#and most of these sound ridiculous even to me

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜 𝐴𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑

Y/n gets a giant chibi Bakugo plush in the mail

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment and, as usual, Bakugo was the first to get to the door. Not because he was excited to get packages—hell no, he wasn’t some damn golden retriever waiting for a treat—but deep down, though he'd never say it out loud, there was always a little buzz of curiosity when it came to something you ordered.

The box was big. Too big. Bakugo lifted it easily, but frowned at the size.

"What the hell did you order now...?" he muttered, kicking the door shut behind him while carrying the package to the living room.

Not even two seconds passed after he set it down before you came running in like you’d just won the lottery. Your eyes sparkled, your hands trembled with excitement as you looked for scissors.

"Ah! It’s here! Finally!"

"Another damn box, huh?" he grunted, crossing his arms and standing off to the side, watching like a hawk. His scowl didn’t ease even when you sat on the floor, legs crossed, to open it.

The cardboard ripped, plastic flew everywhere, and then—he saw it.

"What the fuck...?" The words got stuck in his throat.

You pulled out a massive plush toy from the box. Not just any plush. No. It was a chibi... of him. Bakugo Katsuki. With those ridiculously big eyes, his signature frown stitched in black thread, even the tiny explosion details on the stuffed gloves. A plush that was eighty damn centimeters tall.

"Look at it, it’s perfect!" you exclaimed, like you’d just received a newborn baby.

Bakugo blinked. Once. Twice. The world around him froze as you stood up, hugged the plush to your chest, and squeezed it like it was treasure.

Your smile was so wide, so genuine, that something shifted inside him.

And he didn’t like it.

"Seriously...?" he asked under his breath, his voice laced with disbelief.

His jaw tightened, brow furrowed so deep it looked like it might never relax. His hands slowly curled into fists—not from anger... okay, maybe, but not like when he was fighting. It was a different kind of irritation. A weird, uncomfortable pinch in his gut.

He was jealous.

Of a plushie.

Of himself.

He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual as he let out a sharp breath.

"You’ve got a damn problem," he finally said, voice low, gruff, but there was something underneath it. Something unsure.

You looked at him from the couch, still hugging the chibi like it was the most adorable thing in the world.

"But look how cute it is. And it’s soft! And it smells good!"

A vein pulsed at his temple. He walked toward you with heavy steps, arms tense, like he might rip the plush from your hands and chuck it out the window. But when he stopped in front of you, he just stared.

You. With those bright, happy eyes. That dumb smile that sometimes knocked the air right out of him. With his goddamn mini-me clutched to your chest like it was worth protecting.

"You don’t need that shitty doll if you’ve got the real deal," he grumbled through his teeth, crouching down to your level.

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Are you jealous...?"

"Don’t fuckin’ start! Of course not!" he snapped instantly, but the tips of his ears flushed red. A quick, annoyed blush that only someone who knew him would catch.

You let out a soft laugh, entertained, and reached out to take his hand. Your fingers brushed over his knuckles gently, and it made him drop his guard for a second—not that he’d ever admit it.

"No matter how many things I have of you, none of them compare to you," you whispered.

He looked away, but didn’t pull his hand back.

"...Still, stop wasting your money on that crap," he muttered.

"Sure, sure," you said, with a smile he knew didn’t mean “sure.”

Bakugo sighed, dropped onto the couch next to you, and gave the oversized plush one last death glare.

He definitely had to keep an eye on that thing. What if you started sleeping with it instead of him? What if you took it to work? What if...?

He growled under his breath.

That plush wasn’t gonna win.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[cherrygirlfriend]

── UPPER WEST SIDE ♫

♫ pairing: ceo!rafe x ex-girlfriend!reader

♫ summary: you and rafe had been together for a year, until you found out he was keeping a secret from you, and ended your relationship. a year later, rafe sneaks into your concert and you get reminded of all the good and bad in your relationship.

♫ warnings / tags: angst. fluff.

♫ author's note: inspired by upper west side by king princess, takes place in new york.

RAFE MASTERLIST

maybe it was pathetic of him to stalk your band's instagram almost obsessively after you blocked him from your personal one, but rafe was desperate; so desperate that when you announced that you were playing a show in the bar a few blocks away from your place where the two of you first met, he saw it as fate.

really, he didn't even mean to come. he was just going to walk past the bar, to see how many people were waiting. but the moment he saw the poster with your face along with your bandmates, it was like he was pulled inside with a magnet.

the bar was much more cluttered than usual and rafe couldn't help but feel a pang of pride in his chest. he knew music was your passion, having woken up to the sound of you strumming your guitar as you wrote down lyrics, so lost in your art it was like nothing else in the world mattered. the way you'd smile up at him, letting out a quiet "sorry, did i wake you?" before going back to what you were doing.

"thank you for coming." the same voice rung out from the speakers, some of the crowd clapping at you as your bandmates got to their places. rafe leaned against the bar, quietly ordering a whiskey on the rocks, his eyes locked onto you, the way the spotlight seemed taken by your presence, the way you seemed to get lost in the moment as soon as your bandmates started playing, your body swaying along to the melody.

you're so rich, bet you bought yourself a diamond chain to look real cool while you're telling all your friends it's fake but you know it's lies another bitch from the upper west side credit cards cutting all of your lines, yeah...

"your place is way too fancy." you chuckled as rafe turned the lights on his upper west side apartment, rolling his eyes, his hand in yours, "what do you even do? let me guess. it's something ridiculously illegal or immoral. you're probably an environmental criminal. or a finance bro."

"you don't like my apartment?" rafe grinned, his arms wrapping around your middle, "we're always at your place. it doesn't even have proper heating."

"so? we always find a way to warm each other up." you cocked your head to the side, your hands on his muscular chest, "besides, my apartment is cozy. this place just looks... cold." you looked around the modern penthouse, most of it either black or white, a strange contrast to the colorful space you'd made of your own home.

"maybe i'll give you a key." rafe pressed a small kiss on your lips, "we could go shopping for some furniture together. i'll let you go nuts on the whole apartment..." he mumbled against your lips.

"rafe, we've been together for three months, and you're already talking about moving in together?" you chuckled softly and pulled back to look up at him in the eyes, "you're crazy."

"yeah." rafe sighs, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "i'm crazy about you. come on, let's move in together. you can keep renting your little rabbithole in brooklyn just in case, but you could live here."

"it's not a rabbithole!" you smacked his chest playfully before grinning up at the man, "let me think about it."

you're so cute, bet you really wanna be a star, to feel like gold when you're dancing on broken hearts and you know it's true you're no good 'til they're looking at you bad front, i can see right through, yeah.

"shit, this place is fancy." leona said with wide eyes as three of your friends walked into your new home, you and rafe having finished redecorating it a while ago, the place now looking much livelier. "do you think your sugar daddy's gonna notice if we steal some of the silver?"

"he's not my sugar daddy." you rolled your eyes, leading your friends to the kitchen. rafe was standing at the counter, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up as he cut a cucumber. "guys, this is rafe." the man looked up with a nod, "rafe, these are my friends. we're gonna be in the living room and have a mini-housewarming party."

"have fun." rafe smiled, pressing a kiss on your lips, "don't drink too much."

"okay, mom."

i can't stop judging everything you do but i can't get enough of you.

it was two in the morning when you woke up to the sound of the front door opening and closing, along with the sound of someone taking their shoes off, soft footsteps against the hardwood floor getting closer and closer, the bedroom door opening.

rafe let out an exasperated sigh, and you watched from the bed as he discarded his jacket, his tie, blouse, and eventually his pants, the belt clinking against the floor as he was left in his boxers, making his way to the bed.

when he was settled in under the blankets, you whispered softly, "rafe?"

"hey. sorry, baby..." rafe mumbled, pulling you into his warm, muscular chest, "did i wake you up?"

"yeah. it's fine, though. where were you?"

"just had to deal with family shit." rafe pressed a kiss to your hairline, "let's go to sleep." his words marking that it would be the end of the conversation.

i sleep great knowing we will never be the same 'cause i'm downtown hanging out while you're in pain and i'm doing fine even though you're still on my mind train rides to the upper west side, yeah.

you sat on the toilet seat, tapping the back of your foot against the marble floor, the wait feeling so excruciating you felt like you'd drop dead any second. you had no idea how he'd react, if he'd be happy, if he'd be upset...

the timer on your phone that had been set for three minutes finally went off, and you practically jumped up, grabbing the stick off the bathroom counter and turning it over to see the result.

two lines.

i can't stop judging everything you do but i can't get enough of you.

rafe had just gotten home from work; you'd been hyping yourself up the entire day, tonight, you'd tell him, and no matter how he was going to react, you'd be alright. you heard the shower running in the bathroom, a small smile playing on your lips as you thought about what your future would be like. what it'd be like to build a family with rafe.

his phone pinged on his nightstand, and without even thinking, you took it, your blood turning cold when you saw the notification he had received.

emma ♡ i miss you, baby! come home soon. ♡

at that moment, the bathroom door opened, and you turned to look at him with your jaw clenched, holding up his phone, rafe looking back at you with an expression that basically screamed 'oh shit.'

i can't stop i can't get enough of you, yeah i can't stop judging everything you do but i can't get enough of you.

"you're engaged?!" you screamed, "you're fucking engaged and you didn't think to tell me?! we've been together for a year!"

"it's not like that!" rafe groaned, "just listen, it's an arrangement that my dad's pushing onto me, i don't want it, baby! i wanna be with you!"

you scoffed and shook your head, stuffing clothes into a duffel bag, "you've gotta be out of your mind if i'm gonna be some side piece to a married man, rafe. i'm not a fucking homewrecker!"

"i'll just tell them i won't do it! come on, baby, please." rafe took hold of your wrist to stop you from packing, "you're the person i love, you're the person i wanna be with."

can't get enough of you

you tried swallowing the hurt stuck in your throat before you spoke, "have you slept with her?"

rafe didn't have to say anything, the look of guilt on his face telling enough.

"have you slept with her while we were together?"

rafe looked away, taking a deep breath, bile rising in your throat as you thought about him touching her, only to touch you as if nothing had happened.

can't get enough of you

you rushed out of the apartment building with rafe hot on your trail, following you. "come on, let's just talk about this! we can fix this!"

"there's nothing to be fixed, rafe! go back to your fucking fiancée!" you shouted back, pulling open the door to a taxi, rafe watching as you got in.

you were gone.

can't get enough of you

you looked down at your stomach. how was it that in just one hour, the future you'd been planning and dreaming about with the man you loved and the child you were carrying was crushed?

can't get enough of you...

you finished the song, feeling a tear trail down your cheek, finally opening your eyes when you heard the crowd starting to applaud, a weak smile on your painted lips until you spotted something from the corner of your eye.

a familiar figure sneaking out of the bar.

TAGLIST: @raahosh @purpleplumpudding @rafesheaven @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @littlelamy @tinythebunni

[always-been-aubrey]

All through middle and high school, when I knew in my heart and soul that I was really and truly a girl despite all appearances and expectations, the only way I could express it to my friends and family in the mid-1970's of rural north-central Georgia was dressing as the tomboy I felt I could "get away with" - cut-off jeans and baggy shirts like this in the warm months at least...

Two things helped - boys' shorts - basketball shorts, gym shorts, even cut-offs - were so much shorter than they are today... and, as silly as this may sound, I was relatively, shall I say, less hairy (and, "physiologically smaller"[?]) than most of my buddies...

Of course, Dad, being a retired Naval Aviator, insisted on the "low-maintenance-haircut" for both my brother and me, and while my brother protested because he wasn't allowed to be "cool," my protests walked right up to the edge of telling him I was gonna be the only girl in class with a "butch" haircut and would be ridiculed for it... but of course I couldn't do THAT (back then...), especially when he countered every squawk about going to the barber shop with "No son of mine is gonna have long hair like his sister..."

If he'd only known - or I could've told him...

[samsblades]

✶ spring, honey, forest, etc. — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, sappy!reader, fluff, just tooth rotting fluff and a happy sam, unedited, 1K words. for liane's 500 followers event ! inspired by this moodboard <333 @chevroletdean congrats !!

summary : you can't help but compare sam to sweet and beautiful things like spring, honey, and forests.

"sam?" his name leaves your lips like a spring breeze, soft and warm and most definitely in love.

"yeah, honey?"

sweet like honey, thick like honey, golden like honey. his lips don't really taste like honey, but sometimes you think that they do. there's honey in his eyes too, when the sun hits them right. and from this close, you can see all the details. that honey gold, sunflower yellow, woody hazel, and greens that can’t decide whether they're mossy or blue-ish like the sea. right now, as your own eyes soak his up in a morning so blissful that it's almost ridiculous, you decide for them. mossy green it is.

you honestly just said his name because you like the way it feels when it rolls over your tongue and slips out between barely parted lips. but now you actually have something to say to him, voice hushed to match the quiet of the early morning.

"your eyes are like springtime," you tell him, lips curled up into a smile that makes him grin back without even noticing. then you hum and shake your head, cotton pillow case rubbing against your cheek, "mm… wait, no. no, they're like a forest. like trees and moss and pretty rocks."

his eyebrows raise but his smile stays bright. "pretty rocks?" he parrots, trying to tease but only sounding like he could properly swoon.

"yeah. or crystals, i guess. green crystals. sunny yellow ones too," you amend. then you ramble on. "but i like when your eyes look more brown, too. or blue. or anything at all, cuz they're yours and that means i'll always love them." he looks like he has no idea at all what to say to that. your voice quiets, "am i being too sappy?"

"no," he murmurs, his response immediate and sure. "no, i just… just have never had anyone that talks to me the way you do. but i love you. love the way you talk, too."

"good," you settle easily, wondering if your eyes resemble honey in any way just for how sweetly they look at him.

"i love your eyes too," he says, almost surprising you when you think silence is falling back over you like another silky sheet atop the first.

"yeah?" you ask, voice whispery and alight with a sweet hope that's a little silly because there's no need for it. of course he loves your eyes. he loves your all.

"of course," he affirms, "they're so pretty. and… and i feel better when i see them. safer."

and then it feels like nothing bad could ever happen, or at least like nothing in the world would ever dare interrupt something so tender. safer. if something as simple as the sight of your eyes makes him feel safer, you're sure that you've achieved the best thing in life that you ever could. you've done your job, made it to where you want to be, just knowing that. it's like he's telling you that no one could claim that you don't love him without being a complete liar.

it's like he's saying 'i know you love me. i don't doubt it, not anymore. your eyes are my safe place. your love is my safe place.' and that's all you could ever ask for.

"that makes me really happy," you tell him.

"you make me really happy," he says, no need to search for the right words to say. he knows that one without having to think for a moment. and you're blessed to know it too. there's evidence in the curve of his lips and glimpse of his teeth and pretty wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. even in those swirling irises, brighter with the gift of joy that you've given him. you see yourself in them, reflected in those deep pupils and shining just as bright.

[twlgholts]

always kind of was, j.b.

chapter seven, promise you

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: i wrote four chapters in one day help me. but we are over halfway there! six more chapters till the end

prev. series masterlist! next.

“Get in,” he said, leaning against the Rabbit with that annoyingly unreadable expression on his face.

You narrowed your eyes. “What happened to hi, hello, how are you? I like what you did with your hair today?”

“Hi, hello, how are you? I like what you did with your hair today.” he repeated, flat, monotone.

You gave him a long look. “Charming.”

He just grinned. “Are you getting in or what?”

You slid into the seat with a dramatic sigh, the passenger seat now permanently adjusted to your height. “Where are we going?

“You ask too many questions.”

“You say that every time. Hasn’t stopped me yet.”

He didn’t answer this time. Just passed you the aux cord like a peace offering and rolled the windows down halfway, letting the warm summer air rush through the car as he pulled onto the road. With the wind came chaos–your hair, freshly styled after an hour following some impossible tutorial online, was instantly undone.

You shot him another look, batting it back down. “You’re a menace.”

He smirked. “You look better that way anyway.”

You scoffed and started scrolling through your iPod, flicking through your playlists. Every song you landed on felt wrong for the moment, so you skipped past them all, frustrated.

“Dirty hands, mysterious behavior, emotionally repressed–what more could a girl want?” you start. “You could be kidnapping me and dragging me off to your evil lair right now, and I wouldn’t even question it.”

He laughed, that real, rare one that made your chest tighten for reasons you weren’t ready to name. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’d be bored without me.”

“I would. No one else is as annoying.”

“You love it.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

He gave you a sideways glance, not quite smiling but definitely close. “Now no more questions. I’m taking you somewhere.”

You leaned forward, turning the volume up once you finally landed on a song that felt right. Without thinking, you held up an invisible microphone to his mouth mid-chorus. He didn’t hesitate—he joined in, off-key and dramatic, his usual cool composure completely shattered as the two of you jammed out to a throwback from when your parents were your age.

By the time he parked the car, your voice was hoarse from laughing and singing too loud.

You’d say you enjoyed nature–most of the time. Especially the kind of nature Western Washington offered: lush and untouched. But not like this.

Not when you’d mentally prepared for a couch nap and a rom-com, not a full-body cardio session up the side of a mountain. Not when your hair was ruined, your skin sticky with humidity, and your deodorant had clearly given up something around the second incline.

“Is this… punishment?” you cry as you hiked, dragging your feet behind Jacob’s much longer stride.

The forest buzzed around you with the sounds of birds and rushing water, damp and green and teeming with life. The trail twisted upwards with no mercy. Halfway up a steeper hill, Jacob dropped back to walk beside you.

“You good?” he asked, holding out his hand without thinking.

You took it, out of breath. “What do you think?”

He squeezed gently. “Just checking. Not trying to lose you to a root or something dumb.”

“I’ve survived worse than a rogue tree root.”

He smiled, but didn’t let go of your hand.

“Like being dragged to some random forest in Clallam without warning,” you added. “No heads-up, no prep, and it’s like the hottest day of the year.”

“Oops. I thought you liked surprises.”

“I like surprises. I don’t like feeling like a rotisserie chicken.”

“Okay, valid.”

You let go of his hand to reach for the water bottle tucked in the side of his backpack. You hadn’t brought anything, but of course, Jacob had–you eyed him with mock suspicion as you drank.

“At least one of us came prepared.”

He shrugged, bashful. “You complain a lot for someone who took like, twelve pictures of a fern back there.”

“It was a very aesthetically pleasing fern.”

You hiked for another twenty minutes, your annoyance fading as your body adjusted and the surroundings quieted. You passed a couple of elderly hikers on their way down—sprightly and cheerful, which made your suffering feel dramatic in comparison.

The trail turned beautiful the higher you climbed. Small waterfalls trickled down mossy rocks, carving gentle paths into the dirt. You dipped your hands into one of them to cool off, then dragged Jacob over and made him rinse his grimy fingers too, despite his argument that the stains were just from grease.

“They don’t wash out,” he insisted.

“That’s what worries me.”

Eventually, you hit a tricky section of the trail—a narrow edge where the mountain had caved in slightly, the path eroded. You paused at the edge, your stomach twisting as you looked down. It was steep. One wrong step and you’d be the rock that just skittered off the ledge and vanished from view.

“Wouldn’t wanna be that rock,” you muttered, nerves creeping into your voice.

Jacob stepped in front of you. “I’ll go first. Just hold my hand, okay? I won’t let you fall.”

You stared at the path, then at him. “This is some Final Destination level stuff right now.”

He offered you a soft smile. “Promise you. You’re okay.”

He went ahead slowly, then turned, holding out his hand like a lifeline. You took it.

The path was sketchy, but he kept you steady. He held on like it mattered.

“Thanks, Jake,” you said once you reached the other side.

“Of course.”

“I don’t wanna think about going back across that.”

“We’ll roll you down the hill if we have to.”

By the time you reached the lookout, the trees parted to reveal a sweeping view so beautiful it knocked the breath from your lungs. Lake Crescent sparkled below, Mount Olympus towering in the distance. The forest rolled in green waves, soft and endless.

“Wow,” you whispered.

“Yeah. Wow.” He was looking at the view—but also, you.

“Was it worth all my kicking and whining?” you asked.

Jacob smirked. “Debatable.”

“Oh, please. You whined more than I did when we were shopping in Port Angeles.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He didn’t answer—just looked at you with that half-laugh, half-defeated expression like he wanted to argue but couldn’t come up with anything.

“That’s what I thought,” you teased, grinning.

“Whatever.” He nudged you lightly with his shoulder. “Swim?”

You turned to him. “You brought swim stuff?”

He gestured behind him. “You think I hiked all the way up here without planning that?”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re lucky I like surprises.”

Jacob grinned. “I’m lucky, period.”

The lake sat nestled in a basin of stone and evergreens, glassy and blue even under the graying sky. You’d barely kicked off your shoes before Jacob was already waist-deep, grinning like a little kid as he splashed water up at you.

“You’re insane,” you laughed, toeing the edge of the shore. “That water looks freezing.”

“Only at first.”

You gave him a look. “That’s what people say right before hypothermia sets in.”

“Come on, you’ll survive.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a yes—but a second later you were running in, shrieking as the cold wrapped around you like ice. Jacob laughed, deep and loud and contagious, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, the kind that left your ribs aching and your eyes squinting as you dunked under and came up gasping.

You splashed him. He splashed you back harder. Eventually you both stopped trying to win and just floated, side by side, breathless and soaked, hearts thudding out a rhythm you were trying hard not to count too closely.

When you got out, dripping and shivering, the air felt warmer by comparison. You sat beside him on a flat rock, shoulders barely brushing. The world was quiet around you except for the distant call of a bird and the gentle ripple of water behind you. The sky was starting to shift—clouds parting to reveal a soft pink glow bleeding into the horizon.

You watched it for a while, not talking. Your hair clung to your cheeks, your clothes stuck to your skin, and his arm was warm next to yours.

Then, softly, almost to himself, Jacob said, “This is my favorite day.”

You turned your head a little, startled.

He was still looking at the sky, but something in his jaw had gone soft. “I don’t know. It just is.”

You wanted to say me too—but it felt too much. Too naked. Instead, you nodded.

“It’s different this summer,” you murmured after a beat.

Jacob glanced at you, then back at the lake. “Yeah.”

“Things feel... not like they used to.”

He gave a low hum. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”

You both fell quiet again, the kind that didn’t feel awkward—just full of things neither of you were sure how to say.

“What’s it like?” he asked eventually.

You blinked. “What’s what like?”

“Being gone. Moving. School. All of it.”

You leaned back on your palms, gaze drifting back up to the sky. “It’s bigger. Busier. Faster. People talk fast, drive fast, eat fast. It’s like no one has time for anything. They don’t even say hi when they pass you on the sidewalk.”

Jacob didn’t interrupt. He just listened, like he always had.

“I don’t know if I like it,” you admitted quietly. “I mean, there’s a lot to do. And I know it’s where I’m supposed to be right now, but it doesn’t feel like home.”

He looked over at you. “Forks still does?”

You nodded. “Forks is weird. And small. And it smells like mildew half the year.”

He smiled.

“But yeah. It’s home.”

You picked at the edge of the towel wrapped around your knees. “Do you ever think about when we were kids?”

Jacob leaned back on his elbows. “Yeah. All the time.”

“Back when everything made sense. Or at least, felt like it did.”

“Back when the worst part of the day was if it rained while we were on the jungle gym.”

You laughed. “Or if Billy made us eat that weird canned chili again.”

“Still scarred.”

A breeze moved through the trees, stirring the scent of pine and wet stone. You turned to find Jacob already looking at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t look away. “You’re making it easy.”

You felt heat crawl into your cheeks. “What? The sweat dripping down my face does it for you?”

Jacob laughed, nose scrunching slightly. “Yeah. That and the fact you still have moss in your hair.”

You groaned, immediately reaching up to find it. “Why didn’t you say something?”

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

You flicked a bit of grass at him. “Loser.”

He grinned and flicked it back. “Takes one to know one.”

You both sat there a little longer, your knee touching his now, and neither of you moved away.

“Do you ever get scared?” you asked suddenly. “Of growing up. Of... I don’t know. Leaving things behind.”

Jacob exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I used to think I had everything figured out. Like I’d just be here forever. Fixing bikes. Hanging out. But lately... I don’t know. It’s like everyone else is changing, and I’m stuck.”

You nodded. “Maybe that’s why this summer feels so weird.”

“Maybe.”

“Everything’s in-between.”

Jacob looked at you again, and this time you didn’t look away.

“We’re not the same kids anymore,” you said.

“No,” he agreed, his voice low. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

[manyu-ten]

Some random, unpolished thoughts: some of you truly play into classist stereotypes without even realizing it.

Take it from a bitch raised in NY/NJ: I couldn't begin to tell y'all the number of times folks from richer cities or neighborhoods would be surprised to see people from my city and realize we aren't "ugly".

They expect us to be dirty, unkempt, smell a certain way (they insist it isn't bad, just distinctive) and look a certain way. Big bruisers that look like brutes, "built like a fridge/gym ball" cause they except us all to be extremely unfit/unhealthy. They're surprised we weren't "ratchet" looking, surprised we could speak "English properly", surprised we weren't some gaunt, scar-faced ridden kids with no manners. Surprised we're intelligent. Surprised we care about education/school. And the thing that really irked us kids the most is that they were ALWAYS surprised we weren't "ugly".

Kids and adults from wealthier backgrounds would always hit me and other kids I knew with this "compliment": "You're actually pretty for someone from your city/neighborhood."

The worst part is that depending on the kid, you could just SEE that they take it as a genuine compliment because 'wow these cool rich people don't think I'm a hideous creature just because im poor :D'.

Yes, it was easier to take advantage of kids like us because of the class disparity. But, it was also easier for people to blame us when they'd see that we were a certain level of "attractive". I know it sounds ridiculous to some who haven't lived through that, but its the honest truth. If we were deemed the more "good looking" kids, we were then also seen as more inherently "mature".

We were their perfect little minorities, until the issues plaguing our communities, the collective traumas many of us experienced as children made us bad victims, or bad survivors. Then, we were back to being poor, ugly, dirty children.

I could walk down the corner store of my house and have some folks from a wealthier city or neighborhood go on and on about the "potential" kids like me could have if we we're to integrate into their social circles and keep quiet about the injustices we personally faced.

Did we as poor kids only deserve personhood if someone wealthier and "more just" than us came to our rescue?

This is all to say, some of you in these fandoms do not actually care to dismantle classist stereotypes. It's not just about us being violent with no manners and destined for crime. You guys think we are inherently uglier, dirtier and less intelligent. And then you go on ahead and apply that to characters from poorer backgrounds too. Many of you don't know what its like to grow up in an impoverished city neighborhood and while thats okay if you didn't experience it, you don't take the time to actually dismantle your own ignorances and prejudice.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

i’ve been wondering,,, what is the like worst imaginable punishment baby can get. like how far can he go when he’s absolutely fuming and nothing is able to calm him down.

also i saw one of your other followers give themselves a name and since i send you like 284838 thoughts a day about the babyverse i was thinking 🫀- anon :P

➯a/n: ooooo 🫀anon buckle uuuup cause mommy hwa is willing to go FAR. lemme just rant about thiiiiis because this is the third ask ive gotten about baby's punishments/escape attempts and im working on a chapter for it but i dont wanna leave yall hanginnnn

what are we talking about ? Baby Series !

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: uuuuuuuuuuhm yikes ! physical violence, like seriously it's bad, trauma bonding, like seriously seriously i'm warning you he is CRUEL, mommy hwa's mental illness, forced nudity, mind breaking, claustrophobia, panic attacks

so let me start by saying that seonghwa isn't the "act in the moment" type of angry. he'll never accidentally go too far as to seriously maim or heaven forbid kill you. because his mind is already fifty steps ahead and planning your punishment, even if his consciousness is lagging behind. he'll most definitely regret some of the things he does to you. but that won't stop him. some deep dark part of his brain tells him that he has to punish his baby in a way that will stick.

he's a cold, quiet, and calculated type of angry. and that's wayyyy worse than someone who might just beat you. because he can do more than that. he can break you.

seonghwa likes to think that he's fair with you. your punishment almost always fits the crime. but if you cross a line, he will shove you back over it. he doesn't like to hurt you — of course not ! after some of your punishments, he even cries with you because of what he's done.

two times come to mind for the "worst" punishment. "Losing Dogs", where his baby screamed curse words and insults at him and ended it with "i hate you, park seonghwa" — and we all know how he feels about that word and about not being called "mommy". spanking you so hard it left bruises for a few weeks and then leaving you alone for hours was certainly bad. no denying that.

but the "rapunzel" escape attempt was worse. by a lot. it was the only time he got so cruel. because that's all it took. one time. it was that bad.

(this is what i'm writing now, so buckle in for a BUMPY ride)

he caught you trying to escape out the window with a sheet. not only did you try and leave him, you did so in a ridiculously dangerous way !! there was no possible way in hell he was going to go easy on you. after he yanked you back up and fell to the floor with you while sobbing his eyes out, he realized just what you were trying to do. then he got mad.

nothing you could say was going to calm him down in that moment, not even if you confessed your undying love for him and promised him you'd take your soul out and give it to him. no amount of tears would save you. no volume of screams. he may as well have been a different person with the way he treated you.

after he shoved mingi out of the room (who had come when he heard you crying) he had zero remorse as he ripped your clothes off of you, not even stopping when you started thrashing and calling him a liar — but by the end of it you realize he wasn't taking your clothes off to violate you. not in that sense anyway. he did it to make you completely vulnerable before throwing you to the floor and asking "what the hell was that ?" in a tone so calm you almost peed yourself from fright.

when you couldn't give him an answer, only hyperventilating and crying — he shoved you into the dark closet. and he left you there, the son of a bitch !

no sound, no light. just you and your darkest thoughts. you had the largest panic attack of your life in that closet. your fingertips were numb from lack of oxygen and your head was light and pounding. you had to suck on your thumb to calm yourself down so you didn't pass out. maybe it was better if you did, in retrospect. maybe seeing that he's forced you into passing out from fear would have snapped him out of whatever rage induced trance he was in.

you didn't even hear him come back home a few hours later, not until he opened the closet. he looked down at you and it was clear your punishment wasn't over. he gave you a chance to beg for forgiveness; not knowing that no matter how hard you begged, no matter what you said — the outcome was still going to be the same. he was still going to use the hammer that was in his hand.

because he wasn't going to let you try and run again. he gave you a new rule that day. and a new punishment to fit the crime.

don't try to run away. or you won't be able to walk. walking is a privilege, baby.

when he said that, you tried to get back into the damned closet because you knew what that meant. he dragged you back out, he didn't care that he was scratching up your legs — or maybe he was so deep in his rage that he didn't notice.

there's no easy way to put this. he smashed your foot. with a fucking hammer, he smashed it. you're lucky he didn't break any major bones. and you're lucky that he's so calculated with his punishments, even when you've pissed him off so badly.

he didn't say anything as he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom. not even to comfort you as you sobbed.

the first thing he said to you after "walking is a privilege" was after he was done wrapping your foot. he said "hurts really bad, doesn't it ?" then he said "good. you'll think about that next time you decide to act so stupid". he'd never called you stupid before. it hurt your heart almost as much as the hammer hurt your foot. you didn't even really take in his next words of, "next time, i'll break your leg".

the thing that finally snapped him out of his trance, what got him back to being his doting mommy self, was your trembling pout while saying "i didn't mean to be stupid" that was the moment everything came crashing down on him, the way you were holding back your millionth round of tears and holding your naked body to comfort yourself because he wasn't giving you any.

it's like a damn switch flipped, like night and day, dark and light, and 'mommy' hwa came back.

he took back his words immediately, hugging your head to his chest and shushing you, saying he didn't mean you were stupid; you had simply done something stupid. didn't you think about what would have happened if you fell ? you live on the third story, baby ! this is why mommy has to take care of you, you know ? you'd have more than a messed up foot if mommy didn't catch you.

whether he thinks so or not, the way he treats you after your "punishment" is a continuation of it. his sweet words and gentle touches sending you falling straight into little space after such a traumatic event. making you deeply confused as to why, after all he's done, are you letting him dress you in your favorite pajamas and eating the food he makes you and cuddling to his chest as he sings to you and why do you feel guilty for trying to leave ? wait... why did you try to leave ? your mommy is the best.

he noticed what you were thinking while you played with the fur on your stuffed animal. of course he did. and he smiled. job well done, mommy. baby won't be leaving anytime soon.

(i have cried three times while writing the full chapter so far... plz send help)

[littlebluebird2000]

Twirling Hearts- part 5

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, smut, mature language, sexual harassment/assault, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime...

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy-especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High has a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates...

author's note: this chapter contains sexual content. if you are not comfortable with that, it's okay, i'll see you in the next story. it’s the finally so i went all out.

word count: 8k+

follow #bluebirdyeonsieun for updates on the story. for some reason, my tags aren't working :

part: 1., 2., 3., 4., 5.

Your apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of your laptop. You sat on the couch, finishing the last bit of your online class, while Sieun leaned beside you, lazily flipping through your math assignment.

“You missed this step.” He murmured, pointing to the page. “You distributed wrong here.”

You leaned in, your arm brushing his. “Oh—right. I forgot the negative.”

He nodded, calm and unbothered. He wasn’t teasing or judging, just stating the facts. There was a quiet concentration in him, but something gentler beneath it. Something lighter, as if the weight he usually carried had eased, if only for a moment.

Once the assignment was finished, the rest of the day passed without urgency. You reheated some leftovers and shared them cross-legged on the floor, talking about small, unimportant things. Every so often, your phone buzzed with a message. The boys were checked in to make sure you were doing okay. When Baku sent a ridiculous meme, you showed the messages to Sieun, who rolled his eyes and muttered. “Idiot.” There was no real bite to it. Just something that almost sounded like affection. The kind he didn’t quite know how to express out loud.

By evening, the sunlight had faded into a gentle glow, filling the room with a quiet calm. The TV flickered with some show neither of you cared about, the volume low and easy to ignore. You were curled up in the corner of the couch, nestled into Sieun’s side, his arm resting around you. His fingers moved slowly through your hair, gentle and absentminded, like it was second nature. He was quiet, but not in a distant way. This silence felt warm. Familiar. Safe.

“Hey.” His voice came softer than usual, hesitant. “Do you wanna come with me? To the hospital?”

You turned slightly, just enough to catch his face, his eyes fixed on the ceiling while his fingers continued to drift gently through your hair.

“To see my friend…” He said. “The one I told you about. He’s still not awake. But I sometimes go after school.”

There was something raw in his tone. Not fragile, but exposed. It didn’t feel like a casual question. It felt more like an invitation into a space he kept hidden, a quiet part of him that lived in silence.

You looked at him, eyes soft. “I’d really like to meet him.” You said quietly. “If he’s someone important to you… then he matters to me too.”

Something shifted in Sieun’s expression, quiet but clear. His gaze lingered on you, steady and unspoken. There was a softness there, something hard to name. Maybe it was trust. Or maybe a quiet kind of gratitude.

He didn’t smile, but his hand paused in your hair for a moment. He held your gaze, quiet and steady, then gave a small nod. It wasn’t much, but it felt like thanks. Genuine and wordless.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The bus hummed beneath you, the city passing by in quiet blurs of motion and light. You sat beside Sieun, close enough that your shoulder brushed his. His phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down, eyes scanning the screen. A soft sigh left him.

“It’s Gotak.” He said. “Baku challenged Baekjin. Wants to settle things this weekend.”

You turned slightly toward him. “Seriously?”

He nodded, already typing a response. “Yeah. Other student from the school are probably going to join the fight. I told them I’d help figure something out.”

He said it so evenly, so calmly, that it caught you off guard. No panic. No frustration. Just quiet focus. You watched him for a moment, wondering how he could stay so composed with something like that looming, but that was who he was. He was always planning ahead.

When the bus came to a stop, you both stepped off together into the cool air. The hospital stood a few blocks ahead, pale and still under the fading light. Inside, the air was sharp with disinfectant. The receptionist handed over a clipboard without a word, and Sieun filled in both your names. You followed him down a long hallway, past rooms and nurses and the faint, steady beep of machines.

At last, you reached the door.

He stopped in front of it, his hand hovering just near the handle.

“I haven’t been inside for a long time.” He said, not looking at you. “I usually sit out here. On that bench.” He nodded towards it. “I text his phone. Tell him stuff about my day. School. Random things. Pretend he’s reading it.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

His fingers twitched slightly at his side. “But I think… I want to go in today.”

You gave a small nod, just enough for him to notice. You didn’t need to say anything. You were here, and that was enough.

After a moment, Sieun reached for the handle. His shoulders rose with a breath, then lowered as he slowly pushed the door open.

The room was quiet, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the gentle hiss of the oxygen machine. Sieun’s friend lay completely still beneath the pale hospital sheets, an oxygen mask covering his face. Thin wires and IV lines ran from his arms to a nearby machine.

Sieun lingered at the side of the bed, unmoving, eyes fixed on his friend. After a moment, he stepped forward and eased into the chair beside him. His shoulders slumped slightly, and for once, he didn’t try to hold himself so tightly together

“Hey, Suho.” He said, his voice soft. “It’s been a while.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees, eyes locked on the boy lying in front of him. You stayed quiet, listening and letting him have the space he needed.

“I brought someone with me today.” He continued quietly. “It’s Y/N. The girl I’ve been texting you about.”

His voice caught slightly, just for a second, but he didn’t stop.

“She’s the one who always looks at me like I’m more than I am. You’d probably roll your eyes and say I’ve gone soft.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked down then, fingers lacing together in his lap.

“I really wish you’d wake up now.” He said, and this time his voice was lower. More raw. “It’s been so long. I keep thinking… maybe tomorrow. But it’s never tomorrow...”

He leaned back slightly, looking at Suho’s face. His eyes were tired, but open in a way that didn’t happen often. Honest. Unshielded.

“I don’t know what else to say.” He admitted. “But I thought you should meet her. Even like this.”

His voice trailed off, and he sat there, quiet, looking at the boy who used to sit beside him in class. The boy who used to make him feel like he wasn’t alone.

You stepped forward without a word and gently placed your hand on Sieun’s shoulder. He didn’t look up, but you felt the way he leaned ever so slightly into your touch, as if grounding himself in the moment.

“Hi, Suho. It’s nice to meet you.” You said, voice calm, steady despite the tightness in your chest. “Don’t worry about Sieun. I’ll keep an eye on him while we wait for you to come back.”

For a few seconds, the room was quiet again.

Then you noticed the tears trailing silently down Sieun’s cheeks. He stayed where he was, unmoving, eyes steady on Suho. The tears came slowly, tracing quiet paths down his cheeks. He let them fall. There was no outburst, only the quiet ache of someone who had been holding everything in for far too long.

He looked at Suho like he wanted to speak, like the words were there but just out of reach. His jaw tightened, and his hands curled slightly in his lap. The silence around him was not empty. It was filled with everything he could not bring himself to say. Grief. Frustration. Longing.

And in that quiet, it became clear. The hope inside him was still alive, small and aching. It sat heavy in his chest, steady and painful. The kind of hope that hurts just to carry.

You stayed beside him, your hand resting gently on his shoulder and you knew that just being there was all he needed.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You stepped out of the hospital side by side, the automatic doors closing behind you with a hush that felt too final. The sky had darkened while you were inside. Sieun walked close to you, quiet, his hand brushing against yours before he gently took it. He didn’t squeeze. He just held on, like he needed the contact to remind himself he was still here, still allowed to feel something.

You glanced at him. His face was tired, unreadable, but there was something fragile in eyes.

“If you want, you can come to my place.” You said softly. “But if you need time alone, or to go home… I’ll understand.”

He didn’t look at you. He just walked beside you, his eyes fixed ahead. Then he said, softly. “I’ll stay. As long as you’ll have me.”

That hurt, the way he said it. Like he was asking permission just to exist. “You’re always welcome at my place.”

And you meant it. Every word.

But he slowed his steps a little, eyes dropping to the pavement.

“I should stop by my apartment first.” He murmured. “Just to grab some clothes. A few things.”

When you reached his building, you felt something in him shift. His steps slowed just slightly, his grip on your hand tightened before he lets go to unlock the door.

His apartment felt colder than you expected. Not physically, but in the way it seemed to carry no warmth at all. The light from the ceiling was faint, casting more shadows than comfort. His mother was on the couch with her phone in her hand. She didn’t look up until the door closed behind you. She stood up.

“There you are.” She snapped. “You didn’t call. You don’t even think about me, did you?”

Then she saw you.

Her words trailed off as her eyes shifted to your face. She blinked, clearly thrown. For a moment, she just stared, like she couldn’t quite figure out where you’d come from or why you were standing next to her son. You bowed quickly. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Y/N.” You said politely.

She didn’t reply. Her eyes stayed on you for a second too long before shifting back to Sieun.

“This is what you’ve been doing?” She said, her voice rising. “Running around with a girl while I sit here worried? How can you be so selfish? Can’t you think about me for once?”

You froze. But Sieun...

He turned around slowly to face her, his voice steady, too calm. “Since when do you care what I do?”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t care before I moved in.” He said. “Back when I lived with Dad, you didn’t call. You didn’t ask how I was doing. You just liked getting the report cards. I was a good son, right? As long as you had something to brag about at work or to your friends…”

“That’s not true.” She said quickly, shaking her head. “You don’t know how hard it’s been for me. I did my best—”

“Right.” He cut in. “You’re the one who had it hard. I get it. Raising a kid who was always sick, always quiet, always a little bit too much trouble.” He said it with no heat. Just exhaustion. A truth repeated too many times in his head. “I didn’t move in with you because I wanted to.” He added. “I had to. The school’s closer. That’s all.”

“Don’t act like I never cared about you—”

“You cared when it made you look good.” He said. “When I was getting awards. When the teachers called home. You smiled and told everyone how proud you were. But when I needed you….When I was having a hard time …You didn’t even notice… Because you were never there.”

She stood there, stunned, like she couldn’t believe he’d say those things out loud. Like she was the one being attacked. “Sieun, don’t say things like—”

“Our relationship worked better when you ignored me.” He continued. “I wish you’d stop pretending we’re something we’re not. We’ve never been close. We don’t have a normal mother-son relationship. We never did. I’m not trying to fight. Please, let’s stop pretending.”

He turned to head to his room, but paused in the doorway. “I’ll text, sometime.” He added, voice quieter now. “I’ll come back every now and then. This is still home, even if it doesn’t feel like it. I just… need space. That’s all. I’m sorry.”

For a second, her face shifted. Something like guilt flickered there, but it passed quickly.

Without waiting for a reply, he walked in his room. You bowed slightly again and followed him. He packed fast. Efficient. Like he knew exactly what he needed and wanted to leave before anything else could be said. Clothes, toothbrush, charger, hoodie. A few books. His hands were steady, but his silence was loud.

“Even when I was little. Even when I was scared or sick. She’d tell people how hard it was for her. And I thought maybe if I worked harder, she’d… see me differently.” He muttered.

You stepped closer, placing your hand gently on his arm. “You don’t have to keep earning love that should’ve been given.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just zipped his bag and stood there for a second, staring at the floor. Then he nodded.

You walked out with him. His mother didn’t say a word. Neither did he.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The week dragged on, each day heavier than the last. Everyone at Eunjang felt it, even if no one said anything out loud. It was in the way conversations stopped when certain names were mentioned. In how Baku’s usual teasing quieted down, replaced with short nods and long silences. Even Sieun seemed different. Calmer on the outside, but more distant, like he was already somewhere else.

The Union had gone too far. Taking you had crossed a line, and Baekjin knew that. Maybe that was the point. Maybe he wanted to pull Baku into a corner where he’d finally have no choice but to fight back. But if Baekjin thought fear would win, he clearly didn’t know Baku as well as he used to.

The fight was set for Saturday. Earlier in the week, Sieun, Baku, and Gotak had asked you not to join, almost in unison.

“This one’s going to be bad.” Baku said, voice low. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near it.”

You knew they were right.

Not to be cliché, but you were a ballerina. You weren’t the violent type. You didn’t fight with your fists. Your world was built on discipline, control, the ache of movement, not the sting of bruises. They had told Juntae not to fight as well. He had argued at first, of course. Juntae wasn’t one to sit back when the rest of them were moving forward. But this time, they wouldn’t let him. Especially Gotak. He had pulled him aside early in the week, voice low but firm.

“You’ve done enough.” He said. “We need you safe.”

Juntae wasn’t the strongest physically, and he knew it. But mentally, he held them together. He was the one who always brought them back when they lost focus. The one who reminded them what mattered when things went too far. Without him, the group wouldn’t be what it was. He finally agreed on the condition that he could watch from afar with you, just in case things got out of control.

Saturday came by faster than you would have liked. The rain hadn’t stopped all day. The field was nothing but mud and gravel. You stood far from the fight, far enough to stay out of reach, but close enough to see everything. Beside you, Juntae stayed still under his umbrella, the rain tapping steady against the fabric. You gripped your own a little tighter, heart lodged somewhere in your throat.

Out on the field, boys from Eunjang gathered slowly, their silhouettes dark against the gray sky. Every single one of them wore their school uniform. The same navy blue blazer and white shirt with the striped tie. It wasn’t about school pride. It was about unity. About letting the Union know they weren’t scared. Not anymore.

Baku stood at the front, eyes fixed across the field. Gotak beside him, stone-faced. Sieun stood a little behind them, calm and unreadable. He didn’t look around. He just stared forward like he already knew exactly what had to be done.

The Union stood across from them. Less of them than expected. Word had gotten around, and many of their members had backed out at the last second. Maybe they realized Baekjin wasn’t invincible after all. Or maybe they just didn’t want to bleed for someone else’s pride.

And then Baku stepped forward. He raised his voice just enough to be heard through the storm.

“Na Beakjin!” He screamed

The Union’s leader didn’t move.

“If you lose.” Baku shouted. “This is the end of the Union!”

Baekjin tilted his head slightly, but didn’t answer to him. You saw his mouth move slightly, like he was talking to his gang members. You couldn’t understand from this far.

After that, a battle shout resounded and all the umbrellas dropped.

You saw the first punch fly. Then another. Then it became impossible to keep track.

You and Juntae stood frozen in place. Mud was splashing everywhere. Baku tore straight for Baekjin like nothing else mattered. Gotak crashed into a group like a wrecking ball, clearing space for his friends. And Sieun…

He fought like the rain didn’t touch him. Calm. Focused. Every hit with purpose. He didn’t shout or snarl like the others. He just moved. Quick and brutal and silent.

Baku and Baekjin stood across from each other now. Around them, the chaos kept going. There was fists and shouts and soaked uniforms slamming into mud… But this moment belonged to them. Old friends. Now enemies. You didn’t need to know all the history to feel the weight of it in the air.

Baku didn’t waste time.

He lunged first, going for Baekjin’s shoulders, quick and brutal. Every hit aimed high. You could tell he was trying to wear him down, knock the strength out of his arms before it built up. His fists were loud, messy, full of heat. The kind of fighting that looked like it came from the heart or maybe even the guts.

Baekjin’s moves were tighter, smarter. Everything was deadly precise. When he managed to land a hit, it made Baku stagger.

Still, Baku didn’t stop. Not until Baekjin caught him clean across the jaw.

You saw it happen. Baku’s knees giving out, his body dropping into the mud like it weighed twice as much. Your breath caught in your throat and you grabbed Juntae’s sleeve. Juntae didn’t say a word. He just lifted a trembling hand to his mouth, eyes glassy with disbelief

The rain halted abruptly, as though the sky itself had paused in anticipation.

Your umbrella hung limp at your side, water still dripping from the edges. You didn’t notice it anymore. Your eyes were fixed on the middle of the field, heart beating too fast to count.

Baekjin stepped over him, breath heavy.

“Who’s next?” He shouted, chest rising and falling. “Come on! I’ll take all of you!”

The rest of the field had gone still. Not a single punch thrown. They were all watching now.

Gotak took one step forward, fists already clenched.

But Sieun stopped him.

A single hand on the shoulder. Nothing more.

Gotak looked back, unsure for only a second. Then he let him pass.

Sieun stepped into the open without a word. No words. No expression. Just calm.

You gripped the fabric of your Juntae’s blazer.

He ducked the first swing with barely a flinch, wrapping around Baekjin’s leg like he’d studied every move in advance. Where Baku had gone for the upper body, Sieun went low. You saw the glint of metal in his fist — brass knuckles. He didn’t hesitate. He drove it into Baekjin’s leg, again and again, forcing him to buckle.

Baekjin staggered, but didn’t fall.

The two of them circled each other. This wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t about power anymore. It was about two minds trying to out-think each other while their bodies gave out underneath them. Sieun hit Baekjin again, but he swung back fast, catching Sieun in the shoulder, then the ribs. Hard. You flinched.

You had stepped forward without realizing it.

“Sieun—!”

Juntae grabbed your wrist. “Don’t. Let him handle it.”

Your chest ached with how hard your heart was pounding. Your legs felt heavy, like the ground was pulling at your feet. All you could do was watch, barely blinking, eyes locked on Sieun as he took another blow and staggered back. You wanted to run to him when Baekjin landed another strike that sent him to the ground. Mud streaked across his face as he coughed, trying to breathe through the pain.

Baekjin walked up to him, blood at the corner of his mouth. “What is this?” He asked, voice hoarse. “Is this still part of your little plan, Sieun?”

Sieun turned his head slightly, dirt on his cheek. His voice was soft. “Still within the margin of error.”

And just as Baek-jin turned to look at him again —

Baku got back up.

You almost shouted.

He moved like a shadow out of the fog, face bloodied, jaw bruised, eyes burning. And then…one clean swing.

A punch to the side of Baekjin’s head.

It landed so hard you heard the crack echo across the field, like a branch snapping clean in two.

Baekjin hit the ground.

Then Baku stood over him, breathing hard. His voice was hoarse, quiet, but you heard it.

“I’m sorry.” He said, eyes sad. “But you should be sorry to me too.”

It was over.

The Union had fallen.

Cheers erupted from the Eunjang students behind you, the sound wild and raw.

Baku turned and looked at Sieun, still lying in the dirt. Without a word, he crouched and helped him up.

You and Juntae ran toward them. You couldn’t stay still anymore.

The rain had started again, light this time. Just a steady, cold drizzle, like the storm was finally winding down.

When you reached them, Sieun was on his feet, but just barely. His lip was split, blood at the corner of his mouth, and scratches ran along his cheek and jaw. Dirt clung to his uniform, and bruises were already blooming across his cheek. He still had the brass knuckles gripped tightly in one hand.

He was staring at Baekjin, who was still lying in the mud. Awake, but not moving. His face was streaked with tears, silent and steady, like he didn’t even realize he was crying.

There was no triumph on Sieun’s face. No pride.

Only pity.

And something else.

Like he’d seen this play out before, and already knew how it ended.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

Back at your apartment, the quiet felt heavier than usual. The fight was over, but it hadn’t really left either of you.

Sieun had just come out of the shower, a towel still hanging loose around his shoulders. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and the bruises stood out darker now, stark against his skin. You didn’t say anything. Just patted your bed and waited for him to sit.

He did, slowly, shoulders stiff. You knelt in front of him with the first aid kit, hands working in silence.

His knuckles were torn open, raw from the brass. You cleaned them gently, not looking up as he watched you. The scratches on his cheeks were superficial, but angry-looking. You pressed a cotton pad to each one and taped them without a word.

When you dabbed alcohol onto the cut on his lip, he flinched. AYou didn’t comment. Just moved slower after that. Careful. Steady.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the bandages and the faint drip of water from his hair hitting the floor.

“I know it wasn’t easy.” You said quietly. “But I’m proud of you.”

His eyes flicked up, surprised.

“Not because you won.” You added. “But because you stood up for everyone. You didn’t have to, but you did anyway.”

Sieun looked down again, jaw tight.

You hesitated, then went on. “Baekjin… I don’t think he’s the monster everyone says he is. He looked… lost, honestly.”

His fingers twitched slightly at that, but he didn’t interrupt.

“But that doesn’t excuse what he did.” You said, voice steady. “People go through awful things — I get that. But it doesn’t give them the right to hurt everyone around them because of it.”

Sieun looked at you, quiet. There was no surprise in his eyes…just a tired sort of understanding, like he’d already been thinking the same thing.

“I’m just glad you were the one who stepped up.” You continued. “Because you didn’t fight out of pride. You fought because you cared.”

You didn’t press him for a response. You just kept tending to him in silence, dabbing gently at the cut on his lip, brushing antiseptic over the scrapes along his knuckles.

You handed him a couple of painkillers and a glass of water, and he took them without a word. Then you grabbed the ice pack you’d left on the nightstand and pressed it lightly to the bruise forming beneath his eye.

A few seconds passed like that, his eyes on yours, the cold pack resting between your fingers, and your hand on his face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then, softly, like it was the only thing left to say, he murmured. “I love you.”

You just looked at him for a moment, then smiled.

“I know.” You said. “I love you too.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You woke up to the sound of quiet breathing and the soft weight of an arm around your waist. The room was still, dim with early light. For a while, you just stayed there, letting yourself feel it.

Sieun was asleep next to you, lying close. His body was warm against yours, solid. Familiar. His face still carried the traces of the fight. There were bruises along his cheekbone, a swollen lip, fading red scratches near his jaw, but none of it took away from how pretty he looked.

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him. His grip tightened, just a little, like his body was used to holding onto yours. Carefully, you reached up and pushed a strand of hair away from his face and smiled to yourself.

You’d shared a bed before, more than once, but this time felt different. Being next to him wasn’t just comforting…it made something inside you feel steady. Like you’d been holding your breath without realizing, and now you could finally let it out.

You looked at him again, at the mess of his dark hair falling across his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest. And just for a moment, you let yourself think it…

Waking up next to Sieun might be your favorite thing in the world.

Sieun stirred beside you, a quiet shift of the blanket and a faint scrunch of his brow as he blinked awake. His voice was still rough with sleep when he let out a low, muffled sound.

You laughed, barely, and leaned in to press a light kiss to his cheek, careful not to touch the bruised parts. “Morning.” You whispered.

He didn’t respond right away, just looked at you with half-lidded eyes, like he was still trying to figure out where he was. His body was slow to move, stiff from the fight, but he didn’t flinch when you shifted away.

“I’ll get your meds.” You said quietly, slipping out from under the covers.

In the kitchen, you filled a glass of water and grabbed the painkillers. When you returned, he had sat up slightly, resting against the headboard with one arm draped across his stomach.

“Do you want more ice for your bruises?” You asked.

He took the medication without complaining this time, his fingers brushing yours. Then he shook his head. “I’ll be okay.” His voice was rougher than usual, but steady. You sat down on the edge of the bed and held out the glass of water.

He took the glass, brushing your hand in the process, and swallowed the pills without a word. You watched his throat move, his busted lip stretching slightly as he drank. He winced, but didn’t say anything. He gave the glass back with a small nod of thanks, still drowsy, his body heavy with leftover exhaustion.

Without thinking, your fingers drifted up into his hair, lightly combing through the soft strands. He didn’t speak. He just let out a slow, contented sigh and closed his eyes, his body relaxing more with each pass of your hand. It was subtle, but you could feel it…the way he leaned into your touch like he needed it.

When you paused for just a moment, his eyes cracked open and he let out a quiet, disappointed groan.

You laughed, shaking your head. “That good, huh?”

He smirked faintly, eyes fluttering closed again. “Don’t stop.”

Your hand stayed in his hair, gentle and slow, until you felt the tension completely leave his body.

“You’re staring.” He said softly, voice still rough with sleep.

“Yeah.” You murmured, not bothering to deny it. “You’re pretty. Even like this.”

He gave a tired, crooked smile. “That’s not true.”

You leaned in just a little, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. “It is.”

He didn’t say anything to that, just watched you, the softness in his eyes growing deeper by the second. And when you leaned closer, carefully and slowly, he didn’t pull back.

Your lips pressed the lightest kiss to the uninjured side of his mouth, just a brush of warmth. He let out a small breath, almost like a sigh, and his hand found your hip under the blanket.

Sieun’s fingers curled slightly and he pulled you just a little closer. His eyes were still half-lidded, and the way he looked at you now, steady and drawn in, sent a warmth spreading through your chest.

Then he leaned in again, this time aiming for more than just a soft brush. You felt the shift in him, the way he tilted his head slightly, searching for a deeper kiss.

You stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Sieun.” You said gently, a quiet laugh in your voice. “You’re still healing. Your lip—”

“I’m fine. I swear.” He murmured, voice low, almost a whisper against your skin.

You looked at him for a moment, searching his face for even a flicker of pain. But there was only that same calm certainty he always showed when he meant what he said.

Still careful, you leaned in again, slowly and cautiously, meeting him halfway. And this time, he kissed you fully. A little clumsy, a little careful, but real.

The kiss deepened slowly, breath catching between the pauses. His hand slid up your back, deliberate and warm, before settling at your jaw. When he kissed you again, it wasn’t cautious anymore. It was hungry in a way that made your pulse skip.

You barely noticed the shift in position until you felt the mattress dip and his weight press more firmly against you. Sieun laid you gently onto your back, his hand bracing beside your head. His lips hovered above yours, his breath uneven.

“I want you.” He said, voice low and a little hoarse.

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words settled over you, not heavy, but warm, like something long-awaited and real. You searched his face. His eyes didn’t waver. Even with the cut on his lip, the fading bruises, the exhaustion still clinging to him, he looked at you like you were the only thing he could see.

You nodded slowly. “I want you.” You said, your voice soft, barely above a whisper. Then you added. “I want you too.”

His shoulders eased, his eyes darkened, and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath this entire time. Sieun’s gaze dropped to your mouth, and he kissed you again. Your fingers found his hair. He sighed into the kiss, letting it pull him closer until there was hardly any space between you.

His hand slid under the hem of your shirt, palm warm against your skin. You gasped softly, the sound swallowed by his mouth. The tenderness from earlier melted into something needier, more urgent.

You kissed along his jaw, avoiding the worst of his injuries. He let out a low breath, almost a groan, his hands gripping your waist tighter.

“Tell me if I hurt you.” You whispered.

“You won’t.” He breathed. “I’ll tell you. Just—don’t stop.”

You could hear the slight catch in his breathing every time your fingers moved through his hair. His sighs were low and soft, almost like they slipped out without permission, like the sensation was too much to hold in.

His hand traced along your ribs with reverence, fingertips trembling slightly when he glazed your naked breast. You arched into him as his lips traveled to the corner of your jaw, then lower, grazing your neck with barely-there kisses that made your skin feel too tight, too hot.

His fingers brushed the edge of your shirt again, slower this time, deliberate. He paused, giving you a chance to pull away, but you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your arms in silent permission. Sieun helped you out of it carefully, as if the fabric itself were something delicate. Next came your underwear.

You felt his gaze, but it wasn’t heavy. It was tender. His breath caught, but he didn’t rush. His hands stayed warm and steady, resting lightly on your waist.

“You’re beautiful.” He said, voice barely audible.

In response, your hands reached for the hem of his shirt. He didn’t hesitate, letting you lift it over his head and toss it aside. His skin was warm under your touch, his chest rising and falling just a little faster now. Faint bruises still lingered along his ribs.

Sieun sat back slightly, his gaze holding yours. He didn’t speak, but the question was clear in his eyes. Is this still okay?

You met his look and nodded once, slow and certain. That was all he needed.

Without a word, Sieun shifted just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants. He slid them down and off in one smooth motion, dropping them carelessly to the floor.

He leaned down to kiss you again, slower this time. His mouth moved gently against yours, deepening the kiss as his tongue brushed softly past your lips. Your hand moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He tensed for a moment, caught between surprise and the rush of sensation, but then exhaled, eyes fluttering shut as he melted into your touch. Your fingers wrapped around him, stroking his length as he moaned into your mouth. You pumped him from base to tip, running your thumb over the wet patch at the head of his cock, making him shuttered.

In return, he lowered his hand from your waist, down to your crotch, the motion a little clumsy. You heard him cursed when his fingers came in contact with your heat. He found what made you breathe deeper, what made your fingers tighten, and his hesitation began to fade. Each reaction from you seemed to guide him, steadying his hands and calming his nerves. His finger pressed onto your clit, placing careful pressure before working it in a circle. His movements grew more sure, but never careless. Every shift of his hand, every kiss against your neck... He wasn’t rushing.

He slipped a finger inside and you gasped in his mouth, tightening your grip on him. He started pumping slowly, curling his fingers inside you, your wetness helping him with his movements. A whine flew from your lips as he hit the spongy spot inside you, making your entire body twitch.

“S-Sieun.” You cried when he added another finger and curled it.

Sieun pulled back from the kiss, his lips barely parted, his breath uneven. But he didn’t move far. He hovered just above you, eyes locked on your face.

You could feel the weight of his gaze, the way it traced over every part of you. Your flushed cheeks, the parting of your lips, the soft rise and fall of your chest… He was looking at you with awe. Like he couldn’t believe he was the reason you looked like this.

He tilted his head just a little, the corners of his mouth lifting in the faintest hint of a smile. “You feel good?” He asked, voice low and just a little teasing.

Your lips curved into the barest smile, and you gave a small nod. “Yeah.” you whispered. “I do.”

Sieun’s eyes softened. He exhaled slowly, as though that one word had undone whatever tension he still carried. His hand rose to your face, fingertips brushing your cheek, then tucking your hair behind your ear. “Let me take care of you.” He said as he removed my hand from his boxers, away from his hardened cock.

You started to protest, but when he started pumping his fingers faster, curling them inside at just the right angle, a strangled sound left your throat. Your eyes closed and your body arched in response. You tried to close your legs in reflex, but Sieun held you open for him. Your knees were pressed against his thighs, the strength of them effectively holding them open, restricting any movement.

His fingers fuck in and out of you faster and faster, circling your clit in a matching pace with his thumb. You were soaked at this point, wetness dripping down the side of your thighs.

A slow, pulsing heat built low in your stomach, spreading through you like a wave. Your body felt flushed, every nerve lit with anticipation. From above, Sieun let out a low hum and the sound alone sent a shiver skimming down your spine.

Your fingers curled tight into the sheets, knuckles pale with tension, eyes still closed. “You’re so good to me.” You gasped, your voice airy and trembling. “Thank you… thank you,” You repeated, the words slipping out in broken whispers as the heat built inside you, rushing towards your climax.

A groan slipped from Sieun’s mouth as he quickened his pace, breath catching. The room filled with the slick, rhythmic sounds between you…. wet, breathless, raw — blending with your moans.

Your gaze flicked up to Sieun, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. His brow was faintly furrowed, jaw tight, as if he was carefully holding himself together. He was watching you, reading you. Every breath, every sound you made mattered. Like he didn’t want to miss a single part of you unraveling beneath him. His hand didn’t waver. He moved with quiet confidence now, like instinct had taken over.

His eyes stayed on yours, wide and unblinking, lit with a kind of quiet intensity. That look, those beautiful eyes of his, your favorite thing about him, held so much in them now. Not just focus, not just care, but something deeper. It felt like he was trying to hold you together with just his gaze, even as you were starting to fall apart beneath him.

Chorus of moans left your mouth, and you felt yourself slipping, your body tensing under the growing wave. Sieun’s gaze, locked with yours, full of warmth and something unspoken, held you there as you finally climax.

Your body shook uncontrollably, thighs tensing underneath his as intense pleasure crashed through you. Sieun’s fingers continued to fuck you throughly, only slowing when your hands went up and scratches his shoulder, your whole body twitching in overstimulation.

His name tumbled from your lips just as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His tongue pushed past your lips with a hunger that made your breath catch, the kiss messy and deep, like he couldn’t get close enough fast enough.

The room felt too small for how much heat passed between you. His mouth moved from yours to your neck, your shoulder, then back again, each kiss more urgent than the last.

Sieun backed away to fully removed his underwear. His cock sprang free, pre-cum running down to his base. He pumped himself a few times, spreading the wetness evenly.

“I don’t have a condom.” He said suddenly, eyes wide in realization.

“Don’t need one,” You whispered, breath hitching as your legs pulled him in closer. “I’m on the pill.”

You saw relief flashes in his eyes for a second. Slowly, still giving you time to pull away if you changed your mind, he spread your legs further and let himself rest against your pussy. With one hand, he tapped the tip of his solid cock on your swollen clit before rubbing it up and down your slit, lining up with your entrance. You shuttered at the contact. He presses his lips to your forehead as he slowly pushed inside, easing you into gently.

Your hands found his hair, fingers tightening as the ache of the stretch settled in. It was sharp at first, pulling a soft gasp from your throat. But slowly, steadily, the pain began to dull, warmth overtaking the sting. You were grateful he’d taken his time, that his fingers had eased you open before this. He pressed in deeper, slow and steady, until you felt completely full. There was no space left between you.

Sieun stayed still for a moment, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his breath uneven against your cheek. His arms trembled slightly where they held him up, muscles tense, like he was holding himself back with everything he had. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his brows pulled together. He was fighting the urge to move, afraid of pushing too far, of hurting you.

His eyes met yours, soft and searching.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, his voice low and careful, but so full of feeling it made your chest ache.

You nodded, your fingers brushing against his cheek, grounding him. “I’m okay.” You whispered back. “Please, move.”

He nodded slowly, biting his lower lip. When he moved again, it was careful and tender. His lips found your cheek, then your jaw, then just beneath your ear, leaving soft, lingering kisses in his wake. Each one felt like a quiet promise. You felt his breath stutter, heard the soft sounds slipping from his throat. It was helpless, like he couldn’t hold them back.

You turned your face into his neck, your lips brushing his skin as you breathed out. “You feel so good.”

Sieun let out a broken moan, one hand slipping to your waist to hold you more firmly, more securely, but still with that same gentleness. The love in his touch was undeniable. It wrapped around you just as tightly as his fingers did.

The rhythm between you began to shift. It was still tender, but deeper now, more insistent. Sieun’s breath hitched as he adjusted his grip on your waist, drawing you a little closer beneath him. His movements grew more fluid, not driven by urgency, but by a need to feel you fully. To be closer. To give you everything he could.

You felt it in the way his hips moved, more certain now. In the low, quiet sounds falling from his mouth, soft and aching, almost reverent. His forehead rested against yours for a breath, his eyes fluttering shut as if the feeling overwhelmed him too. He set a steady pace, rolling his hips into you over and over, the feeling of him pumping in and out of you felt euphoric

Your body moved with his naturally, like you were made for this closeness. He kissed you again, messier this time, his lips parting yours with more heat and more need. His left hand cupped one of your breasts in his wide palm, running his thumb over your nipple. Your head was spinning, lost in the pleasure he was giving you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you cried out when he reached deeper, hitting a delicious spot inside of you that made you incredibly wetter.

He whispered your name once, barely audible, like it had slipped out without meaning to. Like it was a prayer he didn’t know he was saying.

When your eyes opened to meet his again, the pace didn’t falter. If anything, it grew more intense. Sieun found both of your hands and pinned them beside your head, his fingers laced with yours. Your bodies moved in sync, fast and slow all at once, dizzying yet steady, grounded in the way he held you like he couldn’t bear to let go. The upward curve of his cock continued to hit that spot inside of you and you felt the tension in your stomach growing incredibly tensed, like it was about to snap.

You hold Sieun’s hand harder. “I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered, lips trembling. He cursed when you squeezed tightly around him. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room, and your gasps turned to full on cries as he pounded into you more eagerly.

You moaned into the shell of his ear as the pressure blew, your whole body tensing before letting go. Sieun fucked you through it, helping you ride the wave of your toe-curling orgasm. He buried his face in your neck as his hips lost their rhythm, messily and urgently pumping into you now. His hips came to an abrupt stop as he released into you, multiple desperate whimpers leaving his mouth. You could feel the twitching of his cock as warmth filled deep inside your belly.

You untangled your hands, sliding one into his hair and the other across his back, pulling him closer as your chests rose and fell with heavy breaths. Both of you were breathless, your skin damp with sweat. His face remained buried in your neck, and your legs hung loosely around his waist. You pressed a tender kiss to the side of his head. “I love you.” You whispered, quiet and shaky.

The words hung between you, delicate but powerful. For a second, Sieun didn’t move, like they were sinking into him, wrapping around whatever was left of his breathless high. Then he slowly lifted his head from your neck. His hair was damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed and his eyes were dazed with afterglow. They looked softer than you’d ever seen them. Full of something open and unguarded. Tender.

He leaned in and kissed you. Slow this time. Not desperate or hungry like before, but sweet. “I love you too.” He said, voice low and rough around the edges, but deep with emotion.

Neither of you moved for a long time after that.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

A few months after….

You walked hand in hand with Sieun, your steps slow and tired after the long day at school. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden light over everything. The weather was perfect, the kind that made you forget all your worries for a little while. Baku, Gotak, and Juntae walked beside you, their laughter echoing through the street as they teased one another. Everything felt easy and happy.

Then Sieun’s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and picked up, answering with a quiet. “Hello?” At first, his expression barely changed, but then something shifted. A flicker of confusion passed through his eyes, then widened into disbelief.

When the call ended, he turned to all of you, his voice unsteady but clear. “He’s awake.”

That was all he said before grabbing your hand and running. The others followed without hesitation.

You arrived at the hospital breathless, your feet skidding to a stop outside in the courtyard. There, sitting in a wheelchair beneath the spring sun, was Suho. He wore a gray sweatshirt over his hospital clothes, pale but alive, his head tilted slightly in the breeze.

You slowly slipped your hand from Sieun’s and gave him the softest nudge forward.

He didn’t rush. He moved like the world had slowed down, like he wasn’t sure if what he saw was real. Suho suddenly turned his head and saw him.

“How’s it going?” He said, as casually as if no time had passed at all.

Sieun froze for a moment, overwhelmed. Suho’s gaze drifted past him to the group gathered behind, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Who are they?”

Sieun turned slightly to glance back at all of you, then looked at you a moment longer.

“My friends.” He said. Then, quieter, more certain. “And my girlfriend.”

Suho’s lips curled into a tired smile, eyes crinkling with quiet joy. He had always wanted one thing for Sieun—to not be alone, to find his own kind of happiness. And now, standing there with all of you behind him, Sieun had found it.

“That’s good to see.” Suho said softly.

Sieun didn’t answer with words.

He just smiled.

THE END

[butchniqabi]

i had a dream a couple weeks ago thats still lingering in my mind. it was likely inspired by the very intense homework assignment we had for my AA studies class that week. in it i am walking down an unfamiliar street in a clearly colonial american port town, i am wearing normal clothes and i get some strange looks when people notice me, but most dont. after walking for some time i come across a slave auction of people who had just recently been kidnapped across the atlantic. its hard to describe the others because i zero in on one woman who i somehow instictively know is my direct ancestor, though i dont know how. i try to walk up to her but im stopped and told that only buyers can get close and i say i am a buyer (which he recognizes as a blatant lie). i start taking off my jewelry in an attempt to bribe him but its useless to him (its not real gold and not enough silver to be useful), so instead i push past him and try to reach her. i get pulled away before i can, screaming at and hitting the men dragging me away from her. i keep calling out to her but i dont know her name so i just keep saying "you" like "ill help you, ill save you". my arm gets yanked hard behind my back and they yell at me and i wake up

i know there are a million and one logical explanations for it, but it felt so real to me so grounded in reality unlike some of my other dreams. in most of my other dreams i can recognize an aspect of strangeness that maybe i didnt notice at the time, but it felt so different. and it didnt help that i slept on my arm weird so it was sore when i woke up. i know this sounds so corny and ridiculous but it is impossible for me to convey over text how viscerally distressing this was to me both in the dream and when i woke up. i genuinely felt that not only had i seen the face of an ancestor but i had failed to protect her how she needed to be protected. i talked about this with a friend of mine and she asked "what would you even do if you could get to her?" and i dont know! anything! everything! i should have fought harder or brought a weapon or wore more expesive jewelry or carried money or something else that would have changed it. but i didnt, and in my subconscious' trip to the past i fail to save her

[nozhdyved]

why do you think you're jesus? - a.d.

contains: wc just under 1k, sad lonely art donaldson, emotional apathy, mentions of religion/shitty religious imagery, nana donaldson mention 🔥🔥, LILY DONALDSON MENTION 🔥🔥🔥, 2019!art donaldson

notes: im so scared to post this but i really had fun writing it so. Dont flop? or if it flops i wont be mad.. i just hope it doesnt suck :(

“Who am I? Jesus?”

It’s the way she laughs when she says it, like it’s impossible for Art to worship her so. Like she doesn’t see how he’d be poised to kill himself if she wanted him to. It’s humorous to her, how Art craves her validation like the sun on his skin, he needs her more than the air he breathes. But to Art, it’s not a joke. This is just his life.

“Yeah.”

He answers truthfully, looking her dead in the eyes. He’s serious, too. To him, Tashi is everything, and he’s paying her back- he’s becoming everything she never got the chance to be. That’s love, right?

“You know you can beat him.”

She says it in that assured manner, as if she’s looked into a crystal ball and seen his future, maybe even manipulated the fabric of the universe to throw the game his way. It’s ridiculous to him, how she already expects these things from him, knowing damn well he’s never beaten Patrick fucking Zweig before. Not before, and definitely not now.

“What if I don’t? How are you gonna look at me if I still can’t beat Patrick Zweig?”

“Just like this.”

Tashi’s gaze is cold and calculating. It always is, but Art can read her well enough to sense the undertones, to see when she’s proud and when she’s upset. But right now, this whole poker-face act is working too well. It’s like staring into the eyes of a statue of Christ. Unnerving, all knowing.

Art’s only been to church once in his life. His nana had asked him along one Sunday morning when his parents were away on a business trip, and gladly, he said yes. But the whole experience felt.. suffocating for him. Like he was being forced into a too-tight, too-itchy sweater that just barely fit him. But the second they had left the church, Art had visibly relaxed, even as Nana asked him how he liked it.

“It.. It was good. Was fine,” he shrugged it off, before changing the subject and pivoting to the latest gossip in Nana’s book club. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t ever step foot in a church again, to feel so restricted under the watchful eye of Him.

It was sort of like that now, except Jesus was a She, and she was looking right through Art, wrapping him tight and warm in the itchy sweater. The love of his life, the woman he married, was snuffing him out like an unwanted flame. And what scares Art the most, is that the thought relieves him.

Art heard when she left. He heard the quiet pings on her phone and the rustling of a jacket. The sounds of the hotel door closing and her steps echoing down the hallway keep repeating in Art’s head as he feigns sleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes. 

The bed is cold beside him, chilly where he needed Tashi’s lap to be, to keep him warm and keep him alive. He’s not stupid, he knows she’s off to see Patrick. Hell, he’s considered going off and meeting up with the bastard, just to have a chat, but Art has a feeling Tashi wants more than just a chat.

He curls up in the bed, not wanting to get up. Like if he kept his eyes closed, Tashi would come back, run her hands through his hair, feeling the smooth metal of the wedding band on his skin as she whispered quiet assurances, promises of love and devotion that the game didn’t matter.

Art opens his eyes.

The room is dark and empty, the sheets beside him rumpled. Tashi’s shoes are gone from where they were by Art’s slippers. There used to be a time when Tashi would make fun of Art for wearing slippers, but now she seemed to have accepted the fact that she settled for a man who wore slippers. He gets out of bed, sighing to himself in the quiet of the night. 

The stillness feels good, like cool air on sweat-soaked skin. It’s easier for him to think to himself, to really hear himself. Of course, none of the thoughts are great. He leaves the master bedroom, following Tashi’s steps. He could see the pauses that she made in his head, a hesitant step after a floorboard creaks and a pause to get her jacket. He can envision her sending a text to Patrick, leaving the hotel room without a second thought. Or maybe he was overthinking. Maybe he was doing the stupid jealous husband thing, not even realizing. Maybe it was just insecurity, and a quick talk could fix it. But he knew that wasn’t the truth.

He heads past the kitchen and living room to Lily’s bedroom, opening the door quietly and peeking in. His daughter is asleep, curled up under the covers while a quiet lullaby plays on the portable radio that Tashi brought along. The second Art takes the slightest step inside, Lily stirs, looking up to meet her father’s eyes.

“Sorry, Lilypad…do you have any space for me?”

There’s a pause before she nods, shifting over in the bed to let Art settle in with a groan, laying atop the covers as he wraps an arm around her, kissing her forehead and murmuring a quiet “Thanks, honey,” as he settles in for the night.

His eyes flutter, and he catches a glimpse of the framed photo on her nightstand, one that she liked to carry everywhere. It was a picture of her and Tashi, taken at her fourth birthday party. Lily was wearing a cowboy hat, and next to her, Tashi wore a bejeweled princess crown, smiling widely at the camera. 

Art reaches across to the nightstand, gently placing the photo face down, before settling into bed, snuggling into Lily.

He hopes Tashi will see it. And he hopes that whatever she does that night, she feels guilty.

[katerinaaqu]

OK to answer to @gingermintpepper yeah for sure but even that can cause some issues given that the original was created for dactylic hexameter and now the transfer is not as smooth and meanings are bound to be lost. What Butler did was to write the whole thing like a Victorian novel. That had less risk than the transfer of the metric system. But OK for sure I can see why this helps the average reader

But yes as I said that doesn't excuse the things she did to the text as I have been saying. I mean I am not the best translator in the world and yet I do try to convey simple language without ruining the text. Like Wilson gave me the impression that not only didn't she care but also that she aimed to do it

But sure as I said if someone just wants to do light reading without expecting much from it sure but yeah the one I would recommend wouldn't be her for sure. As for the last part YES! THAT IS WHAT I MEAN! For one is not true so just on this basis we start off wrong but yeah people just project it as if it is better. As if all the others are to be erased from the map because they were older translations or because they are men...and the most annoying part is that it works...for many people...and that just saddens me as a woman myself for that matter.

To answer to @pastellus as I said above yes Butler preferred the version like a novel which I found even if flawed more successful to convey the spirit of Homer. His translation also didn't show this obsession of Wilson's to pose as "new". In fact in his own introduction he was very thorough to speak on his inspirations and mentors. But as I said above to translate a poem from one metric system to another already forces the text to lose some of its essence which is why I preferred Butler over Wilson's change

There is no word for word translation. In fact that is what I consider wrong. If you try to translate everything word for word then you will find yourself sound ridiculous. I remember writing an example for my Wilson-related ask in regards to her translating literally things that shouldn't imo:

As you see when I translate sophocles "Antigone" word for word it just doesn't make sense. One of the hard jobs of translation is to convey the most accurate possible text while flexing it to make sense to the audience you translate it for. For example the phrase in English "it rains cats and dogs" if I translate it word for word in Greek sounds ridiculous. I will have to translate it to the phrase we use in Greek which directly translates at "it rains chair's legs". Translating word for word is impossible. But translating as accurately as possible while sticking to the text AND flexing it according to idioms at a time is the real deal of translation to begin with.

Of course inevitably things get lost at translating process. But that means we as we translate we need to be careful and stepping properly on the text. Which is why I chose to translate let's say in my Antinous lines post the word υψαγόρης which literally means "the one who talks high" (which makes no sense) to the phrase more familiar, I believe, to English "high-and-mighty"

That is because in the specific passage Antinous is ironic towards Telemachus that he acts on his high horse with them so I found the term more fitting. Of course others like "boaster" or "proud" are also great suggestions as other translators did.

So yes I agree unfortunately if someone just reads Wilson's translation they might get some impression that is not necessarily right given the way a great portion of the text was unnecessarily changed and twisted. And yes as you brilliantly stated there are so many amazing women translators AND there is one that I know for sure on Homer so the whole thing with Wilson projecting herself so as our previous friend stated is just annoying the very least and disrespectful to other colleagues at worst.

And to answer to both of you; let's just summarize that both Miller and Wilson pat each other's backs since the whole thing began. There isn't much to be said. As I said I am not fond of Miller's work even if I recognize her talent in expression the same as I appreciate the sentiment to make Homer accessible in Wilson but I downright disagree with her method to twist much of the text. I believe it melts down to preference too but I think you guys have made some brilliant points I am not sure I can add more to this at this point.

So, I’ve seen a good amount of hate for Emily Wilson and Madeline Miller? I’m kinda confused as to why.

Keep in mind I haven’t actually read Wilson’s stuff, but I did read one of Miller’s books (Song of Achilles) and really liked it. Can someone please explain this?

[galindaarduennaa]

Galinda nervously made her way out of the cafeteria with Fiyero. He had taken her hand and seemed to be thinking about something as they walked. They walked for a couple of minutes before he turned and looked at her. “Galinda, I think we need to spend more time together. I hardly ever see you on our own. Dinner yesterday was the first time we had been alone together in some time. Will you at least go into town with me one day this weekend? Or could we have dinner together regularly? By ourselves,” he stressed, not leaving any room for her to suggest bringing Elphie.

She felt herself start to panic. This wasn’t a good sign; clearly he wasn’t happy with the relationship. “Elphie and I have plans most days. Saturday we’re going to study, and on Sunday I’m going to help her with her hair. I’ve heard it’s quite an extensive process, so I can’t just leave her alone. We like to do our homework together and have dinner together and talk about the day. Why can’t we all spend time together?” As the last words left her mouth, she could hear how ridiculous they sounded. What did she think, they could get married and just bring Elphie with them everywhere? Actually, that’s exactly what she did think, but she knew that would not make the situation any better.

Fiyero looked at her, his face changing from stunned to angry. “Galinda, I don’t understand. Why don’t you want to spend time together? You seem to want to spend all of your time with your roommate. You even hold hands with her, I saw it at the cafeteria.” At that statement, he let go of her hand, looking hurt. “Are you dating Elphie? Because that’s the only explanation I can think of that would explain all of this.”

“What? No, of course not dearest! I’m dating you! Elphie and I are just friends.” Fiyero was a prince, exactly who Galinda was expected to marry. Not only that, she and Elphie were both girls. How could they make that work?

Fiyero began walking again, and Galinda realized they were heading back to her dormitory. She struggled to keep up with his speed, and wondering if he was walking this quickly on purpose. After a couple more minutes, they reached the dormitory. He stopped and turned to look at her. “Galinda. I don’t know what is going on with you and your roommate. But I do know that something seems off between you and I. I think we need to take a couple of days to think about things. I want you to really think if you want to be in a relationship with me, because I want to spend time with any girlfriend I have. And any girlfriend I have should want to spend time with me too. I’m going to give you a few days, and then hopefully we can talk about what we want to do moving forward.” He didn’t move to hug her or kiss her goodnight, he just looked down at her with a sad look on his face. “Goodnight, Galinda,” he said, before turning and walking away.

Galinda felt relief mixed with sadness and panic. What was happening? Who felt relief when a prince reacted this way to them? Quickly, she turned and began running up the stairs and to the dorm room. She burst into the door and quickly closed it behind her, seeing Elphie sitting and reading. At the site of her friend, she felt so many conflicting emotions that she promptly burst into tears.

Third Wheel

Galinda was exhausted as she walked out of her math class. She was grateful that Elphie had encouraged her to finish her homework the night before, otherwise she doubted she would have been able to finish it on time for class. She woken up a few times the night before worrying about her magic training and all of the feelings she had been having recently. She still didn’t have any more clarity on her situation or what she should do about everything. She was just grateful her classes were done for the day, and she planned to meet Elphie for dinner. She had stayed a couple of minutes extra at the end of class to ask her professor a question, and she hoped that Elphie wouldn’t think she wasn’t coming to meet her. She was making her way across the courtyard when she heard a voice call her name. How had he found her again?

Galinda turned and smiled at Fiyero. “Dearest, hello! I didn’t expect to see you!” This was putting her behind in meeting Elphie. She didn’t feel she could keep walking, but she also didn’t want to be any later to meet her friend.

“I knew your math class ended around now. I’d like us to have dinner again. We need to spend more time together.” He reached down and took one of her hands, smiling at her.

“Oh, but I had plans to meet Elphie for dinner tonight,” she said, unsure of what to do. How did he know her class schedule this well?

“Galinda, I would really like to have dinner with you. Don’t you want to have dinner with me?” She felt trapped as he looked at her. How could she tell him no? He was her boyfriend, of course he wanted to have dinner with her. She nodded, feeling defeated, and the two began walking toward the cafeteria. As they got closer to the cafeteria, she saw a familiar flash of black and green walking by.

“Elphie!” she called, tugging on Fiyero’s hand. “Elphie! I still want to have dinner! Please join us!” She could feel Fiyero stiffen next to her and realized he was likely disappointed, but all she wanted was to spend more time with her friend.

[feelyourno1z]

you'll forever be a cringey immature straight girl no matter if you call yourself a he or a xim or a identify as a table leg, no matter how many bone-eroding cross-sex hormones you take or whether you amputate or boobs or not. biologicallly you will always be a female heterosexual since that's what you were born as. neuroscience proves that heteros aka opposite-sex attracted people have distinct brain phenotypes from gay people, regardless of if they identify as trans or not. heterosexual aka male-attracted 'transmen' have the same brain chemistry as any normie het woman, proving both that sexuality is only determined by sex and that transness isn't innate the way homosexuality is. you can larp as whatever, call neuroscience and basic knowledge on sexuality 'stinky doo doo opinions' like a petulant child who just realized santa isn't real. the only thing you're doing is embarrassing yourselves in front of anyone with the slightest cerebral functionality because you're mad we're calling out your gay-fetishizing homophobic anti-scientific bs for what it is unlike the tras who pretend to see you as 'gay' 'men' because they feel sorry for your mentally ill ass and your internalized misogyny. sure you het women will never be in an equal relationship with a male because straight men see you as throwaway sex toys and free domestic servants but this isn't an excuse for you to fetishize gay men and pretend to be them, certainly not an excuse to expect them to go along with the charade and put up with you het weirdos preying on them. het males aren't dumb when it comes to manipulating women for easy p*ssy which is why they're already on grindr with your het ass, pretending to be QWeEr and non-binary to get that mentally ill gullible cooch. no actual gay male will look at you and have any other emotion aside from anger and pitiful laughter. even if you 'pass' completely, they'll be disgusted after learning you have female genitalia and lose any attraction they may have had because het sex is abnormal and undesirable to gay people, not falling for and not wanting to fuck the opposite sex is the literal essence of our sexuality which you are diametrically opposed to. you'll just rub your nub away to yaoi like any other fujo who is either an ugly woman or understandably disillusioned with men but the only outcome is that you'll be a bitter p0rn sick lonely coomer just like those crusty basement-dwelling straight men who can't get laid. the worst part is that nearly any het woman like you can get laid, that's no achievement, het men will even pretend to be bi or gay to use you as a fleshlight but no gay male will ever want your musty homophobic vag, they want none at all and deep down you know it. that you'll never be loved and wanted by a gay man, that you'll never be seen as gay or male by anyone. you'll never know the ultimate compatibility and sublime equality that only exists in same-sex love. and now that you've ruined your straight woman privilege, only the most abusive and weird straight men will go after you, whose only purpose is to take advantage of you. what a sad existence, foaming at the mouth at gay people for standing up for ourselves when you fake progressive breeders try to brainwash your fellow homophobes into your heteronormative bioessentialist homophobia, insisting gay people could be bisexually attracted as long as you wear 'boy clothes' and cut your hair off. congrats on alienating the very people you pretend to be, most of us were 'trans allies' just a few years ago before you went full crackhead and started pretending sexuality is based on a made-up gender not biological sex. enjoy withering away in your early menopause knowing no gay person will ever love or desire you, knowing you'll never be us and should be grateful since you couldn’t stand a day of real oppression. choke on as much d*ck as you'd like, it only proves what a wanton female hetero you are and that straight males would stick their d*ck in anyone female

Bro, do you need a hug?

[stateofcharles]

disgusting. fucking disgusting.

source

[poppyseed799]

I think one of the weirdest signs that I was trans was that I was fine with being called a woman but NOT a cis woman. I felt awful cuz I was like “do I have a problem with people calling me cis even tho I am???” cuz I am NOT someone who minds being called accurate descriptors such as cis. I felt like I just wanted to be special or something even tho that wasn’t it and felt so bad. Something just felt really wrong about being called a CIS woman. Definitely one of the more thought provoking signs I was trans lol

[nerdie-faerie]

Having a big family is too expensive. Where am I supposed to find the money for my brother's 20th, my cousin's 21st and graduation, my twin cousins turning 23, my other cousin turning 26 and having a baby all this month!! 😭