Junho's facial recognition protocols quantified as 87% mirth, 13% tenderness. "보여주세요," she said, the soju making her consonants softer, more Busan-bound. "Show me this data about me."

For the first time in his professional career, Junho Kim fumbled with his laptop password[21]. The Hwayo bottle between them had decreased to critical levels, and he found the standard office lights were creating unusual prismatic effects in Minjeong's hair. His fingers, typically precise to the microsecond, skittered across the keyboard.

"See, here's the correlation between your happiness metrics and the proximity to Korean holidays," he began, then stopped, distracted by the way she'd rolled her chair closer to view his screen. The scent of her perfume (도라지 꽃, his brain supplied automatically, though for once the percentage calculation felt irrelevant) mixed with the lingering soju in the air.

"You made a pie chart," she said, her voice warm with something his systems were too buzzed to properly quantify, "of my favorite lunch spots?"

"The data visualization seemed... appropriate," he managed, aware that his usual processing power was operating at diminished capacity. "Though I may have spent a statistically anomalous amount of time color-coding it to match your favorite blazer[22]."

Minjeong's laugh had shed all traces of its Seoul polish. "어머나, who knew the great Junho Kim was such a..." she searched for the word in both dialects before landing on, "...nerd?"

"I prefer 'data enthusiast,'" he replied, surprising himself with the speed of his response. The soju was definitely affecting his standard processing delays. "Though my enthusiasm appears to be... specialized."

"Specialized?" Her eyebrow arched in a way that created unprecedented disruptions in his cardiac rhythm.

"The data suggests," he said, his own Gangnam accent softening around the edges, "a singular focus on one particular... variable[23]."

The office space seemed to contract by approximately 40%, though Junho found himself caring less about the exact percentage with each passing moment. Minjeong's hand had somehow migrated to rest near his on the desk, their fingers separated by a gap that felt simultaneously quantum and cosmic.

—

[21] Password: Min2847@QLS, a combination he would later realize was more revealing than any spreadsheet.

[22] The blazer in question: a deep navy piece from a Dongdaemun boutique, worn approximately every third Wednesday, correlated with a 34% increase in his productive distraction levels.

[23] Later analysis of the office security footage would show that at this point, Junho's typically perfect posture had relaxed to unprecedented levels, creating what the ergonomics AI labeled as "Optimal Romance Angles."

—

"Show me more," Minjeong said softly, unconsciously tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Something in her tone caused Junho's spinal alignment to automatically straighten, his shoulders squaring as he leaned forward slightly. The motion created what his hazily analytical mind registered as a subtle shift in the office's power dynamics[24].

"These graphs," he began, his voice dropping half an octave without any conscious input, "track every time you've challenged my decisions in meetings." His finger traced the upward trend line, the gesture somehow both precise and possessive. "You're the only one who dares to correct my logic. It's... intriguing."

Minjeong's breath caught audibly. "사장님..." she started, then with visible effort, "Junho-ssi... you track even that?"

"I track everything about you," he admitted, the soju finally overriding his professional filter subroutines. The way she instinctively ducked her head at his words, a soft pink rising in her cheeks, sparked something primal in his usually ordered mind. "Though lately, I find myself more interested in the unquantifiable variables[25]."

"Like what?" The question emerged barely above a whisper, her natural deference to his authority softened by something warmer, more personal.

Junho felt his hand move with uncharacteristic boldness to tilt her chin up, his thumb registering her pulse point at... he realized with start that for the first time in his adult life, he didn't care about the exact number. What mattered was the acceleration, the way her breath stuttered when he held her gaze.

"Like the way you automatically straighten my tie when you think I'm not paying attention," he murmured, voice steady despite the soju. "Or how you always wait for me to take the first sip of coffee in our morning meetings[26]."

—

[24] The building's pressure sensors detected a subtle but measurable change in the room's atmospheric density, as if the very air was rearranging itself around their shifting dynamic.

[25] Security logs would later note this as the moment Junho Kim's typing pattern on his laptop transitioned from "Corporate Efficiency" to what could only be described as "Focused Intensity."

[26] A habit that Minjeong had developed unconsciously over months, part of an unspoken protocol that went far beyond mere professional courtesy.

—

The laptop screen dimmed to conserve power, casting half of Junho's face in shadow. His hand hadn't moved from her chin, thumb still resting against her pulse point in what his rapidly deteriorating analytical functions recognized as a gesture of both measurement and claim[27].

"You know what else I've noticed?" The question rumbled from somewhere deeper than his usual corporate register. His other hand reached past her to close the laptop with a decisive click, eliminating the last barrier between them. "You mirror my breathing patterns during long meetings. 호흡이... perfectly synchronized."

Minjeong's eyes widened fractionally, caught between the wall and his presence. "That's..." she swallowed, her professional composure wavering, "...very observant of you, 사장님."

"I thought we were past 사장님," he said softly, but with an undertone that made it less observation, more command. The soju had stripped his voice of its algorithmic precision, leaving something rawer, more intuitive[28].

"Jun...ho..." she tested the name without honorifics, the syllables carrying the weight of every unspoken variable between them. Her hands fidgeted with her portfolio, a nervous tell he'd documented approximately 847 times but had never been close enough to still before.

Until now.

His free hand covered both of hers, instantly calming their movement. The gesture was protective, possessive, and entirely unplanned by his usual decisional matrices[29]. "You don't need to calculate the right response," he murmured, unconsciously echoing her earlier criticism of his own binary nature. "Your instincts have a 99.9% accuracy rate."

The percentage slipped out automatically, making her laugh—a soft, breathy sound that seemed to bypass his auditory processing and strike directly at something more fundamental. Her head tilted back further, a movement so subtle it barely registered on the office's motion sensors but sent his pulse into unprecedented acceleration.

"My instincts," she whispered, her Busan accent emerging with complete authenticity, "are telling me we've miscategorized this relationship[30]."

—

[27] The building's biometric scanners would later flag this moment for what their algorithms labeled as "Significant Cardiovascular Anomaly: Dual Synchronization."

[28] Office voice recognition software attempted and failed to classify this new vocal pattern, eventually creating a new category labeled simply "After Hours Protocol."

[29] The exact pressure of his grip would have registered at precisely 7.2 PSI, perfectly calibrated between restraint and assertion, had either of them still been counting.

[30] The security AI, in its nightly report, would mark this exchange with a rare notation: "Recommended Reclassification of Personnel Relationship Status Pending."

—

"Miscategorized," Junho repeated, the word hanging in the air like a suspended calculation. His hand moved from her chin to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair with unprecedented decisiveness[31]. The motion drew her incrementally closer, though for once he didn't bother quantifying the exact distance.

"yes..." Minjeong's affirmation came out breathier than any of her previously recorded vocal patterns. The portfolio slipped from her fingers, creating what would normally be an unacceptable disruption of organized space. Neither of them moved to retrieve it.

"You know what's interesting?" Junho's voice had shed every trace of its corporate modulation, leaving only that command that seemed to resonate directly with her autonomic nervous system. "I've run approximately 2,847 scenarios of this moment in my head[32]."

Her hands had found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the precise Italian wool of his suit. "And?" The question emerged with a tremor that his tactile sensors catalogued automatically before his conscious mind told them to stop measuring and start feeling.

"None of them..." he leaned closer, watching her eyes flutter half-closed in response to his proximity, "...included the variable of you looking at me exactly like this."

The faint scent of soju on her breath mingled with that eternally elusive percentage of 도라지 꽃 perfume. Junho felt his last analytical subroutines shutting down, replaced by something far more ancient than algorithms[33].

"Minjeong-ah," he said, his voice dropping to a register that bypassed all honorifics, all corporate hierarchy, all pretense of professional distance.

Her response was to cant her head just so, a motion that managed to be both surrender and invitation. "Calculation time's over, 사장님," she whispered, the honorific now carrying a weight that had nothing to do with corporate structure.

—

[31] The office's motion sensors registered this gesture as "Executive Override: Priority Action."

[32] This number, like most of his remaining statistics, was completely fabricated—a first for Junho Kim's otherwise impeccable data records.

[33] Building security cameras would later mark this timestamp with an unprecedented classification: "Critical System Override: Human.exe fully activated."

—

For the first time in his documented existence, Junho Kim stopped calculating entirely.

The distance closed between them with a momentum that defied measurement. His hand tightened in her hair, angling her face upward as his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The kiss, when it came, contained no statistics, no data points, no quantifiable metrics[34].

Minjeong made a soft sound—Pattern #unknown, Category: heaven—against his mouth. Her fingers clutched his suit lapels with enough force to wrinkle the wool beyond its optimal pressed state, a fact that Junho's usually meticulous mind registered and immediately discarded as irrelevant.

Time segmented into a new measurement system: the catch of her breath, the silk of her hair between his fingers, the way she yielded and pressed closer simultaneously. Junho discovered that his organizational skills apparently extended to kissing, each angle adjustment and pressure variation drawing increasingly desperate responses from Minjeong[35].

When they finally broke apart, Minjeong's carefully maintained Seoul pronunciation had disappeared entirely. "아이고..." she breathed against his mouth, "당신이..."

"Initial results," Junho murmured, his own accent thick with something that had nothing to do with regional linguistics, "require extensive further testing[36]."

She laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest where she was still pressed against him. "Did you just turn our first kiss into a quality control protocol?"

"Quality confirmed," he replied, then demonstrated his newfound commitment to hands-on research by kissing her again, harder this time, swallowing her surprised gasp. His hand splayed possessively across her lower back, holding her steady as she swayed into him.

—

[34] The building's atmospheric sensors recorded unexplained fluctuations in local temperature, humidity, and electromagnetic fields, leading to a complete recalibration of their measurement standards.

[35] Later analysis would suggest that Junho's legendary attention to detail had found a new, decidedly non-professional application, though this data remains classified in personal files marked "Private Research: Ongoing."

[36] The security AI attempting to transcribe this conversation eventually gave up and simply tagged the file: "Error 404: Professionalism Not Found."

—

Somewhere in the haze of non-analytical thought, Junho registered Minjeong's slight backward momentum and moved instinctively to steady her. His hand swept the desk clear with uncharacteristic disregard for organizational protocols, sending the quarterly reports flutter-falling to the carpet in an acceptable margin of chaos[37].

"Jun...ho..." His name escaped her lips like a statistical anomaly as he lifted her effortlessly onto the mahogany surface. Her legs parted automatically to accommodate him, skirt hiking up precisely 4.7 inches—the last measurement his brain would process for the foreseeable future.

"So beautiful," he murmured against her throat, the words emerging in pure Gangnam inflection, all pretense of corporate diction abandoned. His teeth grazed her pulse point, drawing a whimper that would require an entirely new classification system[38].

Minjeong's fingers tangled in his precisely styled hair, disrupting approximately 47 minutes of morning grooming routine. "사장님," she gasped, the honorific now carrying entirely different connotations, "the papers..."

"Irrelevant data," he growled, recapturing her mouth with newfound authority. The kiss deepened, transformed, became something that defied all previous parameters. Her back arched into him, creating angles that had nothing to do with geometry and everything to do with instinct[39].

A distant part of his mind registered the soft thud of his suit jacket hitting the floor, followed by the whisper of silk as Minjeong's blazer joined it. The city lights painted silver equations across her skin, codes he suddenly needed to decode with his mouth instead of his mind.

—

[37] The office's normally pristine state would require exactly 23.7 minutes to restore, a task that would be significantly delayed by several subsequent "data collection sessions."

[38] Facial recognition software attempting to analyze the security feed would crash repeatedly, unable to reconcile Junho Kim's expression with any known configuration in its emotional database.

[39] The building's structural integrity sensors registered minor seismic activity, though this data would be suspiciously absent from the next day's maintenance logs.

—

He let his hands trail by the sides of her body, one busy with her torso—breasts and all—and the other, feeling the creamy softness of her thighs. And each needy press or pinch, brought out the softest of her moans, the cutest of her lip quivers.

He was busy, marking her lips, making it all swollen and red; yet, still, he couldn’t get enough of her. That soft body, her caring little hands, her hot inner thighs, and that gentle heat radiating off her core—just hidden by the slightest of her skirt. “Minjeong.” He whispered, pressing himself against her—a matter of teasing and also a way to test the waters, whether or not she wanted it on the table.

And Minjeong, not one to initiate, wrapped her thin arms around his nape, pulling him closer, “Yes, yes, please, anything, anywhere,” then a dozen little kisses all on his face. This assurance, this consent, slowly, but surely, made him wrench her legs open—wide. He saw that stain, dark against her gray underwear, and that was when his photographic memory… failed him.

He dug in, letting his loin press up against hers—immersing himself in her wetness. Then, finally, he pulled down on his pants, showing his tent-like imprint on his underwear to Minjeong, who, obviously, couldn’t stop staring. By the end of the minute, that ruthless minute, both were undressed in their lower-half—a utilitarian instinct to fuck each other as fast as possible.

Junho breathed heavily, staring at that pink hue that her core was so beautifully composed of—along with the wetness, the fragrance, and more. “Minjeong…” He held his shaft, lining it up straight on her wetness. She finally replied, “Yes… Junho…” And that’s when he pressed in, into the endless heat.

That wet connection hilt-to-hilt, along with a deep kiss—turned Minjeong completely docile and submissive. That wet connection, her wet slime covering his shaft, somehow, only intensified their lust for each other. He pressed in again, faster this time, earning that soft mewl. “Mhm, fuck me,” she whispered, again and again. He kept honoring those wishes, going deeper, and faster. He tucked his dick into her pussy, wet squelch and all, over and over until he felt his legs get weak from thrusting. Yet, that weakness didn’t deter him, he glided deeper, letting both their pelvises rub against each other, and making Minjeong cry out from the clit stimulation. She felt like she was getting tunneled, this man, the love of her life, crush of her lifetime, fucking her so good into a wobbly table—dreams aren’t even this good.

“I’m gonna cum, Minjeong.” He whispered, low and growling.

“Inside. Please. Inside…” She whispered before getting overtaken by her orgasm.

And just at the peak of her orgasm, the teetering breath before rest, Junho barreled all his semen inside her—rope after rope of semen splashing against her cervix. “Holy fuck.” they both said in conjunction. 

—

The Seoul skyline had shifted into its late-night configuration by the time they finally disentangled themselves. Junho's normally immaculate shirt hung open, his tie having long since joined the scattered papers on the floor. Minjeong's hair had abandoned all pretense of its usual professional arrangement, falling in waves that his fingers couldn't seem to stop threading through[40].

"이게..." Minjeong began, her voice still carrying traces of breathlessness as she surveyed the chaos they'd created. Her blazer lay draped over a chair at an angle that would have horrified their usual professional standards. "I should reorganize the—"

"Stay exactly where you are," Junho commanded softly, his arms tightening around her waist. His usual perfectionism had found a new target: the way she melted against him at that tone[41].

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her smile pure Busan sunshine. "데이트하자... be my 오빠?" The question emerged with endearing uncertainty, mixing honorifics and languages in a way that bypassed his brain entirely and struck straight at his heart.

"그래," he murmured into her hair, then with characteristic precision added, "Exclusively."

Her laugh carried notes of joy and residual shyness. "Then as your girlfriend, I should really clean up this mess..." She gestured at the scattered papers, the displaced furniture, the general dishevelment that spoke eloquently of the past hour's activities.

"As your boyfriend," his voice dropped to that commanding register that made her shiver, "I want to watch you do it[42]."

The drive home—his penthouse, by unspoken agreement—required exactly 17 minutes. Neither of them bothered to count.

—

[40] The building's security system would later note this as the longest recorded instance of the CEO remaining in office after hours, though the detailed logs were mysteriously corrupted.

[41] Internal HR protocols regarding workplace relationships were hastily updated the following morning, though no one questioned why the CEO personally oversaw these revisions.

[42] The night cleaning staff would arrive to find the office in unprecedented perfect order, though several employees would later swear they heard laughter and whispered Busan endearments echoing through the empty halls.

Fin

[ma1dita]

james potter x reader please!

so, in this one james and lily survive but they realize that they aren't for each other and decide to get a divorce or whatever it is in the wizarding world. so harry spends half of the week with james, and half with lily and her new partner, mary macdonald (yes, i am a marylily shipper)

so, reader is harry's new primary school teacher and baby boy loves her!

one day, james picks harry up from school and meets harry's favorite “miss pretty,”

turns out, she was in the same class as james (different house, ravenclaw preferably) but he never really noticed her bcs all he ever thought about before was quidditch, his friends, and lily evans

ooooh, harry setting his dad up with reader would be amazing!

james potter x ravenclaw!teacher!reader

wc: 1.8k

a/n: no warnings, unedited. only one ravenclaw mention; thank you for the req love! sorry for the wait

—

Harry J. Potter is undoubtedly James’ son. From his unruly hair that can only be salvaged by a thick swipe of Sleakeazys, to the glasses that slide down the tiny bridge of his nose, and more evidently as of late—the mischief that runs through his veins, there’s really no doubt that this troublemaking 6-year-old is his.

No blood magic or Muggle fraternity… ehem, paternity test needed.

So there he sits in a too-small, sunshine yellow kiddie chair in the hallway of Harry’s classroom because he’s been called in for a parent-teacher meeting. The chair part wasn’t necessary, but Harry’s playing pretend to be a waiter at a 5-star restaurant that his mommy said Lily was taking her partner Mary to. And whatever Harry says, goes for the most part (which is exactly why he’s in this chair in the first place. He could paint a picture of how red Lily’s face got over the phone when she yelled at him over their baby getting called in for misconduct).

It all must’ve been a misunderstanding, or something he’s yet to find out the reason for, such as why little Harry’s pretend Michelin star establishment has the waiter flying food over in an airplane, complete with bumbling engine noises and his arms sticking out as he runs down the hallway. 

Classy.

“H, I ordered extra fries with this burger!” James says in a ridiculously indignant voice, pretending to huff and cross his arms and he almost cracks a smile when his little one comes giggling down the way back to him, “Coming right up, Daddy!” The other, much older parents that pass by the empty hallway are less enthused, but well, James Fleamont Potter and shame don’t belong in the same sentence, much less a lifetime. 

Tiny airplane arms graze the construction paper Hungry Caterpillar that lines the hallway, painted handprints waving back at little Harry as he runs full speed, until the door opens and BOOM!

James hears laughter instead of tears so when he abruptly stands up, knocking the small yellow chair over (and the purple side table he had all his imaginary food on), albeit trying to come off nonchalant, he’s relieved. What he’s more surprised about is the pretty lady that’s whirling his boy around in her arms.

“Harry the hurricane! Just in time to mix things up and sprinkle some energy back into my day huh?”

You’re dressed in a light pink vest and a long skirt that Harry’s hanging off of like the monkey bars at the playground and you seem to think nothing of it as you stick your hand out for him to shake, “Mr. Potter, thank you for coming in!”

“Oh love, James is fine I—” “DADDY! SAY HI TO MISS PRETTY!”

Quite right, he thinks. There’s something charming about you that he finds himself trying to figure out, hair tied messily on your head, different marker stains on your hands, and a stray holographic sticker that says “What a Star!” seems to have found its way to your abdomen. He thinks that if the professors at Hogwarts were this beautiful, he’d actually spend less time in detention.

The tot is grinning ear to ear and almost bouncing as you crouch down and gently take his hands off your skirt and into your own with a velveteen smile, “What did we say, hon? When we’re inside the classroom, we use our inside voices. Soft like a warm breeze, hmm?”

“But Miss Pretty, I’m not in the classroom yet!” Harry says cheekily as he points to his light-up sneakers standing toes away from the doorway. The boy goes running in towards the back of the room to go play with the building blocks and James has to bite his tongue when he watches you pinch your nose before taking your place at the desk in the front of the room.

“Well hello then, Miss Pretty,” he says with a smirk, throwing his blazer over the back of the thankfully adult chair and rolling his shirt sleeves up as he takes a seat. It’s quiet in the room besides the sound of Harry pretending to be Godzilla on a poor imaginary city in the background.

You stare at him a bit sideways, a beat of silence occupying the space between you, and then a snort escapes you—unladylike, but oh, what a woman. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

He blinks. Harry’s block towers crash to the ground and it sounds like James’ hopes of this going anywhere outside the classroom, a reverberating sound that drops with his heart falling to his ass, “Say what now?”

“Dear Godric, you’re still the same as back at school!” you scoff, leaning back in your chair and kicking your legs up on the desk (that he admittedly takes a peek at, but anyways); clearing his throat he’s so sure there must be some sort of misunderstanding—how could anyone overlook someone as stunning as you?

“I should’ve known, to be honest, when a mini-me of you walked in here on the first day, oh—the look on my face, I swear Lily’s gonna get a kick of this when she comes by next week, she was worried that you were coming in and not her anyways.”

The furrow in his brow is like a faultline right now, wondering how in the hell all of this has gone wrong in the last few minutes from the door, “Don’t bother with anything that woman says,” and then you’re laughing because, “Funny, from what I remember, you bothered her no matter what she said.”

And look how that turned out 7 years and a divorce later. 

Co-parenting with Lily Evans-McDonald is not for the weak, after all.

“Why am I even here?” James says exasperatedly, eyes flickering to the ceiling and then to his son who’s doing airplane arms as he kicks down his blocks. You cross your arms almost smugly, and he hopes you don’t take offense, which he clarifies by the frazzled look on his face and the hands he runs through his hair—”Your son called me stupid in class yesterday…”

Dear Merlin.

“And he said that his daddy was the one who told him to say it.”

A wheezing noise leaves his chest and he’s in disbelief, eyes whipping between you and his darling boy and the fact that he’s smack in the middle of looking an outright fool when it comes to this parenting all because of—

“You do know I didn’t mean it like that it’s just—”

You’re grinning as he loosens his tie in a panic, “We didn’t learn the alphabet like that back in our day?”

“I MEAN WHO CHANGES THE ALPHABET SONG? Truly!” James blubbers as he tries to cover his ass and somehow he’s the one who feels like he’s in trouble with the teacher. 

Perhaps he is, though this was not the original scene he had in mind walking in here. He takes a deep breath once you give him the same look you did Harry about his inside voice and—Godric you’re good at that—”And obviously…obviously I didn’t know you were his teacher.”

“Oh? Does that make a difference, Mr. Potter?”

You’re biting down on a perfectly plump bottom lip and his eyes are still wide and he can’t do anything but laugh.

“How asinine of me. You’re a Ravenclaw if I remember, right? Used to study with Moony all the time…” James mutters like he’s discovered something monumental and then he whispers your name, and it sounds as soft as you—something unearthed and new. He likes the way it sounds coming from his mouth and by the quirk of your lip, you do too. “How could I forget you?” 

The two of you chuckle like how children share a secret and it’s all too confusing for his bundle of joy that comes bounding past the seats and pushing off his father’s lap. 

“Oof—” James wheezes as he gets the wind knocked out of him, hunching over in pain, “Careful H, holy sh—” He swallows down the rest of his thought as you raise an eyebrow at his language, instead scooping Harry into your arms and sitting him on the edge of the desk.

“Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that at Harry’s age, his brain is like a sponge—there’s a lot for him to learn and he’s obviously a lot like his daddy, so Daddy’s going to have to be more conscious of what he has to say.” 

Oh the irony.

“Daddy will then, yeah?” he chokes out, restraining himself at the joyous look on his kid’s face when Harry says, “Miss Pretty, can you be Daddy’s teacher too?”

You pat the boy’s head and pinch a chubby cheek, “He’s got a lot to learn too, right Harry? Daddy was always in detention when we were little too.”

James is stirring in his seat and feeling hot under your gaze as he watches you interact with his son. He kind of regrets letting Lily take the reins with all of Harry’s parent-teacher meetings because clearly, he’s been missing out.

“Daddy was also Head Boy, but okay.” The two of you are giggling at the disgruntled look he gives your comment and James feels outnumbered, but not in a way that bothers him. If he’s being honest, he can understand why Harry was so intent on always getting his homework done right.

A while after, you all walk towards the door and Harry’s proudly walking out with a “Dinomite!” sticker on his forehead as James and you catch up on trivial things and then…

“DADDY! YOU RUINED THE DINNER!”

Harry’s pointing at the overturned table in the hall that he seems to have missed earlier and James cringes as he feels an imminent tantrum—if you call him a hurricane wait until he starts crying like a tornado siren. But you come to the rescue and bend over to shake his shoulders, “It’s okay Harry that just means you can make Daddy dinner again!” The little one is rubbing his eyes and whining a bit more softly and his father is looking at you like you’re an angel on Earth.

“That’s our cue to go,” he laughs, squeezing your arm and shaking his head, “Wish I could bring you hom—That’s not. That didn’t come out right,” he stutters, “I mean that you’re kind of a miracle worker and clearly doing better than how I fare sometimes with him. I think we’re too alike.”

“You’re doing great and he’s an amazing kid,” you reassure him, pulling out a sticker and pressing it onto his lapel. It’s of a triceratops and says “No one tops you!” He reads it and smirks, the famous James Potter smolder coming out to play and you roll your eyes. Harry is tugging at both your hands and when you look down at him, he’s hopeful and looking at you with determination he must’ve got from his mother.

“Since Daddy’s ruined dinner would you like to teach him now Miss Pretty? He’s got a lot to learn like you said.”

You’re at a loss for words, trying to stutter your way out of this one but James thinks it’s the best idea he’s ever heard.

After all, like father, like son.

“Think I could even go for extra credit if I’m allowed, Miss Pretty.”

[bdxpelik]

I am overdue for an Episode 1 review, but...

Not really a review per se but scenes that remind me of why this series is so beloved, well written and thought of.

Gyokuyou just knows.

She's the ultimate gosp queen in town and she's actively sniffing out the tea. In this case, she's dying for some spice between the two kiddies (like the rest of us ofc). Mild "spoiler" but later on Gyokuyou expresses how Jinshi is like a little brother to her and teases like this remind me of that, it's so precious.

2. Maomao is Jinshi's 'advisor'

This is one of my favourite Jinmao dynamics in which Jinshi genuinely seeks out and takes Maomao's expertise seriously, from the very beginning. Remember early on in eps 1/2 of season 1 where Jinshi tested her abilities to see if she's legit? Once he confirmed she was the real deal, he's always trusted her opinions and knowledge. And I am so happy to see it continue in this season. Albeit sometimes it seems he takes her advice on board TOO quickly, but he is a very logical person and knows how to put people to good use.

3. I'm not gonna say anything.

But this shot is genius. Got me cackling like a witch.

4. Sexual education(?)

I almost forgot how saturated this series is with sex-related topics and jokes, but they do it in such a way that it doesn't feel inappropriate. With Maomao's business-driven mind, it's actually genuinely funny. And Jinshi getting flustered at being caught interested in said racey books (he was just looking at the printing quality, OKAY???) is just cherry on top.

Maomao's face, I can't-

5. Maomao showing affection in a very Maomao-like way

This friendship is so beautiful to me. And if you read further on in the light novels, you'll start to realize that Maomao's actually a very friendly person (again, in her own Maomao-like way) that just makes other girls genuinely want to spend time with her. And that she's not too shabby at making friends. After all, a small circle of friends is worth more than its weight in gold.

6. Cat lover

I am a sucker for cat metaphors in TV shows and I always think back to this scene in the manga cuz everything was so ON POINT. Maomao basically described her relationship with Jinshi in perfect detail and Jinshi gained some sort of epiphany (lol), learning that he is in fact in love with a cat.

There are others things I want to point out but more suitable to be addressed in future episodes. And is it seriously only one episode a week??? Urghhhh how can I possibly stay sane...?

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 12

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension, arguments, mentions of alcohol, being intoxicated

I sat cross legged at the small vanity in my room, blending out the last bit of highlighter on my cheekbones. My outfit I had planned to wear was already laid out on the bed behind me, ready for the evening ahead. My hair was half done, still tied back loosely as I finished off my makeup. It felt nice to have a little time to myself to unwind and prepare, especially after the long day of travelling.

I was in the middle of putting eyeliner in my waterline when I heard a knock at the door. "Come in" I called out, not looking away from the mirror as I focused on not poking my eye.

The door creaked open, and I glanced at the reflection to see Matt stepping in, a glass in his hand. "Vodka lemonade" he said, his voice still carrying the unmistakable slur of someone who had had a little too much to drink.

I turned fully to face him, raising an eyebrow. "You remembered what I drink?"

He shrugged, his grin lopsided but genuine. "Of course. Hard to forget when its the only thing you drink"

I rolled my eyes, taking the glass from him. "Thanks, I guess" I said, swirling the liquid before taking a sip. The moment it hit my tongue, I winced, coughing slightly. "Oh my god Matt! All I can taste is vodka!"

He laughed, leaning against the doorframe like it was holding him upright. "Yeah well, you’ve got some catching up to do. Consider it motivation."

I shook my head, setting the glass down on the vanity. "It’s almost like you’re trying to kill me" I teased, but there wasn’t any bite to my words.

He gave me a wink, nearly stumbling in the process, and we both laughed. For a moment, it was like we never hated each other. It was weird. Today, we’d actually been nice to each other. From the plane to downstairs to now, it was almost like we’d turned a corner. Or maybe the alcohol had simply dulled his usual sarcasm.

Matt straightened up and glanced around my room, his eyes landing on the green crochet outfit on the bed. "That what you’re wearing tonight?" he asked, nodding toward it.

"Yep" I said, turning back to the mirror to finish my eye makeup. "I’m just hoping it comes to get the way I have it in my head."

"Bet it’ll look good" he said, his tone softer than I expected. When I glanced back at him, he was already heading out the door. "Hurry up though. Dinner waits for no one, especially when you’re as drunk as I am."

"I’ll be down soon" I replied, watching as he gave me a lazy wave and disappeared into the hallway. After Matt left my room, I set the vodka lemonade on the dresser, deciding to pace myself as I continued getting ready. As I stood back to admire the final look, I adjusted my halterneck top, making sure everything sat just right. 

I slipped on my nude heels, grabbed a small clutch, and downed half of the vodka lemonade Matt had brought up. The burn of vodka was strong, but he wasn’t wrong, I did have catching up to do if I wanted to match their buzz. By the time I walked down to the foyer, everyone was gathered there.

“You took long enough” Nick teased with a grin as I joined them.

“Beauty takes time, Nicholas” I shot back, earning a laugh from the group.

We stepped out of the villa together, the warm evening breeze carrying the faint scent of sea salt. The walk to the restaurant wasn’t far, but navigating the uneven path in heels was proving to be a challenge. After a few steps, I stumbled slightly on a dip in the road.

“You alright?” Matt asked, catching up to me.

“Yeah, these heels and this road aren’t exactly the best of friends, a bit like us” I muttered, half laughing at myself.

Without saying a word, he offered his arm. I hesitated for a moment before looping my hand through it.

“Don’t make it weird” he said, smirking down at me.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it” I replied with a sarcastic smile, though I appreciated the gesture.

We arrived at the restaurant, a cozy spot with string lights draped across the patio. As we approached our reserved table, I heard Nick let out a quiet yell.

“What are you guys doing here?!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and excitement.

I looked up to see a couple seated at our table, their parents. Their mom stood up with a wide smile, pulling Nick into a hug.

“We’ve been in Hawaii for the last few days” she said warmly. “We wanted to surprise you!”

Their dad chimed in, “But don’t worry, we’re staying on the opposite side of the island. We’re not here to crash your whole trip.”

Nick let out a laugh, still processing the surprise. Chris and Matt looked equally stunned but pleased to see them. 

The waiter approached to seat us, and we quickly rearranged our tables, one table with four seats and one table with three. I glanced at Matt, who caught my eye with an amused look.

“This should be fun” he said.

“Let’s just hope they don’t figure out how drunk you three are” I whispered back, earning a small chuckle from him.

We settled into our seats, Nate sat across from me, Matt was next to him, and Chris was beside me, while Nick took one of the seats at the table with his parents.

Chris leaned forward toward his parents while pointing at me,  his tone casual yet proud as he introduced me to his parents. “This is Y/n” he said. “She works with me for Fresh Love. We’ve been working hard on the new drop, couldn’t do it without her!.”

I smiled politely, but before I could say anything, Nick chimed in from the other table, his grin as wide as ever. “And she’s also my best friend” he added, his playful tone leaving no room for debate.

Their mom smiled warmly, nodding in approval, but the moment didn’t last long. Nick dove into conversation with his parents, leaving the four of us at our table to converse with each other.

Nate glanced up at Matt and Chris, his lips curling into a smirk. “Actually, I never asked how’d Vegas treat you two? Looked like you guys were.. occupied” he said, his words almost like he was implying something.

Chris chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Occupied is one way to put it. Christina practically glued herself to Matt” he teased, earning a scoff from Matt.

Hearing another woman’s name left a bitter taste in my mouth. I had no reason to feel jealous, and yet, the idea of Matt being drooled over by someone else stirred something in me that I couldn’t quite place. It was irrational, and I knew it, so I kept my thoughts to myself, silently picking at the edge of my napkin.

Nick’s voice broke the conversation as he turned to Chris. “Hey, wanna head outside for some pictures real quick before we order?”

Chris nodded, standing up and following Nick without hesitation, leaving just me, Matt, and Nate at the table.

There was a brief moment of silence before their mom, who I assume was half listening to our earlier conversation, leaned over with a smile. “So Nate, do you have anyone special in your life right now?”

Nate chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not at all” he replied, his tone light.

Matt, of course, couldn’t resist. “Harsh one.” He snickered under his breath, looking directly at me.

I raised an eyebrow at him, confused by his comment. Before I could even ask what he meant, Matt took things further. He smirked and leaned back in his chair, his voice loud and clear. “Y/n and Nate went on a date last week, you know that?”

My heart sank, my face flushing red as all eyes seemed to land on me.

“What?” I stammered, but Nate jumped in before I could say anything more.

“It wasn’t like that at all” he said firmly, shaking his head. “We just grabbed dinner as friends.”

Matt wasn’t ready to let it go, though. “Oh, come on, Y/n” he teased, his voice making a mockery out of me. “Why so quiet? Feeling the sting of public rejection?”

My stomach twisted in humiliation. I could feel my face burning as I desperately avoided eye contact with anyone at the table. The old Matt was back just like that.

“Matt, stop being so rude” their mom interjected sharply, her tone firm. She turned back to her husband, trying to steer the conversation away from Matt’s antics.

“Yeah c’mon man we’re just friends” Nate tried to make it clear.

But Matt wasn’t done. His next words hit like a punch to the gut. “Oof, imagine just being a quick fuck and then friendzoned.”

The air left my lungs. The humiliation was overwhelming, and I could feel the sting of tears forming in my eyes. None of what he said was true, but the damage was done.

“I.. I’m actually not feeling the best right now.. I think it's the heat.. excuse me” I said quickly, my voice cracking as I stood up. I turned to their parents, forcing a polite smile through the lump in my throat. “But it was lovely to meet you.”

Without waiting for a response, I walked away from the table, the tears streaming down my face before I even reached the door.

As I pushed through the entrance, I nearly ran into Nick and Chris, who were heading back inside.

“Y/n?” Chris asked, his expression immediately shifting to concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel well” I mumbled, not stopping to explain. Before either of them could say another word, I kept walking, desperate to escape the restaurant, the humiliation, and, most of all, Matt.

I still felt the heat on my face, not from the warm Hawaiian night, but from the lingering embarrassment curling in my stomach. I really hoped his parents didn’t hear him say that. I was halfway down the quiet street when I heard the sound of running footsteps behind me.

“Y/n, wait!”

I clenched my jaw, picking up my pace, but Matt was faster, jogging until he caught up beside me. “Come on, don’t be like that” he said, slightly out of breath. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

I stopped abruptly, whipping around to face him. “Oh, really? Because bringing up that in front of your parents sure didn’t make me feel like the star of the evening.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his usual cocky demeanor fading. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just messing around, you know how I am-”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, I do. That’s the problem.” I turned back around, ready to keep walking, but he stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” His voice was softer now, the arrogance stripped away. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

I folded my arms, giving him a glare. “And yet it did.”

He exhaled heavily, clearly frustrated, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let him smooth this over with some half assed apology.

“Y/n” he tried again, “I just-”

“I don’t care, Matt.” My voice was cold, firm. “You always do this. Say something without thinking, then act like it’s not a big deal when it is. I don’t need an apology. I just need you to stop.”

He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to figure out a way to fix this, but I wasn’t interested in hearing it. So I stepped around him and walked away, leaving him standing in the middle of the dimly lit street, finally at a loss for words.

He didn’t follow me this time. Maybe he finally got the message, or maybe he knew pushing it any further would only make things worse. Either way, I didn’t care. My chest still burned from embarrassment, and my head was buzzing with frustration as I made my way back toward the villa.

I reached the villa, slamming the door behind me before kicking off my heels and making my way to the room. The relief of being alone and actually having a bedroom door for privacy was short lived because not even five minutes later, there was a knock.

I sighed, already knowing who it was. “Go away, Matt.”

“Just let me in for a second” he called through the door. “Please.”

I rolled my eyes, but something in his voice made me hesitate. It wasn’t his usual cocky tone. It sounded.. tired. Frustrated, even.

Against my better judgment, I walked to the door and swung it open. “You’ve got sixty seconds.”

Matt stepped inside, his jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “Look” he started, pausing for a second before meeting my eyes. “I was a dick. I know that.”

I folded my arms. “Great self awareness. Anything else?”

He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I was trying to be funny, or maybe I was just being an idiot, probably both. But I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

I scoffed. “You said I was a quick fuck that got friendzoned, Matt. How else was that supposed to come out?”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But you said it” I shot back, my voice rising. “In front of your parents, no less. Do you even think before you speak, or do you just say the first thing that pops into your head?”

“I-” He stopped, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t think you’d care so much.”

I blinked at him, stunned. “Care? Are you serious? You embarrassed me, Matt. You made me look like some desperate fool who got used and thrown away. Why wouldn’t I care?”

Matt’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place, frustration, maybe, or something worse. I could tell he wanted to argue, to push back, but I wasn’t going to let him.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” I continued, folding my arms. “It’s not just what you said, it’s that you acted like you knew everything. Like you had some inside joke at my expense. And for what? A laugh?”

Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that-”

“Then what was it like?” I challenged, my voice rising. “Because you made it sound like I was some easy target for Nate. And for the record, nothing ever even happened between us.”

Matt’s brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me.” I snapped. “That night? Seven Minutes in Heaven? We didn’t even kiss. We sat there and talked, thought we’d mess with everyone's heads. And when we went out when you were in Vegas, and we made it clear we were just friends. There was nothing more to it.”

Matt blinked, like the idea had never even crossed his mind. “So you-”

“I never hooked up with Nate.” I interrupted, my tone sharp. “Not then. Not ever. So whatever picture you had in your head, whatever assumptions you made, they were wrong.”

He was quiet for a second, his hands still shoved in his pockets. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, you didn’t” I said bitterly. “Because you never asked. You just assumed.”

I could see it sinking in, the weight of his words finally hitting him, but I didn’t feel the satisfaction I thought I would. I just felt tired.

Matt let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was an asshole.”

“Yeah” I said, my voice flat. “You were.”

He glanced at me, like he wanted to say more, but I was done.

“I don’t have the energy for this” I muttered, stepping back toward the door. “I’m done, Matt. I don’t care how sorry you are. Just leave me alone. It’s best if we just stay out of each other's way for the rest of the trip.”

His jaw tensed, but this time, he didn’t fight it. He just nodded.

“Alright” he said quietly. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

I didn’t reply. I just closed the door, locking it this time.

a/n : everything is .. not changing?

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[leirastar]

new world | chapter 6

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.2k | 10 minutes A/n: SOOO...a TMI! I am actually a pretty chill person. but when it comes to work and writing i need at least 5 chapter planned before uploading a chapter. That is why i currently have about chapter 11 drafted already. Also this is quite amusing but I LIKE WORKING. It gives me a sense of purpose hihi, sometimes its stressful but it gives me joy. Anyways, i hope you enjoy this! Warning: JUST YUNHO AND MC BEING CUTE BYE.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like the last rays of the sun clinging to the earth. The sincerity in his tone left no room for teasing or denial—just the quiet truth of what he’d said.

He looked ahead again, his expression gentler than before, as if he was choosing every word carefully.

“I just… hope you’ll always come back to me.”

The words were quiet but unwavering, heavy with an honesty that made your chest tighten. Yunho wasn’t a man prone to insecurity or doubt. It wasn’t possessiveness in his voice—there was only sincerity, a calm and unshakable certainty that you had come to associate with him.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight. “Where else would I go?”

“You could go anywhere,” Yunho replied softly, his gaze flickering toward you once more. “You could leave the outskirts for Caius’s capital, where they’d call you a healer fit for kings. Or maybe even Reed, where your name would carry across the mountains.” He paused then, his voice dropping lower. “And yet, here you are.”

Your lips parted, but for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. Yunho had a way of saying things—of weaving meaning into the quiet spaces between sentences—that left you feeling caught in something deeper than you had realized.

“I like it here,” you said softly, finally. “The quiet. The fields. I don’t need more than that.”

His gaze lingered on you, soft and unspoken thoughts swirling in the gold of his eyes. “Good,” he murmured, his voice a touch quieter. “Because I’ll keep coming back, as long as you’ll have me.”

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escaped, something warm curling in your chest. “And where else would you go, Yunho?”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

The wind picked up, carrying a chill, but you hardly noticed. The rest of the ride passed in silence, but this time, it wasn’t heavy—it was warm, lingering like the last rays of sunlight stretching across the hills. Every time Yunho’s gaze flickered toward you, lingering just a moment too long, your heart stumbled over itself, and the world felt quieter—easier—because he was there. When you finally spoke, your voice was softer than before. “You don’t need to worry about them.” Yunho exhaled quietly, as though those words had loosened some invisible knot within him. “Good”

The rest of the ride unfolded in silence, but it was a different kind of quiet now—warm, lingering, and filled with all the things neither of you had said. The golden light softened as the sun melted into the horizon, casting long shadows across the hills, and you couldn’t help but feel that Yunho’s words, too, would linger well after the light had faded.

Yunho suddenly pulled his horse to a stop, the movement so abrupt it startled you. You turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning its slow descent. “Let’s enjoy the sunset together,” he said softly, his voice carrying an almost wistful note. His gaze flicked to the saddlebag. “I have blankets—and a some bread the hospital gave us.”

You blinked in surprise, but a smile crept onto your face before you could stop it. “You planned this?”

“Not entirely.” He shrugged, dismounting with ease before turning to help you down. “I’m just good at making use of what’s given to me.”

The teasing tone in his voice brought a laugh to your lips, and you allowed him to lift you gently off your horse. Together, you walked a short distance to a familiar hilltop where the world seemed to open up before you.

The sky was painted in hues of gold, violet, and deepening blue, the light spilling like liquid fire across the valley below. It was beautiful, the kind of quiet that settled deep into your bones, where even the soft rustling of the wind felt reverent.

Yunho laid out the blanket as you unpacked the bread and a small cloth-wrapped bundle of fruit. The hospital nurses had been generous, as if they’d known you’d need this moment.

You sat down beside Yunho, the edges of the blanket soft beneath your fingers as the cool evening air brushed against your cheeks. He sat close, one knee bent, his long frame relaxed though his expression remained contemplative. The silence stretched comfortably between you until he broke it, his voice soft.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, the words quiet but certain.

You turned to him, brows furrowing. “For what?”

“For not coming as often.” Yunho’s gaze remained on the horizon, where the last edge of the sun kissed the earth. “Things in Hala are… complicated. Someone is stirring trouble.”

Your smile faded. “And you’re involved in it?”

He exhaled quietly, his shoulders shifting. “I’m trying not to be,” he said. “But it’s hard to avoid.”

you had to ask him.

You turned toward him then, your voice soft but deliberate. “Would you answer me the truth, my lord?”

Yunho’s gaze flickered to you, his brows lifting faintly at the sudden question. “What is it you wish to know?”

You hesitated, watching him closely. “I couldn’t help but pry after your injury…” You exhaled carefully, choosing your words. “Are you really just a messenger, Yunho?”

At that, his face shifted, his expression turning carefully stoic—too still, too composed. “Yes,” he said simply, his voice steady, though the edge of it sounded practiced.

But you weren’t convinced.

“You’re certain?” you pressed, narrowing your eyes slightly. “Because if you were just a mere messenger, my lord…” You paused, holding his gaze. “Dare I ask why you would be struck by a Goretherion bloom?”

For the faintest moment, something flickered across Yunho’s features—an emotion too quick to catch before it disappeared behind his mask of calm. He looked ahead then, his jaw tight.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied quietly, though there was tension in the words. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Difficult?” you repeated, leaning toward him slightly. “You speak in riddles, my lord.”

Yunho’s gaze snapped back to you, sharp yet softened by the way the gold in his eyes seemed to melt under the twilight. For a beat, he said nothing. Then, with a slowness that made your heart stutter, his hand came to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. The all familiar sparks seem to sweep through your skin like ice.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, as if trying to anchor the moment between you. “I’ll keep you safe. You have my word.”

The weight of his touch, the quiet resolve in his voice—it stilled you completely. You stared at him, searching his expression, but Yunho’s gaze held yours without wavering. There was something unshakable about him in that moment, something that felt like both a shield and a promise.

“But Yunho…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Trust me,” he said softly, cutting you off before you could question further. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer, warm and sure, before he let it fall back to his side.

You exhaled slowly, the air heavy between you, full of things unsaid and unanswered. The Goretherion bloom—the trouble in Hala—none of it made sense, and yet, when Yunho looked at you like that, it was impossible not to believe him.

You murmured at last, your voice just above a whisper.

“I trust you.”

Yunho nodded as he teared his gaze from you. He turned to you then, his expression softening. Reaching into his muted gray cloak, he withdrew a small, velvet-wrapped box.

“What’s this?” you asked, blinking in surprise.

Yunho’s expression remained unreadable as he said simply, “Take it.”

The weight of his words made you pause before you carefully reached out, fingers brushing against the fine box. The bundle was small, its weight firm but reassuring, and when you pulled back the edges, the world seemed to slow.

Resting inside was an ornate pendant—elegant and intricate. Its delicate gold framework curved in swirling, nature-inspired motifs, adorned with clusters of sparkling diamonds that caught the light like scattered stardust. Suspended at the center of the design sat a striking blue sapphire, deep and mesmerizing, its facets gleaming like the heart of a midnight sea. Below, a teardrop-shaped sapphire hung gracefully, encased in a halo of smaller diamonds, its rich indigo hue streaked with faint glimmers of lighter blue, as though it held the reflection of a tranquil night sky.

Your breath caught, the beauty of it leaving you momentarily speechless. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the stone.

But even as you admired it, something stirred in the back of your mind—a quiet, undeniable realization. You knew what this meant. In Reed, courtships were steeped in tradition, subtle but significant gestures woven into every action. Gifting family jewels was one of the most profound gestures of all, especially when the jewels were as rare as this. A pendant like this, one polished to perfection and set with a stone this flawless, was not something given lightly.

You glanced up at Yunho, the weight of the pendant suddenly far heavier in your palm. “This looks…” You paused, searching for the right word.

Personal.

Yunho tilted his head slightly, watching you with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It caught my eye in the capital.”

A beat of silence. You heard the lie in his voice as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud—the softness of his tone, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long.

Carefully, you reached out, taking the pendant fully into your hands. It was cool to the touch, the weight of it pressing gently against your skin, but its significance—what it represented—settled even deeper.

You looked up at him, your voice quiet but certain. “You’re lying.”

Yunho’s brows lifted in faint surprise, but the teasing smirk you had come to know so well returned, soft and unreadable. “Lying?”

“Yes.” You turned the pendant carefully, letting the fading light catch on its surface. “This isn’t just something you found in the capital.”

Yunho’s smirk faded slightly, though his pride held steady in the stubborn line of his jaw. He looked at the pendant, then back at you, his voice quieter this time. “It belonged to my mother.”

Your fingers stilled against the stone, your chest tightening as the words registered. “Your mother?”

Yunho nodded, his expression calm but his eyes betraying something deeper—something unspoken. “It was hers. She kept it close. And now I want you to have it.”

You stared at him, stunned, the air between you suddenly too heavy with meaning. You knew what this pendant symbolized. It wasn’t just a trinket or a gesture—it was a promise, a silent question that waited patiently for an answer.

“I can’t accept this,” you said softly, though your voice wavered with uncertainty.

“You can, please” Yunho countered firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

He stepped closer then, the space between you shrinking, his presence both grounding and overwhelming. Yunho held the pendant between his fingers, his touch brushing against yours as he took it, lingering just long enough to send heat curling through you.

“May I?” His voice was low, a quiet murmur that hung in the air, reverent and steady.

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. “Yes,” you breathed, the word slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Yunho moved behind you, each step deliberate, as though afraid the moment might break. You sat perfectly still, breath caught in your chest, your entire body attuned to the faint rustle of his cloak and the warmth radiating off him.

Gently, his hands swept your hair to the side, calloused fingertips brushing against the bare skin at the nape of your neck. The touch was fleeting—innocent, almost—but it was enough to make you shiver. And then you felt it: his breath.

Warm and soft, it ghosted across your skin as he lingered, clasping the chain with steady hands. It sent a ripple of shivers coursing through you, pooling at the base of your spine as your fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Yunho was quiet, focused, but the closeness—the deliberate slowness of his movements—was impossibly intimate. The pendant’s chain was cool where it brushed against your collarbone, a contrast to the heat rising up your neck and settling in your cheeks.

You inhaled shakily, the sound embarrassingly loud in the silence, just as his knuckles grazed your neck again—soft and unintentional, yet devastating all the same.

The click of the clasp finally broke the stillness, but Yunho lingered for a moment longer, his breath still there, stirring goosebumps across your skin. When he pulled back, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Yunho returned to his seat, his golden-brown gaze lingering on you as the pendant settled against your chest. His voice was low, the words soft but steady.

“It suits you.”

Your fingers brushed against the pendant again, the smooth surface cool against your skin. But before you could respond, Yunho's voice broke through the quiet once more, softer this time, as though he were speaking a truth he’d kept hidden.

“With this,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering,

“I’ll always come back. No matter where I am, no matter what happens… I will find my way back to you. And I will always protect you.”

Masterlist

five | seven

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[mxrcurysb1tch]

Rating my astrology placements (and yours... maybe)

Inspired by @abyssalfaith

Cancer venus- 8/10 I feel like I feel this one quite strongly. I fall in love (or the idea of it lol) quite quickly and I can really romanticise people. I can't always tell if I am in love with someone or just really admire them platonically, which is a bit confusing ngl. I can never have a crush on more than one person at once. I have so much empathy and love for my friends and I'd genuinely do anything for them. I think there is so much beauty in longing and just emotions in general. ALSO I am obsessed with the friends to lovers trope.

Gemini rising- 9/10 Honestly if it wasn't for this placement I'd be the biggest freaking recluse ever. I literally have to give my opinion/share my experiences on everything especially online lol. I find socialising very exciting. My mind is all over the place and I have so many conflicting thoughts at once. Very adaptable, good at blending in with social situations. Having a broad knowledge of a lot of things is helpful too but sometimes I struggle when it gets too specific. I luuuurve being percieved as witty and funny. Sometimes I find it difficult to calm down or to focus on one thing. ALWAYS losing, dropping, forgetting stuff. INDECISIVE AF and childish in a good way.

4h Stellium- (sun, mars, mercury, jupiter) 6/10 Honestly have a love/hate thing with this one. I have such a weird relationship w/ my family, especially extended family. I love my home and I feel deeply connected to it, especially that I've lived in the same house all my life. My home is a sanctury to me and I want it to be as cozy as possible. Being an only child, it has always been my dream to grow up and have a fairly big family, 3-4 kids.

Capricorn moon- 7/10 Sometimes I wish I was more able to be soft. I am very nurturing but in my own way. So loyal and steady and reliable and strong but people don't always appreciate these things. Emotional nurturance growing up was almost non existent. Very sensitive underneath. This placement is kind of like an armour. I have to say though, although I am very dedicated to my work and use it to avoid my feelings, I have never met a capricorn moon that wants a corporate job and is the stereotypical 'workaholic'. We're actually susceptible to getting burnt out pretty easily. Very cautious even when I was a kid, hate taking risks. The pessimistic thing is absolutely true though, we're just good at hiding it.

2h venus and saturn- 8/10 I have never really had to worry about money which is great. Tricky relationship w/ food for most of my life but I really do love it and use it as a comfort.

8h moon- 5/10 This is a placement that everyone knows sucks. And yeah it kinda does especially as a child. Financial and physical support, big inheritance from family but basically no emotional support at all (+ capricorn so you can imagine). Guilt and other very heavy emotions imposed by family. BUT I do feel like this is a very baddass placement. I can feel the energy of people and places without even having the words to describe it. I have become very good at knowing who is good for me and who is not. I can always see things coming ages before it happens. Doesn't mean I listen to it though LOL so I am always disappointed but never surprised.

Leo mercury (retrograde) 6/10 Oh man. Having mercury retrograde is interesting. Leo mercuries are funny and bright and communicate with 'flare' I feel like. And while I do this to a certain extent, it can get a bit convoluted along the way. I am a pretty entertaining storyteller, I talk fast, I am pretty dramatic (outwardly at least) and I love making people laugh and love talking. I dislike small talk, I just kind of find it boring and pointless and kind of uncomfortable at times but I can do it fairly well, its not like I don't know how to, I would just prefer not to. (I feel like being a gemini rising kind of counteracts some of the issues I have with mercury being rx in my chart). Im very introspective but I think about myself way too much, too much internal jumbled dialogue, like pls just SHUT UP. Growing up I LOVED being on stage and I would still probably be doing it had life not taken me down a different path.

[ethosiab]

we've been here before, 5 or 6 times

Etho and Tango hang out. A new game is soon to begin, so they talk.

They find it’s not exactly a matter of if they’ll join, but how soon.

beta read by @silliest-sideblog and partially inspired by these fics by @oh-snapperss

(read on ao3)

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

When they receive the message, Etho and Tango are hanging out in their corner of the shopping district, in the bowels of Ravager Rush. Sheets of paper are scattered about everywhere at Etho’s feet where he’s sat sifting through them.

They could have chosen a better spot to be doing this, but hey! If Etho gets an epiphany about one of the numerous bugs he’s been dealing with since deciding to rework the scoring system, the game is right there. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has abandoned the other on one of their so-called ‘dates’ to fix a redstone issue.

(Pearl likes to call it that- a date. Even though neither of them are really interested in that sort of thing, and they spend the whole time barely saying a few words to each other, content to work on their own projects as long as the other is nearby. They don’t really mind it though, so maybe Pearl’s onto something when she says it.)

Etho flips through a stack of pages, each scribbled with notes, ideas, and small diagrams that he’s jotted down quickly in between doing other tasks around Frogger and his base. Generally, he’s able to keep his notes more organised than this, but between fixing all the bugs as they came up after the game’s opening, and redesigning the scoring system after the other hermit’s competitive insanity, he hasn’t had much time to sit down and simply sort through them.

Tango, meanwhile, sits a couple metres away from him, lying on his stomach. He’s propped himself up on his elbows and is currently staring very intently at a document open on his communicator with a sour look on his face.

“I can’t believe I missed some of these. What sorta redstoner am I?” Tango says, lifting a hand to flick through the list. “I mean, surely if I’d been less lazy when I got into this I wouldn’t have half of these bugs.”

Etho looks up from the papers. “If it makes you feel better, I spent hours trying to figure out why the game wasn’t turning on last night,” He says, “It turned out a silverfish had burrowed into a stone block and broke the redstone on top of it when it came out.” That was a new one. The kind of bug you only get when you’re placing redstone while half asleep. Bdubs had been around, and even then phantoms can’t get to him underground, so there hadn’t been much reason for Etho to actually sleep. Unfortunately, he doesn’t function well when tired, and acknowledgement of that fact has not magically fixed his sleep schedule.

Tango makes a variety of exasperated and unbelieving noises at the confession. “Wh- Yeah that does make me feel better!” He pushes himself up from the floor, and leans back onto his knees. “What are you doing building on natural stone for, man! That’s disgusting!”

“Look, I was−”

Tango interrupts him. “Gah! Can’t believe we gave Joel all that flack about not using smooth stone or wool, when you Mr Hopper Clock himself, can’t even be bothered to-”

He stops when the holographic display of the bug list he had open in front of him fizzles out, and the touchscreen of his comm stares up brightly at him in its place.  In the same moment, Etho’s own comm materializes at his hip.

The devices chime with an incessant and annoying note, designed to grab the players’ attention—and keep it—until they do what it wants.Etho hasn’t heard that sound in almost a year. He silently wishes that year had lasted longer.

He doesn’t need to unlatch it from his belt and open it to know what it says. He does so anyway.

<████> Join the Game?

He can’t read the IGN of the player who sent it. They gave up trying to figure that out a few games back.

Etho swallows back a lump in his throat. “It really couldn’t give us a rest for a little longer, could it?” He says, chuckling a little. It wasn’t funny.

Tango gives a frustrated huff from where he’s stood up. He half looks prepared to chuck his communicator along with its stupid join prompt into the nearest wall.

“I’m going outside,” he says, “Getting some fresh air.” His tail flicks side to side with obvious pent up anxiety. The fire in his hair has come to life, and Etho would fear for his low hanging redstone if he didn’t know for a fact that Tango’s flames are practically harmless, not like a real blaze’s fire.

Etho has grown to understand Tango’s large emotive reactions to things like these. He can’t see his own hair, but given the growing ball of static he feels in his chest from the prospect of a new game, he can imagine the clouds are more unruly than normal.

He keeps a hand on the stack of papers he was sorting through, worried the cold breeze would scatter them, and ruin the last half hour of work he’s done. It often followed him, the breeze, especially when he was feeling like this. It’s almost starting to become normal.

“Don’t leave without me,” Etho says, looking up at his friend. The words surprised even him.  He doesn’t know why he thinks the possibility would ruin him.

Tango’s smile is small, but it’s there. “Never.”

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

They sit at the edge of Tango’s factory base, legs hanging off the ledge and looking out on the horizon—on the rest of the server. There’s redstone under Etho’s nails, from his work last night. He should really clean it out before he burns himself by accidentally activating it. Doc’s always pestered him about wearing gloves, especially ever since he lost his eye. He does agree, he’d like to never experience pain like that again. Redstone reacting with his blood, infecting an already corrupted wound. Etho’s not a smart guy when it comes to this sort of thing, though. He likes his fingerless gloves. He likes the itch of redstone dust under his fingernails. He finds it grounding.

Tango’s head rests on his shoulder, a similar grounding force. His tail is partially wrapped around Etho, swishing side to side and knocking into Etho’s shoe every now and then. Etho’s not even sure Tango knows he’s doing it.

“Are you going to join?” Tango asks.

Etho huffs a bit in response. Is he? Every game so far has only served to drive him further to the edge. He’s almost reached a tipping point many times. And yet, every time his comm chimes with that unignorable message, he can’t help but consider it. He’s played in death games before, holds the scars of those days gone by, but he’s older now. He should be more level headed about joining a hardcore server designed specifically to drive him to murder and kill his friends. Is he a bad person for considering this?

“I mean, I haven’t missed one yet.”

Tango pauses. “Didn’t they have another one?” He questions, half speaking into the fluff on the hood of Etho’s vest. “Earlier this season? A lot of the guys disappeared on April fools. Something about an ‘out of body experience’. I know you weren’t there for that.”

That makes Etho freeze a little. Of course, Cleo won that one. He missed the join notification because he specifically put his comm as far from himself as possible so he could avoid distractions while sorting through the junk all over his single player world. Did he really forget something like that? “Hm. Yeah you’re right. Had a lot of stuff at home to clean up, I guess. Cleo did mention it though. Said it was fun.”

“Heh, I don’t know if the others all really agreed with her,” Tango chuckles. “Apparently Joel couldn’t stop throwing up for at least a day or two after. Really fucked with his code, that one.”

Etho could relate. He got sick towards the end of the last game and was almost relieved when Scar drew his sword through his stomach for the 3rd time. The rough respawn meant he was stuck curled up in his bed in his Decked Out 2 cubby until Tango found him. He did get up, after a regen potion or two. No death game would stop him from running the dungeon, after all.

(Tango wasn’t happy with him for that. He wanted to force Etho to be on bedrest for a bit. He was convinced in the end though, probably recognizing how late in the season they were, and how disrupting it would be for Etho to miss out on the final phases.)

Etho doesn’t voice his thoughts though. “Maybe this one will be similar. Fun, I mean.”

He doesn’t really believe himself when he says it. Cleo’s game was short, probably didn’t last long enough for anything to really hurt. Something tells him he won’t be as lucky this time.

Tango apparently doesn’t believe him either. He scoffs. “Yeah, right. And I’ll win! We’re saying things that won’t happen now, is that what we’re doing?”

Etho leans back. He puts his comm to the side for now, but doesn’t power it off or tuck it back into his inventory. Tango shuffles to the side slightly, lifting his head to give him space.

Etho turns to look at him. He shifts the subject slightly. “You gonna team up with me?” He asks, once again saying the first thing to come to mind. What the hell is Tango doing to him? “We could uh- really show them what 37th and 39th place could do.”

He adds the second part, almost as an afterthought. A joke, just to keep it- It can’t get too real. 

Tango does him the service of ignoring the crack in his voice, and lightly whacks him. “HEY! 34th place actually!”, he exclaims, “I’ll have you know I’ve moved up in the world since I had you lot draggin’ me down.”

Which does hurt a little, Etho admits to himself. But it’s a joke, he knows, so he ignores the ache in his heart. He just chuckles.

Tango lets his hand drop, actually considering the question now. He’s still smiling, but it’s faltering and he can’t quite seem to look Etho in the eye. The horizon looks mighty fine, about now. They can see a lot of the server from here. Tango’s unfurnished and frankly abandoned steampunk cottage, Gem’s research facility and mountain skull, Skizzle’s pyramid, Pearl’s beautiful orchard. The fact that they’re both so close to abandoning it all for weeks, on purpose, for something that’s only ever hurt them—it sits wrong with him.

Tango continues, “But uh, yeah. I’m not giving those sorts of promises man. We can’t- I can’t control what happens in there. You know that.”

Tango’s voice is quiet as he says the last bit. He looks troubled. Upset at the words he’s saying, maybe. Etho knows they can control what happens in the games, to a degree. They’re not compelled to do wrong by some outside force. He supposes that’s what makes it so scary. It’s easier to think of their betrayal and implosion as inevitable, than to face the prospect of having the choice but choosing wrong every time.

So Etho doesn’t verbalise his disagreement. He nods. “Mhm. I know.”

The message on his comm still sits there, glaring at him harshly in the low light.

Join the Game?

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Screw everything else inject On1y into my damn veins

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Aug 2024 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) eps 5-6 of 12 - Extreme introvert dealing with a very hot, very drunk, very affectionate extrovert was an excellent experience all around. “I was drunk and talking out of my ass, but I wasn’t lying” maybe one of the world’s greatest confessions. How meta that he’s checking out the book of the story that he’s in. Carry on boys, very enjoyable, very Thai BL.

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 12 fin - It’s cute. They are all very cute. I do like it when high school BL gives us a coming out sequence. I know it’s old-fashioned, but it’s a trope that goes with this particular setting really well, and I just like it when it’s done nicely. I’m not sure I needed it to totally dominate the final episode of the series. But it was fine.

I gotta say, Fourth is an absolutely outstanding actor. He really did knocked it out of the park in this last episode especially. 

In conclusion:

It was fine and it was charming, but it was also a little lackluster. Thailand managed to take one of Japan's softest cutest most bonkers BLs in recent memory and make it softer and cuter and... dull. They did this by watering it down. JBLs almost always have an edge to them, even the rom-coms, by dulling the edge, MLMU lost a great deal of the sparkle and tension as well. What an office setting managed to mostly maintain in the consummate hands of TayNew felt somewhat lackluster when handed off to the next generation and a high school setting. Cherry Magic was a lovely reinterpretation, Mix Up was an amateur's watercolor rendition of a colorful oil painting. Am I being harsh? G4 tried their best, and Fourth turned in some outrageously good acting in the latter half. But the show? It was fine. If you like water colors and you haven't seen (and loved) Kieta Hatsukoi. 8/10

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans (Fri iQIYI) ep 8 fin - This was the first hint we got that the lead's relationship was anything more than sexual. And it was utilized for a breakup?! JJ and Wan's friendship is the best thing about this show. PWan selling JJ out to Methas was great. I was modestly delighted by the big fuck off ownership engagement ring. I admire a boy who likes to mark his territory with bling. I actually thought this was a decent final episode. If very rushed. I know, in general this ending was objectively weak, but I grinned the entire time, so I can’t really complain that much.

Final thoughts?

A story about a kid who infiltrates a cooking competition under false pretenses and then has to deal with the consequences when he falls in love with the head chef. The side couple is a poor little rich boy meets physical therapist (morality chain). The core friendships are excellent and the chemistry cannot be faulted across the (charcuterie) board. What this show lacks in substance it makes up for in health code violations. It was all chili all the time. Considering that the plot centered on betrayal but the romantic relationship never sweetened enough to balance that bitterness; one could be forgiven for throwing this one in the compost. But I got over all its weaknesses in flavor balancing for an ultimately satisfying meal, with a great dessert course. I've always loved spicy food. Plus the blooper reels were fantastic. 8/10

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 2 of 10 - I like the side couple a lot. It’s nice to see that dynamic developed (as it wasn't in the CBL version). Of course, Thailand leans into a secondary couple, but I also like the super popular jock + geeky boy who couldn’t care less. You know what? I’m actually really enjoying this. And yes, I AM biased because it's August. (Wait, that could be taken several different ways this month. But you know what I mean.) Anygay, this is a lot softer than the original, and so Hero is much more of a pining character and less harsh. But I'm still enjoying it. I like the stepbrothers trope (we don’t get it very much from Thailand), and I enjoy the beats and pulses of this particular story. We will see if it derails into inconsequence and lack of conflict the way My Love Mixup did.  

Sunset X Vibes (Sat iQIYI) ep 11 of 12 - I’m enjoying this show but it should’ve been just 10 eps. It’s feeling bloated at this juncture. That said, I loved our little GL kiss. Very pretty. I also really like the bit with Sam and Yo flirting with each other. Sam trying to get Yo to call him P'Sam was fucking brilliant. And then slipping in all of those nongs. Delightful. Linguistic negotiation, it's what's for dinner... along with Sam's d**k apparently. I frankly did not think they would take this couple that far. So, thank you very much everybody involved.

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 4 of 12 - I do enjoy watching Yim freak out and fall in love all over again. The reality is still better for me than the fantasy parts, but it’s all fun enough. The magic mushrooms bit was odd. In fact, there is definitely a core tenor of ODD going on with the show. Which I’m accustomed to from Japan but I’m not really sure about from Thailand. Thus I remain engaged but suspicious of this BL. 

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 6 of 12 - Yu wants to take his baby on a trip, gets thwarted by his younger brother. Ouch. I really do think it’s time for Ai to tell Yu what’s going on with his dreams! Drunken boyfriend bolster pillow is a fav trope of mine. As usual, I’m catching second lead syndrome. What? I liked the rich boy badminton player. And then he picked up a guitar. Oh well.

The Trainee (Sun YouTube) ep 8 of 12 - No one cares about the hets. He was jelly? Cute. Also kinda an arse, by hey this is BL. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) eps 1-2 of 12 - announced in 2023, high school, stepbrothers, and is reputed to be high heat. Based on a novel Mou Mou + the Your Name Engraved Herein team.

ARE YOU READY? I'M GOING TO NOT SO QUIETLY LOSE MY DAMN MIND

This is old-school BL and it’s bloody fantastic. Tsundere seme to beat all tsundere (smartest + tallest + bestest at everything but people) meets socially-ept cutie smart-ass protag.

They living together by end of ep 1 and start kissing by end of ep 2.

There is an Unknown quality to this, and that I love. Also, and ironic to say this while Addicted Heroin Th is airing, but this REALLY reminds me of Addicted. It’s so fucking good. I am all in on this show. Shut up while this eats my life.

Cosmetic Playlover (Japan Tues Gaga) eps 5-6 of 8 - Of course! The POV shift to the seme character at ep 5! How could I forget? Japan loves this beat! AND.... The running of the gays. And a use of a first name! So darling. Also some crazy great communication and conversation that is NOT a hallmark of Japan. Sahashi is so very possessive. I loved the switch that went on in his brain and the mania in his eyes when he thought someone else was interested in Natsume. I continue to love this.

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - I’m never going to like Maya. Sorry. And the leads were separated for most of this episodes so it was largely disappointing. I did like the insight into the way T sees the world, and sees the alienation of a disability and what it's dong to his friend. It’s very empathic. He’s such an appealing character in his obtuse bull-headed way.

Seoul Blues (Korea Fri? YouTube) ep 2 of 8 - It’s intriguing, and I'm happy to have anything from Korea on my dash. But, like Blue Boys, I’m not entirely sure if I like it or not.

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) eps 3-4 of 12 - This may be Taiwan but I’m still in the "no singing" camp. I’m getting a slightly better chemistry feel off the leads in this episode. I’m not sure if they’re keeping it stiff because the younger character is under age or if it’s just that the actors aren’t there yet? (In other words is this a directing choice or a performance issue?)

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 8 of 10 - I've finally come down firmly on the fact that it’s the uneven power distribution (in terms of interest and enthusiasm for the relationship) that I dislike about this show. Generally, I like a power dynamic differential, kinky and all that. But this particular dynamic, when it’s the weaker personality that’s so much more into the stronger one? I never like it, unless it engages a serious pivot at some point. (See My Personal Weatherman or Takara & Amagi.)

It's airing but...

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun grey) ep 3 of 10 - I was really loving this one but I can't find ep 3 anywhere so I guess I gotta wait it out. I hope I get to see it eventually.

4 Minutes (Sat Gaga) eps 1-6 of 8 - Gaga picked this one up so we can watch it there. If I have time, I'll get caught up and put it into rotation.

In case you missed it

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - I'm eating crow, binging the fucker, and live blogging.

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer IS COMING IN SEPTEMBER!!!! (Yeah this is gonna sit here until then).

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Coming Next Month:

The Time of Fever (Korea)

9/1 Live in Love (Thai)

9/3 Happy of the End (Japan)

9/6 Kidnap (Thai)

9/7 The Hidden Moon (Thai)

9/9 Jack & Joker (Thai)

9/14 Love Sick 2024 (Thai)

9/17 Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan)

More deets next week. It's late and I'm tired.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

It was pretty. I am very shallow.

Even more pretty. Petition to have Tenon with his shirt off and hair back in every subsequent Thai BL? Just because.

(SunsetXVibes)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.