#and i respect that but NEEDED to get this image to you

[barnacles34]

Professional Hazard (And Blue Tongues)

Karina x Male Reader

9k words

18+ smut

'I expected you to have...'

'Grey hair? Glasses thick as tank armor?' You lean back. 'Let me guess—ancient and decrepit?'

'Something like that.' She toys with her iced americano, ice cubes clinking.

'Get that more than you'd think.'

'Can't imagine why.'

'Sure you can't.'

She straightens in her chair. 'Well? Are you going to ask your questions or what?'

'Did you have something specific in mind?'

'I thought you'd at least come prepared.' The sharp edge in her voice softens, adapting. 'After that email you sent.'

'I am prepared.'

'Do you know who I am?'

'I know you're Karina. I know you agreed to fund my little Italian vacation.' You keep your voice flat, unimpressed.

She laughs, short and sharp. 'They really sent someone who knows nothing.'

'Biographers aren't exactly growing on trees these days. Most of them are busy dying off.' [1]

'That's comforting.'

'About as comforting as your enthusiastic response to my email.'

'Ah.' She smirks. 'My monument to hubris?'

'Your words, not mine.'

'Christ, you're not exactly sunshine and roses, are you?'

'If only you knew.'

'Oh, I think I do.' She leans forward. 'People like me—we're your bread and butter. Desperate enough to take the abuse just to get that book written.'

'Quick study.'

'Experience, darling.' She draws out the last word like stretched taffy.

'If immortality's what you're after, we're off to a rocky start.'

'Not even grateful for the Italian holiday?'

You meet her eyes. 'Bribery's nothing new. Don't expect it to polish your image.'

'Tough nut to crack, aren't you?'

'I have what I need.'

'Meaning?'

'Let me put this delicately: my last subject bought me a year at New York's finest.' [2]

'Fantastic.' She rattles her ice cubes harder.

'You know what I think?' She sets down her drink with deliberate care.

'Enlighten me.'

'I think you enjoy this. The whole "unimpressed biographer" act.'

You pull out your notebook, unhurried. 'That'd make a great chapter one. "Local girl psychoanalyzes writer, lives to regret it."'

'There it is again.' Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. 'Tell me, do your subjects usually last long enough for chapter two?'

'The interesting ones do.'

'And the boring ones?'

You flip open to a blank page. 'They get a lovely rejection letter.'

'Which I didn't.'

'Yet.'

She leans back, studying you. The late afternoon sun catches the edge of her glass, throwing prismatic shapes across the table. 'You really don't care that I could walk away right now.'

'The door's right there.' You click your pen. 'But we both know you won't.'

'Because?'

'Because you didn't spend three months negotiating with my publisher just to storm off over hurt feelings.'

'Maybe I just like wasting time.'

'Maybe.' You meet her gaze. 'But people who like wasting time don't usually have a dozen designer brand sponsorships.'

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or respect. 'So you did do your homework.'

'I always do.' You position your pen over the blank page. 'Now, shall we begin with the real questions?'

'Shoot.' She shifts in her chair, the late afternoon sun warming the cafe corner we've claimed.

'Tell me about your sister.'

Her eyebrows lift slightly. 'Not starting with the obvious questions?'

'Would you prefer those?'

'No.' She smiles, genuine this time. 'She's a nurse. Like our mom.'

'Close?'

'Very. She's the only person who still calls me Jimin.' She stirs her americano. 'Probably the only person who can get away with it, too.'

'Why's that?'

'Because she knew me when I was just the quiet kid who'd rather read in corners than talk to anyone. Before all of...' She waves her hand vaguely. 'This.'

'Still prefer corners?'

'Sometimes.' She considers the question. 'There's this tiny bookstore in Seongnam. When I go home, I still visit. They have this perfect spot by the window.'

'What do you read?'

'Whatever catches my eye. Last week it was about sharks.'

You raise an eyebrow. 'Sharks?'

'Don't look so surprised.' She laughs. 'They're fascinating. Everyone thinks they know them, but they don't, not really.'

'Speaking from experience?'

She takes a long sip of her drink instead of answering.

'You don't have to do that, you know.' You set your pen down.

'Do what?'

'Deflect. Turn everything into a metaphor.'

She meets your eyes for a long moment. 'Force of habit.'

'Bad one.'

'Says the person who's been matching my deflections word for word.' A half-smile plays at her lips. 'We're quite the pair, aren't we?'

'Difference is, I'm paid to be difficult.'

'And I was raised to be.' The words slip out before she can catch them. Her fingers tighten around her glass.

You wait.

'You're good at this,' she says quietly.

'At what?'

'Making silence comfortable.' She looks out the window. 'Most people try to fill it.'

'Most people aren't trying to understand.'

She turns back to you, something shifting in her expression. 'Is that what you're trying to do? Understand?'

'Would that be so terrible?'

'No,' she says.

'Progress.' You pick up your pen again. 'Though I've just realized something deeply troubling.'

'What's that?'

'Your americano's been empty for ten minutes, and you're still pretending to drink it.'

She glances at her glass, caught. 'Method acting.'

'Ah yes, the classic "I'm too invested in this conversation to pause for a refill" performance.' You wave to catch the barista's eye. 'Oscar-worthy.'

'Says the person who hasn't touched their...' She leans forward to peek at your cup. 'What even is that?'

'Green tea.'

'Pretentious.'

'Says the person who ordered an iced americano in winter.'

'It's barely spring.'

'Case in point.'

The barista arrives with fresh drinks. Karina raises an eyebrow at your cup. 'Still green tea?'

'I'm consistent.'

'Boring.'

'Strategic.' You take a deliberate sip. 'Can't blame caffeine jitters for whatever honesty slips out.'

'Sneaky.'

'Professional.'

'Same thing.' She stirs her new drink, ice cubes clinking. 'So what's next in your strategic interrogation?'

'Thought we agreed to drop the deflection thing.'

'Old habits. Ten seconds at a time.'

'That's oddly specific.'

'It's how I learned to swim.' At your questioning look, she continues, 'Ten seconds of courage. Then you can panic all you want.'

'Does that work?'

'Got me here, didn't it?' She gestures between you two. 'Letting a stranger with a notebook and suspiciously consistent beverage choices pick apart my life.'

'You could always run.'

'To where? Croatia?' She laughs at your surprised expression. 'What? I have dreams.'

'Of Croatia specifically?'

'Of anywhere that doesn't know my name.'

'That's rather poetic for someone who just called me pretentious.'

'I contain multitudes.' She mock-bows in her seat.

'Walt Whitman now?'

'See? You're not the only one who can be insufferably well-read.'

You make a show of writing something down. 

You flip to a fresh page. 'Tell me about Croatia.'

'Nothing to tell. Just a place.'

'There are plenty of places that don't know your name. Why that one?'

She traces the rim of her glass again, a habit you've started to recognize as her thinking gesture. 'Have you ever seen those old coastal towns? The ones with narrow streets and buildings that look like they're having conversations with each other?'

'Been to a few.'

'I want to get lost in one.' She looks up. 'Properly lost. No GPS, no itinerary. Just... walking until my feet decide to stop.'

'Most people want to be found.'

'Most people haven't spent years being findable.' The sharpness in her voice surprises both of you. She softens it with a smile. 'Sorry. That sounded more dramatic than intended.'

'Don't apologize. It's the first time you've stopped performing since we sat down.'

'I haven't been—' She stops. Laughs. 'Okay. Point taken.'

'Progress. Again.'

'You're keeping score?'

'Always.' You tap your notebook. 'It's kind of the whole point.'

'And how am I doing?'

'In being honest or deflecting?'

'Both.'

'You're averaging about fifty-fifty.'

'Generous scoring.'

'Strategic encouragement.'

'You're good at that.' She stretches slightly. 'Making people think they're in control of the conversation.'

'Are you not?'

'Please. We both know you've been steering this ship since you sat down.' She pauses. 'Though I will say, you're the first interviewer who hasn't asked about my routine yet.'

'Your routine?'

'You know. "What time do you wake up? What's your skincare regimen? How many hours do you practice?" That whole song and dance.'

'Would you like me to ask?'

'God no.' She grins. 'But I'm curious why you haven't.'

'Because routines are what people do. I'm more interested in who they are.'

'And who am I?'

'Still figuring that out. But I know you crack your knuckles when you're nervous.'

She stops mid-crack, caught. 'Observant.'

'Professional hazard.' You lean forward. 'Tell me something real. Not about routines or schedules or practices.'

'Like what?'

'Like what you think about at three AM when you can't sleep.'

She's quiet for a long moment. 'Sometimes I forget what my natural speaking voice sounds like.'

'What do you mean?'

'You spend so many years modulating everything—your voice, your laugh, your reactions—until one day...' She shrugs. 'One day you catch yourself using your "public" voice to order coffee at 3 AM in an empty convenience store, and you realize you can't remember what you used to sound like.'

'And that bothers you.'

'Wouldn't it bother you? Losing something that fundamental without even noticing it was gone?'

'Is that why we're here? Trying to find it again?'

'Maybe.' She smiles, but it's different now. Unpolished. 'Or maybe I'm just tired of having "public" and "private" versions of everything.'

'Including your voice.'

'Including my entire existence.'

'Right.' You snap your notebook shut. 'We're getting gelato.'

—

[1] The suspicious rate at which biographers are "dying off" has become something of an industry joke. Three prominent biographers mysteriously retired after attempting to write about a certain K-pop company's CEO. Totally not suspicious.

[2] The Plaza Hotel, to be specific. Said subject was a tech billionaire whose autobiography mysteriously never made it to print. The hotel suite, however, maintains legendary status among New York's housekeeping staff for its impressive collection of empty green tea bottles and rejection letters.

—

She blinks. 'What?'

'We're walking.' You stand, gathering your things. 'Unless you have somewhere to be?'

'Are you actually asking, or is this another strategic move?'

'Both. Neither. Whatever. Does it matter if there's gelato involved?'

A genuine laugh escapes her. 'Fair point.'

The early evening air hits your faces as you step outside. She pulls on a cap—more habit than disguise.

'Left or right?' you ask.

'You're the one who lives here.'

'Technically, I've been here three days.'

'And you already know where to get gelato?'

'First thing I do in any city. Professional secret.'

'Ah yes, the biographer's handbook. Chapter One: locate ice cream immediately.'

'Chapter Two: never reveal your sources.' You turn left. 'Unless they're wearing a questionably large cap and hiding from their own voice.'

'Low blow.' But she's grinning. 'Also, my cap is perfectly sized.'

'For what? Smuggling library books?'

'That's... oddly specific.'

'Says the person who just quoted Walt Whitman in a cafe.'

You find the gelato place tucked between a bookstore and a vintage shop. The owner, an elderly Italian woman, lights up at your approach.

'Due?' she asks.

'Sì,' you reply, then turn to Karina. 'What's your poison?'

She studies the flavors intently. 'What's the most unusual one?'

'Professional or personal answer?'

'There's a difference?'

'Professional would be something elegant. Personal...' You point to a vivid blue flavor. 'That one tastes like your childhood imaginary friend made a pact with a Smurf.'

She doesn't hesitate. 'Two scoops of that, please.'

'Really?'

'What?' She raises an eyebrow. 'Scared of a little blue tongue?'

'More scared of what my editor will say when the interview notes are stained cerulean.'

Ten minutes later, you're both leaning against a stone wall, gelato dripping in the warm evening air. Her tongue is, indeed, impressively blue.

'Yah! Why are you taking a picture?”

'Your tongue. I need photographic evidence for my editor.'

She complains, ‘self-respecting people would’ve walked a long time ago.’

‘And let me guess-’

‘Correct. Take a picture if you want.’

'Pulitzer worthy.' You take another bite of your considerably more dignified pistachio. 'So tell me about the sharks.'

'You're still on that?'

'You brought up marine biology in a cafe and then mysteriously changed the subject. I'm invested now.'

'There's nothing mysterious about it.' She licks a drop of blue from her knuckle. 'I just think they're neat.'

'That's the worst deflection yet.'

'Fine.' She pushes off the wall, starting to walk. 'When I was younger, I used to think they were lonely.'

You fall into step beside her. 'Sharks?'

'Mm. Always swimming, never stopping. Everyone afraid of them.' She shrugs. 'Stupid kid logic.'

'And now?'

'Now I think they're just... misunderstood.' She grins. 'That was terrible, wasn't it? Like a bad movie line.'

'Terrible. But honest.'

'You and your honesty fetish.'

'Says the person who just admitted to emotionally relating to sharks.'

She snorts, nearly dropping her cone. 'When you put it that way—'

'Oh, I'm definitely putting it that way. It's going in the book.'

'Absolutely not.'

'Chapter title: "The Shark Whisperer”. I can see it already'

She tries to hip-check you, but you dodge, protecting your gelato. 'I'm revoking your creative license.'

'Too late. The mental image of baby Jimin crying over shark documentaries is seared into my brain.'

'I did not cry over—' She stops. 'Okay, maybe once. But it was a very sad documentary.' [1]

The sun is setting now, painting the cobblestones gold. You pass a street musician playing something soft and acoustic.

'Your sister know about the sharks?'

'Of course. She bought me the books.' Her smile turns fond. 'Still does, actually. Sends them to me randomly.'

'Recent ones?'

'Last week.' She finishes her cone. 'She has... interesting timing.'

'Interesting timing?'

'Mm.' She wipes her hands on a napkin. 'Right after I told her about the interview. She sent me one about great whites. Said something about facing fears.'

'Subtle.'

'About as subtle as your interview techniques.' She eyes your notebook, still tucked away. 'Not writing anymore?'

'Memory's better when I'm walking.' You tap your temple. 'Also, harder to write about blue tongues while walking.'

'Still blue?'

'Devastatingly so.'

She sticks her tongue out at a passing window, checking her reflection. 'Oh god, it's worse than I thought.'

'Crisis?'

'Please. I once had to perform with my hair half-green because of a dye mishap. This?' She gestures to her mouth. 'This is nothing.'

'Half-green?'

'Not going in the book.'

'Already mentally drafting the chapter.'

She groans. 'I'm starting to regret this whole walking thing.'

'Because of the blackmail material or the exercise?'

'Both. Neither.' She pauses by a small fountain. 'It's just... nice.'

'Nice?'

'Yeah.' She sits on the fountain's edge. 'No schedule. No plan. Just... walking and talking and eating questionably colored gelato with a stranger who probably thinks I'm having a quarter-life crisis.'

'Are you?'

'Having a crisis or eating gelato?'

'Now who's deflecting?' 

And she pauses again, caught.

She dips her fingers in the fountain water, watching the ripples. 'Maybe I just wanted one normal evening. One conversation that wasn't prepackaged and pre-approved.'

'Mission accomplished, I'd say. Your tongue is literally blue.'

That startles a laugh out of her. 'You're never letting that go, are you?'

'It's going to be a running metaphor throughout the book. Deep, meaningful parallels between blue gelato and the human condition.'

'You're terrible at your job.'

'I'm excellent at my job. I got you to walk around Rome with blue teeth.'

'Is that the measure of success?'

'For this chapter? Absolutely.'

The street lamps are starting to flicker on, and the air has that peculiar Roman evening warmth that begs for a drink.

'Know any good bars?' she asks, as if reading your mind.

'Thought you'd never ask[2]. Fair warning though—my Italian's terrible.'

'Better or worse than your interview skills?'

'Much worse. But I can order Aperol Spritz in seventeen different ways.'

'Useful life skill.'

'More useful than relating to sharks.'

She shoves your shoulder lightly. 'One more shark joke and I'm leaving.'

'No, you're not.'

'No, I'm not.' She grins. 'Lead the way, worst Italian speaker.'

You find a tiny place tucked away from the main streets. The kind tourists don't know about, with mismatched chairs and a bartender who looks old enough to have served Caesar himself.

'Due aperol spritz, per favore.' You ask.

The bartender raises an eyebrow. 'Americano? Il tuo italiano è buono!' (your Italian was… apparently… good.)

'Peggio,' you say. 'Giornalista' 

(‘Worse. Journalist.’)

He laughs, already reaching for glasses. Karina slides onto a barstool, looking around with genuine curiosity.

‘He seems pretty impressed by your Italian.’

‘Oh trust me—he wasn’t. He just wanted to be nice. That’s all. The inflections are quite easy to catch.’

‘Alright, whatever you say. Giornalista—.'

You grin at her cute prod.

'How'd you find this place?' She asks; needless to say, she likes it here.

'Got lost my first night here––five years ago. It was either come in or keep pretending I knew where my hotel was.'

'And?'

'Woke up knowing exactly where my hotel was. And how to say "I'm sorry" in Italian.'

She laughs. 'That bad?'

'Let's just say there's a reason I stick to green tea now.'

The drinks arrive, vivid orange against the dark wood of the bar.

'To blue tongues,' you raise your glass.

'And bad Italian,' she clinks hers against it.

—

[1] The documentary in question was "Blue Planet II." Her sister still has the receipt for three boxes of tissues and a plush shark from the aquarium gift shop. The plush shark now sits in her studio, wearing a tiny version of her debut outfit. Her company has tried to mass-produce it twice. She's vetoed it both times.

[2] You were never this humble about your Italian until you talked to an Italian nonna. "Qui giace la dignità di un giornalista" (Here lies a journalist's dignity).

—

'Speaking of bad decisions—'

'We weren't.'

'We are now. Tell me about the green hair incident.'

'Absolutely not.' She takes another sip of her spritz. 'Some secrets I'm taking to my grave.'

'Come on. Half-green hair? There's got to be a story there.'

'There is. A great one. You're still not hearing it.'

'I'll trade you.'

'Oh?' She turns on her stool to face you fully. 'What could you possibly have that's worth my green hair story?'

'Remember when I said I learned to say sorry in Italian?'

'The plot thickens.'

'Let's just say it involved a fountain, three angry nuns, and a very patient carabinieri.'

She nearly chokes on her drink. 'You're making that up.'

'Want to bet your green hair story on it?'

'You know what?' She signals the bartender for another round. 'Fine. But if you're lying, you're buying drinks for the rest of the night.'

'Deal.'

'And no taking notes.'

'Now that's just cruel.'

'Professional hazard,' she mimics your earlier tone, then grins. 'Okay, storyteller. Dazzle me.'

The bartender sets down fresh drinks, and you lean in conspiratorially. 'So picture this: my first night in Rome, about five years ago...'

'Wait.' She holds up a hand. 'We need to establish stakes. If this story doesn't involve all three elements—fountain, nuns, and police—you're not only buying drinks, you're telling me where you actually learned to say sorry in Italian.'

'Counter-offer. If my story checks out, I get the green hair story plus whatever happened at that music show in Busan.'

Her eyes narrow. 'What music show in Busan?'

'The one you just reacted to.'

'That's... that's actually impressive.'

'Five years of professional nosiness at work. Deal?'

She clinks her glass against yours. 'Deal. Now stop stalling.'

'Right. So. Five years ago. I'd just finished an interview with this ancient countess at the bar. I mean, it’s the bar. Who else gets to interview a countess at a bar? That’s like crazy Bourdain-level shit right there.’

She nods along. 'Of course you did.'

'Anyway, she invited me to this wine cellar...'

'Oh no.'

'Oh yes. And mind you, I was already quite drunk. And she was very, very insistent about hospitality...'

Twenty minutes and much laughter later, you finish: '...and that's why you should never trust Google Translate to help you apologize to Italian law enforcement.'

She's wiping tears from her eyes. 'The part with the cat—'

'Hand to god. Still have the scars.'

'Okay.' She catches her breath. 'Okay, you win. That was worth it.'

'Time to pay up. Green hair. Spill.'

'Can I have one more drink first?'

'For courage?'

'So I can blame it on the drink.' She waves at the bartender. 'I still can't believe you showed those nuns your interview notes to prove you weren't a street performer.'

'Desperate times.'

'Speaking of desperate...' She takes a fortifying sip of her fresh spritz. 'Ever tried to fix green hair with grape juice?'

'No.'

'Don't.'

'There has to be more to this story than grape juice.'

'Oh, there's so much more.' She settles into her seat. 'Picture this: it's two hours before a live broadcast. I'm sitting in the makeup chair, feeling pretty good about life. You know, like that particular moment where your face just… shines. Then my stylist walks in, takes one look at my hair, and just... screams.'

'Screams?'

'Full horror movie scream. Turns out the hair dye we used was... let's say "not exactly approved by management."'

'Let me guess. DIY job?'

'Worse. My sister's friend's cousin who "totally went to beauty school."'

'Oh no.' You snort, taking a hefty drink of the remaining spritz.

'Oh yes. So there I am, one side of my head this bizarre shade of swamp-thing green, and everyone's running around like it's the end of the world.'

'Which is when someone suggested grape juice?'

'Actually, that was my idea.' She grimaces. 'I'd read somewhere that grape juice could neutralize green tones. What they failed to mention was that this works for swimming pools, not hair.' [1]

'So what happened?'

'Picture a very expensive wig, three cans of dry shampoo, and me trying to explain to the camera director why I couldn't turn my head to the left.'

'Did it work?'

'Define "work."' She takes another sip. 'If by "work" you mean "did I make it through the broadcast without anyone seeing the grape-juice-tinged disaster," then yes. If by "work" you mean "did I maintain any dignity," then absolutely not.'

'The fans never found out?'

'Oh, they did. Someone leaked a backstage photo three months later.' She grins. 'By then I'd managed to fix it. Mostly.'

'Mostly?'

'My sister still has a strand of green hair she saved. Threatens to post it whenever I don't answer her calls.'

'Effective.'

'Terrifying.' She raises her glass. 'Your turn again. What's the worst interview you've ever done?'

'Besides this one?'

She kicks your chair. 'I'm delightful and you know it.'

'You're something, all right.'

Three drinks in, and the bar's emptied enough that her laugh echoes a little too loudly. She covers her mouth, but it's too late – the old bartender shoots them an amused look.

'Sorry,' she stage-whispers.

'For what? The laugh or the fact that it just shattered three ancient Roman wine glasses?'

'Shut up.' She kicks your chair again. 'I don't always laugh like that.'

'Let me guess – there's a public laugh and a private laugh?'

'There's a whole taxonomy.' She sits up straighter, counting on her fingers. 'Interview laugh, variety show laugh, fan meeting laugh, oh-that's-not-actually-funny-but-you're-my-sunbae laugh—'

'Please tell me you're joking.'

'I wish.' She slumps forward, head on her arms. 'I once had to attend a laughing seminar.'

'A what now?'

'A laughing seminar. Professional instruction on the art of the public giggle.' Her voice is muffled against her sleeve. 'There was a PowerPoint and everything.'

'You're making this up.'

She lifts her head. 'I spent three hours learning about laugh-adjacent breathing techniques while a woman named Mrs. Kim hit a triangle every time someone laughed "inappropriately."'

You stare at her. She stares back.

'That's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard,' you say finally.

'I know.' She dissolves into another too-loud laugh, this one definitely not seminar-approved. 'God, I can still hear that triangle.'

'Is that why you're here?'

'Getting drunk with a biographer in Rome? No, that's just poor life choices.'

'Speaking honest truths to a stranger?'

'Oh.' She straightens up, but there's still something loose in her smile. 'Maybe. Or maybe I just really needed to tell someone about Mrs. Kim and her triangle of terror.'

'Triangle of terror.' You shake your head. 'That's going in the book.'

'Along with the blue tongue and green hair? You're really painting a picture here.'

'It's called character development.'

'It's called character assassination.' She signals for water. 'What else are you putting in there?'

'Wouldn't you like to know.'

'Actually, yes. That's literally why I'm asking.'

'Fine.' You pretend to flip through your mental notes. 'Chapter One: Sharks and Empathy—'

'Oh my god.'

'Chapter Two: The Grape Juice Incident—'

'I'm starting to regret everything.'

'Chapter Three: Laugh Taxonomies by Aespa’s Karina—'

'I hate you.'

'Chapter Four: Why Romans Don't Trust Her With Fountains Anymore—'

'That was you! That was literally your story!'

'Was it? Everything's getting a bit fuzzy.' You tap your temple. 'Must be all that professional memory I was bragging about earlier.'

She throws an olive at you. The bartender clears his throat.

'Sorry,' you both say in unison, then look at each other and start laughing again.

'You know what's really funny?' she says, once you've both contained yourselves.

'Mrs. Kim's triangle?'

'Besides that.' She accepts the water from the bartender. 'This is probably the worst interview you've ever done.'

'Oh, definitely.'

'And yet...'

'And yet?'

'It's the most honest one I've given.' She pauses. 'God, that sounded way less cheesy in my head. Must be the spritz talking.'

'Blame it on the altitude.'

'We're at sea level.'

'Blame it on the sea level.'

'You're ridiculous.' She's grinning though. 'Is this how all your interviews go?'

'Usually there's less gelato. More gravitas.'

'Gravitas is overrated.'

'Says the woman who attended a laughing seminar.'

'Hey, I'll have you know my triangle-approved giggle is very dignified.'

'Prove it.'

She sits up straighter, arranges her features into something serene, and lets out the most artificial laugh you've ever heard. It's so pristine it's almost disturbing.

'That was horrifying.'

'That was three hours of professional training.'

'I'm concerned about your profession.'

'Join the club.' She relaxes back into her natural posture. 'We have meetings every Tuesday. Bring your own triangle.'

The bartender slides over the check with a knowing look. Last call came and went without either of you noticing.

'Well,' you say, reaching for your wallet. 'I suppose this is—'

'Wait.' She puts her hand on your arm. 'I have a confession.'

'Another one? The green hair wasn't enough?'

'I read your book.'

'Which one?'

'The one about the ballet dancer who quit to become a motorcycle mechanic.'

'Ah.' You sit back. 'And?'

'And I maybe, possibly, completely changed my mind about this whole interview when I read it.'

'Because?'

'Because...' She fidgets with her empty glass. 'You made her sound so... human.'

'As opposed to?'

'A story. A headline.' She traces a pattern on the bar top. 'Most people would've written about the scandal, the career she "threw away." But you wrote about how she names each motorcycle she fixes. How she still dances in her garage at midnight.'

'Ah. That.'

'That.' She looks up. 'Is that why you haven't asked me about any of it?'

'Any of what?'

'Don't play dumb. The headlines. The speculation. The—'

'The triangle-approved responses you've probably rehearsed?'

She laughs, caught. 'Something like that.'

'Here's the thing about headlines.' You start gathering your things. 'They're usually more interesting than the truth.'

'And what's the truth?'

'That sometimes people just want to eat blue gelato and tell embarrassing stories in a bar and talk a biographer’s ears off.'

She kicks your chair again, barely noticeable. 'Even if those stories end up in a book?'

'Especially then.' You stand, offering her jacket. 'Though I might need you to sign a waiver about the grape juice incident.'

'I knew it! You are using it!'

'Chapter title: "The Perils of Amateur Chemistry: A Cautionary Tale."'

She shrugs on her jacket, shaking her head. 'You're impossible. That AI flair was so intentional'

'Says the woman who legitimately attended a laughing seminar.'

'I'm never living that down, am I?'

'Not as long as I have a functioning memory and a publishing contract.'

The Roman night is warm as you both step out of the bar. She stumbles slightly on the cobblestones.

You offer a hand which she quickly grabs.

'Don't you dare put that in the book,' she warns.

'Put what? The graceful interpretation of contemporary dance you just performed?'

'These streets are rigged.' She steadies herself. 'Also, your hotel's this way.'

'How do you know where my hotel is?' You’re not exactly one to remember locations, probably the reason you were able to gain such a repository of ridiculous stories.

'Because it's my hotel.' She grins at your expression. 'What? You think you're the only one who does research?'

'I'm concerned about your stalking tendencies.'

'Says the person who somehow knew about the Busan incident.'

'Professional hazard.'

'You really need new catchphrases.'

The walk is quiet, comfortable. Rome at night feels like a different city—all golden lights and shadow play. A cat watches you pass from its perch on a window sill.

'Don't even think about it,' she says.

'About what?'

'Making some poetic comparison between me and that cat.'

'Please. I'm a much better writer than that.'

'Sure you are, shark whisperer.'

You reach the hotel entrance. She pauses.

'Well,' she says. 'This has been...'

'Professionally catastrophic?'

'I was going to say enlightening.'

'That too.'

The hotel lobby is all marble and soft lighting. Your footsteps echo slightly.

'I have a balcony,' she says suddenly. 'And a really pretentious coffee machine I can't figure out.'

'Is this a cry for help with appliances?' 

'This is...' She fidgets with her room key. 'This is me not wanting the interview to end yet.'

'The interview ended somewhere between blue gelato and the triangle story.'

'Then what's this?'

‘Believe or not, some people just like having fun on their Italian vacation.’

‘Haha. Very funny.’

'This is...' You pretend to consider. 'Two people who might be friends if one of them wasn't writing a book about the other.'

'Complicated.'

'Professional hazard.'

'There's that phrase again.' She presses the elevator button. 'Come on. I'll teach you how to laugh properly.'

'With or without the triangle?'

She steps into the elevator. 'Depends on how good you are at making coffee.'

'Now who's the impossible one?'

The doors start to close. She holds them.

'Coming?'

You join her in the elevator. 'For the record, I'm excellent at coffee.'

'For the record,' she mimics your tone, 'that's going in the book.'

Her room is on the top floor, with a view that makes you understand why people write poetry about Rome.

'So,' she says, fighting with the coffee machine. 'This button makes it angry, and this one makes it hiss.'

'Move over, amateur.' You reach around her to press a combination of buttons. The machine purrs to life.

'Show off.' But she's smiling as she heads for the balcony. 'Bring your coffee wizardry out here when it's ready.'

The balcony is small, just enough room for two chairs and all of Rome spread out below. She's curled up in one chair, shoes off, looking more real than she has all day.

'Your professional opinion,' she says as you hand her a cup. 'Is this going to be a good book?'

'Depends.'

'On?'

'On whether you let me keep the shark metaphors.'

She laughs into her coffee. 'You're never letting that go.'

'Never.' You take the other chair. 'Though I might be willing to negotiate.'

'Terms?'

'Tell me something nobody knows. Something that won't make the book.'

She's quiet for a moment, looking out at the city lights. 'I sing in the shower.'

'Everybody knows that.'

'No, I mean...' She turns to face you. 'I sing the old songs. The ones I used to practice when I was just some kid in Bundang with a dream too big for my voice.'

'And?'

'And sometimes I still feel like her. That kid. Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Wow.' You let out a low whistle. 'That was incredibly profound.'

She groans, covering her face. 'I know. I'm sorry. That was straight out of a drama script.'

'I was thinking more indie movie. You know, the kind where people have deep conversations on balconies in Rome at—' you check your watch, '—one in the morning.'

'Oh god, we're living a cliché.'

'Complete with coffee and two chairs overlooking Rome.'

'Quick,' she straightens up, 'say something unprofound. Save us from ourselves.'

'My tongue is still kind of blue.'

She peeks at you over her coffee cup. 'Mine too.'

'Better?'

'Much better.' She slouches back in her chair. 'Though now I'm thinking about how this would look in your book. "Two idiots with blue tongues have existential crisis on expensive balcony."'

'Don't forget the part where one of them somehow charmed a coffee machine.'

'And the other one used to sing in her shower.'

'Still,' you correct. 'Present tense.'

'Still,' she admits. 'But if you put that in your book, I'll have to tell everyone about your fountain incident.'

'Mutually assured destruction. I like it.'

She yawns, then looks embarrassed. 'Sorry. It's not the company, it's—'

'The five Aperol Spritzes?'

'That. And the emotional toll of remembering Mrs. Kim's triangle.'

'Tragic backstory,' you nod solemnly. 'Very character-building.'

'Speaking of character-building...' She sets down her empty cup, turns to face you fully. 'This is usually the part in your books where something significant happens.'

'Is it?'

'Mm. Chapter twelve. Always a turning point.'

'You really did read my books.'

'I told you that already.' She's closer now, somehow. 'What I didn't mention was that I figured out your pattern.'

'My pattern?'

'The way you write moments like this.' Her voice is soft. 'When everything gets quiet, and the city's just background noise, and someone's about to do something...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say brave.'

'Brave is just inadvisable with better PR.'

She laughs, barely a whisper. 'You're deflecting again.'

'Professional—'

'If you say "hazard" right now,' she cuts in, 'I'm going to throw you off this balcony.'

'That would be...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say "terrible for my book sales."'

She's definitely closer now. 'Your book sales are about to be the least of your problems.'

'Because you're going to kiss me or throw me off the balcony?'

'I haven't decided yet.'

'Well,' you murmur, 'for what it's worth, one of those options would make a much better chapter twelve.'

She closes the distance between you, smiling against your lips. 'Professional hazard.'

You and Karina shared an instant spark that neither of you had experienced. Ever. The moment that first tease left your mouth, it was over.

—

[1] The sentiment of grape juice being able to eliminate green tones turned out to be completely unfounded. Despite this, wine sommeliers around the world have complained about Koreans with their distinct accent asking about grape juice’s ability to change colors.

—

The kiss tastes like coffee and Aperol and something sweet—probably the remnants of that ridiculous blue gelato. It's soft and quiet and perfect, the kind of moment that would sound made up in a book.

She pulls back slightly. 'Your editor's going to hate this.'

'Definitely.' You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 'Completely unprofessional.'

'Thoroughly inadvisable.'

'Absolutely perfect for chapter twelve.'

She kisses you again, and Rome keeps existing below, indifferent to your small moment of magic. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimes twice.

'You know,' she whispers, 'this is usually where you'd write something profound about the city of love.'

'That's Paris.'

'Now who's deflecting?'

'Still you. But I'm starting not to mind.'

She laughs, soft and real—definitely not triangle-approved—and rests her forehead against yours, your breaths intermixing, plenty of intimate eye contact. 'Is this going in the book?'

'What do you think?'

'I think...' Her fingers find yours. 'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'Even after I charmed your coffee machine? That's cold.'

She makes a face. 'You're really bringing up coffee machine prowess right after—'

'Right after you thoroughly compromised my journalistic integrity? Yes.'

'Your journalistic integrity was compromised the moment you let me eat blue gelato.'

'My journalistic integrity was compromised the moment I saw you.' You run your thumb across her knuckles.

Her eye contact wavers and her voice falters, ‘Gosh, you’re such a player.’

‘Flirting has never come so easily before.’ You whisper against her mouth.

'Oh really?'

'Obviously.'

'Which was?'

'Stare at that blue tongue some more.’'

She shoves you lightly. 'You're terrible.'

'And yet.'

'And yet.' She settles on your lap, the forehead to forehead more natural now. 'So what happens now?'

'Well, traditionally, this is where I'd write something about dawn breaking over the eternal city—'

'Please don't.'

'—with golden light catching on ancient stones—'

'I'm begging you to stop.'

'—as two souls find each other under the Roman sky—'

She claps a hand over your mouth. 'I will literally pay you to not finish that sentence.'

You kiss her palm before she pulls it away. 'Isn't that technically bribery?'

'Add it to the list. Right after "compromised journalistic integrity" and "suspicious coffee machine expertise."'

'Speaking of compromising situations...' You glance at your watch. 'It's almost three AM.'

'Worried about your reputation?'

'Worried about your triangle-approved schedule.'

'Bold of you to assume I ever sleep.' She stands, stretching. 'Want to order terrible room service and you can tell me about all the other journalists you've scandalized?'

'That's a very short list. Very enticing regardless.’ 

'Good.' She holds out her hand.

The night air has turned cooler, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere below. Her fingers trace the collar of your shirt, hesitant but deliberate.

'What happened to room service?' you murmur.

'It can wait.' Her eyes meet yours, playful but wanting. 'I'm conducting my own interview first.'

This kiss is different from the first. Slower, more certain. The city hums below, a distant lullaby of late-night cars and echoing footsteps. When she sighs into the kiss, it's the softest sound you've ever heard. When she falters against your forceful touches, it’s the softest you’ve ever felt a woman.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against yours. Her heartbeat is quick under your palm.

'Better than chapter twelve?' she whispers.

You catch her lips again in answer, feeling her smile. The wind stirs her hair, sending strands brushing against your cheek. Everything smells like jasmine and coffee and her perfume—something subtle and expensive that you'll probably spend the rest of your life over-romanticizing.

Because that’s what Karina deserves.

Rome stretches out endless and ancient around you, but all you can focus on is how perfectly she fits against you, how real she feels away from cameras and crowds.

Your lips find hers in the dark, soft and certain now. Her fingers trail up your neck, threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There's an art to the way she kisses—deliberate yet desperate, like she's trying to memorize the moment. Your hands settle at her waist, and she makes a small sound that you know you'll remember forever.

Her lips part against yours, deepening the kiss until you're both breathless. The balcony railing presses into your back—when did that happen?—and her body is warm against yours, fitting perfectly in all the spaces between.

Her teeth graze your bottom lip, teasing. You respond by trailing kisses along her jaw, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. When you find that sensitive spot just below her ear, her sharp intake of breath makes you smile against her skin.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Her lips are slightly swollen, her careful composure beautifully undone––hair spread everywhere, but just so that she looks ethereal rather than messy. You brush your thumb across her lower lip, and she catches it with her teeth, playful even now.

‘Still planning to put this in chapter twelve?’ she whispers, breathless.

Your answer gets lost somewhere between her lips and… her lips.

Her laugh vibrates against your lips when you finally break apart. ‘We should probably—’

‘Go inside?’ Your lips find the curve of her neck again.

‘I was going to say breathe.’ But her head tilts back, giving you better access. Her pulse flutters under your kiss like a trapped bird. ‘Though inside works too.’

You pull back just enough to look at her. Hair mussed, eyes bright, that perfect composure completely undone. She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, with the city lights catching in her eyes and her professional smile nowhere to be found.

‘What?’ she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

‘Just thinking.’

‘About?’

‘How this definitely isn't going in the book.’

Her smile turns mischievous. ‘No?’ Her fingers trace patterns on your chest. ‘Not even a little mention of how you completely forgot about journalistic integrity the moment I—’

‘Then chapter 12 would entirely consist of me betraying my profession in order to catch your lips with my teeth.’

‘Wow. You’re bad. Like, real bad.’

‘You have no idea.’

You cut her off with another kiss, swallowing her laugh. Her hands slide up your chest, around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. The world narrows to just this: her lips on yours, her body pressed against you, the soft sounds she makes when you run your fingers down her spine.

‘Inside,’ she murmurs against your mouth. ‘Before we really give Rome something to talk about.’

You let her lead you through the balcony doors, both of you stumbling slightly, unwilling to break contact. She tastes like promises now, like stories yet to be written. Her hands are everywhere—your hair, your chest, your face – like she's trying to read you by touch alone.

‘Wait,’ you manage, as her lips find that spot below your ear that makes thinking difficult. ‘What about—’

‘If you mention room service right now,’ she warns, ‘I'm going back to my original plan of throwing you off the balcony.’

‘I was going to say 'what about your triangle-approved image?'’

She pulls back, eyes dancing. ‘Oh, that?’ Her lips brush yours, teasing. ‘I think we thoroughly compromised that at the first meeting.’

"Professional hazard?"

"Shut up," she whispers, and kisses you again.

She sighs into your mouth, a soft, vulnerable sound that makes your heart stutter.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp, sending shivers down your spine. You walk her backward until she's pressed against the wall, her body arching into yours.

You trail kisses down her neck, learning her— the spot beneath her jaw that makes her gasp, the curve where neck meets shoulder that makes her fingers tighten in your hair. Her pulse races under your lips, a rapid drumbeat that matches your own. When you find a particularly sensitive spot, her sharp intake of breath is the sweetest sound you've ever heard.

She tugs you back up to her mouth, kissing you like she's trying to tell you something words can't capture. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a rhythm that makes you dizzy. One of her legs hooks around yours, pulling you even closer, and you groan into her mouth.

Her hands frame your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as she kisses you deeper, slower, like she's trying to memorize every second. You respond in kind, pouring everything you can't say into the kiss—how beautiful she is like this, how real, how perfectly she fits against you.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. You rest your forehead against hers, sharing the same air, neither of you willing to move away.

"Still thinking about the book?" she murmurs, voice husky.

You answer by catching her lower lip between your teeth, gentle but playful, and feel her smile against your mouth.

Her smile against your mouth turns into a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a no."

‘Take it as whatever you want.’ Your lips find her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. ‘I stopped thinking about the book long ago.’

She hums contentedly, her fingers tracing patterns on the nape of your neck. ‘Good.’ Her other hand is still tangled in your shirt, keeping you close. ‘Because I have a confession.’

‘Another one?’

Instead of answering, she kisses you again, slow and deep. Her tongue traces your lower lip, and you respond by pressing her further into the wall, swallowing the small sound she makes. One of her legs is still hooked around yours, and when she shifts slightly, the new angle makes you both gasp.

‘That wasn't a confession,’ you murmur against her lips.

‘No?’ Her teeth graze your earlobe. ‘I thought I was being pretty clear.’

Your hands slide to her waist, steadying her. She's intoxicating like this, all careful control abandoned, her public persona nowhere to be found.

‘Jimin,’ you breathe, and feel her shiver at the sound of her real name.

Her response is to pull you closer, kissing you like she's trying to say everything without words. Her lips are soft but certain against yours, and you lose yourself in the feeling—the warmth of her body, the subtle scent of her perfume.

The city continues its nighttime symphony outside, but in here, the only sound is your shared breathing and the soft, desperate noises she makes when you find that sensitive spot on her neck again.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. In the dim light, her gaze is soft, unguarded. Her thumb traces your lower lip.

‘What?’ you ask, voice rough.

‘I'm trying to decide something.’

"Whether to throw me off the balcony? Because I thought we moved past—"

She cuts you off with another kiss. Her hands cup your face, holding you there as she explores your mouth with a thoroughness that makes you dizzy. You respond by feeling her firm and perky ass.

‘No—,’ she moans when you break apart for air. ‘I'm trying to decide if this is real.’

Instead of answering, you trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. Her head falls back against the wall, giving you better access. When you reach her collarbone, she makes a sound that's half-sigh, half-moan.

‘Feels real enough,’ you murmur against her skin.

Her laugh is breathy, unsteady. ‘I meant—’ She gasps as you find a particularly sensitive spot. ‘I meant this. Us. This whole night.’

You lift your head to look at her. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her carefully styled hair a mess from your fingers. She's never looked more beautiful.

‘If you think I did all of this for the fun of it, you’re clearly missing something.’

‘A gear in the head?’

‘Definitely—’

‘Gosh, how do I allow this sort of petulance?’

‘Because it’s me.’

‘You’re a player.’

‘Only for you.’ You catch her lips, even more wanting—and she forfeits it all. 

You pick her up, mussing up her perfect outfit, mussing up her perfect lips. And you finally throw her against the bed.

‘You’re really roughing up Prada’s global ambassador.’

‘And ambassador to a dozen other brands worth billions—couldn’t care less.’’ 

She smirks, and her arms open, waiting, pliant, obedient.

You rip off your buttoned shirt, tear off your pants; now, there’s truly no way of going back.

‘Wow. That scar is a lot larger than I imagined.’ She’s referring back to the scar that you received during that drunk haze of a night.

‘It was dark. Might’ve even been a lion.’ 

‘Mm. Heroic. Come here.’

Now, who could ever resist that?

You rip off her clothes, each layer even more decadent than the other. And then, she was there. bra barely containing her breasts, and a layer of dampness along her sexy panties.

‘That was expensive, by the way.’

‘I’ve got a payment plan on course.’

‘Mm. Enlighten me.’

You pull her panties to the side.

She’s dripping wet, nectar spooling right on her pink core. A glorious sheen that makes you stare far longer than you should’ve. She’s red-faced at this point, and her forearms cover most of her sight, and yet, she doesn’t move, doesn’t retreat. 

The first lick you place, just a brush against her engorged clit, crumbles every self-regulated triangle-approved behavior she has. Two pants turn fifty, one lick crumbles everything. Her hips coax you in ways gymnasts can’t even replicate, and of course, you oblige.

Soft licks, teases around her outer lips, swollen from all the anticipation and arousal; tonguing at her inner lips, just at the crux of her clit, gets her screaming in ways her deep voice would never register; and above all, she’s orgasming, squirting, losing every pretense in favor of her built up lust. 

‘Oh~fuck—’

Her fingers find purchase in your hair, and she softly pulls you in—rides your face like it was all that she ever desired: her eternal wish.

‘Ohmygod! Imcumming!’ Her voice turns mousy, and her pupils go back in pure pleasure, coupled with hip movements thought impossible: this was the greatest pleasure of her life.

You grab her chin, squeeze softly, her cheeks molding to your grasp, and you press a soft kiss right on her kiss-bruised lips. You let her taste herself on your tongue.

‘Good. Right?’

And she nods. A complete personality switch from the playfulness she displayed earlier. Delicate.

Her hands land on your boxers as she melted into your kiss. Once you felt her palm your cock, you groaned right in her ear. She starts softly, stroking. But her strokes grow more all-encompassing as you press harder into the kiss.

‘Fuck. You’re so good for me.’

She mewls back, on the gradient slide of unadulterated pleasure.

Softly, you release your shaft from the boxer. And you press your cock right on her core. Feeling the wet heat, the sticky nectar that pooled to a mindbreaking degree. 

‘It goes without saying.’

‘That I’m head over heels for you?’

You grin, ‘Well, that too, but you’re hopeless.’

‘Maybe if we weren’t so compatible.’

You grab a breast, palming it, ‘Well that, that too, goes without saying.’

She smiles, so warmly, every trace of everything else melted off her face––the sort of smile you’d never forget, and the sort of smile you’d want to wake up to… forever.

Finally, you press into her, and her wet heat envelops you, enough to make you groan, enough to make her moan like there’s no greater pleasure––because really, there’s nothing else.

Her pussy clings onto you, a wet suction that is immeasurably soft and yet, a vacuum-seal-like tightness that gets you groaning after every thrust.

Her arms cling to you, and her eyebrows knit, her small face full of emotion—all of it processing how good you fuck her.

‘Oh god. Would it be bad that I want you to declare to the world that you own me?”

‘Chapter 12—’

She cuts you off, ‘Something along the lines of: “Chapter 12: Karina is my fuckslut”’ 

‘I don’t tolerate Karina disrespect.’ You say, truthfully.

‘Even if it’s by myself?’

‘Especially for that case, sweetheart.’

‘Oh… you’re too good.’

‘You’re blind.’

Most popular idol in the world, and… she’s hopelessly down bad for you.

‘If I’m blind. Then you don’t have eyes—complete darkness.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I’m your biggest fan.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I love you.’

‘You have a way with words, Karina.’ You reply, pressing soft kisses along her jaw, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, thrusting into her harder, sharing breaths.

‘You’ve inspired me.’

And you lock lips with her, the thrusts were becoming a blur, and her moans music to your ears—it was all just… heaven.

There was no technique. Nothing too purposeful. It was all just pure affection, pure love guiding all your actions. And the fact that she’s cumming again was no coincidence.

‘Oh. My. Fucking. God!’ Her head goes back deep into the pillow and you follow suit. Pressing soft kisses that covered every square centimeter of her beauty, kisses that made her giggle even in her most orgasmic moment of her life. 

‘If I knew anything that felt like this… I’d be doing it constantly.’

‘Well—’

‘That’s right,’ Karina gives a soft peck, ‘I have you now.’ 

You could feel her heartbeat, her skin precipitate, and her cunt pulse—it’s just heaven at this point. 

‘Are you trying to convince me to follow you?’

‘2 years, finest in New York.’

‘Deal. Though you overbid a little.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Means anything you want, dear.’

The soft slick of her cunt made it nearly frictionless, just pure pleasure for both parties. Her hips gave way every time, an identity of its own, retreating when you thrust too hard, giving in when softer.’

‘Is this like a sugar mommy situation?’

‘Two words I never expected you to say.’ You both share a laugh.

‘I mean that’s what it is right?’

‘A power imbalance? Please. I can get you to buy a New York penthouse for me at this point.’

‘Well. You’re right. But—’

You bring your cock to the hilt inside of her, whilst stealing her lips for a deep kiss. She moans and mewls and gasps—music to your ears. You change positions. You bring her legs to your shoulders, and you begin kissing along her ankle while thrusting inside of her.

This time, you can see the full view. How her breasts bounce against the thrusts, how her slick has completely covered your entire length at this point, and how beautifully her face is framed between it all. 

Her mouth’s agape, moaning, giggling intermittently with the jokes shared through eye contact. You bite softly at her ankle then down her legs, to her calves, then releasing her legs altogether to kiss her again.

She fits perfectly against you, small and delicate but the perfect puzzle piece under you. She’s absorbent, aware of your needs, placing soft kisses along the ridges of your eyebrows, rubbing away the day’s fatigue along your jaw and temple. 

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

‘I didn’t hear.’

You press against her, feeling her breasts spool against your chest, bring your thrust to the hilt, the wetness of her loins pressed against yours, all of them vividly apparent. ‘I love your beauty. I love your humor. I love how clever you are. I love how authentic you are. And I could continue on and on but I’m about to cum.’

Karina sniffled, ‘God, I was about to cry and then you say that.’ She softly smacks your shoulder, ‘just cum inside me and let’s cuddle.’

You oblige, the thrusts turn into a haze of pure pleasure, a desperate moment chasing the local maxima, and finally, you burst inside of her. Cum spooled, all inside her, and she moaned so gracefully, staring at you with all the affection in the world.

‘We can worry about this tomorrow.’ She palmed your jaw.

‘Of course.’ You fall onto her, cuddling her.

Both of you are a mess, gross, bodily fluid spread everywhere, and yet, the both of you fell into a deep slumber.

A/N: I'd like to apologize for switching up styles so much (But if you enjoyed this dialogue-heavy work, then lmk!)

[vitaminseetarot]

Back-to-Back PAC Part 2: What is Beginning For You? 🥚🌴🌊

Hey y'all it's time for round 2 of my back-to-back reading! I have to admit I was a little upset that the widespread glitch in tumblr's tags last night messed the mini event up a bit; I was disappointed that my reading wasn't visible in the search until earlier this evening. But it's not gonna stop me from submitting the 2nd half anyway! So if you haven't seen part 1 yet I highly encourage you to check it out as it's my last reading of 2024.

(Yes, I've decided to go with spring colors for these piles!)

Pick any one of the three images above to find out what's beginning for you:

Pile 1: Morganite Nest Pile 2: Aventurine Palm Pile 3: Larimar Sea

Pile 1: Morganite Nest

Knight of Pentacles, King of Pentacles, Page of Swords, 7 of Swords; Non-Attachment, Co-Create, DNA - Karma, Acceptance: all is as it should be

How's it going, pile 1? Your next chapter is going to be a slow and steady one and I get that, in some respects, this will be like a breath of fresh air. In other times, it may test your patience. But there's a sense of serenity that's emerging from you as a result of past experience. You're realizing that some things manifest more brilliantly when they're given their time to form and flourish. I think of all knights, the Knight of Pentacles respects the necessity of sitting back and letting actions speak for themselves before pushing towards the next act. So I see an equal play here of you taking action on something and then detaching from the outcome until you're able to make your next move. This doesn't always mean things have to move slowly, in fact when done in confidence this could become a regular ritual enough to build momentum.

It's like playing a turn based game for the first time; we see somebody play the same game quickly and wonder how it all began. It all began with learning the ropes, the basic moves one by one, until it became ingrained into gamemaster's body as a habit. This beginning is all about embracing the angels of habit forming while making peace with the devils of difficult patterns that must be reconfigured. Habits, either way you spin them, are powerful. In this next phase of life, you're able to balance the two minds, the one focused on abstract goals and the one focused on earthly desires. I'm getting this understanding that both parts need to be heard to be in harmony with each other.

Finally, you're learning a lot in this new beginning as the Page of Swords, but the biggest lesson this year will be in recognizing that you can bring your greatest goals to fruition as the King of Pentacles. He represents your "how" in this reading, meaning that you already possess the strength to build yourself up and it's up to you to use it in a balanced way. This reading, for the most part, seems to be about work-life or school-life balance, though there is also a message here for ambitious creators too. I see you being able to complete many things this year coupled with the sense that you're working along with the universe rather than against it. You're able to discern your capacities from what the world can bring you, what's in your hands versus what's out. And that knowledge is strong, pile 1! You'll have the stamina and the patience to see things through while staying grounded. Reach for the stars and, after you touch them, be sure the clouds catch you and bring you back to the earth once again.

Pile 2: Aventurine Palm

XX Judgement, 9 of Swords, The Prism, Page of Cups; Confidence, Neverending Story, Love - Compassion, Nurture: grow a great life

Hey, pile 2. I wanted to mention that even before I started your reading, a "self-love" card fell out of one of my oracle card decks as I was clearing my desk to prepare your reading. I didn't think much of it until I drew your cards and then knew what it was all about! Pile 2, your next beginning is going to involve so much more personal care for your own well being and happiness. I'm feeling with the Judgement card like this is gonna come almost as a revelation to you. You're going to be given a message that will rock you to your core in regards to old beliefs. This may come as a story someone tells you, or through a work of fiction. It could be something you witness secondhand that causes you to rethink some ideas.

Your beginning is going to come as a wake up call to look after yourself more. Not just in regards to self-care, but in terms of how you perceive yourself as well. How you believe in yourself, and how much trust you're able to put into your own self-belief. The 9 of Swords makes total sense with this as this person's depicted to be falling. Your old self-limiting beliefs that kept you in a loop of confusion and worry are falling away in this next chapter. Being there for yourself is just going to make "sense", I don't know how else to put it. It's like how I'm required to inspect my car every year, but I'm not required to have a yearly physical for my body. It makes sense to look after the car, so much so that it's legally obliged, but I have to be the one to decide if I am worth the same "inspection" for my own health (assuming it's all affordable ahem). The car is being taken care of so it can work right on the road, but can I function? Here I go, comparing myself to a machine, while saying that I'm "fine".

Strong, justifiable anger I'm channeling here. This is the argument I hear in my head right now. "Why do we treat objects better than people?" This is what's changing for you, dear pile 2. It's like caring for yourself won't be seen as just necessary for simply "functioning", but as an act of empowerment for your own life separate of society's. You're right, people should be treated better than material things. Your outrage for others' sake is a reflection of your needs. This blank card with the gem is called Prism, and simply represents everything, all that is. And a loving open palm rests beneath it. This is you seeing your own inner light and worthiness and recognizing gentleness as a great priority. The next chapter in your life calls for radical compassion that spills outward and it starts from you filling your own cup so much that it overflows.

Pile 3: Larimar Sea

7 of Wands, 6 of Cups, X Wheel of Fortune, Queen of Swords (Rx); Festivity, Orphaned, Dragonfly - Emergence, Timing: wait for the right moment

Hello, pile 3. I see a bold new beginning for you filled with vitality. You'll be taking charge life by the horns to go where you've been deeply demanding. No room for auto-pilot based decisions anymore; you will be at the helm of your ship to steer it towards your desire. There is an almost aggressive pollyanna vibe to this reading, insistent on joy. I think you've been striving for this kind of joy for a while, but letting things be as they always were doesn't tend to bring novel results. You're taking more of an active stance on your dreams and that's admirable, pile 3.

I'm kind of getting Rapunzel from Tangled here in how she struggled both inside and out to break free and seek what she knew would fulfill her. Others called her immature but still became inspired to do great things because of that naive hope she held. You are filling your plate with what you want and casting out the naysayers who try to drag you down. You're saying no to those who yell "stop having fun around here!". It is a huge and liberating but also scary feeling to own up to what you want. Like with Rapunzel, there's a mixture of cheering and crying to be had. Your childhood stories are reaching out to you; they want you to reintegrate their lessons for you to take with you moving forward. It's easy to discount them as cheesy, but oftentimes it's those old messages that impact us the deepest. Honoring your inner child is helping you restore your boundaries and reclaim the tower that once held you back as your own.

Your next beginning involves a beautiful glow up due to the immense amount of respect you give to yourself, so much so that you'll be unable to put up with less. Things are turning to your favor as you adapt to life's conditions without losing your emotional core. Some of you will discover a more competitive side to your nature, which may come as a surprise. Perhaps this side was suppressed in childhood but is renewing itself to be understood again. This new beginning will be more able to support you, should you choose to take a bold path to get into something competitive, like playing sports or signing up for an online poetry contest. For others, this is more about pursuing the things you didn't think you had the audacity to do. As long as you take things in stride and don't overthink it, embracing this fierceness will help you burst out of the cocoon like a newborn dragonfly when the time is right. No longer hiding beneath the rocks, the wheels are turning and allowing you to fly forth from the waters.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2025, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[fgumi]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; agent!jungwon x tsa!reader, GENRE; action, one shot, WC; ?k, WARNING(S); profanities, terrorism, maybe deaths (idk yet), A/N; the original plot of carry on pmo so i decided to write one that wouldn't. and! it was a holiday movie, so it's kind of like a perfect way to celebrate the new year! however, because of the recent news, i will be postponing the release as a sign of respect towards the victims of these plane crashes. if you'd like to be tagged, leave a comment! }

teaser(?) excerpt below the cut; word count: 1086

right ear. do it now. discreetly.

you gingerly insert the ear comm into your right ear, static crackling until a voice speaks.

“hello, y/n. listen very carefully. i need your help.”

your lips quirk before you glance around, trying to find your coworker. “nice accent, jake. i hope your mixtape is better than your prank or i’m getting rid of your special australian coffee.”

“jake is in lane one, auditioning for korea’s got talent.” you turn and see jake dancing on top of a cart. “looks like he might have a shot.”

your eyes dart around to the other lanes and come up short. you can’t find the source of the voice.

he speaks again. “just relax, y/n. i need you to keep the line moving, so let’s head back to your seat, okay?”

you make eye contact with your supervisor who peers at you suspiciously. oh, crap. quickly, you return to the scanner and resume the line. as the conveyor belt whirls to life, you shift in your seat nervously.

“my name’s special agent jungwon. be very careful with your reactions. soon, there will be a man with some dangerous luggage moving through your line with a boarding pass for korean air 958 non-stop to seoul. i need you to let him through,” jungwon says.

you scoff lightly. “that’s a joke, right? you want me to let a threat through?” you fidget with the scanner, manipulating the image of luggage on your screen to inspect the contents. your attention flicks between the screen and beyond it, sorting through people strolling through the airport. where could he be?

“it’s not a joke. i’m at the bar in chili’s by the way. i see you looking.”

you zero in on the chain restaurant and see the lone blond man in a black leather jacket. you can only see his broad back as he continues to eat something. fries?

“the man carrying the luggage isn’t the target. we believe he’s being threatened by the individual we’re trying to catch to be his pack mule. the man we’re trying to catch has already made it through tsa.”

he’s already in? your heart begins to race as you return your attention to your job. “what’s in the bag?”

he hums contemplatively. “that’s more of a need-to-know. the less you know, the easier it’ll be for you to act normal when the carry-on passes through.”

as the bins of items pass by your screen, you press your lips flat. “i think i have a pretty good poker face.”

“very true. i bet you’re a nightmare to play poker with,” he jabs playfully. “okay, i’ll tell you. it’s a weapon.”

you huff in disbelief. “no shit sherlock. we wouldn’t be playing telephone otherwise. what’s the weapon?”

you can hear him chuckle before he resumes munching on his fries. “fiesty. i can see why the fbi really didn’t want to let you go.”

you pause. how does he know about that?

“it’s a nerve agent—atrocious biochemical weapon, really—attached to a bomb. or, at least, that’s what we’re guessing,” he replies. “according to the chatter, they’re planning on make a big boom in the sky. i guess they wanted bigger fireworks.”

you freeze, tension blanketing your every muscle fiber. “a bomb?”

“don’t forget the nerve agent,” he tuts, chewing through his food. those damn fries were starting to get on your nerves. if you wanted a mukbang asmr while you worked, you would’ve chose tzuyang’s videos.

you get up to push the backed up bins down the line. your thoughts race. a fucking bomb in the los angeles airport? you knew you should’ve called off today.

you can almost feeling the cold glass of liquid going down your own throat as jungwon takes a gulp before speaking again. “what a way to spend the new year’s eve, am i right? all these people rushing home to see their families and you get to play agent like you’ve always wanted. guess santa came late this year.”

your ears twitched. again, how does he know about that? “you seem to know a lot about me, special agent.”

“well, it’s not hard to look up a government worker. pretty mild three years for you, huh? what you applied, got rejected, and realized being a level one tsa agent was your dream?” jungwon prods.

your boots clack heavily against the floor as you sit behind the monitor once again. you can’t help but glance at jungwon, curious about what this irritating man’s face looked like.

“just seemed like there was no point,” you murmur, analyzing the contents of the bags on screen. “if my aptitude tests didn’t get me in the first time, what would?”

jungwon tsks, wiping the salt of his fingers. “your aptitude tests. they were good—no, beyond good. you were a top scorer in almost every category except physical. no, i understand you. if near perfect scores didn’t push you through, nothing could. if it helps you any, they had a real hard time choosing. i have the notes right in front of me.”

you pause. if they had such a hard time, why didn’t they just accept your application? you were bitter, of course. it was your dream and they just rejected you, no explanation. their email didn’t even have the corny “we wish you the best in your endeavors”. it seemed like they didn’t care if you applied again or not.

“ya? what does it say?” you ask, reserved.

“that you would be a damn good agent. i mean, wow. did you really decipher the code in 4 minutes?” jungwon whistles, impressed with what he was reading. “you set a record.”

you wanted to scoff. set a record and they let you go. that doesn’t really give you much hope. “let’s get back to the real reason why we’re even talking.”

“okay, still a bit of a sore spot for you. noted. from what we’ve gathered, they’re exchanging hands right before they get on the flight. apparently, the bomb has a fail safe code that only the man of the hour knows. he puts it in and the bomb’s live.”

“that’s stupid. is he trying to make himself a martyr?”

“why, yes. yes, he is. you’re quick. i think i’m going to like working with you, agent y/n,” jungwon smiles, looking down at his half-eaten plate.

“not an agent,” you bite back. they wouldn’t let you become one, you wanted to say. you let it rest on your tongue instead.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too! come by and chat!

[lichenaday]

The moment I know you have all been eagerly anticipating with baited breath, your BLAM (Bryological-Lichenological Working Group for Central Europe e. V.) lichen of the year for 2025 is . . .

Hymenelia lacustris (syn. Ionaspis lacustris)

AKA rusty brook lichen, rusty watercolor lichen

*yayyyy, hooray, wooooo*

This crustose lichen was chosen to represent us in 2025 because of its association with water bodies and wetlands--essential and oft fucked-with habitats that deserve more of our respect! You may not think of lichens as wetland specialists, but H. lacustris is one of many, many species reliant on not only more permenant water bodies, but ephemeral seepages and water tracks easily disturbed by human activity. It goes without saying that when most folks think of habitat conservation, they think of large, charismatic species and easily seen ecosystem functions, but there is so so much that goes on in this world on a small, inconspicuous scale. And this means that many decisions about these habitats overlook the needs of these little guys. And isn't that just the pits? Maybe I relate too much to the organisms that don't seem to fit in and so get overlooked in favor of the more charismatic or "typical" species. I am also tired of ignoring the needs of the little guy in favor of the "bottom line," no matter which system we are talking about. So let this be the year of the little, of the obscure, of the overlooked and odd-one-out. Let this be the year where we demand that the voices of the small and the voiceless be heard. The year of H. lacustris! Huzzah!

images: source | source | source | source

info: source | source | source

[askthefairlynormalparentsau]

Mod here! Welcome to the fairly normal parents AU ask blog! In this universe, all the faires are humans, and vice versa!

PLEASE READ THE RULES BELOW BEFORE SUBMITTING AN ASK!!

DA RULES

-Sorry to disappoint, but this blog does not take oc or other art requests, as to not crowd the ask box

-RP posts are exclusive to mutuals I know IRL, and planned ahead of time

-fanart is welcomed and cherished! Just please adhere to general decency when submitting images, especially those involving characters who are minors! (No nsfw or suggestive, no violence, no hatful language/ imagery etc etc)

-repeat asks will be compiled and answered together, unless they have already been in a previous post

-in that vein, please catch up on the #ASKS tag before submitting a question, to check if it’s already been answered

-this blog is very heavily queer and trans inclusive! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️don’t like it? Won’t miss ya! :)

-yes, this IS a Perirep AU, but please do not attempt to match-make the toddlers!! They’ll get there when they get there, but for now they’re just little boys with little puppy crushes 💙💜

-My block button has a hair trigger and anyone who tries to ruin my fun will receive the gavel with zero hesitation- this blog is just for fun and has been very healing and cathartic for me to work on, so I hope you all will respect the rules and enjoy my silly boys and their silly antics

Minors and non-freaks need not read further, please have fun and enjoy your stay! 💕💜💙

AS FOR THE REST OF YA- LISTEN TF UP

If you have a question you’re not sure would be appropriate, or would like to ask the mod directly, my personal art blog is @winniefrezcomics ! Still generally sfw, but slightly more lenient content wise

Sexually explicit asks will be DELETED!

Asks with Transphobia or any other bigoted language will be DELETED!

Blogs marked nsfw may ONLY submit asks anonymously, and are NOT permitted to COMMENT on posts, as doing so links your blog to mine directly- break this rule and you will be BLOCKED!!

If you ship incest, minor/adult, or any other gross shi, I DO NOT WANT YOU HERE!! LEAVE!! 🔪🔪🔪

[praxcrown5]

Geology and the World of Cars: Part 1

Ask and ye shall receive. We're gonna discuss geology, y'all!

Because there's a LOT to unpack, here, I'm gonna do it in parts, and I'll provide explanations as we go. I'll be tagging all of these posts with "WOCgeology."

One of the big things I want y'all to take away from this is that all rocks on Earth fall into one of three groups depending on how they form: Metamorphic, igneous, and sedimentary.

Metamorphic rocks: Form when a rock is altered by high temperatures, and/or water, and/or high pressures without melting.

Igneous rocks: Form when rock is heated to the point of melting (becomes a liquid) and allowed to cool.

Sedimentary rocks: Form when a rock is broken down chemically or physically (weathered), and the pieces/ions move to a new place (erosion/transportation), stop moving (deposition), and solidify (cementation and/or compaction and/or crystallization--but at temperatures outside of those what would melt or metamorphose)

I'm gonna start with metamorphic because I could only find three examples: The mountains near Thomasville, GA (Cars 3), Gasket Geyser at Piston Peak National Park (Planes Fire and Rescue) and the Himalaya Mountains (Planes). There might be more, but I gotta do a re-watch of all media with my geology lenses on. If I find more, I'll add them to this post and reblog it. :)

The mountains around Thomasville were very clearly modeled after the Great Smokey Mountains, a sub-range within the broader Appalachian Mountain Range. Compare the image below of the GSM in North Carolina to the thumbnail at the top of this post.

Metamorphic rocks need high temperatures and pressures in order to form...and the geologic forces that create non-volcanic mountains are perfect for that.

These are the conditions that we're talking about:

This image above has a lot of stuff going on...but it's got some useful takeaways. First: Metamorphism occurs over a WIDE range of temperatures and pressures. Second: different T and P regimes create different types of metamorphic rock. Third: The parent rocks, themselves, have unique compositions that react to changing T and P in different ways, creating unique mineral assemblages ("facies"). Fourth: Metamorphism has limits. If rock gets too hot, it melts. If it's not hot enough or if the pressures aren't right, the parent rock won't change at all.

So...how do we change T and P?

The Earth's core is hotter than the surface. The rate at which the temperature increases with depth is called the "geothermal gradient." The deeper you go the hotter things get. Pressure, called "lithostatic pressure," also increases with depth. If molten rock or really hot water touches existing rock, the heat from either is enough to alter it (contact and hydrothermal metamorphism, respectively). Geysers, like Gasket Geyser in Piston Peak National Park, are places where hydrothermal metamorphism can occur. Fun fact: the hot water fueling geysers is generally heated by molten rock deep under ground...so it's not all that uncommon for hydrothermal and contact metamorphism to occur in the same area.

But...consider this satellite image of the Appalachian Mountains from space:

How did they get so squiggly when they're solid rock (and were solid even when they were being metamorphosed)?

The Earth's surface consists of large slabs of rock (called "plates") that are in constant motion. They are pushed and pulled by the rocks deeper down. At that depth, the rocks behave more like dense putty (tho not actually liquid) that moves up and down, heated by even hotter rock and metal deeper within the Earth. Wherever this "putty" goes the overlying rocks have no choice but to follow. The chemical composition of the plates varies from place to place, and depending on the type of rock and the way the plates interact along their boundaries, you can get everything from giant mountain ranges (like the Himalayas) to lush, volcanic islands (think Japan).

Nearly a billion years ago, various types of rocks began colliding with the eastern cost of ancient North America, resulting in a series of mountain building events that would go on to create a giant mountain range, stretching from modern Newfoundland in Canada to northern Georgia in the US. The rocks caught up in the middle of these events became warped and twisted forming metamorphic rock. They likely had a "coating" of sedimentary rock, however, once the mountain building processes stopped, water, ice, and gravity began to gnaw away at them, leaving behind their metamorphic skeletons.

You can think of the Himalayas as a newer version of the Appalachians. They're still growing as I write this, as rocks from the Indian Plate are smushed against rocks from the Eurasian Plate. Because the mountain range is so young, the "coating" of non-metamorphic rocks (sedimentary, in this case) is still present along some parts of the range, though they have been tilted and bent.

Real Himalayas

The Himalayas as depicted in "Planes."

The Planes movies landscapes are a LOT more stylized than what we see in the Cars movies. Even so, they definitely captured the look of the range, and there are even places where you can see some layered sedimentary rock (as seen from snow laying in lines along the layers), like you see in the real Himalayas!

One thing I will note, here, is that the Appalachian mountains stop well north of Thomasville, Georgia (Smokey's hometown). In Cars 3, the area around Thomasville is more reminiscent of what you'd see in Kentucky or North Carolina. One of the images below is a screencap from Cars 3, the other is an actual photo taken in Magoffin county, Kentucky; can you tell which is which?

It's clear that they definitely wanted this rural, hilly aesthetic, but official artwork from Cars 3 (the poster below is is hanging up in the Cotter Pin) puts Thomasville in GA and not in NC.

More to come in part 2. :D

Thank you for reading!

[iamnmbr3]

I saw someone on tik tok that made a video saying that book Harry would be disgusted by being shipped with Draco. And people in the comments were saying fr and saying that we are crazy for shipping drarry and someone even said that drarry was the most disgusting ship ever made in the Harry Potter fandom.

And what you think it would be Lucius and Narcissa reaction to find out that Draco and Harry are dating??? Love your blog

Thank you so much! I'm glad you like my blog!

First of all, making content like that with the intent of shaming/bullying other fans is silly, immature and just plain unkind. So what if people are shipping something you don't like? Or that a fictional character wouldn't like if they were real? Just let other people do their thing and have fun and curate your own content.

Second of all, drarry is the most disgusting ship ever made in Harry Potter fandom? Drarry? Really? Lol. Lmao even. *Insert the 'oh my sweet summer child' speech here*

Third of all, in the case of drarry there is actually a lot of canon evidence, so while that certainly doesn't mean people who don't want to have to ship or enjoy or be comfortable with it, based on canon it's rather unlikely that Harry would be disgusted by it... (Not that it mattes either way. But just saying...).

What Lucius and Narcissa's reaction would be is an interesting question. I think they probably wouldn't be that pleased, but would be kind of resigned. Post-war Lucius just wants to stay out of jail (or, failing that, he wants to get out as fast as possible and then avoid going back). The last thing he wants to do is be openly hostile to Harry Potter, hero of the hour, The Boy Who Lived Twice, Savior of the wizarding world etcetera, etcetera. He probably plays reasonably nice - though I doubt he and Harry will ever like each other.

Harry is certainly not who Narcissa would have chosen, but the fact that Draco does seem genuinely happy with him and that Harry truly cares about Draco and goes out of his way to help him and, just by being with him, rehabilitates his image, certainly makes her want to be cordial. Though again, while she probably pretends otherwise, I doubt she ever really changes her attitudes as much as she pretends. Though perhaps over time she does develop some grudging respect for Hermione (and this perhaps admits, if only to herself, that muggleborns aren't as inferior as she once believed). And well, she and Harry do have their love for Draco in common so that helps them get along even if the relationship is never an easy or entirely comfortable one.

I think there's a plausible argument that by book 7 Narcissa already suspected something was going on with Harry and Draco. In the end of book 7, not only does Voldemort think that Draco has run off to "befriend" Harry, but Narcissa immediately assumes Harry will know where Draco is and if he's ok. So she seems to also think that Draco has gone off to find Harry and she doesn't seem to think that he was looking for a fight. She asks Harry about Draco as though Harry not only will know what's become of him, but will care. Not as though she expects that any meeting between them would end in them fighting to the death like you'd expect given they are on opposite sides of the war. I think maybe she always planned to help Harry, and she just wanted to ascertain what her next steps should be once they got back to the caste - whether she needed to go in and find Draco or if he was already safely away or dead and beyond help. She thinks she and Harry are united in caring about the same person.

After all, she did see Draco lie for Harry at the Manor. And she saw Harry pull a wand from Draco's hand while Draco let him, and then not even stun Draco after. And later she found Wormtail's body in the cell that Draco went into alone and left entirely unharmed. Not to mention, after book 6 she would have read about how Harry named Snape but not Draco as being involved in Dumbledore's death (at first she probably dismissed it as Harry just not having seen everything, but later she puts it together with everything else and she starts to wonder...)

[onebadassunicorn]

Can’t Help Wanting You

pairing: Cassian x Reader

content warnings: pining, sparring

word count: 3.4k

If you want to be added to the taglist, please leave me a note!

Taglist: @motheroffae

Image owned by Bookish Impressions

To see more artwork by this artist, become a member to their collections on Patreon!

Chapter 1

********************

Chapter 2

Cassian POV

Cassian had always seen Y/n as the little sister he never asked for. From the time she was a scrappy kid trailing him and Azriel around the Illyrian camps, to the stubborn teenager who refused to back down from any challenge, no matter how impossible—it was his job to protect her. To shield her from the harsh realities of their world, even if she didn’t want him to.

She’d always been his Y/n—the girl with too much fire in her eyes and too much determination in her bones. The one who got into trouble just to prove she could get herself out of it. The one who could outlast anyone when it came to grit, but who still looked to him with an unspoken need for approval.

Cassian had made it his mission to watch over her. He couldn’t explain why—it was just instinct. She was smaller, younger, and Illyrian society was unkind to females who dared to want more. So, he had stepped in when he could, shielding her from the worst of it, never letting himself think about her as anything more than a girl he needed to protect.

But then, she changed.

And suddenly he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Cassian leaned against the edge of the sparring ring, arms crossed, his attention wholly fixed on the match in front of him. Y/n and Azriel circled each other like predators, their movements deliberate, their eyes locked. The tension between them was palpable, but it was the good kind—the kind that came from mutual respect and years of honing their skills together.

But Cassian’s focus wasn’t on Azriel.

Y/n moved like she was born to fight, her steps fluid and light, her blade a blur as it caught the sunlight. She’d tied her golden-brown hair back in a loose braid, but stray strands escaped, brushing against her face. The sunlight hit it just right, making it glint like burnished gold. He couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop watching the way she tilted her head, hazel eyes flashing with something dangerously close to mischief as she baited Azriel into overcommitting.

Azriel didn’t fall for it—of course he didn’t. But Cassian could see the faintest flicker of annoyance in his brother’s usually unreadable expression, and it made him grin. She had a way of getting under people’s skin, and she seemed to take particular delight in throwing Azriel off his game.

Cassian’s grin widened as she feinted left, then spun right, her braid whipping through the air as she drove Azriel back a step. Her laugh rang out—quick, breathless, and full of triumph—and Cassian felt his chest tighten at the sound.

She was beautiful.

Not in the delicate, polished way that most people seemed to think of beauty, but in the kind of way that stole the breath from your lungs without warning. It wasn’t just her golden-brown hair, or the way her hazel eyes sparkled with flecks of green when she was amused. It was the way she fought, fierce and unyielding, like the fire inside her couldn’t be tamed. It was the way she carried herself—with confidence and defiance, even when the odds weren’t in her favor.

“She’s good,” Azriel murmured as he dodged her next strike, his tone as calm as ever.

“Better than you,” Cassian called, his grin turning smug when Azriel’s shadows flickered in what he assumed was irritation.

Y/n glanced his way, her lips quirking in a half-smile that sent an unexpected jolt through him. “Don’t distract him, Cassian,” she said, her voice teasing. “I want to win fair and square.”

Azriel took advantage of her brief distraction, sweeping low with a kick that nearly caught her off guard. But she recovered quickly, leaping back and giving Cassian a look that clearly said, This is your fault.

He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t blame me if you lose. I’m just here for the show.”

And what a show it was.

The way she moved, the way her blade caught the light, the way her laughter mingled with the clash of steel—it all had Cassian rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

He’d always known she was on her way to becoming a skilled fighter when she was young, and he’d always respected her for it. But lately, his gaze lingered on her longer than it should, his chest tightened every time she smiled, or how his pulse quickened when she threw herself into a fight with everything she had.

She lunged again, her sword clashing against Azriel’s in a sharp burst of sound. She held her ground, determination etched into every line of her face. Cassian felt his grin soften, his chest warming with something he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Because it wasn’t just admiration he felt when he looked at her.

It wasn’t just pride in her skill, or respect for the way she fought to prove herself every day.

It was something deeper. Something dangerous.

And it scared the hell out of him.

********

Cassian POV

Azriel was holding his own, of course. He always did. But Cassian could tell Y/n was pushing him, baiting him, using her speed and cunning to keep him guessing.

“Is this the best you’ve got, Az?” she taunted, her voice light as she darted past his blade. “I thought I’d get a challenge today.”

Azriel didn’t even flinch, his shadows swirling at his feet. “You talk too much,” he said calmly, blocking her next strike with ease.

Cassian barked a laugh. “She gets that from me.”

She threw him a glance over her shoulder, her lips quirking into a smirk. “I’d say I learned it from you, but you don’t exactly win your fights with skill, Cassian. It’s brute force and sheer luck.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “Brute force? You wound me, Y/n.”

“You’re just mad because she’s right,” Azriel added, his tone maddeningly even as he deflected another strike.

Cassian narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Careful, Az. I can still flatten you in the ring.”

“You can try,” Azriel replied, and Cassian swore he saw the faintest hint of a smirk.

Meanwhile, Y/n capitalized on the momentary distraction, feinting left before spinning right. Her blade missed Azriel’s ribs by an inch, but her laugh was triumphant as she drove him back a step.

“You should pay attention, Azriel,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Cassian might be rubbing off on you.”

“Hey!” Cassian called. “I’m standing right here.”

She looked at him again, her smirk deepening. “I know.”

The teasing edge in her voice sent a strange jolt through him, one he quickly shook off. He wasn’t going to let her know how much she was getting under his skin—not that she’d care. She had always fought with that fire, that spark, and she wielded her wit just as effectively as her blade.

Azriel lunged, breaking her focus, and Cassian straightened as Y/n barely dodged the strike. Her braid whipped through the air, and she twisted, her movements quick and agile as she turned the fight back in her favor.

“She’s showing you up, Az,” Cassian called, unable to resist. “Maybe you should let me spar her next. Someone’s got to bring her down a peg.”

Y/n didn’t miss a beat, laughing as she deflected another blow. “You think you could handle me, Cassian? That’s cute.”

“Cute?” he repeated, his voice incredulous. “I’ll show you cute when I wipe the floor with you.”

Azriel gave him a sidelong glance, his shadows curling around his feet. “Do you two need a moment, or should I finish this fight first?”

“Finish it,” she said with a grin. “Cassian’s all talk, anyway.”

Cassian opened his mouth to retort, but then she did something—something small and entirely unintentional. She pushed her hair back with the back of her hand, her face flushed from exertion, her hazel eyes bright with focus and amusement, and the sunlight hit her just right.

For a moment, his words stuck in his throat.

She looked… radiant.

No, not just radiant.

Beautiful, in a way that made his chest tighten and his grin falter.

“Cassian?” she called, her voice teasing. “You’re staring.”

He blinked, his grin snapping back into place. “I’m just trying to figure out how someone as clumsy as you managed to last this long against Az.”

“Clumsy?” she shot back, throwing him a look that made his pulse kick. “I’ll remember that when I pin you to the mat later.”

“Promises, promises,” he drawled, though his voice came out rougher than he intended.

Azriel, clearly unimpressed with their back-and-forth, moved in for a final strike. She dodged, spinning out of his reach, but she stumbled slightly, her balance faltering for just a second.

Cassian’s grin softened, his chest warming despite himself. She didn’t need to win to impress him. Hell, just watching her fight, watching her hold her own against Azriel, was enough to leave him… something he didn’t want to name.

Azriel finally disarmed her with a calculated sweep of his sword, stepping back as she raised her hands in mock surrender. She turned toward Cassian, her chest heaving, her braid half undone, her eyes still alight with that irresistible spark.

“Still think you can handle me?” she asked, her voice dripping with challenge.

Cassian stepped closer, his grin widening. “Oh, I know I can. Question is, can you handle me?”

********

Cassian POV

Cassian couldn’t stop grinning as he faced Y/n on the sparring mat. The sun beat down on them, glinting off her golden-brown hair, which was already coming loose from her braid. Her hazel eyes, alive with green flecks, sparkled with mischief as she twirled her sword in her hand. There was a cocky edge to her smirk that made his blood hum with anticipation.

“I hope you’re ready,” she said, taking her stance. “I’d hate for you to embarrass yourself in front of your trainees.”

Cassian laughed, stepping closer and planting his feet firmly. “Oh, I’m ready. The question is, are you ready to admit defeat when I pin you to the ground?”

“You’ve got to catch me first, General,” she teased, lunging at him with surprising speed.

He parried her strike easily, their blades clanging with sharp precision. She moved with a grace and ferocity that always kept him on his toes. She didn’t fight like the other Illyrians he trained; she fought smarter, with strategy and unpredictability.

And she knew she was good.

“Not bad,” Cassian said as he deflected her next attack. “But I’ve seen better.”

“Is that right?” she shot back, her grin widening as she sidestepped his counter. “Because it looks like you’re struggling to keep up, old man.”

Cassian barked a laugh, his wings flaring slightly. “Old man? I could take you down blindfolded, sweetheart.”

“Big words for someone who almost tripped over his own feet last week,” she quipped, darting in close enough that her braid brushed his arm before she danced out of reach.

He narrowed his eyes, his grin turning sharper. “Careful. You’re starting to sound overconfident.”

“And you’re starting to sound jealous,” she countered, her tone light but her movements calculated as she swung at him again.

Cassian blocked her, their swords locking as he leaned in close. “Jealous? Of what, exactly?”

“Of the fact that I’m better than you,” she said sweetly, her face so close to his that he could see the faint sheen of sweat on her brow, the determination blazing in her eyes.

“Better than me?” he repeated, arching a brow. “We’ll see about that.”

He shoved her blade aside with a powerful twist, forcing her to take a step back. But she didn’t retreat for long. She recovered quickly, her movements quick and precise as she tried to gain the upper hand again.

He lunged, driving her back, and for a while, his focus was purely on the fight. Y/n was good—better than good. She had a way of reading his moves, of countering him before he could gain the upper hand. 

It was exhilarating. 

Frustrating. 

And Gods, he couldn’t stop noticing the way her hair clung to her damp forehead, the way her lips parted with every quick breath she took.

Focus, Cassian.

Their banter continued, sharp and unrelenting, as they circled each other. Cassian couldn’t help but admire her—her skill, her fire, the way she gave as good as she got. But as the fight wore on, he found himself noticing other things, too. The way her braid had come undone, strands of golden-brown hair sticking to her face. The way her lips parted slightly as she caught her breath. The way her hazel eyes sparkled, full of life and challenge.

Gods, she was stunning.

But it was getting harder and harder to ignore. He tried channeling the energy into their fight, upping his intensity, and she didn’t back down. She feinted left, then darted right, her boot catching him in the side. He grunted, stepping back, and damn it if the satisfied glint in her eyes didn’t make his pulse race.

This is sparring, he reminded himself.

Just sparring.

Except it wasn’t—not anymore. Not when she moved like that, fierce and graceful, every ounce of her determination burning through her. Not when she challenged him, met him head-on in a way that few others dared.

He didn’t realize he’d slowed until she feinted right, slipping behind him to try and sweep his legs out from under him. He caught her just in time, spinning to block her attack and stepping in close.

Too close.

“Nice try,” he murmured, his voice low as he gripped her wrist and twisted, forcing her to drop her sword.

Before he could stop himself, he went on the offensive, disarming her with a calculated twist of her wrist. She recovered almost instantly, but he was ready, sweeping her legs out from under her and pinning her to the mat.

“You cheated,” she said, glaring up at him, as he straddled her on the mat, her chest rising and falling with the effort of the fight.

“That’s called strategy,” he shot back, grinning down at her. But then the grin faded, because she was staring at him—really staring at him—and he couldn’t ignore the way his heart skipped.

The silence between them stretched. Cassian’s hands braced on either side of her head, holding himself over her, and he became painfully aware of how close they were.

Too close.

Her scent filled the space between them, warm and familiar, and he couldn’t look away from her lips.

She glared up at him, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling as her hands pressed against his forearms. “That was cheap.”

“That was strategy,” he corrected, his grin softening as he realized just how close they were.

Her golden-brown hair fanned out beneath her, strands catching the sunlight, and her hazel eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his pulse race. She was beautiful—fiercely, maddeningly beautiful—and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

He could feel her heart thunder in her chest, and not just from the fight.

“You’re staring,” she said, her voice breathless.

“So are you,” he countered, his grin softening into something more thoughtful, more intent.

The air between them shifted. He swallowed hard, his grin fading as his gaze flicked to her lips. They were full, slightly parted, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in just a fraction, the world around them fading away.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought she might meet him halfway. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever noticed…” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Noticed what?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Just one kiss. One kiss, and—

But before he could close the distance, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“Cassian.”

He froze, his forehead nearly brushing hers, as Nesta’s voice snapped him out of whatever spell he was under.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pushed himself up, offering Y/n a hand. She took it, her touch brief but lingering enough to send a jolt through him, before she turned to leave the ring.

Nesta approached the ring, her expression unreadable as she glanced between them. “Are you done flirting, or are we going to train?”

“Flirting?” Cassian scoffed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. “That wasn’t flirting. That was… strategy.”

As Nesta took her place on the mat, Cassian stepped back, running a hand through his hair as he watched her leave out of the corner of his eye. 

What just happened?

********

Cassian POV

Over the next month, Cassian couldn’t stop himself from watching her. Not just in the war room, where her sharp wit and clear strategic mind often left even Rhys raising an impressed brow, but in the training rings, the sparring grounds, and every other corner of the Night Court where their paths crossed. She was impossible to ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

And she was still just as stubborn as he remembered.

It started with her first day in the training rings after he sparred with her.  

From then on, it became a game between them—a clash of wills that only seemed to intensify. She argued with him in strategy meetings, her sharp tongue slicing through his plans when she thought they lacked finesse. She taunted him in the training rings, laughing when she managed to land a blow and brushing off his criticism with infuriating ease.

She was relentless and fierce.

But it wasn’t just her sharpness that kept him on edge. Everything else about her—the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she carried herself—was pure woman now.

She had become comfortable with herself and utterly unapologetic.

There was no trace of the gawky teenager he’d left behind all those centuries ago.

He noticed it in the smallest details. The curve of her hips as she walked past him in the halls, the way her voice softened when she spoke to Feyre’s son in the nursery, the way her hair fell loose around her face during late-night meetings. He caught himself staring too often, his thoughts drifting into dangerous territory. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was captivating.

Every glance, every smirk, every flick of her wrist seemed calculated to drive him insane.

But it wasn’t calculated.

That was the problem.

She wasn’t trying to affect him—she was simply herself.

And that, more than anything, made it impossible for him to look away.

One evening, after a particularly heated training session, they found themselves alone in the sparring ring. She leaned against the wall, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, sweat gleaming on her brow. Cassian handed her a waterskin, trying to ignore the way her lips curved into a faint smile as she took it.

“You’ve improved,” he said gruffly, breaking the silence.

She raised a brow. “Improved? That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“It is,” he admitted, surprising even himself. “You’ve always been good, but now… you’re damn near unstoppable.”

Her smile widened, but there was a flicker of something softer in her eyes as she looked at him. “High praise, coming from you.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his hazel eyes lingering on her. “You’re not the same young girl I knew back then.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “No. I’m not. And you’re not the same boy.”

Her words struck something deep within him.

She was right.

They weren’t the same, and the girl who had once trailed after him in the Illyrian camps was gone.

In her place stood a woman who challenged him, who pushed him, who saw through him in ways no one else ever had.

And as he stood there, watching her, he realized that whatever lingering image he’d had of the girl she used to be was gone too.

Because all he could see now was the woman she had become…

And she was breathtaking.

Chapter 3

[k-tarotz]

i’m wondering how ni-ki views iroha from illit? thanks!🤍

this one actually feels refreshing

two of wands, ace of swords reversed, the emperor, ten of wands reversed, eight of swords reversed

okay so please know I am being as nice about this as I can be. I do not have ill intentions, and Ni-Ki’s energy is quite laid back as well, not serious or mean, I am just a straightforward person that says it as it is. so please do not misunderstand me. 🫡

so, I genuinely do not keep up with illit so I do not know how old this lady is, but he seems to view her as a child. someone childish, in need of some growth. not that he looks down on her at all, but it’s that he recognises some patterns in her behaviour that teenagers usually do? though, he might view her behaviour as younger than her age. - I would tell you, but like.. I don’t know her age. Like 2-3 years younger? -

but like, there isn’t anything malicious in his energy. it’s just like when you grow up and realise how oblivious you were to the adults around you when you were a kid, you know?

although I do think he views her in a mostly positive light, I will tell the more negative aspect of his view because I like giving honest readings even if some people might not like the reading itself!

he wants to like her, he can’t. - in a platonic manner. his higherself is just highlighting this. -

although he views her as a bright, sweet and cute kid, he also views her as two faced. not based off of nothing though!

he knows her idol personality vs her idol personality, and he seems to view it as polar opposites. so if her fans like her, they are kind of deceived without knowing much of who she actually is behind cam.

ni-ki seems like the kind of person who has strong boundaries, but is always himself, even when it comes to showing who he is at cam. even when it comes to his idol image. in his eyes, if people misunderstand the kind of person he is it’s on them, it just means they are very different from him.

he is an observant person, so he noticed how was her behaviour can change at times. it’s not that he is hung up on this or that he is being ill towards her in this, it’s just that he could have a personal bias towards people like this because of his own experience! it’s the feeling of ‘oh, that reminds me of ____’, so there is a negative feeling based on association, but he doesn’t hate or dislike her, he knows it would be ridiculous to behave like that lol. his energy seems more to be cautious. he seems like a guy who tends to overthink things and be in his head a lot, won’t lie. - ironically this is bc of engenes. -

on another note, I do believe he has over seen her pretend to be sad or ‘a victim’ towards her members just to get attention even though she was completely fine. - his words not mine, don’t shoot the messenger!!! - I think he views this behaviour as childish, immature and overall disrespectful to the other person’s time.

his mentality seems like ‘I wouldn’t do that, so if someone does that there has got to be something bad about them.’ this boy overall seems to have a lot of trust issues that sometimes hold him back from accepting people for who they are. it’s like he constantly subconsciously looks for the bad in people in order to see if it’s worth his time? weighting pros and cons, regardless if he plans to befriend them or not. this could come from his own mental health issues to be honest, so if he sees anyone posses qualities he once had that he hates there is an immediate discomfort and dislike created in him. if someone tries too hard for attention he doesn’t like it because he simply thinks its dishonest. as a kid he might have been dishonest but he reflected and grew out of that.. so when he oversees her pretending to be sad just to occupy some of her members time and attention he could just view her as kind of putting on an act? I am trying to be respectful about this but to be honest he views it as incredibly fake.

regardless, the pros out weight the cons! because even if he sees the negative in people he sees the positive as well, his view isn’t black and white. he looks at her as a sweet, bright, pretty, hardworking and kind person.

perhaps he seems to like how nice she is to her fans? there is this desire to be as considerate or thoughtful as her, to connect with fans as easily as she does. he doesn’t seem envious at all, rather motivated to take steps forward to becoming kinder or more interactive with his own fans as well!

It’s just that he wishes to see more of those positive traits if that makes sense!

this view seems to be made all based on sudden encounters in the work place, not direct interactions! They don’t seem to be close at all to be honest with you here.

that’s all! and with this being said I don’t hate this girl at all, I don’t know her. her energy seems really kind, gentle and youthful! I also do not hate ni-ki either, I have seen this boy grow up and I would never suddenly send any hate to him looking at how much people love to do that. I just gave a honest reading is all.

sometimes people are not compatible at all personality wise even if they do respect each other sincerely. and that’s okay! my words could have just made this seems heavier than it is, his view doesn’t seem to be deep rooted 🫶🏻

– Candy

[isaiahking]

Isaiah watched Violet with a mix of admiration and concern. He knew how hard she worked to keep up the image of perfect happiness in the classroom, how she wore that smile like armor. But behind it, he saw the strain—the weight she carried quietly, the anxious thoughts swirling in her mind. She never let anyone see it, not even him sometimes, and though he understood her need to keep it all in, it hurt him. He just wanted to help, to ease her burden, but Violet had always been fiercely independent, even when it meant holding everything in. When she teased him about being a gentleman, Isaiah smirked, but there was warmth in his eyes. "Yeah, well," he said with a chuckle, "someone has to be, right?" He appreciated her playful nature; it kept things light when life seemed heavy. When she shifted the conversation to Ayiden and Reign, he could see the care in Violet’s eyes, the love she had for her son and the caution she took in every decision. He knew how deeply Violet felt everything, how she lived for Ayiden's happiness, and the fear she had of causing him more hurt. Isaiah respected her strength, but sometimes he wished she'd let herself lean on others a bit more. He gave her a soft, understanding look. "Finding somebody that loves you is important but he's got to realise that he's got a great kid to come and love too. Reign’s gonna prove he’s worth it - I know it. You are both similar. He's got Nalani. You have Ayiden. You both love deeply and show it." When she spoke about Leo, Isaiah felt his heart swell with gratitude. Violet had always been one of the few people who saw him clearly, and her support for his relationship meant the world to him. “Thanks, Vi,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Leo makes me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I know he feels the same.” Then, when Violet mentioned how quickly the last five years had passed, Isaiah couldn’t help but smile. His mind wandered to their future together, imagining the Christmas dinners she dreamed of—children running around, laughter filling the air. His heart swelled at the thought. " I can totally picture our chaotic, perfect Christmas with the kids. It’s going to be... absolutely perfect." Isaiah chuckled at the idea of Ayiden ‘practicing’ with Nala. He was already the best 'big brother' figure in the world, and the thought of him with more little ones in the future made his heart ache with joy. He was starting to experience life with having someone younger than him being around sometimes. "No matter what, Ayd's always going to be your perfect baby boy." Isaiah shot a fond look over to Violet's son. He loved him like his own. To distract himself, he picked up some leftover and chucked at his best friend's head before picking up another scrap and throwing it into his mouth. "Stop getting me all up in my feelings over here, you."

violet tried to make teaching her outlet for joy, her excuse to wear a constant smile. she never wanted the kids to see her sad. in the classroom, her life was sunshine and laughter, but outside of it? it was anything but perfect. her mind was a whirlwind of overthinking and anxieties she couldn’t seem to shake. she carried it all quietly, keeping her struggles hidden even from the people closest to her. when ayiden asked about her mood, she’d always give the same response: “i’m fine, my love, just tired.” it worked well enough, though ayiden often reminded her it was what she always said. “you’re not like a couple of teenagers because you’re not teenagers anymore,” she teased, winking at her best friend playfully. “but i wouldn’t expect anything less—you’re such a gentleman.” her smile softened as she continued, “leo deserves to be loved, and i know you’re doing an amazing job of that.” she shifted slightly, her gaze falling on ayiden playing nearby. “reign isn’t like the others i’ve dated,” she said thoughtfully. “i wouldn’t even consider this if he were. i don’t want any more assholes walking in and out of ayiden’s life. it broke him when austin stopped coming around—he cried for weeks.” her voice cracked slightly, but she steadied herself. “i can’t do that to him again. if this doesn’t work... i’ll stop trying. i won’t traumatize him because of my relationships.” but despite her worries, there was hope in her eyes. reign was different, perfect even. she wanted so badly for it to work, to have a love that could be a foundation for her little family. “that’s what makes me so sure about you and leo,” she said, smiling warmly. “you two are perfect for each other. he loves you so much, and you love him just the same. i couldn’t be happier for you.” violet’s gaze returned to ayiden, her heart swelling with love. he was her entire world, the love of her life. being his mom had once terrified her, but now? she couldn’t imagine her life any other way. in fact, she was open to doing it all again. and in some ways, she already was—with nala. while not her biological daughter, violet loved her as if she were her own. “those last five years went by way too fast,” she mused, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “but we’re strong, and we’ve got so much to be grateful for.” she chuckled at her best friend’s excitement. “i told you, the next step is you and leo having kids. i want to be an aunt so bad,” she said, grinning. “and you know i’ll love your kids with all my heart. ayiden will love it, too—he’s already practicing with baby nala.” her eyes lit up as she imagined it. “just think about it—our christmas dinner, with all the kids running around, laughing, and making memories. absolute perfection.”

[shivroy]

@cocklickerdennis

[chitinleg]

"Mister Bashir, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you."

Julian, why in god's name would you invite him to play the villain?

[moldy-flowers]

The interesting experience of being pro Sasuke, anti konoha, pro tobirama, anti Naruto ending, pro Sasusaku, anti Itachi, pro Sakura, anti SasuNaru, pro Tobirama×Izuna, anti Madara, pro karin, anti Orochimaru, pro Uchiha and anti Hashirama. And also as much as I hate the guy danzo was kind of hot when he was younger...

[shidoukanae]

Hello to the Buddyfight fandom it's been a hot minute but god do i miss this show and have been making fanart for it in the background so i thought i'd post to tumblr too ^^

I swear every year I end up coming back to this show and wishing that it kept going, that it got rebooted, that i could just erase my memories of this show and just watch it all over again from the beginning to enjoy everything once again from Tasuku's own sense of justice twisting against him to Gao's suffering of PTSD and how heartfelt it was handled.

There's something very special about this show that I haven't been able to find replicated elsewhere. It has the most perfect world to exist (so much so that i'd love to be isekai'd into it if i could!!!) and while i have my own gripes with it (hi S3+) i honestly sometimes wish i could go back to my high school years of watching this show just to relive it all again :'D

Anyways!!! I hope there's still people out there who enjoy this show even ten years later who'll like seeing new funny artwork for it!

I wanna add too that i'm hoping to create a rewrite of FCBF (ft. seasons 1-3 + Ace) or at least create more artwork for my interpretation of it and its world!

Because, sincerely, this show is one of the few that, for all its flaws, hasn't disappointed me in the years that've followed unlike many other things i've seen and i wanna try to keep the spirit of it alive while I can thanks to that. And if there are any fans still in existence who love it, i wanna provide some food while its once again in my orbit because damn do i adore this show <3 <3 <#

[swords-of-a-soilder]

I've sleep on it here's my beef

If you wanna log in to participate in a event that fine, I get for some CC's purgatory 2 isn't lore (I mean it clearly is, but some players are choosing not to involve it in their lore.) But when you've made the discussion not to take part in the lore you can't ask about it on screen.

I literally got confused when someone told me bad had a reason and to check there lastest reblog, thinking the book gave them the reason and apologising, this fully left me thinking that the residents where told to return home until I was discussing with someone else and realized I fully misread that (I need to wear my glasses more TBh)

But this play apart of the problem because what I except was a lore reason and I went looking for it, just to find out later there is no lore reason bad just calls himself vactionbadboy halo when he wants to log in.

Look I get playing purgatory for fun, I get wanting to log in to see your friends, Tubbo did it, and Pac did it; but the difference with them being they made up a reason to be there (the boat didn't leave) is a completely valid reason.

I can see them going home and then later being drag back to the boat by the incompetent egg Island workers, but jumping back and forth to the island in the middle of purgatory is problematic.

If you don't want to take part in the lore then don't, don't ask questions about what's happening lore wise (on stream he can always inquire in dms ) , don't do things on the Island that messes with other people's lore or breaks the immersion make it easy for the actual people who care about the lore; Ie: fan fiction writers, artists, role players (I am all these things) to pretend you're not there!

This sounds dumb but I genuinely, when lore is happening take note of every little the to go "how can I explain this in lore, how could I enhance this in lore" to help with my fan art or fan works.

Genuinely I have a list of game mechanics,(chat, tabs list, death messages) and have written ways to explain them in lore, so you can imagine my annoyance when someone who isn't supposed to be involved ask questions fresh of a lore event.

I think the confusion to add to it is that Phil has been trying to do more improv on the spot right now rp; like leaving cuucurhoo the notice of the eye guy and keeping his webcam on until a big event ( and I love him for that, genuinely I love lore so much because it feeds art and fan fiction)

But I feel like im being taken a fool when someone who isn't technically supposed to be there asks questions about something they're not supposed to be awear of and even bounces of it like they're in lore "yeah it looks like we're going to war with you guys." we who? You're supposed to be Vacation halo, you aren't in purgatory right, if so how did you get home?!

Get what I'm saying? It sucks because everyone else so far seemed to-do A decent job of staying out of lore if they want to visit some committing to not coming back to the island at all (cough* bolas *cough ) .

If you don't wanna take part in the lore don't complicate the already existing lore, it annoynes me greatly.

I don't mind the attenting events so much, it's the fail rping of discussing something you shouldn't know not long after it happened. (Metagaming)

[artheresy]

Yingxing Appreciation 🎉🎉

hi, hello, it's Yingxing appreciation time and I'm dragging you into it bc he is my baby and I need more ppl to talk about him

Y'know I see a lot of people like in awe and hyping up DF and just giving him tons of appreciation while analyzing him specifically as an individual which is all so so valid, DF is amazing and very intriguing as a character and I love him sm, but I sadly don't see the same for Yingxing despite him I think also being so interesting. I also see him more so dismissed in the "literally God and some guy" kind of fashion sometimes

So I'm here to rant just a little bit about Yingxing, why I love him, why he's epic and why he ruins my day every single time I think about him! This is for any of my fellow Yingxing lovers who are also starved of any content of him

Firstly, this man is a genuine genius, like lest we forget this is from Baiheng's travelogue in which she met a young Yingxing who was still a child by this point.

He was a young boy but had already become a craftsman, a sign of his ability to learn exceedingly quick under Huaiyans tutelage. And his ability to work and progress incredible fast continues into his time as a young man on the Luofu.

We know he arrived probably somewhere around 18-21 (in my personal estimate) and by the time he saw Jingliu again (which itself was likely early into his stay on the Luofu given HCQ ages and timing), he had already impressed the Master Craftsmen of the Luofu's Artisanship Commission and earned himself a title.

There are also multiple things in game that emphasize his achievements and creations he crafted, some offhandedly mentioned in a readable or item while others are emphasized with importance.

Casually mentioned in the Discarded Ingenium Parts is his feat in the Great Trial of the Furnace (perhaps that trial is for gaining the furnace master title? Once again signifying an earlier achievement in his legacy) where it took him only a day and night to create a whole mechanical lion that moved and looked just like a real live lion from a bunch of defective parts and waste.

More recently in 1.5, they released a readable, the Ten-Lords Criminal Directory, which mentions an imprisonment method designed by Yingxing that keeps “Mirage” in a perpetual state trapped within a hallucination of their own making. Utilizing it’s own powers in order to keep it imprisoned. Something that with proper maintenance seems to have lasted for around 700 years so far.

And of course, how can we forget his most famous creations

The beautifully crafted weapons of the High Cloud Quintet, from Jingliu’s incredibly heavy sword remarked as being as heavy as three thousand catties, to Dan Feng’s Cloud Piercer with the ability to even cut through dragon scales, and the Devastator Glaive as well as Baiheng’s recurve bow. Each impressive in their own ways and seemingly crafted pretty early as well into his time on the Luofu with the HCQ given the distinction of Jing Yuan who (even if he likely was more a teen than a boy) still wasn’t an exact adult yet. So once again, let me emphasize this man’s skill here. With how many things he managed to do so so early into his time on the Luofu. A genius craftsman who deserved all of the praise he had garnered with his works.

Additionally, I know they keep harping about “ugh arrogant craftsman, ugh he’s so full of himself” but every single time we’ve seen his personality, he just seems like a genuine joy to be around. Bright, charismatic, sure he’s cocky but he also gives the impression of being incredibly fun and a bit silly if you ask me.

His behavior as mirrored by the mirage echo in Scalegorge Waterscape is distinctly playful even in what might be a more tense situation, lightly bantering with Dan Feng and even chuckling in certain languages.

In Jingliu’s character stories, it even furthers this bright, playful attitude he gives off with his distinct cheekiness shining through especially with that “toothy grin” of his. And if you listen to Jingliu’s (at least her English) voice lines during Clouds Leave No Trace when she speaks about Yingxing before getting into his transformation, there is a distinct fondness or amusement in her voice as she speaks of him especially that cocky nature of his despite her distaste for it at first.

While Baiheng is hailed as this kind figure in the High Cloud Quintet, perhaps their sun even casting light upon them, it doesn’t seem too far off to say Yingxing was a shining star among them in his own right. His easy going nature with them bringing about a bubbly playfulness similar to Baiheng given their closeness from when he was young. I could go into way more especially in regards to the casualness at which Yingxing seems to speak and treat others allowing for a more equal formation of relationships especially with Dan Feng but I’m saving that for another rant.

And all of this about him especially how expressive he seems at certain points he’s been mentioned, really just makes me so incredibly sad when thinking about Blade now. How severely separated he is from this identity. A division that exists from not only his death but from the way his mental state has been severely warped from his time with Jingliu and being affected afterwards by the mara.

The sheer dehumanization and lack of a personal identity in place of seeing himself as a solely a weapon when put next to Yingxing, with such a clear bold individual identity, really makes the transformation of one into the other all the more jarring and tragic. Especially with the emphasis on how Yingxing hated the abominations of Abundance only to become one himself, something that is still implied to have not been by his own hand. Blade is an immensely tragic character, but that tragedy only holds weight because of the life and identity Yingxing had. It is only with Yingxing’s light which shined despite the circumstances of his life that his descent into darkness hits harder, and it makes me so sad that I haven’t found many others talking or expanding upon this despite my searches because he really is such a well written character with so many details in his story that are both interesting and utterly heartbreaking.

And additionally, I want to say that I think there is a lost potential in examining the Xianzhou through Yingxing. Specifically in the way he is treated as a short life species. We know how the relationship between the Vidyadhara and the Natives, especially as it’s changed after Dan Feng, but there is a very interesting relationship to be explored between the Xianzhou and the Short Life Species the end up there, especially through Yingxing’s relationship to the different Artisans guilds whether on the Luofu or the Zhuming.

In the end, it becomes another sad element to Yingxing’s story. Yingxing managed to change his attitude regarding how the Zhuming masters treated him and even grew more of a confidence, but even in the Luofu's Artisanship Commission, he can never truly get as far as he deserves. Just as Jingliu says

Even with his work impressing the master craftsmen of the Luofu, even after more than showing his skill and earning the title of Furnace Master for that skill, he still would be denied higher positions and could only prove his true worth by the High Cloud Quintet.

And just let me say it again, him being a short life species allows for such an interesting examination of the world and people around him based upon that. While we don't know exactly how they met, we do know that Yingxing was Huaiyan's personal disciple and the only one he mentions of the celestial masters to treat him with respect and believe in his capabilities despite knowing he's a short life species. Through his treatment of Yingxing, we learn quite a bit about him. Through Baiheng's treatment of him as well, we learn a lot about her, more than anywhere else.

He's just UGH I need more exploration from Yingxing's perspective, the lack of it feels as if I'm being starved. He's so interesting, he's so fun, he's incredibly tragic, and he makes me cry every single time he crosses my mind. Please do yourselves a favor and think more about his character so you'll end up as sad about him as me. Or don't maybe. I dunno. All I know for sure is that you absolutely need to read Views of the Universe From a Starskiff: The Zhuming if you haven't. Anyways bye, thanks for listening to this rant, I gotta go cry over him.

Peep the tags also for a rant about my own characterization of YX if you wish to witness my insanity