#already liking how this ask will look out of context

[ladycremecaramel]

So this was my ask from a long time ago, and I had thoughts of mgit (modern girl in thedas) story for this, but it never came to fruition. What I did do, though, was write a drabble from the Inquistor's POV. I thought it was long gone, but I stumbled upon it through my Google docs. After reading it, I thought I would post it here.

For context, the woman's name is Nora, and she is married and has a kid. There was an accident of some sort where the husband and child didn't survive, but she did and wound up in Thedas with the mark on her hand. She didn't want anything to do with the Inquisition as her spouse and child were her whole world and was grieving. She didn't care if she lived or died, but her moral compass of wanting to help those in need prevented her from outright killing herself.

Over time, the grief becomes...less in a way. After the fall of Haven and becoming the Inquisitor, her depression ramps up again but also has conflicting feelings about Cullen.

Then she becomes kidnapped red templars and...I forgot what they called the evil mages that worked for Corypheus were called. The ones that went crazy or were they called blood mages? Anyway, their plan was to 'kill' the Inquisitor and then use necromancy on her dead body to have control of the mark. Obviously, that doesn't happen cuz the Inquisition comes to the rescue juuuust in time.

So here it is. Below this is a TW of depression, blood, thoughts of suicide, and mentions of rape

Whack.

She yelped in pain as he punched the side of her face again. Another swollen bruise to add the collection on her body and face. She tried to wrench her wrists free of her binds, but the rope held tight was starting to cut into her skin. “Why am I fighting this? Don’t I want to die?” She thought to herself as her body struggled against her captors. 

She wasn’t sure, but her thoughts were stilled when a rough hand grabbed her by the throat. The red templar forced her to look up at him as he tightened his grip. Staring into the glowing crimson eyes, he snarled. “Should I let them rape you, mage? If you keep fighting, I won’t let you have any dignity left.” 

Nora froze upon hearing those words. To be raped and let whatever was to be become of her? His grip was tightening as she went limp with fear. If she were to die anyway, she wanted to at least have the choice to stay intact. The man stilled his tightening grip and slowly loosened his hold to see if she would struggle again. She didn’t move. Taking as a sign of surrender, he ordered the other men to bind her legs quickly. 

Everything moved quickly in a blur for her after that as she was carried to the open wooden box and placed inside. Her eyes began to sting with tears while her captors placed the lid on top and hammered it down with nails. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear their voices. 

Soon she heard what sounded like chanting. It sounded low and in another language. What was going on out there? Did it matter? She watched interior of the box glow at the seams with a dark purple energy. It glowed brighter and brighter what felt like the longest time before it faded away, plunging her back into darkness. 

The next thing she knew was that box was being lifted and then lowered back down. She rocked back and forth with the casket, but it soon lurched with a soft thump. Nora fidgeted around with her hands tied in front of her until she heard the sound dirt being poured on top of the box she was in. Her eyes grew wide, and she sobbed. “This is it. This is how I die.” She thought as she tried to calm herself and accept her fate as she was being buried alive. 

“It shouldn’t be painful. I’ll fall unconscious as I lose oxygen. I’ll get to see my boys again soon. Just like I always wanted. I would have already offed myself if I didn’t have this fucking curse on my hand. They wanted their world saved though. My stupid guilty, noble do-the-right-thing just HAD to win out…” 

She thought like this as the sound of the dirt grew fainter. She assumed it was because her grave was almost filled up. She wondered how much time she actually had. It could be a few minutes to possibly a few hours or so she was told by Google. Looks like she was going to test that theory. 

Nora let her mind sift through all her memories. From her childhood to her adolescent days to adulthood. Then it went to more recent memories of losing her husband and child in a flash of green and then winding up in Thedas. Going through the story of the game or most of it anyway. She thought about the companions she met and actually becoming friends with them. She even thought about him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him still but he definitely made her heart race. 

She wasn’t sure how much time has passed but the sound of the dirt stopped and she heard muffled shouts and what sounded like metal clashing. She strained her ears as best as she could. She couldn’t tell how deep she was buried but it didn’t sound like she was buried too deep or she wouldn’t have likely heard anything. 

She was starting to feel tired. When she heard a muffled angry voice that sounded like...

“Cassandra?”

They came all this way for me?

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

Aaaaannnnd end. That's it. Then my ask picks up from there.

You don't have to do this one. DAi: LI's only. After locating the Inky's they find that their leader is nowhere in sight. After some fruitless interrogating, they hear a faint THUMP THUMP THUMP and muffled screaming. They search for the source and find a half filled grave and the sound of their leader under the dirt. Their reaction: Discovering their Inky was buried alive.

Cassandra: Her heart drops, and the panic doesn’t even have time to settle before she is loudly barking orders and trying to steady her breathing. The second she gets the Inquisitor out of his shallow grave; she grabs him in a big hug and refuses to let go. The seeker is far from a merciful person, any may Andraste protect whoever dared do this to the person she loves. For a second she looks up at the man she loves, dirty and bruised with a mixture of panic and fear in his eyes. She doesn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if they hadn’t gotten there sooner. 

Solas: Bring along the fury of a wolf and you will end up being ripped apart by the pack, this is very much apparent with Solas. The apostate is quick on his feet, helping his vhenan out of the grave and staring at the people responsible whom they just questioned; he has murder in his gaze. The only thing stopping him from acting then and there is the soft touch from his lover, her shaking body quickly moving closer to him for comfort. He would never forgive the people who did this and the ones who survived his visit later that night were the unlucky ones.

Dorian: At first he is rather unsettling, extremely calm and soft-spoken, only to lash out when someone makes a rather poor comment as the Inquisitor is helped out of his grave. Dorian feels utterly helpless and furious when he sees his Amatus like that, the man has bruises around his wrists showing he was tied; a busted lip and a tired gaze. he knows that if they had been slower the man he loved would’ve been underneath them all along but lacking the consciousness to ever speak up about where he was. One wrong clue or details lost could’ve led to being one minute too late. And that terrifies him.

Sera: May whatever god these people look up to be a just and forgiving one; because Sera sure as hell isn’t. As soon as Inky is out of that grave, an arrow is lodged into the leg of the nearest guilty person; and she has to be held back from jumping the man. She has no mercy for these people, and absolutely no pity for them as their screams reach her ears. Sera is scarily silent as she calms down, quickly finding her girlfriend and latching onto her- a shaky breath escaping her as she promises that she won’t ever let this happen again.

Blackwall: Honestly; it would surprise noone if Thom admitted to having done this himself, seeing as how calm he was when he was met with the issue itself; quick and steady hands knowing what to do right away. He doesn’t speak much when the Inquisitor stumbles out of the grave, clinging onto him and gasping for air and shaking. The tears in her eyes is enough to send his very being into a angry rampage; but he simply stays silent. Comforting his lover as he leads her away from the site, the others can deal with the vermin.

Iron Bull: May whoever did this rest in peace, because honestly they messed up the second they dared to mess with anyone who had contacts within the chargers. Bull is extremely gentle and careful with his lover; the poor thing shaking and it breaks his heart the second he sees the bruises on their face. Being buried alive is not fun, he would know. He is more aware than anyone else how lucky they were; because you loose oxygen fast in a casket. He lets out a shaky breath before kissing their face, muttering an apology for taking so long.

Josephine: When she had heard the word of what happened, she couldn’t help but close herself inside the office and just cry. Leliana had made sure she got time to let out all the worry and stress as she awaited for her lover to return. When they did? They were met by Josephine, puffy eyes and a lip that she had clearly chewed on more than enough to draw blood. And she only started crying again when she saw their bruised face, just about starting to heal from traveling back. She hated that she had to let them go on these trips; but she knew stopping them would only make things worse. With a tired sigh she grabs their hand, they needed a few hours. Just to be.

Cullen: He was the one leading the rescue operation, and he thought he had the ability to act cool. But when the Inquisitor is helped up from the casket and is finally able to see in the much brighter area; she sees him acting extremely out of character. The man on the ground is bleeding heavily from his face as Cassandra pulls the commander away from him. Cullen had been scared, he had felt so lonely when he found out that his rage blinded him and for a split second he wanted nothing else but to kill the person responsible. He feels his anger melt when the hand of his loved one is carefully placed on his cheek, as she whispers for him to calm down. She is bruised, tired and was probably on her last breaths. He would never forgive himself for allowing this to happen to begin with, but may the maker have mercy on the people responsible. They would face the wrath of Cullen Rutherford.

[alleiwentcrazy]

“Wait,” Steve propped himself on his elbow, getting into a half-lying, half-sitting up position, “you’d do that for me?”

“Yeah man,” Eddie replied. He shimmied a little bit closer to the middle of the mattress and snuggled to his pillow. His eyebrows furrowed as he yawned. “I mean, I kind of did that already, didn’t I?”

Steve just kept on looking at him, stunned. It felt so strange to be cared for; to be remembered, known. He’d never had been, not like that—with Robin, sure, but that was different. He’d never felt like that with Nancy. With anyone. He hadn’t had to try and make out someone’s silhouette in the darkness, just to read their face and decide whether they were just selfless and nice or doing something for him. Truly for him, for the sake of doing it for him. It had never been an issue, because there had never been anyone about whom he’d had to wonder things like that. It had always been an exchange of sorts in this context.

But not with Eddie.

Steve’s head started to spin.

“Honestly I can’t wait for you to see it. You know she’s not really my type, but even I can see how fucking cool this car is. It felt a little like tuning my guitar or—”

Steve didn’t even register it when he reached for Eddie’s face, his consciousness wasn’t in the room when he lowered himself down and sank even closer to the boy who’d put his heart in a wrench. He just kissed him, and when he did – momentarily, it was a complete bliss. As long as his lips were gently pressed to Eddie’s, no matter how hard his heart was beating, it felt like he would be okay after all. Nothing else was important; he was kissing Eddie. He felt warm and cared for; he was kissing Eddie. 

Eddie.

Steve felt a finger hook at the rim of his shirt, he felt himself being pulled closer.

The panic came approximately three seconds later.

Their lips parted with the softest tsk, but Steve heard it several times louder. His senses were screaming at him, all alarms set off; the smell of Eddie’s shampoo lingered around his face, the sensation of chapped lips lingered against his, his fingers were tingling where they came in contact with Eddie’s slightest stubble.

It was curious how much Eddie reminded him of a cat at that moment. He was rigid, but ready to spring into action whenever, and his eyes were ridiculously big, almost fluorescent in the dim moonlight that was seeping through the trailer’s curtains. The longer Steve looked into those eyes, the more he felt like he might have fucked up. Bad.

“Should I—I should, I mean I…” He trailed off, getting a little further away from Eddie with every word. “I should, yeah, probably. Go.”

He practically jumped out of the bed, and it pained him how cold it was without Eddie close to him. He’d gotten so used to sleeping here, just sleeping, whenever Wayne was out and no uncomfortable questions would be asked, so that they both could feel a little less alone.

“I’ll take the van, we’ll exchange cars later today, alright?” Steve looked for his change of clothes in the darkness. They were, as usual, neatly stacked in his designated space at Eddie’s desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I mean, I did, but I’m, uh. I’m…” He trailed off, his cheeks getting embarrassingly hot and pink, he supposed, even though he couldn’t see himself in the mirror.

It felt wrong to say he was sorry. He was, obviously, he just kissed Eddie out of nowhere, but it didn’t feel like a mistake. His lips were still warm. He wanted to purse them tightly to keep the memory of Eddie’s lips on his firmly in place.

“We should do it again.”

Steve froze.

“What?”

He turned back towards the bed. It was much easier to make out Eddie’s form now. He was sitting up, chewing his thumbnail, his eyes barely flickering to Steve. His hair stood out against the white-ish wall and Eddie’s gray T-shirt. The waves were quite disheveled, but still cascaded beautifully over his shoulders.

Damn, Steven.

“We should do it again. If you’re not sure, we should do it again.”

Not sure about what? Steve did not dare ask. Eddie looked so nervous, maybe even more nervous than Steve felt. Both of their breaths were coming short now, as if they’d just run a marathon.

Apprehensively, Steve sat back down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped underneath him and he swayed a bit forward.

“We should kiss. Again?” That really was what it was, right?

Eddie nodded his head quickly. Steve’s breath hitched when the smell of Eddie’s shampoo reached his nose once again.

There were very few thoughts in Steve’s head. There was just Eddie, right in front of him, chewing his nail, nodding away. Wanting to kiss him, again, having been kissed once already. Steve was confused and more than a little queasy, but his willpower wasn’t quite strong enough to get him questioning things.

“Okay,” he mumbled. Eddie finally looked at him, lowered his hand to his lap and nodded.

Some sort of nervous sound rumbled in the back of Steve’s throat. Okay. It was okay. He leaned in—and Eddie leaned in at the same time. Warm breath tickled Steve’s lips, and he stopped just before meeting Eddie half-way.

“Are you su—”

Eddie was kissing him before the sentence got out of his mouth in its entirety. Really kissing him, not just pressing their lips together, kissing him, still incredibly stiff and distanced, but kissing him. Oh, with something more than just curiosity, Steve could tell. He let out one heavy breath through his nose and felt Eddie relax right away with him. Their lips were in perfect harmony; Steve’s chest tightened. His stomach felt heavy and full and squirmy and for some reason Steve had never felt better than in this moment, even though his eyes stung and he could barely breathe.

His hands acted on their own accord, one settling on Eddie’s shoulder, the other on his cheek, keeping him close, closer, closer still.

Their lips parted. Steve felt the loss immediately.

“I’m gonna…” Eddie whispered huskily, untangling his legs from the cover and shifting his position. It was funny how one of his knees kind of hovered over Steve’s lap in silent question – it was even funnier how long it took Steve to process that.

“Yeah, feel free, please.”

What the fuck, Steven.

Eddie straddled his lap and leaned right back for another kiss, pressing their chests together. Their hearts kept thump thump thumping loudly against their chests, and Steve was kind of actively losing his mind over that. Eddie, in his gray T-shirt and stupid plaid shorts, was straddling his lap, kissing him, making him believe that he had the whole world in the palm of his hand. Was it even real? Could Steve touch him? Would it really be alright? He laid his hand on Eddie’s thigh, feeling hair and goosebumps underneath his fingers. Another conclusion from that night: Eddie was hot. Steve kissed him harder, and he reciprocated, grabbing Steve’s neck.

Steve had no idea for how long they had been kissing, until Eddie swayed dangerously close to the edge of the bed and Steve’s neck started to hurt. It wasn’t nearly enough, but that was it.

For now, hopefully.

“It’s getting late,” he mumbled against Eddie’s lips, “and you’ve got to be at the shop at 8 sharp tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said and stole one more peck. “You wanna sleep?”

Fuck me if I can, Steve thought, but nodded yes.

“But let’s talk tomorrow? Okay?”

Eddie’s hands were still cupping his cheeks. His lips seemed sleek and shiny, shinier than his eyes, even.

“We must,” he replied. They both nodded. For some reason Steve’s heart started beating even faster now.

Eddie scrambled from his lap, cleared his throat and rearranged the covers, getting back into his favourite position. Steve followed suit. The gap between them seemed enormous and immediately got filled with anxious energy.

Steve reached between them hesitantly. For a few seconds his hand just lay there, empty and suddenly very cold. Eddie’s open palm touched his. He let out a big breath.

They would figure it out. For sure. Tomorrow.

[imsofreakingtired]

idk if this might be off the table but can you write about sevika finding reader on the bridge about to jump off of it but she gets there just in time

Feel free to ignore if you don’t like it !

thank you for the request anon </3

disclaimer: this piece is not meant to trivialize, romanticize, or dramatize mental illness. i write these to cope and draw the content matter from my own experiences. if you are personally going through something like this, please please reach out and seek help!! tumblr is not a viable replacement for therapy!! and as always if this content is triggering or upsetting for you, pls scroll away and take care of yourself 💙💙

don't let me go

content warning(s): heavy angst, depictions of depression and self-destructive ideation (hurt/COMFORT this time tho trust 🙏)

"this world is a wasteland where nothing can grow if it weren't for you, i'd be here all alone i know in my heart this is where we belong this world is a wasteland... don't let me go."

~~~

*context: reader and sevika have been friends since childhood and now both work under silco.*

~~~

“Sevika,” you say. 

She grunts. 

“What’s your dream?” 

“My dream?” 

“What do you want. I mean really want.” 

Sevika rolls a broken bottle under her boot before pulling back her foot and kicking it into the river. It takes off with a sharp clinking sound, the music of breaking glass, before sailing through the air and plunging into the river water.

“Kill my old man,” she says.

“Okay, second to that.” 

She looks at you. “What d’you mean?” 

You stare back. She is only eighteen but looks older than her years, already tired of the world and its cruelties. She has grown too quickly for her young mind. Her body is hardened to the undercity. You love her with a hopelessness deeper than the black river dividing Zaun and Piltover. 

You ask again, “what do you want?”

She flashes you a rare crooked smile. “To live with you up there.” Pointing in the direction of Piltover. 

“In Topside?”

“No. In the sky.” 

There’s a pause. Then you say to her, “you’re so stupid.” 

“What do you want?” She returns. 

“Me?” I want you. The unspoken words tumble to the tip of your tongue, and you swallow them again. 

“I want a fucking break,” you say instead.

“Hunh.” She kicks another bottle. “We’ll get it. When Zaun is free, we’ll get it.” 

It isn’t quite what you mean, but you don’t try to explain yourself. You don’t tell her that she is the only reason you’re here, even when it sometimes feels like your will to live is clinging on by the fingernails. You don’t tell her that the sound of her voice anchors you when you start spiralling, guilt-ridden and full of self-hatred. You don’t tell her that the greatest fight in your life is not against the enforcers but with yourself. You don’t tell her that you fight every day because of her. 

Because you know she doesn’t fight for you. She fights for Zaun. 

~~~

Sevika watches you closely, though you never realize it. You have been acting strange nowadays, working for days on end without sleep or not coming into work at all. Silco has said nothing about it, because you’re one of his most prized henchwomen, but Sevika can sense something is off. You barely speak two words together unless it’s necessary, and when you do it sounds like your mind is far away. You look tired all the time and sometimes you disappear altogether, returning an hour later as if nothing had happened. And only Sevika notices the bloody cuticles, the swelling around your eyelids. 

One day she corners you in the passageway outside Silco’s office. 

“Are you sick?” she demands. It comes out more brusquely than she intends. She is mortified at her own concern for you. She doesn’t want you to see how much she worries for you, the effect you have on her. 

You look up at her in alarm. “No,” you say quickly. Too quickly. 

“Then why…” she searches for the right words, struggling not to betray herself. “Don’t lie to me,” she says at last. “Something’s wrong.” 

You can see right through her tough façade. You can see the concern in her frowning eyes. And all of a sudden you’re filled with deadly hope and an overwhelming desire to let go. Break down. Tell her everything.

But then you remember that most likely, she’s only concerned with the impact this may have on your usefulness to Silco—to Zaun. You’re terrified she might discover your condition and tell Silco to fire you, that you might be holding them back, that your emotional instability might make your jobs sloppy. 

So you do what you do best. You swallow your words. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “I’m sorry.” 

Her frown deepens. “I said don’t lie.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, either.” 

“I have work to do, Sevika.” You try to move past her but she reaches out and stops you with her mechanical arm. 

“You used to tell me everything,” Sevika says. Was that a trace of sadness in her tone? Was it your imagination, or was there a softer look in her eyes? 

“There’s nothing to tell,” you say, and each word feels like a dagger in your own heart. “I swear.” 

You duck under her arm and walk swiftly away from her. 

~~~

It is a clear night and you and Sevika are on the rooftop of the Last Drop, sharing a bottle of wine. You can hear Vander and Silco arguing inside the bar, most likely on the topic of politics. They are already dreaming big, thinking past the long fight to overcome, visualizing a brilliant and abstract future. 

You do not see a future. On bad days you see nothing. 

On the good days…

Sevika takes a drink from the bottle and slings an arm around your shoulder. She can be casually affectionate when she’s in the mood, and you cherish these moments. You lean your head on her shoulder. Her skin is warm under her shirt. 

“What would you do if I died?” you ask her. 

Sevika doesn’t answer right away. But you feel her grip on you tighten. 

“If I lost you,” she says finally, “how do you think I’ll go on?”

~~~

When Sevika finds your note, the first thing she thinks of is that conversation on the roof, years ago. She has not forgotten a single thing you ever told her, and the recollection fills her with a terror she’s never known before. 

The slip of paper in her hand reads, you don’t need me anymore. Thank you. For all the moments you gave me before. 

Sevika doesn’t even stop to put on her cloak. She just turns around and runs. 

She’s too late. She’s too late. She’s too late. 

She tears down the street, pushing people carelessly out of the way. As she runs she activates the Shimmer cartridge in her mechanical arm. A hot rush, the familiar jolt, the searing pink in her vision. She runs faster, faster until the buildings are a blur around her, until the sweat flicks off her face. 

Between gasping breaths, like a mantra to you, she whispers, “Please. Please. Please.” 

~~~

It is too late to cry, it is too late to turn back, it is too late to think. Your chest is tight with all you remember. The waters churn under you. 

The only person in the world you have hung on for is Sevika. You tell yourself she will move on quickly. You tell yourself that your death would not make much of a difference to her. What was one person lost in the grand cause? Silco would be able to find a replacement in no time, and the great machinery of Zaun will continue to turn its weary gears. 

Sevika is now a part of that machine. Sevika will not miss you. 

You close your eyes and let your body fall forward. 

Someone screams your name, a raw desperate sound that doesn’t even sound human. 

A flash of rippling pink, a burning sensation around your waist, and then suddenly you’re on the ground. Someone’s arms are wrapped around you, someone’s voice is in your ear, and someone’s hot tears are falling into your hair. 

Sevika. 

Your eyes are shut because you’re afraid you’re already gone. You’re afraid if you open your eyes your senses will catch up with you, and Sevika will be replaced by the cold embrace of water, Sevika’s voice will become the rushing waves over your head. 

But she’s holding you still. She’s holding you so tight you can hardly breathe. She’s saying, over and over, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” 

And you can feel her heart pounding wildly against your ear, which is the only indication of how scared she actually is. 

You free your arms and wrap them around her neck. You let yourself break down. You cry until your chest feels like it’s tearing apart. She’s still holding you, her mech arm pressed into your back like a brace, and you cling to her tighter. 

���Don’t let me go,” you beg. “Oh god, don’t let me go.” 

“I won’t,” she says roughly, her voice shaking. “I never will.”

~~~

note: dear readers, i am sorry. 🥲

[fortunapre]

PAIRING: hamzah x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you and hamzah have been close friends forever, but during one of your routine movie nights, things get heated and confessions are made…

WARNINGS: 18+, no piv, dry-humping, fingers do things, making out, cussing, female reader, mentions y/n

this was supposed to be fluffy but fortunately for you i think im ovulating

[PT. 1] _fortunapre’s.iphone.series_ 2.2k words

“First of all, what game are you playing?” You asked, grabbing both bowls of ice cream that you prepared and heading to the couch where you and Hamzah were watching Star Wars.

“Uh, does it matter? This is a once in a lifetime chance I'm giving you to be in my video!” Hamzah teased, making a face like he thought you were insane.

You playfully hit his shoulder and laughed. “Well considering some of your videos are… questionable to say the least, I’m gonna need more context.”

Hamzah just spooned ice cream in his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. While you laughed and looked back towards the TV, he kept his eyes on you, admiring. Tonight was one of your guys’ monthly ice cream nights that you started since you met about 6 years ago. Ever since you were teenagers, you both have been side-by-side. The best of friends.

Hamzah took notice of your pajama shorts, large t-shirt, and messy hair. He had no idea how your most disheveled look still made him stare.

You felt his gaze and looked at him, but before you caught him, Hamzah looked back at the tv.

Now it was your turn to admire. Hamzah had always looked effortlessly hot in your eyes, but movie nights especially. Something about his careless look made your heartbeat a little faster. Like this view of him, in pajamas, with strands of dark, curly hair flying everywhere, was only made for you. Especially when he wore his glasses.

This secret staring match lasted the whole movie.

Usually, when movie night ended and the icecream was finished, Hamzah would talk a bit and then head home. It always killed him to leave you.

However, this time, Hamzah planned on telling you something he’d been hiding from since he met you. He wouldn’t back out of it this time

To stall, and make the night continue, he started with a simple converstation. “Wait, so do you want to be in the video or not, ‘cause I completely understand if it’s too much. I know me and Martin can get, like, kinda weird but it's what the viewers like so…”

Hamzah was rambling and you knew that if you didn’t stop him now he’d go on forever. You leaned over, and quickly put your hand over his mouth, shutting him up. You were both already situated with your legs basically pressed together, so reaching him was no problem.

“You’re rambling, Hamzah.” you laughed and kept your hand over his mouth. “And yeah I guess I’ll be in a video.” You tried to seem bossy by pointing a finger into his chest “But it we better be playing Sims or Episode.”

Then you realised just how many places you were touching him…

Teasing in your guys’ relationship was the norm, but recently, it has started to feel more like flirting than friendly teasing. There’s been a lot more… tension.

He stopped talking when you covered his mouth and smiled underneath your hand.

Recently, everything you do has felt more like flirting, now that you think about it.

At first it was innocent, a few touches and remarks, because it felt comfortable. Now, though, something hotter brimmed underneath everything.

Maybe you took it too far sometimes, with very obvious innuendos and such, but you couldn’t help yourself when it came to him. However, in the back of your mind, there was that voice reminding you that Hamzah is probably just being friendly and you were overthinking it.

You didn't want to take that chance, so you never brought up the obvious shift between you two.

You kept your hand on his mouth a bit longer than was probably normal, but the look that Hamzah was giving was almost magnetic. There was something in his eyes that was brand new, and raw. He lightly grabbed your wrist and moved to hold your hand instead, his eyes still locked on yours.

It was silent until he opened his mouth, deciding to speak up.

Now, Hamzah decided. Now he would tell you. “Y/n, there’s something I’ve been meaning to-”

“You should really start wearing your glasses more.” You winced internally at the accidental compliment/confession that slipped out.

“What?” He had a physical reaction to your sudden outburst and started laughing. “What’re you talking about? My glasses? What, why?” He seemed super nervous , and you could tell by his familiar awkward smirk from when we he’s flustered. If only he knew what that slight upturn of his lips did to you.

His laugh, your proximity to each other, and his just overall look meant your insides were basically jelly. He was still holding your hand, and once you realized it, the rosy blush spreading up your neck was inevitable.

“Don’t tease, you obviously know why.” You answered, looking away to try and hide the blush.

“Yeah?” He asked, in the most sensual voice you’ve ever heard from him, while looking down at your intertwined hands.

You were extremely surprised by the sudden deepness of his voice but decided to hide your reaction. Instead, you rolled your eyes and sat up to take your bowls to the sink. You needed to get away before you let your impulsive thoughts get the best of you.

He let you walk away, contrary to what his mind was reeling with, slowly dropping your hand as you moved away.

He watched you as you walked, with his eyes on the way your shorts were slightly riding up, and how your legs were on full display.

You set the dishes in the sink and turned to head back but were surprised with Hamzah’s towering figure.He followed you into the kitchen and was standing right infront of you. He was situated with one hand on the back counter and the other on the island, blocking your way out.

Instead of arguing, you just put a hand on your hip, and looked at him. Nervousness consumed your mind as you fully realized just how close to you Hamzah was standing. Instead of moving away, however, you stayed close, catching his familiar, minty scent. You looked back into his eyes-His eyes that held the exact same searing gaze as earlier. He seemed to make nonverbal promises. Of what? You weren’t sure but how he was looking was almost dirty.

“Y/n, what I was saying earlier…” Hamzah began again but briefly stopped for a second and looked at you expectantly.

“What?” You asked confusedly why he stopped.

“Oh, just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to rudely interrupt me again.”

You scoffed and faked hurt, “rudely?! I complimented you!”

“Yeah, I guess.” His smirk was back and his eyes were on yours. If it was anyone else, eye contact would have made you look away. Except Hamzah isn’t just anyone, and his eyes were like pools you could drown in.

He moved an inch closer, testing the waters. When he saw a slight pink to your cheeks at his closeness, he gained sudden confidence.

“Don’t let me leave tonight.” He suddenly spoke.

You were taken aback with his words, “What, like lock the doors? Are you going to transform at midnight or something?”

He let out a breathy laugh, but his tone never shifted.

“You know what I mean, Y/n.” A deep breath. “Let me stay. Let me show you what I…”

“Hamzah. Of course you can stay over. I’d never push you-”

“No, y/n that’s not…”

A beat of silence passed until you softly spoke up.

“What, Hamzah?”

“Let me show you what I think about everytime I’m near you.”

His words were ringing in your ears and your entire body almost had a physical reaction to what he was insinuating.

“Let me show you what I’ve been imagining for the past 5 damn years, Y/n.”

You were stunned, because 5 years? That’s almost for as long as you’ve known him.

“5 years…” You tested the words out loud and it was like an award winning melody to your ears.

“Yeah, 5 years. Actually scratch that. 6 years.” He stood closer, and spoke quieter. “Since I saw you for the first time I’ve been holding back from you. From admitting how I feel because I was afraid I might lose you.”

Like a dam, you broke. Anything along those lines were exactly what you’ve been wishing for, and here those words were, out in the open.

Finally,

You grabbed the front of his hoodie with surprising strength and pulled him down to your level.

Before you could follow through and kiss him, you just held his lips near yours instead.

You both shared one breath, staring at each others' lips. You stayed like this, too afraid to ruin the moment if you went too fast. Just the whisper of Hamzah’s lips against yours filled you with an insane amount of need.

However, Hamzah took the invite of your pouty lips and closed the distance for you.

Unable to contain the years of built up desire, you kiss his back. Hard.

He almost stumbles forward as you pull his hoodie closer to you. He smirks into the kiss at your eagerness and you swear that simple action could make you drop to your knees if he wasn’t holding your waist.

His fingers were digging into the fabric of your t-shirt, basically molding into your waist. It’s like you skipped the slow-getting-hotter part of the kiss and immediately skipped to fully making out.

Hamzah licked the inside of your mouth, making you release a quiet mewl from the back of your throat.

He parted from your lips, barely. Just enough distance to catch your breath before he dove back in. It was almost feral, the way he moved from your lips to your cheek to your jaw. He grabbed your upper thighs and lifted you up. Your immediate reaction was to wrap your legs around him and hold him as close as possible.

Right now, being chest-to-chest, literally holding one another wasn’t close enough.

He slowly carried you back to the couch while making small licks and bites along your throat.

He placed you on the couch and immediately followed, covering your body with his.

“Y/n…” He spoke your name with a deep rumble, into your shoulder before kissing your pulse under your jaw.

You unlatched your lips to take off his glasses and setting them beside you. You would have loved for him to keep them on but you could tell how annoyed he was getting with them when he tried to kiss you.

He watched your movement carefully, and let a mental picture of how hot you looked under him.

When you came back to him, he immediately put his lips back to the spot on your neck that he figured out was the sweet spot where you made the most noise.

“Hamzah..” you answered, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it up, signalling you want him to take it off.

“You sure?” He asked you, looking in your eyes for the first time since you started kissing. He took note of your red cheeks and matching swollen lips. He was so absolutely obsessed with you.

“Hamzah, If you couldn’t tell, I also have feelings for you and want you to go back to kissing me.” You teased him. “Without your shirt though” you smiled innocently and pulled his shirt up to reveal his chest.

“Such a smartass.” He smiled and pulled his shirt completely off and discarded it somewhere behind you. He was still smiling as he reconnected your lips, and the feel of his grin in your kiss made you smile as well.

The whole thing was unreal.

You felt so…happy in the moment, like nothing could compare. Like this is all you’d ever wanted and needed.

He slowly lifted the hem of your shirt as well, exposing your soft skin and thin bra. He could see the peaks of your nipples poking through the fabric and the image made him want to kiss every part of you he’s never seen.

To be truthful, any sight of you made him want to kiss you like that, but specifically right now, his pulse was very prominent in the lower part of his body from the current view.

You sunk your teeth lightly into his lower lip, and he replied by kissing you harder. He couldn’t hold back his desire at one point, when you started letting out breathy moans into his mouth- he jerked his hips against yours. You really felt just how much he needed you just then. The small pressure from his growing erection against you made you throw your head back and grind along lift your hips to meet his.

He started slowly grinding into you until you were full on dry-humping each other.

If Hamzah felt like this with clothes on, you only wondered what he felt like-

Your thoughts were interrupted by Hamzah grabbing your ass, then moving his hands along the back of your thighs. He lifted them up so you could wrap them around his back.

He rutted faster against you, and you swear you could feel his full length against you now. Your panties were soaked at this point and the wet spot growing on the front of his grey sweats showed that you had the same effect on him.

He sighed into your ear, both arms now propped on each side of your head. “Fuck, i’m gonna come in my pants from you, gorgeous.”

You let out a soft whine at the pet name and dragged your nails down his back, undoubtedly leaving scars. “Then just come like this, Hamzah. Show me what I mean to you. Like you prosmised.”

Erotic noises escaped your lips from the insane friction. You arched and dragged your hands back up his back and into his soft curls, tugging lightly.

“God, why haven’t we done this before” Hamzah sounded pained as he whispered, shutting his eyes tight from the upcoming sensation.

“I have no fucking idea. We were both too much of pussies to admit anything.” You replied in between short breaths.

He chuckled, but basically choked on his laugh when you reached into his pants to properly feel him.

“Yeah,” He agreed, and kissed you roughly, smashing his lips into yours and making your teeth clash at times.

“Fuck I’m..” You started to warn him, but he already knew.

“Me, too.”

He shifted the smallest bit but for some reason his new position made the friction ten times stronger. Hamzah’s hard bulge was hitting the perfect spot that made your panties rub against your clit in a way that made you gasp.

“Holy shit Hamzah” you gasped and arched your back to meet his chest. He laid more of his weight on yours, feeling your nipples through your bra.

“wait before we…” He looked you in your eyes and silently asked to take your bra off by slowly pulling down a strap from your shoulder.

“take it off of me, Hamzah.”

He wasted no time and took off your bra, exposing the peaks of your nipples. He immediately moved a hand to play with your breasts, giving each of them attention. “God, you're beautiful. even better than I imagined.”

His words made you want more so you arched you back again, making him shut his eyes tight at the friction.

“Fuck, baby,” he said softly.

He kept one hand next to your head, where he held himself up and moved the other from your breast to rub you through your shorts. “Hamzah please..please touch me”

He slipped a teasing finger past the waistband of your shorts. But you were done with foreplay and just needed him. His hand went past your underwear, finally reaching where you needed him.

He tested it by swiping two fingers along your folds.

“so wet f’me, yeah?”

“yeah…please Hamzah.”

“don’t worry baby.” At the same time he spoke he sunk two of his fingers into you, curling them at the perfect speed, while using his thumb to rub your clit.

how he was so good at this, you had no idea.

You wanted to please him as well, but when you looked at his tent, a wet spot was already extremely prominent.

“hey,” he turned your focus to him.

“Just let go baby. I'll come with you. seeing you like this….having you like this is already getting me off so bad.” his strokes became faster and your breathing got harder.

Before you could release, he took his fingers away and replaced them with rough grinding of his hips again.

Seconds later a feeling so strong washed over your body, draining you and your mind. Hamzah came right after you. The connected spot between you was soaking and warm with both of your come leaking through your pants.

“Jesus, Y/n if thats what its like with clothes on I can't wait until-”

“Yeah.” You laughed short with your eyes closed at the familiar words- he practically said out loud what you’d been thinking the whole time. “Trust me, I'm suddenly very impatient to find that out.” You admitted with a smile and opened you eyes, looking at him through your lashes.

Fucked out and sweaty Hamzah was breathtaking. And now he was yours to admire, without any secret staring.

Hamzah kissed you softly, still with passion but not as feverish. He slowly moved you both into a sitting position before he stood up with you in his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“What I said I would,” Is all he said. You were a bit confused until he spoke again.

“I'm gonna show you…” He kissed you long then finished his sentence. “I’m gonna show you i’ve imagined every fucking day.”

Your body grew immediately hot again.

“Alright. Show me.” You said quietly into his ear, nibbling it once as he carried you upstairs and into your bedroom. “But you might need to tell Martin your gonna film the video another day…”

He smiled big with his perfect teeth and shook his head with laughter.

He must be hallucinating because there’s no way he’s about to fuck the girl of his dreams.

a/n:

PT 2? Series mention list?

[meadowfics]

first date

cho sang-woo x f!reader

a first date was needed for the both of you, even if it feels like you were with sang-woo for ten years already

warnings: post squid game au, where sang-woo survives and not gihun. age gap relationship, since reader is intended to be between 21yrs-24yrs. sang-woo did not k*ll sae-byeok in this au. angst. reader was in the games too and survived with sang woo, not sure how but anyways... reader is a yapper and sang-woo is a listener.

sang woo arrives at the restaurant first, always one to be punctual.

he sits by the window, back straight, hands resting on the table as he waits for you.

when you walk in, he notices immediately.

you’re wearing a simple ivory colored sweater and blue jeans, looking cozy and effortlessly beautiful.

the older man's lips twitch up slightly, the closest thing to a smile you’ll get from him in public.

you slide into the seat across from him, resting your chin in your palm.

"you got new glasses,"

you point out, eyes twinkling.

he adjusts them slightly, feigning nonchalance.

"my old ones were broken,"

he says, as if that’s the only reason.

he knows that you know.

you were there in the games when he lost those old ones.

you grin.

"i like these. they suit you."

for a second, his ears turn a shade of pink.

he glances away, pretending to focus on the menu.

but you see it. the look.

the soft affection he always tries to hide.

"what are you getting?"

he asks, eyes scanning the menu like it’s a financial report.

you shrug.

"probably something warm. i don’t care as long as it’s good."

"that’s not a real answer," he says, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

"neither was yours,"

you shoot back, making him huff a quiet laugh.

you both order, the conversation flowing naturally.

it always does.

it did during the games.

there’s an understanding between you two, something unspoken yet solid.

"do you ever think about them?"

you ask suddenly, voice soft.

this might not be appropriate during your first dinner with sang-woo as a couple, but you know that you can talk to him about anything.

he knows exactly who you mean. he takes a breath before answering.

"I do."

"gihun would’ve dragged us to some barbecue place instead,"

you muse.

"and he would’ve argued with the owner about the price,"

sang woo adds, lips curling slightly.

you laugh, then sigh.

"and sae-byeok… she would’ve just sat there, barely eating, watching us argue."

there’s a pause. a heaviness settles over you both, the weight of memories pressing against your ribs.

"i wish they were still here,"

you admit.

sang woo nods, fingers tapping lightly against the table.

"me too."

the food arrives, and for a while, the two of you eat in silence.

it’s comfortable.

there’s no need to fill every moment with words.

eventually, you shift the conversation.

"cheol’s doing okay, you know."

sang woo looks up, interest flickering in his eyes.

"yeah?"

"yeah. my mom loves him. she says that he’s… adjusting. still quiet, but he smiles more."

context: your mother adopted sae-byeok's orphan brother. after you promised a dying sae-byeok that cheol would be okay.

sang woo nods thoughtfully.

"that’s good. he deserves a normal life."

"so do we,"

you say, watching him carefully.

he doesn’t respond immediately, but you see the way his jaw tenses.

"normal,"

he murmurs, almost like the word is foreign to him.

you reach across the table, taking his hand.

his fingers are slightly calloused, warm against your softer skin.

he stills for a moment, then gently squeezes your hand in return.

"we’re doing okay,"

you reassure him.

his thumb brushes against your knuckles, absentmindedly.

"we are."

when you finish eating, you don’t leave right away.

you linger, just enjoying each other’s presence.

"it’s kind of funny,"

you say suddenly.

"most people date for a while before moving in together. we’re just jumping straight to it."

he raises an eyebrow.

"you’re the one who suggested it."

you grin.

"I know but you didn’t say no."

he shakes his head, a small, fond look in his eyes.

"of course i didn’t."

you study him for a moment, admiring the way the dim restaurant lighting reflects in his new glasses.

you like looking at him, even if he never quite believes it when you say so.

"you really love me, huh?"

you tease, tilting your head.

he scoffs, but his grip on your hand tightens just slightly.

"what do you think?"

you smirk.

"i think you do. i think you’ve been in love with me for a while now, actually."

since the first game back in that hellhole..

he sighs, shaking his head.

"and here i thought you were shy."

"only when i first met you. now i just like bothering you."

"that much is obvious,"

he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words.

when the bill comes, he grabs it before you can.

you open your mouth to protest, but he gives you a look.

"just let me do this,"

he says simply.

you shut your mouth.

it’s not worth arguing over, and honestly? you don’t mind.

it’s just another way he shows love...through actions, not words.

as you both step outside, the air is crisp, cool against your skin.

you don’t say anything at first, just standing side by side.

then, suddenly, he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

the touch is fleeting, but it lingers, making your heart skip a beat.

"come on,"

he murmurs, starting to walk.

you follow, smiling softly.

you don’t need anything grand or extravagant.

this...just being with him, knowing he’s yours...is enough.

masterlist

[kaqtusm]

As I promised, here's a microfic that's actually the first draft that started it all! Since Moonage Daydream won't be seen too fast ever again you may see it ;))

@indigostation @read-reblog-repeat you have adopted the wrong person.

Suffer.

Moonwater microfic

Word count: 822

TW: angst

Context for the confused one's since my dad @indigostation needed an explanation

Regulus finds a solution to all his problems during the Christmas break. This idea requires changes, a lot of changes. Nonetheless he's ready for them if it means he doesn't have to take the dark mark and can stay with Remus.

But maybe it's not as good of an idea as he thought?

Even as he is wrapped in Remus’ arms, Regulus feels like he is drowning. The warmth surrounding him is a lie - it cannot reach the coldness that has settled deep inside his bones. It cannot fill the gaping hole in his chest, the one that has been festering for months, the one that will never heal.

Remus’ fingers brush against his cheek, gentle, searching. He knows. Of course, he knows. Regulus has been quiet for too long, his silence a crack in the foundation of the world they have built together. He can feel Remus watching him, feel those golden eyes peeling him apart piece by piece, trying to understand.

But Regulus cannot look at him. Because if he does, he will break.

“Starlight?” The whisper is hoarse, rough with concern. A kiss, featherlight, presses against his temple, and his throat tightens so violently it hurts.

He hums in response - because that is all he can do. His body remains frozen against Remus', their bare skin pressed together, their breaths mingling in the dim candlelight. It should be perfect. It should be enough.

But it isn’t.

“Something’s wrong.” It isn’t a question.

Regulus exhales slowly, shakily, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The moment their eyes meet, his stomach twists into knots. Remus is watching him with furrowed brows, his amber gaze soft but sharp, warm but wary. He sees too much.

Regulus swallows. He cannot hesitate. If he does, he will lose his nerve.

“Do you love me?” he whispers.

Remus blinks, then lets out a quiet laugh - like the very idea of not loving him is ridiculous. “What kind of question is that?” He shakes his head and reaches out, tangling his fingers in Regulus’ hair, like he always does when he wants to soothe him.

Regulus’ heart is pounding so hard he thinks he might be sick.

“And would you do anything for me?”

Remus frowns, as if confused by the shift in his tone. But still, his answer comes without hesitation. “Anything.”

It is the answer Regulus knew he would give. And it is the answer that makes this hurt so much worse.

“Then bite me,” he says. “During the next full moon.”

The words drop like stones between them. The weight of them, the sheer wrongness of them, fills the air so thickly that it feels like the walls of the Room of Requirement are caving in.

Remus stares at him. Stares at him.

And then, without a word, he shoves back the blankets and bolts upright, his entire body trembling.

“Remus-” Regulus reaches for him, but Remus is already yanking his trousers from the floor, his movements clumsy, frantic.

“Wait,” Regulus pleads, his voice rising in panic. “Please, listen to me!”

But Remus won’t. He won’t even look at him.

Regulus scrambles after him, grabbing his wrist with both hands, his grip desperate. “Just let me explain-”

Remus rips his arm away so violently that Regulus nearly falls forward.

“How dare you,” he spits. His voice is shaking, but his eyes are burning with something Regulus has never seen before. Something sharp, something furious, something betrayed. “How fucking dare you ask me that.”

Regulus’ stomach twists.

“You don’t understand-”

“I don’t understand?” Remus barks out a laugh, but there is nothing amused about it. “You think I don’t understand?” His hands are trembling as he buttons his shirt, as if he cannot get out of here fast enough. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?”

Regulus does. He knows. But he doesn’t care.

“I need this,” he whispers. His throat is raw. He reaches for Remus again, and this time, when his fingers brush against his arm, Remus flinches away like he’s been burned.

“You need this?” Remus repeats, his voice cracking. “You need me to - what? Turn you into a monster? You need me to be the one who-” His voice breaks entirely, and he presses his lips together, shaking his head violently.

Regulus grabs at him again, clawing at his hands, his shirt, anything he can reach. “Remus, please-”

But Remus wrenches himself free so hard that Regulus stumbles backward, his knees hitting the mattress as he collapses onto the bed. His chest is heaving. His vision is blurred.

And then, just like that, Remus is walking away.

Regulus is shaking. “Don’t-” His voice is a wrecked whisper. “Don’t leave me.”

But Remus doesn’t turn around. He yanks open the door with a force that rattles the hinges, steps through.

And slams it shut behind him.

The sound echoes through the room like the crack of a whip.

Regulus doesn’t move. He can’t. His entire body feels like it has been torn open, split apart. His breath is coming in sharp, gasping sobs, but he barely hears them over the ringing in his ears.

The bed is cold now. The room is empty.

And Remus left him.

Just like Sirius.

[lau219]

Headcanons for what each of the boys were like as teens? 😊

Omg I love this ask! I immediately started laughing just picturing this for each of them!

For this one, I left Cillian out, seeing as there’s enough snippets of his younger years that he’s shared publicly, and outside the context of a fic, I can’t make any assumptions.

Answers for the rest of the boys…

Emmett: He was 100% the “All-American Boy Next Door.” Loved sports, cars, being outdoors, action movies, and girls. Was a semi-decent student and was definitely popular, but was nice to everyone and wasn’t a jerk at all. Occasionally got in trouble for breaking rules, sneaking out of the house, or stealing a few beers from his parents’ fridge, but overall was a good kid who everyone loved.

Leonard: Was popular as well, but didn’t have very many true, close friends due to moving around a lot for his dad’s job. But everyone always loved him because he was charming, smart, and handsome, even at a younger age. He was also very “All-American” and enjoyed sports and “boy stuff”. He was obsessed with James Bond and other spy movies, and he absolutely had multiple issues of Playboys hidden under his bed.

Robert: Had a very difficult and non-traditional childhood due to his mother’s death and the emotional absence of his father. He was popular, but mostly because everyone knew he was rich, but weren’t truly his friends. He did have a couple of true, close friends, and they enjoyed traditional “boy stuff” as well. Robert was a very good student and would always receive compliments on how mature and polite he was. Poor baby didn’t have much of a childhood/teen years beyond that.

Tommy: 100% wild troublemaker who drove every adult in his life insane with worry and annoyed frustration. Was constantly mouthing off, sneaking out, ran away for days at a time, breaking into shops and stealing stuff, and just causing general chaos. Was very popular and was already a ladies man, but no one could ever stay mad at him because he was already a master of smooth talk and negotiating.

Raymond: An absolute little shit with an attitude problem and a smart mouth. Already had an ego too big for one room even as a teen, and ironically, despite his position of authority as an adult, he was always questioning and defying authority as a teen. Had lots of friends and was the “leader of the pack”, and he was always looking for ways to one-up people or have some kind of advantage. Loved action movies and cars, and was asking his parents if he could move out and live on his own before he was even 18.

Jonathan: Was very quiet and studious, and always seemed to be brooding and observing people. Was not popular and got bullied quite a bit for being a “nerd” or coming across as “weird.” Was an excellent student and would often be correcting and challenging teachers and adults on what they were teaching or saying. Was constantly reading and studying, and watched lots of scientific and nature shows. Also watched a lot of porn.

Jackson: Was an absolute nightmare. A rude, asshole kid who was constantly mouthing off, had no care or interest in school, and who broke rules just for the sake of breaking them. Defied authority in every sense possible and was always in trouble. Was a big bully and found something to make fun of for everyone. Loved the aggression that came with sports, and got in a lot of physical fights. Snuck into bars and strip clubs and got arrested multiple times.

@breakthestereo @ennui-whimsy-and-me @newbarrel

[ariays]

Please, you can’t tell me that Kitty Song Covey isn’t in love with Minho. She literally couldn’t bear the thought of it being "not their time… not yet" and not seeing him during the break, so she gathered the courage to ask if she could come along. It’s like, in that moment, she was hit with an overwhelming rush of emotion that made her think, "You know what? I’m going to make it our time."

This just proves that her feelings for him were repressed ever since the airplane confession, and they finally surfaced after their fight—when she realized just how much she missed him.

Now, I know some people have tried to argue that the script was "changed" in Season 2 based on fan reception, implying that Minho’s popularity influenced the decision to make him Kitty’s endgame. I respectfully disagree. That opinion seems to come from those who may not be as familiar with K-drama storytelling and its common tropes.

There were already multiple instances in Season 1 that foreshadowed Kitty and Minho’s relationship. The groundwork was laid early on, and their dynamic was full of subtle hints—not something that was suddenly forced in Season 2. In fact, there were already clear parallels between Kitty & Minho and Lara Jean & Peter in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.

These parallels weren’t something that suddenly appeared in Season 2; they were sprinkled throughout Season 1. Just look at the way Minho calls her "Covey," or their kitchen conversation about her missing her mom—those moments mirror Lara Jean and Peter far more clearly than anything between Kitty and Yuri.

And before you can scream about fan reception changing everything, let’s just take a moment to acknowledge one crucial detail from Season 1: the first person Kitty met when she landed in Korea, and the last person she saw before leaving, was Minho. There’s a reason for that. The entire season was bookended by their interactions. And to top it off, it ended with Minho’s confession and Kitty smiling—that wasn’t just random. That’s intentional storytelling.

Also, let’s not ignore the classic K-drama couple dynamic at play here. K-drama couples are known for their fun banter, comedic interactions, and playful chemistry, and Kitty and Minho fit that description to a tee. Their teasing, their flirty arguments, and their overall energy scream classic K-drama romance.

Whereas Kitty and Yuri lack that entirely. There’s no real push-and-pull, no playful teasing, no electric chemistrythat defines most romantic K-drama pairings. If anything, their interactions feel more like two friends supporting each other, rather than two people with undeniable tension.

And speaking of Kitty & Yuri, I don’t really see their scenes in Season 1 as "proper" parallels at all. Take, for example, the scene where Kitty gets hit by a car and falls down—some people compare it to Lara Jean "fainting" on the track, but… that’s not even close to being the same kind of moment.

Even the necklace parallel doesn’t hold up due to the huge difference in context. Peter gifted Lara Jean that necklace out of affection, while Kitty’s necklace was hers to begin with—Yuri kind of "stole" it in a way, even if she did return it after they became friends.

So no, I don’t think Minho and Kitty’s would-be endgame was a last-minute decision. Their story was built up from the start, and Season 2 was just the natural progression of what had already been set in motion.

[cctinsleybaxter]

if you want negative songs about flying just google songs about plane crashes

First result was a tim minchin song that's one of the worst things i've ever heard

[the-meme-monarch]

ok sorry i didn’t go insane over emesis blue like i thought I would but it is making me scared irl now. i can’t turn over in bed bc what if there’s a severed head positioned like it’s peaking around the doorframe. what if i look over and The Butcher is there

[californiaquail]

missed the bus by one minute because of my piece of shit job fuck my stupid baka life etc

[mcrtalstrike]

We could have learned more about Vol'jin in the heritage questline. Like the entire part about the rush'kah mask.

You know, like one Vol'jin wears thats on the banner and tabard to represent the Darkspear. Maybe Rokhan reminiscing when Vol'jin made his own to emphasize the meaning behind them.

[munch-mumbles]

ive been a little upset about it all night so i need to write out all the things that happened at work today and are bugging me so i can TRY to get it out of my head and actually RELAX bc i just keep pacing in circles around it instead of just accepting it and moving on

[billygoat26]

Just waiting to see if my mom breaks another promise :D

[advancedscurvy]

i hate when you know youre being unreasonable to be so upset and nobody meant anything by a remark from a complete stranger but it has snowballed into an afternoon-long downturn of mood completely and you want to cry

[arkangelo-7]

I’m sure someone’s already headcannoned this, but Bruce having pet names for the Batkids? Man, those are his babies—you can bet your ass he has pet names for them. He might not be the type of man to show much affection beyond a shoulder pat or the occasional forehead kiss, but he’s determined to parent the crap outta these orphans, and pet names are an easier medium to show that he cares.

Dick is both “chum” and “sweetheart” depending on the context. When Bruce is feeling playful and comfortable (the easy, “your mine and I’m just happy to be here with you” kind of love), he’ll stick with “chum” and Dick absolutely loves it. But when Dick’s sick or has a nightmare or got injured during patrol? It’s sweetheart. It’s default mode for Bruce, because seeing Dick in pain brings up so many raw, intense emotions (Bruce gets scared, goddamit) that it’s easier for him to say “I’ve got you, sweetheart, it’s okay, just keep your eyes on mine,” then it is to say “I’m so terrified that I’m going to loose you, I love you, you’re my everything.”

Jason is“Jaylad.” But it’s less of the name that’s important and more of the story behind it that is. For the first few months that Jason was in Bruce’s care, Bruce didn’t dare call him anything other then his name, in fear that he’d scare him away (he was already so distrusting, so hesitant, so fearful whenever Bruce talked to loud or moved to fast or got upset), but at the same time, he’d seen how pleased Dick had been at being called “chum” and wanted to bestow a similar endearment on Jason. But—he didn’t want to go to far. So instead of calling him “lad” like his own father had once called him, Bruce calls him “Jaylad.” It’s a little more impersonal, but it makes Jason more comfortable. (But when Bruce cradled his son’s broken body he said “no, darling, not you, don’t leave me—” because just how Dick is “sweetheart,” Jason has also always been “darling.”)

For Tim… it’s more complicated. He shoved his way into Bruce’s life and he’s forever grateful, but it wasn’t the same as it was with Jason and Dick. He sees Tim as his son, of course, but their relationship was built on the darkest, most despairing part of Bruce’s life. But even in that terrible season, Bruce would look over at Tim working on a case or cleaning his suit and say, “Good job, sport.” It doesn’t happen often, but Tim is “sport.”

Cassandra is “love.” Bruce has never said it to her, aloud, but he knows Cass can read him well enough to hear the unspoken endearment, to see how much he longs to protect her, bring her joy, fill her heart with all the love she’s filled his with.

Steph is “duck.” And not necessarily because Bruce decided that it was, but because 9 times out of 10 he finds himself screaming, “Robin, get down!” because Stephanie will not for the love of God follow his orders, and end up right in the line of fire. To save time he eventually just started saying “Duck!” It keeps Steph from getting whacked to high heavens and saves Bruce (another) heart attack, but over the years it’s also become somewhat of a ritual to say “duck” whenever Steph walks in the room. Bruce secretly wants to call her “ducky” (which is what his mother called Kate), but he’s never worked up the nerve.

Duke is “kid.” By the time he’s in the family, Bruce has loosened up and lightened up, especially with everyday affection (which is to say, he’s not avoiding it like the plague). He’s quick to say “Good job, kid” whenever Duke had an accomplishment or ask “how are you today, kiddo?” when they see each other in passing in the Batcave.

Damian, lastly, would never allow Bruce to call him anything other then his name. But every once in a while, Bruce can get away with saying “son.” And it’s the best thing in the world.