#but the problem is because the note I’m hitting is all air I have nothing of substance to project

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Why does “Dark Woods Circus” have to be so hard to sing

[hannie-dul-set]

THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF.

p — CHOI BEOMGYU x gn! reader. g — humor, fluff. w — swearing, beomgyu is embarrassing but that's nothing new with my recent works. 1.6k words.

note — inspired by this post. i'm supposed to be studying rn.

everyone in your department knows that choi beomgyu is not to be trusted.

no, it’s not like he scams people with overpriced products on the university buy and sell forum. he doesn’t give you wrong answers during tests to fuck you over. he isn’t seeing multiple people at once behind their backs like a shitty fuckboy, either.

but when choi beomgyu tells you that there’s a buy one take one promo at the coffee shop near campus, you should probably think twice before rallying your friends over because of your shared coffee addiction. it’s the reason why hueningkai showed up to a department party last month wearing a penguin costume when the theme was business-casual. it’s the reason why choi yeonjun sends a string of curses to the group chat bi-weekly because he’s told that there’s a quiz today, only to arrive at an empty classroom.

it’s all harmless. it’s all fun and games and for a good laugh— but nevertheless, everyone knows to think twice before listening to the honeyed words that fall from choi beomgyu’s mouth. the problem is, the bastard is charismatic and he knows it. “he’s weaponizing his pretty face like a motherfucking gun,” you mentioned to soobin one time. so even if people are ware that he’s slimy little bitch that likes to fuck around a lot, they still listen to what he says. even when in doubt.

well, they’re all fucking stupid.

“hey, let’s compare hand sizes!”

and you refuse to be branded as a gullible idiot, too.

“what?”

the sandwich you’re having for lunch suddenly feels dry on your tongue. “gimme your hand,” he insists, and you narrow your eyes at him. what...what the fuck is this bastard trying to do? “i wanna know whose is bigger.”

now, that’s a familiar line. it almost made your heart flutter when he’s batting his eyes at you so expectantly with that pretty face of his from across the cafeteria table, the fingers of his right palm outstretched and ready to catch yours upon your consent.

almost. but there’s no way in hell you’re humoring his dumb ass.

“sure,” you respond. and, after wiping your lips with a napkin, offer out your open palm for him in the air.

his face brightens— a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

beomgyu reaches out for your hand. before he can press his palms against yours, you quickly fold it into a middle finger.

it’s almost funny how his expression quickly tumbles into despair.

“eat shit, motherfucker.”

you clean up your tray and leave your dumbfounded friend behind. you have no idea what his intentions with that was, but you aren’t risking making a fool out of yourself at the suggestion that beomgyu might be trying to (pathetically) hit on you. he’s probably just concocting some more mischief— especially since you’re one of the people he has yet to victimize with his dumb jokes.

so you’re not surprised when he makes another attempt. but what you don’t understand is why he keeps trying to hold your hand.

“booooring. this class is so boring.”

he’s sitting next to you inside the lecture hall. so far, not that out of the ordinary. you do your best to catch up with your professor’s discussion, but from the corner of your eyes you see beomgyu finally giving up and melting his head into the desk, burying his face into his arms. “this sucks,” he muffles, before craning his head and you can feel him staring at you from below. “aren’t you bored?”

“i’m trying to pay attention, beomgyu.”

“pay attention to me,” he whines. “i’m bored. let me scribble on your hand to pass—”

“please shut the fuck up.”

at some point, it’s starting to confuse you more than annoy you. all signs lead to a boy simply trying to get the attention of his crush, but this is choi beomgyu you’re talking about. you just can’t trust him. not even when he always tries to follow you around in the hallways. not even when he drops a warm latte at your desk every 7AM class.

“i know how to do palm reading. do you wanna—”

“i’m not superstitious,” you immediately put up your shield to his spear. “thanks for the coffee.”

you really don’t understand him.

“there was a hit and run incident yesterday. you should hold onto me just to be—”

“red light. let’s go.”

you seriously don’t fucking get him.

“aaaah! i’m falling! grab my hand, i’m falling to my death!”

what the hell is he trying to do?!

“beomgyu, it’s a four-foot deep pool,” you deadpan, face flushed and it’s definitely not just from the heat of the sun. he perishes into the water with a splash. my god, what’s going on with him? you shake your head, trying to ward off an incoming headache. 

really. if this wasn’t beomgyu doing this shit, you’d be a hundred-percent convinced that he’s trying to make a move on you. that he likes you and is trying his stupidest to catch your attention. but it is beomgyu, and everyone knows he can’t be trusted unless you want to be laughed at. being this week’s joke isn’t on your bucket list. so no matter how many more attempts he’s going to make, you will be impenetrable. you will not be fooled.

“hey.”

that is until he shows up all serious in front of your classroom the next week. 

students are pouring out from the door, and you’re a heavy obstacle from their rush to go home because for some reason, choi beomgyu is there— also obstructing the traffic flow in the hallway. 

“what is it now?” you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at the worryingly large bouquet he has in his arms. “are your hands cold? do you want me to hold them to keep you warm?”

“that would be nice,” he replies. you seriously want to hit him. “but, no. that’s not what i’m here for. i decided that it might be best to stop asking for your hand because you might actually punch me this time.” this is a public area, you’d like to remind him. and that dangerously constructed statement of his is eliciting murmurs from the passersby surrounding you. you feel your face flush. 

“if you phrase it like that, people are going to get the wrong idea.”

“let them misunderstand, i don’t really care,” he shrugs. “what i care about is clearing up the misunderstanding between you and me. i don’t think we’ve been on the same page for the past few weeks.”

you furrow your brows. “what are you getting at?”

“taehyun told me that you think i’ve just been fucking around with you,” he says. “and i have to admit that i definitely have nothing to blame but myself and my reputation. but i want to tell you that i have been seriously, seriously serious about you.”

“sure,” you snort. “i definitely trust you, beomgyu.”

he frowns. “dammit, taehyun was right. you really don’t trust me.”

what did he expect? for the past year and a half that you’ve known him, he’s been nothing but unserious and troublesome. beomgyu brings mischief wherever he goes and you don’t want to make a misstep and be caught in that shitstorm— not even when your heart is racing a little too fast for comfort at the moment. not even when those flowers actually look really pretty.

“but i expected this. i’ve come prepared,” beomgyu tells you. what is it this time? you exhale. had he been normal, you might’ve trusted him at his first attempt to shoot his shot with you. “i’ve come to the conclusion that in order to get your trust, i need to stop messing around with everyone. and that begins with being completely, absolutely, unapologetically honest.”

again, this is a public area. people are staring and you’re starting to get a bad feeling.

“i’m in love with you.”

holy shit.

“i’ve been in love with you ever since taehyun introduced us to each other, i think.”

there’s fire somewhere. 

“that was over a year ago!”

that somewhere is your face.

“yeah, and?” he raises a brow. “that means i’ve liked you for over a year. i can do the math. i’m not stupid.” you want to throw yourself into a ditch and die.

“beomgyu, tell me you’re kidding.” not even your hands can fan out the inferno overtaking your face right now. somehow, there’s a lot more people around you than you remember, and while you’re suffering from a sudden onslaught of unprovoked feelings, beomgyu looks relatively unfazed. “you can’t be serious. if you’ve liked me for that long, then why haven’t you done anything until recently?!”

“funny story,” he starts. there is nothing funny about this at all. “i didn’t think i had a chance until soobin hyung told me you thought i was pretty the other week.”

soobin, that fucking rat. 

the context wasn’t even a positive one! you said he was using his pretty face for evil!

“i—” 

like what he’s doing now.

the words get stuck in your throat when you notice that beomgyu actually looks earnest. he’s not smiling or laughing— but patiently waiting for you to say something in response. your mouth is dry. your ribcage is shaking. it doesn’t fucking help that there’s three dozen people watching the scene unfold. couldn’t he have chosen a more appropriate place to pour his fucking heart out?

“you know what, let’s go.”

it’s an act of impulse. you quickly grab him by the hand and lead him away from the crowded hallway with hurried steps. “damn,” he says, trailing from behind you. “i didn’t have to try and convince you this time.”

what’s ironic is that this is the most honest you’ve ever felt of him. his palms are clammy and slipping through your fingers. he’s making jokes, but his desperate squeeze is telling you more than what he’s actually saying. “everyone knows to think twice before listening to me. but everyone also now knows that i’m pretty much in love with you, so that’s a win for me.”

THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[bingwriterxo]

meddling mia

pairing: vada cavell x reader

summary: in which your sister meddles in something that doesn't involve her...except it kind of does

warnings: talks of drugs, drinking

word count: 2200+

author's note: this is a jumble of words, vada being cute, + mia being baby girl, basically.

It was Saturday, your fathers weren’t home, and you were more than ready to spend the better part of the afternoon tucked away in your bed.

And then you remembered:

It was Saturday, your fathers weren’t home, and the wine cabinet was unlocked with anything inside as yours for the taking.

You slipped out of your bed and grabbed a random sweatshirt from the floor of your room before shuffling out to the kitchen. It was empty, silent, and all-around perfect for a day of doing absolutely nothing except sipping at your dad’s most expensive chardonnay.

Halfway to the cabinet, something in the backyard caught your eye, and you peeked through the sliding glass door. On the lounge chairs outside sat your sister, Mia, and Vada Cavell, a cute brunette from your class, smoking.

You watched for a moment and then shrugged, turning around to go back to what you were doing before stopping in your tracks.

Vada?!

Wait…smoking?!

You whipped the door open, cringing as you heard it bang against the house, and yelled, “Mia!” She froze, stone still, and Vada’s eyes widened as she looked at you. You tried to ignore the stammering of your heart at the sight of her--she looked like a deer in headlights, but in a cute, sort-of awkward way.

“Uh, yeah?” Mia asked.

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Is that my shit?”

“No!” your sister claimed.

“Is it Vada’s?” You nodded your head at the girl, offering her a short, “Sup, Vada?” Sup, Vada? you thought. You’re not cool enough for that.

“Hey!” Vada squeaked. You smiled softly at her strange response and watched as Mia glanced at Vada, eyebrows furrowed, before turning back to you.

Mia scoffed. “No, it’s not Vada’s!”

You crossed your arms over your chest and stepped outside, the heat from the patio warming your feet. “Well, if it’s not mine, and it’s not Vada’s, then…” You thought for a moment. “Dude, who the fuck did you buy weed from?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I know every dealer in the damn county, Mia, and I know who sells good shit and who sells bad shit.”

She raised her hands in the air. “Well, sorry I’m not a damn drug expert like you, Y/N,” she said mockingly. “Not my problem you’re a druggie.”

You clenched your jaw. “Hey, I was just trying to look out for you! But, you know what, if you don’t want my help, then enjoy your laced weed!” you huffed.

“Fine, whatever!”

“Fine!” You turned around and went back in the house, slamming the door shut behind you.

* * *

“I love her, but I can’t stand her,” Mia grumbled.

Vada was only half-listening as she watched you slam the door shut. She kept her eyes on your figure through the glass door, staring until you were out of sight.

Hey? she thought. Why the fuck did I squeak?

“So,” Mia said as she turned to her, “what the hell was that?”

Vada blinked, stirring from her thoughts as she looked at Mia. “What’re you talking about?” she asked, leaning forward. Mia pulled back, keeping her hand out of reach and away from Vada’s grabby-fingers.

“You got all weird when my sister said ‘hi’ to you.” The blonde furrowed her eyebrows, bringing the joint to her lips and inhaling. She blew out a puff of smoke and her eyes widened. “Are you--Do you have a thing for my sister?”

Vada froze. “W--what? No! Of course not! I don’t--I don’t even know your sister like that.”

Mia hummed, taking another hit. “Well,” she began as she exhaled, “you don’t have to know her to find her attractive. You know, like a class crush or something.”

“I don’t find your sister hot, Mia,” Vada huffed, reaching for the joint. Mia surrendered it to her. “That’d be weird.”

“So you think she’s ugly?”

“That’s not what I said!” Vada rushed out, choking on the hit she was taking. She coughed, her lungs heaving for air and the back of her throat burning. “Water, please,” she groaned.

Mia handed it over and took the joint back as she said, “Well, Y/N told me you guys have trig together.”

Vada nearly spit the water all over the blonde. “She talks about me?”

“HA!” Mia barked out. “Got you!”

“What?”

“Vada, you were the one that told me you and Y/N have trig together.” Mia rolled her eyes but then lit up. “But, the fact that you got so excited at the idea of her talking about you tells me everything I need to know.”

Vada ran her hands over her face, groaning. “Shut up.” She took another sip of water. “Okay, maybe I do find your sister a little hot.”

Mia grinned victoriously and giggled. “Attractiveness just runs in the blood,” she said, dramatically tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Vada rolled her eyes. “You guys are both adopted. Don’t think there’s any blood there.”

Mia huffed. “Yeah, whatever.”

They were thrown into silence--comfortable on Mia’s end; awkward on Vada’s--until Mia broke it.

“Wait, are you only friends with me to get with my sister?”

“Mia!”

“Kidding, kidding.”

* * *

It was Saturday again, and you were in the exact same situation as the week before: no parents, free wine, empty house.

Or, so you thought.

When you shuffled out of bed, instead of finding no one, you found Vada sitting at your kitchen counter, eyes trained on her phone. You froze at the sight, gulping as you watched her. Her freckles were prominent against her tan skin, her dark hair was thrown into a messy bun, and her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth--could she be any prettier?

“Hey,” you said, voice a little rough from having just rolled out of bed.

Vada looked up at you, dropping her phone onto the counter with a resounding smack!, and her mouth fell open slightly. You could literally hear her breath quicken, and you chuckled, scratching at the back of your neck as you traveled farther into the room.

“So, you broke into our house, Cavell?” you teased as you reached into the wine cabinet and grabbed a random bottle. You glanced at the brunette as you dug around in a drawer for the corkscrew and smiled internally as she struggled for a response.

“No!” she squeaked. She cleared her throat. “Mia, uh, told me to come over and wait for her until she got out of dance practice. When she said that, I thought she’d only be, like, ten minutes, but I’ve been here for almost half an hour, and Mia said she still has another fifteen minutes to go.” She glanced at the time on the microwave. “Plus, you know, travel time from the dance studio, and then she’ll have to shower, and--”

You chuckled, interrupting her rambling. “You always talk this much so early in the morning?” you asked.

Vada furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the time again. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

You glanced at the time. “Oh, so it is.” You shrugged, finally finding the corkscrew and shoving it into the cork. You worked at it for a minute until the cork sprang free and you were left with an open bottle of wine. You turned to Vada. “Well, since you’ve got so much time on your hands, you wanna help me with this?” You waved the wine bottle around, hoping she’d say yes.

“N--no. That’s okay,” Vada said.

You hummed, slightly disappointed. “Suit yourself.” You took a sip of the wine, eyes still trained on Vada, and scrunched your nose up at the taste. The brunette blushed, and you held back a giggle. “S’not that great,” you told her. “So, you made the right choice.”

“Well, I--I know my wine,” she said awkwardly, chuckling dryly.

You nodded your head, raising your eyebrows. “Right…” You turned to go back to your room, holding the bottle by the neck loosely in your fingers. “By the way,” you called over your shoulder, “Mia’s dance practices don’t end until two on Saturdays.”

* * *

When Mia tumbled through the front door, a mischievous grin on her lips and suspicion in her eyes, Vada knew exactly what she had done.

“So…have any fun conversations while you waited for me?” Mia asked, dropping her bag on a chair.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Vada said, frowning.

Mia shrugged. “Just trying to help a girl out, V.” She leaned against the counter, facing Vada, her head in her hands. “Anyway, did you two talk or what?”

Vada sighed, contemplating for a moment saying ‘No, your dumb little plan didn’t work, stupid,’ but decided against it as Mia stared at her. “Yeah, a little.”

“And?”

“And I fucking rambled like an idiot, Mia,” Vada groaned. “She must think I’m stupid or something, or like I literally can’t keep my mouth shut. I mean, I wasn’t even saying anything useful! And I squeaked again!”

“Well, one: you always ramble. And, two: you’ve gotta get that squeaking situation under control.”

Vada threw her head back. “Tell me about it.” She threw her hands up. “She asked me to drink with her and I said no. Who the fuck says no to drinking wine with the girl they’re into?” She glanced at Mia down the slope of her nose. “Not smart people, that’s who!”

Mia chuckled. “Why’d you say no? That was the whole point of this, you know.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured.” Vada sat up. “I don’t know. I got nervous.”

“You don’t have to be nervous. It’s just Y/N.”

“She’s ‘just Y/N’ to you, Mia. You’re not into her!”

“Well obviously not.” Mia shivered at the thought. “She’s my sister.”

Vada huffed and placed her head onto the counter, the granite cold against her forehead. “What am I supposed to do?” she muttered.

“Come on,” Mia said. She reached out for Vada and pulled her off the chair, tugging her toward the backside of the house. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

“Where are we going?”

Mia didn’t answer. Instead, she stopped in front of a door that Vada had never been through, knocked on it once, pushed it open, and then shoved Vada inside, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

You glanced up at the sound of your door slamming shut, eyes widening and heart hammering at the sight of Vada frozen in your bedroom. You placed the wine bottle on your nightstand and shut your phone off, throwing it further down the bed.

“Hi?” you said.

“Uh…” Vada clenched her hands into fists.

“Just talk!” Mia yelled from the other side of the door.

“What’s that all about?” you asked.

“Nothing!” Vada rushed out.

“O…kay…” You furrowed your eyebrows, sitting up a bit so that your back was against your pillows. “Do you want to sit or are you just going to stand there?”

Vada pointed at your bed. “You mean, on there? With you?”

She’s cute when she’s flustered, you thought. “Yeah.” You patted the spot next to you. “Right here, if you want.”

Vada gulped. “Okay.”

She awkwardly clambered onto your bed until the two of you were sitting shoulder to shoulder, neither one of you looking at the other. You drummed your fingers against your legs, and she was working on trying to get her breathing steady again.

“So,” you said, finally interrupting the silence. “What’s up with you and Mia? Are you guys, like, dating or something?” Please say no. Please say no.

Vada whipped her head to look at you. “No! No, definitely not!” She inhaled sharply. “Mia and I are just friends. I don’t even think--I don’t know if she’s into girls.

Oh, thank god! However, another question nagged at you. “But do you want her to be?”

“To be what?”

“Into girls?” You looked at Vada. “Like, are you into her? I could try to get the inside scoop if you are, but then again, I don’t think I’d be able to tell you because I wouldn’t want to out my sister.”

Vada shook her head. “No. Definitely not into Mia.”

You relaxed, pressing yourself back into your pillows. “Oh, okay. That’s good.”

“Why is that good?”

You shrugged, a sudden rush of boldness surging through you. “I mean, it would kind of suck if the girl I was into was into my sister, don’t you think?”

Vada’s mouth dropped open, wide, and you laughed softly. You could practically see the gears turning in her head as she took in your words, and then, before you could say anything else, she pounced on you, pressing her lips to yours.

You were the one squeaking this time, surprised by the sudden kiss but not against it in any way. You kissed back quickly, eagerly, hands flying to her cheeks. Wait, this isn’t right, you thought. You pulled away.

Vada’s eyes fluttered open quickly, apologies tumbling from her lips. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t even thinking, and I should’ve asked first, or maybe I shouldn’t have even thought about doing that at all, and oh my god, I am so sorry. I--”

“Woah,” you breathed out. “Slow down.” You ran your thumb over her skin. “I didn’t stop because I didn’t like it. I stopped because this isn’t the right way to do things.”

Vada furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’d like to take you out before we jump to making out in my bed, if that’s okay.”

“Oh!” Vada grinned. “Yeah. That’s okay. Well, that’s more than okay, really.”

You were about to speak again when you heard your sister through the door.

“So, did you guys talk?”

[vodkababy]

cherry margaritas & confessions ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🍒✮

tom kaulitz x vocalist! fem! reader

angst. very very angsty rich teenagers in the midst of summer with margaritas & tequilas IM SORRY ITS KINDA EHHH

age pairing : 16-17

warnings🍧 ; smoking, mentions of sex, sexual innuendos

note: bold italic = german

it was the summer of 2006, of course after all that touring, tokio hotel had to take a break for a while. that’s how we wounded up in this beach house that we had rented for 2 weeks.

it was around 9 pm as i went in the pool, the scent of marijuana lingered on my nose, beside me was tom who swam from the other side of the water.

tom and i were truly friends, nothing more. friends who kiss. friends who sleep with each other. friends who don’t look at each other like how friends do.

it was more of a friends with benefits relationship. he always had some groupie over, everytime after a concert he’d take some pretty blonde girl into the tour bus and i’d hear them have sex from the other room.

it hurt me, but at the same time it didn’t. know why? i didn’t want to have a relationship. we got drunk and had sex with each other, leading us to only fuck when we want to. now, it’s awkward. i was surprised he didn’t bother to bring a girl here, recently he had been so— distant.

“wanna smoke?” he chirped. “sure.” you took a hit on his joint and puffed the air away

“you seem so lonely lately. why all of a sudden?” he asked with a tinge of concern in his eyes. did he really care about how you felt just now?

“it’s just that something has been bothering me, a lot.” you answer coldly.

“you can talk to me about it.”

you really had no time for his bullshit.

“i don’t feel like you need to know.” you say, gulping your cherry margarita.

“oh. so now, when i’m trying to talk to you, you’ll act distant?”

“what is your problem with me tom? first thing, you’ll say you love me, then the next day you bring some whore who doesn’t even know you as a person over and fuck her like i’m not there? god tom!” you scream at him, your eyes tearing up, clearly drunk. you had taken a couple 5-6 margaritas earlier leading you to this state.

“so this is what it’s about, huh? me fucking some other girl who isn’t you? y/n, you’re so jealous it’s funny. you’re clearly drunk. do me a favor and try to think of what you just said.”

“what do you mean?”

“i told you i loved you. what did you say that day?”

flashbacks of you and tom kissing fuzzed your brain, not wrapping your finger around what you had told him after he confessed. your lap was on tom’s as both of your lips moved with passion in your bedroom.

“y/n.”

“mmh?”

“i love you.”

“t-tom.. tom, i don’t know.”

“what do you mean you don’t know?” he said catching his breath, exchanging kisses with one another.

“i just don’t want to get in a relationship.” and that’s how his heart tore that night.

your thoughts were snapped back into reality as soon as you started to cry. you didn’t want to cry, but you felt weak. why didn’t you tell him you loved him too? was it because of the girls? was it because he seemed like someone who’d be good with a one-time thing and act like nothing ever happened? the ideas swarmed your mind and took over.

“tom, i’m sorry. i love you” you said, feeling your salty tears reach your lips.

“i loved you. loved. get that y/n? it’s been done. i don’t want to talk about this anymore, good night.” he said, getting off the pool, wrapping a robe around him and walking to his room.

you bawled your eyes out, your cherry margarita getting hit by your arm and it’s glass crashing on the ground, thinking about what you have just done. you just threw out the love of your dreams. you were just too oblivious about him actually having feelings for you.

[minkkumaz]

I'M JUST YOUR PROBLEM

after blowing you off, you never thought that things between you and kyungmin would be the same. and it didn't, he was your enemy. when finally getting the chance to confront him about all the shit he's done, why does it make you want want to try making up with him?

DISTANT LANDS AND OTHER ADVENTURES series

PAIRING cho kyungmin x fem!reader WC 2.6k TAGS enemies to lovers trope. forced proximity trope. school au. angst/fluff. cussing. kissing. making up. bsf minho. like one kys joke. OMI NOTE marceline songs hit like ten times different so writing this literally had me pumped. i've never done forced proximity before but it's extremely fitting.

cho kyungmin was quite literally the spawn of satan, your sworn enemy til the day you’d die. the face that you fell for ended up being the face that also left you stranded like an idiot. when you couldn’t cry anymore and your eyes felt puffy and numb, you turned to hate.

classes the following week became even more difficult to believe, as you felt small in comparison to his lingering presence. there was a possibility that maybe he forgot about the first date he planned, things happen and that was something you were okay with.

but you weren’t expecting him to act like nothing happened, act like he didn’t spend countless nights laughing over the phone like he was yours. you felt like a mere ghost, parading through his life like a fucking play toy. because from your perspective, you were just his problem.

“i’m going to bury you in the ground, kyungmin.” you sobbed, anger seething through your teeth.

the expression on his face was blank, though you almost swore he let down his guard for a second seeing you hold back hot tears. but you didn’t want pity, you wanted closure. a reason why the idea of your existence dropped from his earth.

no understanding, no communication, not a single dust particle of love behind his dark eyes. that day marked a countdown of hating him and everything that involved him. an ill circumstance that landed him in the most broken spots of your heart.

he understood your feelings in a way that he felt the need to reflect them. so what was once a one - sided hatred became a mutually agreed upon alliance against one another. if anything, this made you more upset. what did you do to end up on his black - list?

day eighty - five of loathing cho kyungmin, and school became insufferable around him. the recent weather forecast had been wearisome, leaving you wanting nothing more than to kick back at home and sleep for the remainder of your life.

the court yard was always busiest during lunch hours, yet the rustle and bustle of school life kept you awake. students scattered about in their cliques, chatting about recent homework assignments or bothersome teachers. you poked at your food with your chopsticks since you didn’t have much of an appetite.

“are you okay, y/n? you’re not eating any of your food and i swear i heard your stomach grumbling during the quiz.” minho asked, stealing a piece of kimchi off your plate and dropping it in his mouth.

“not really, i don’t know. i’m just a little frustrated with everything right now.” you groan in response, setting down your utensil to bury your face in your hands.

“let me guess, does this have something to do with him?” he raises one of his eyebrows as you nod in annoyance.

“dude, i overheard haemin complaining that his only friend,” you air quoted, “was being transferred into my p.e. period. and we both know exactly who he was talking about.”

“that’s rough, have you talked to jaeyun about it? since he’s one of the sports captains, he could probably tell you for sure if that’s what you’re worried about.” he suggests.

“haemin and kyungmin are practically inseparable. even when i liked kyungmin, he was honestly kind of hesitant talking to me without him around. so i know for a fact i’m going to see his stupid face tomorrow.” you ramble, letting out a defeated exhale.

“listen, you’ll be perfectly fine. don’t let him work you up like that, he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction, okay?” he advised you, patting your shoulder for comfort.

“minho, he shouldn’t even need satisfaction in the first place! kyungmin left me at a park. in the rain.” you emphasize the last bit, “i’m the only one that deserves to hate him.”

“i know, and it sucks. but i’ve heard this story like a million times, y/n. we need to get you some kind of therapy sessions if you’re going to keep at it like this.”

“literally choke.”

“kidding! i’m kidding. don’t do that to me please and thank you.” he laughed lightly, “but seriously, you’ll be okay. you always are. plus i’m just a phone call away if you need me to curse him over the phone or something, i don’t know.”

“you do too much for me minho. don’t worry, i know you just want to help me, thank you. i’ll try to figure it out i guess.” you exaggerate a sigh, making minho lean over to give you a friendly hug.

“now, eat your food before i feed the scraps to the birds on our way to next period.” he threatens, pointing a chopstick at your forehead.

after letting out all of your problems like word vomit, you were finally able to swallow down some of your meal. minho, your respective best friend had heard almost all of your hell stories about wanting to rip off kyungmin’s head. it was almost like he experienced the whole thing with you; or maybe the idea of him drenched down in a casual dress was a funny thing to imagine.

lunch passed by quickly, as did the rest of the school day. you took notes, turned in assignments, complained minho’s ear off once more, and suddenly the final bell rang meaning you could finally return home. in between all of this, you somehow forgot about the boy in your aching heart.

your steps pattered against the pavement when a feeling of dread washed over you. why did it feel like your world was going to shatter at school tomorrow? fallen leaves crushed underneath your shoes, resembling how scattered your mind felt.

day eighty - six of loathing kyungmin and every bone in your body felt like it was going to give out and abandon you as a pile of fleshy mush. you and your classmates gathered in the field wearing your p.e. uniforms, waiting for your coach to come out with the proper equipment.

kyungmin was only a couple people away from you and it already gave you an incomprehensible headache. just feeling his presence near you sent shivers down your spine, and you knew he could care less about whether you were there or not.

was it immature to still be hung up on what happened between the two of you even after almost three months?

you couldn’t stomach your stress right now, attempting to take deep breaths to soothe yourself. the cold air helped slightly; you became thankful for the dreary weather and couple raindrops that fell from the sky.

“alright everyone, it seems to be sprinkling a bit, but we’ll pass around the football for now. let’s just hope the rain doesn’t get too intense.” your coach explains, “pair up with the person next to you and come grab a ball.”

“i can go get the ball.” you offer  the girl next to you before walking over to the net full of footballs.

reaching your hand into the bag, you press a finger into each one, making sure you grab one that isn’t too flat nor too full of air. you’re searching for a couple seconds, before another hand bumps into yours.

“oh, i’m sorry–” looking up to apologize, you find yourself face to face with kyungmin. you take back your hand quickly.

“don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault your hand was in the way.” he smiles almost mockingly.

“whatever.” you mumble, pulling away to let him grab what he needs first although there were two bags.

while you wait, more droplets of water pattered against your skin, becoming slightly more frequent. you look over to your coach talking to another teacher, darting his gaze up from the sky and to his co - worker. he blows his whistle suddenly, as everyone looks over in his direction.

“seems like the rain is just going to get worse from here.” he announces before pointing at you and kyungmin, “both of you go put the equipment away, the rest of us will head back into the gym and run some laps around the courts for the rest of the period.

there was a chorus of disappointed murmurs from your classmates, before they all dropped the footballs they were able to grab. this left you and kyungmin alone, making your anxiety sky - rocket. against your will, you grab one of the bags and start towards the shed.

the sound of shoes against squishy grass tell you that kyungmin is following closely behind. you speed up with half of your intentions to get away from him and the other half to escape from the drowning rain.

once you get under the awning of the equipment shed, you slide open the already half - open door to let yourself in. there’s an assortment of different sports balls and rackets, all somewhat organized. kyungmin closes the door behind the both of you unknowingly while you find a spot to put away the footballs.

dropping down the bag in silence, you leave him to do the same and head out. when you twisted the door knob, it felt almost jammed. turning it harder and harder, it was deemed useless, making you panic.

“hello? hello!” you fidget with the door, practically throwing yourself against it in hopes it will magically open.

“did we get locked inside?” the boy behind you questions, making you turn around in disbelief.

“no actually, i’m just communicating with god on the other side. yes it’s locked!” you argued, “why did you close it behind you?”

“i didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to be closed!” he defended himself.

“oh my gosh i think i’m going to fucking faint if i have to be here with you for who knows how long.” you start pacing around the shed.

“i’m right here, you know.”

“do you want me to treat you like a princess or something? is that what you want me to do?” you tell him, “we’re not exactly on good terms you know.”

“you don’t have to freak out about it, someone will come find us eventually.” he shrugs.

“please tell me this is a nightmare.” you mutter under your breath.

“it’s pretty real, i don’t know.” he says, sitting down on the floor.

“oh my god i’m not asking you, kyungmin.”

“this isn’t fun for me either, you know. you don’t have to pretend like you’re the only one in distress here.” he mumbles.

“am i that much of an inconvenience to you? last time i checked there’s no reason for you to be mad at me.” you scoff, taking your own seat on the floor.

“i never said you were an inconvenience to me, i just don’t really want to be trapped in a sweaty equipment shed with the smell of leather like.. everywhere.” he explains casually, picking up a tennis ball.

you curl your knees into your body, leaning your head back against the wall, “yeah, right.”

“do i really stress you out that much?” he asks you out of nowhere.

“yes.” you respond blatantly.

“why?”

“i shouldn’t have to justify what i do. i have nothing to prove, kyungmin. you just do.” you claimed, “and i haven’t even got a proper explanation or apology yet.”

tension became thick in the air, palpable enough to be cut with even the dullest knife. being in the same room with someone you swore was your most hated person made your face heat up. yet you still wrapped your arms around yourself in an attempt to feel less cold.

the sound of a tennis ball being thrown against the wall and bouncing back filled your ears, though you weren’t in a circumstance to complain. anything was better than sitting in silence for who knows how long. 

minutes went by with no sign of a teacher coming to break the two of you free. it wouldn’t be long before the bell rang for the next period, leaving you feeling hopeless. the rain only seemed to get heavier outside.

being forced in proximity with kyungmin made you less angry in a way. every second that ticked by messed with your head, inching to get come kind of answer out of him. though in a way, it made you miss him more. he’d never leave class without you by his side, getting you juices from the vending machine, holding your hand tightly when you were nervous for a test.

“you’re kind of unbelievable, you know.” you spoke.

“what is that supposed to mean?” he glanced over to you curiously.

“that night. you said you’d take me on a walk through the park after we stopped to get food. but you never showed up to the restaurant, so i assumed you’d be waiting for me there.” you told him, feeling tinges of sadness rather than hate, “i waited on a bench for an hour before it started pouring. you never showed up.”

“you waited in the rain..?” he stammered slightly.

“i shouldn’t have to be the one that makes up with you.” you whisper, “but why do i want to?”

“y/n..” your name falls from his lips like honey.

he scoots himself closer to you until your shoulders are barely touching, his sudden appearance making you flinch. you were still tense next to him as he started to speak.

“i’m so sorry for being so mean to you. for ignoring you, pretending like nothing happened between us when everything happened.” he apologized, “you don’t have anything to apologize for. my mind was so crowded that night. i wasn’t sure if i was ready to love someone like you.”

“then why didn’t you tell me anything, kyungmin? you hurt me.” you began to tear up.

“i didn't know how.. can you tell i’ve never done this before? confronting my feelings while trying to convince myself that you wouldn't break things off with me if i wasn't ready. but listening to my head didn't get us anywhere either.” he confessed, “i was really intimidated when you came up to me the day after, and i wasn’t sure what to do. so i did nothing. it’s a terrible excuse, really.

“you fucked up. i absolutely hated you for standing me up like that..”

“you had every right to hate me. so i don’t know why i thought it was a good idea to hate you back. now that i’m looking back, it was immature. i missed so much time with you because i didn’t have a taste of what it was like for someone like you to love me back.”

“kyungmin, i don’t know what to say i–”

“let me fix this, please?” he moves your head by your chin, turning you to face him directly.

“you can try..” you murmured, watching his stare fixate from your eyes to your lips.

closing the gap, he enveloped you in a kiss that almost felt criminal considering every feeling you’ve had for him in the past three months has been hate. but he was trying. you’d never forget the pain he caused you, but part of you could forgive him.

it was soft, and he held you oh so gently against his lips. his hand trailed around your waist, pulling you closer into him. could this be the beginning of something different between you and him? as he pulled away, he couldn’t help but show a sad smile on his face.

“y/n, can i take you out on a proper date this time..?”

“i’ll see if minho lets me first after all the shit i talked to him about you.” you laugh, looking at his pretty pink tinted face.

“okay, that makes sense, i kind of deserved it. if it makes you feel any better, i’ll pick you up so you don’t have to worry!” he suggests.

“what if i stand you up by not being at my house, hm?”

“then i’ll wait on your porch in the rain for you until you show up.”

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz ! DISTANT LANDS AND OTHER ADVENTURES series

[intoloopin-archive]

AN INTERLUDE: IN UNITY.

TWS: A rapist and drugs are very briefly mentioned. The boys are fighting. And I believe that's all. characters (starring): Na Seungsoo. Woo Gyujin. word count: 2,457 words. time stamp: January 21th, 2024 (the day Dylan released his mixtape). author's note: not exactly super beated because I am literally dying! But anyways! Transitionary piece to get this plot going! Productivety! Hell yeah! *passes out*

January 21th.

Seungsoo doesn’t miss LOOPiN’s old dorm because he can’t miss it.

So every time he gets close to airing a complain about their current house, he instead makes a point to remember that their former two story apartment came straight out of Jiahang’s pockets, rented with a fraction of one of his many, many trust funds set by his millionaire parents for when he grew up and decided to go to college to study rare plants, or be a nepotistic model, or move to Monaco and do nothing forever. It becomes very easy to cultivate a vendetta against it that way.

But right now what Seungsoo can’t help but miss is having a bigger balcony, one that won’t cramp him when he tries to have a peaceful and quiet meltdown in his own goddamn home. There's a breeze hitting him right on the face while he’s staring at the goddamn sunset but he still feels suffocated. And he’s only sharing space with Taesong’s outside plants, their leaves a depressing shade of sick green, and Haegon’s brand new bike, which he only bought because he wasn't allowed to get a haircut after leaving Sunyoung for the nth time. 

From behind him, Seungsoo hears the sound of the balcony’s door being quietly pushed open, and of a series of steps growing closer. The living room’s light has been turned on and it’s painting his body in yellow light.

“Haruki, look–” Seungsoo breathes, turning on his heels quickly, ready to raise his arms high in rendition.

Who he finds behind him is someone else, tough, someone worse – or maybe not. Haruki hates him now, romanticizes the living Hell out of Dylan now, so he would have certainly been way worse to look in the eyes now than Gyujin.

Gyujin who, with his brand new eyebrow piercing and wet hair from his one hour long shower, greets him with a smile then says, as if he’s queued to deliver a joke, “You wish.”

“Great,” Seungsoo mutters to himself, turning his back to him, getting back at supporting his elbows on the wall. For a second, he marvels at how nasty the fall would be if he jumped to the backyard. “Get out, Gyujin, seriously. I’m not in the mood.”

“Boo-hoo. I didn’t ask.”

With that, he comes close. He sits on the thick wall in the little space the plants give him, both hands holding on the concrete while he bends dangerously backwards, dangling his feet. 

And Gyujin just stays there, barely moving and not talking, only whistling like a goddamn cartoon. In retaliation, Seungsoo frowns harder at the horizon and begins to fidget on his sleeping clothes, fingers anxious to hold onto something.

He never picked up on smoking and he kind of regrets it now, can’t remember the reason why. Maybe because he likes to smell like cologne too much, or because he hates the thought of being unable to kiss someone without it tasting bitter.

It takes a mere minute or so for him to break, because that’s what Seungsoo does best: he can’t hold back an impulse, can’t swallow a single word down. He needs a collar, he’s realized recently, a muzzle, and no one ever gets him one – no one ever gets him.

“That was just so damn childish,” He mutters through his teeth. “Releasing all the songs like that.”

“Oh?” Gyujin tilts his squared chin down. He’s almost looming over Seungsoo, with the way he’s set – taking him from up above, an angle Seungoo’s had a problem being perceived from ever since he was the youngest of his mother’s kids. “And unfollowing Chihoon on Instagram wasn't childish?”

“I don’t like when any of our private business gets exposed, no matter how vague. He knows that.”

“Didn’t you just make it more public now with your little show? Or do you really think no one will connect the two, that the timing isn’t obvious, that you aren’t raising tension?”

Seungsoo suppresses a little scream by pressing his knuckles hard against his lips.

“You didn’t think that far, did you? Tsk, you just never do,” Gyujin lets out a laugh. “So what is it, Seungsoo, really? Why did you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?!” Seungsoo breathes, straightening up quickly, viciously – he almost hits Gyujin on the forehead with his head by doing so. “What is wrong with you?! Do you really think it’s okay for him to make something like that and release it without checking with us first?! When it’s mostly about the team?! We’re not illiterate! We can understand all his goddamn English!”

“Hm. Little League’s mean, I never said it wasn’t,” Gyujin agrees, but his relaxed posture lets it clear to Seungsoo that he does so only partially, half heartedly, even – always so comfortable with the possibility of a fall, he thinks, eyeing his horrible posture. “It’s a mock song made to piss Haegon off, and it got the job done. He’s justified in everything he chose to do about it. I just don’t get why you’re so offended. Is it because Chihoon didn’t write about you?”

“Are you insane? It’s not about getting a song or not, or Dylan doing things on his own or not, I just don’t–” Seungsoo shakes his head, searching for the right words, any other words but–

“You don’t like remembering we’re not friends,” Gyujin completes – spot on like fucking always. “That he doesn’t feel like he owes us secrecy anymore.”

And to think there would be a time, not even so long ago, where Seungsoo would immediately jump to refute him, banging on his chest and saying with real pride, “We’re all friends! We’re all close!”

But saying it now would just make it sound like a blatant lie; a joke with an awful punchline. So he bites his tongue and goes back to being quiet.

“Na Seungsoo, I need you to listen to what I’ll say to you,” Gyujin tells him, his voice set on a tone deeper than his usual, making the full name ring off his mouth like an intimation. Ungrundly, Seungsoo listens. “You need to start processing the things you do before you do them.”

Seungsoo scoffs, forced and loud, and looks away from his face quickly – runs from the ice underneath his setting jaw.

“We have problems, alright? All great groups do,” Gyujin keeps up, bumping their shoulders together once, then not again; Seungsoo recoils more against the wall and lightly grates his arm all to escape his follow up attempt by a matter of millimeters. “Sometimes things get sour and they spill over, and that’s just how it is. You get around, you know I’m right. No one has it easy. Idolmaker is in the middle of a PR nightmare with all the Hosung freakout, we’ve been seeing it first hand, and you won’t find Gayoung or Jeonghun getting petty in public because it isn’t smart.”

“So what can I actually do, Gyujin, about our situation?” Seungsoo asks him. A spot on his jaw is hurting from how hard he’s clenching it.

Gyujin gives him that awful, awful look of his that always tells him ‘You’re an idiot’. “Seungsoo, please. Dylan’s vent album is not a situation–”

“C’mon, Gyujin, I know it’s not!” Seungsoo says, too close to yelling. “And I know your little speech isn’t really about the goddamn unfollow! It’s you trying to get inside my head and control how I’ll act now that I know the group’s ending!”

The words make Gyujin pause. He almost fully freezes. It’s all the confirmation Seungsoo needs, the mute answer to the question that’s been eating him alive since Christmas.

“You’ve heard the fucking rumors, you– Gyujin, you know! I know you know! The March shareholder’s meeting has been canceled, Minwoo hasn’t sat down to write a real song since October, and Jiahang’s fucking dad called him back to China last month. For what?! He’s backing out, isn’t he?! He’s selling his shares because New Wave is dying. They’re going to debut the girls and just– fate out with us in it!”

Gyujin takes a defeated breath. Finally, he makes his way down the wall. “Sony hyung–”

“Don’t you Sony hyung me, man!” Seungsoo exclaims, angling his head up to fully face Gyujin, round eyes on round eyes. “Look, I know I talk even when I shouldn’t, I know my brain is goddamn slow, that it makes me do stupid shit, but why is everyone keeping things from me now?! I’m a producer too, aren’t I?! I’m a part of LOOPiN just as much as everyone, maybe even more than some people we got! Isolating me is fucked!”

“No one is isolating you, Seungsoo. Things are just complicated when it comes to giving you confidential information,” Gyujin counters, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His voice is again different, hitting at him cutting and terminal. It infuriates Seungsoo more. “And you know why that is. You put yourself in a hard position. Face it: you broke the trust. This is your own doing.”

Seungsoo’s mouth hangs open, stays open. “I broke the– what?! Why?! Because I pushed Jiahang once when he was about to do cocaine off an Inkigayo sink?! Because I took Dylan with me to haunt down a serial rapist?! I don’t regret any of those things, and I never will!”

“Was that all you did, really? Because the way I see it, the way it came across for everyone, was you going all vigilante over the members' private business,” Gyujin stresses. “And what good did any of these things do for anyone? You almost costed Jiahang his eye, Seungsoo. You almost got Chihoon arrested–”

“So now it’s all my fault?! We’re sinking, we’re doomed, and it’s all my fault?! Fuck you! You have no idea how or why– what do you even know about anything, really?!” Seungsoo spits at him, infuriated. “You just fucking got here, and– and you’ve been with us for a year and some fucking weeks, max! And it seems like everyone forgot that, that they all forgot that there was a time without you, but I didn’t! Do you even know what Haegon said, when he came with the idea of unfollowing Dylan?! ‘No matter what we do now Gyujin’s gonna fix it in the morning, so let’s do something dumb and tiny, so he won’t kill us!’ Like you’re in control or something! But news flash, this is New Wave Music, and you’re not in control, no one is! And if someone was, that someone would be me! Minwoo, Jimin, and me!”

“Or maybe not, now!” Seungsoo’s mouth keeps on going. He’s griping at the concrete of the balcony with one hand, pointing one straight at the center of Gyujin’s chest, and just letting a whole torrent out. “Maybe you do deserve trust more than I do! You– You know everything because everyone tells you everything, and you songwrite too, you can still play the tuba, why don’t you just take my fucking place, uh? If I get it all wrong and you do it all right?! Go be an executive producer, go on! Fuck writing all over just Beomseok, end me too! Minwoo likes you better anyway, maybe you can make his slump go away! Jimin fucking likes you better too, he won’t even mind me being gone, you might even get him to stop hiding Nicola from everyone, who knows!”

Seungsoo takes a shaky pause to breathe, his chest rising. He’s sure his face is red, that there’s a line of sweat on his forehead.

Gyujin remains too close and unmoving, his eyes semi close, analyzing.

“And what else?” He asks. He’s still grinning like he knows something Seungsoo doesn’t. “C’mon, go on. Spill it all out. I wanna hear it.”

“You sick–!” Seungsoo grunts, then takes another deep inhale, ends up almost choking on his own spit.

Coughing, he dismangles his grip off Gyujin’s shirt and forces himself to fall silent – they both do. Somewhere down in the street, a million cars honk and make out a disastrous symphony, and it pierces through Seungsoo’s ears like he’s in the middle of traffic. He’s minutes away from developing a killer migraine.

“So this is what comes out of you when you’re scared, yeah?” Gyujin eventually notes, quiet. Seungsoo can almost hear the tiny smile on his face stretching and growing warmer, showing just a flash of front teeth, white like a goddamn grain of salt. “Pretty animalistic reaction, although highly entertaining–”

“I’m not scared,” Sengsoo fires back, even though he is. He knows it deep in his bones, by the lack of good sleep: he’s terrified of blinking too slowly and missing any more warning signs, more sunny days; fearing they’re already all long behind him. He turns his head down. “Just, just– Tired of feeling– Tired.”

And feeling like I don’t belong, is what he thinks but doesn’t say: Like I’m not good at my job. Like no one will ever forgive me. 

He feels one of Gyujin’s warm hands setting over his shoulder, offering it a squeeze. This time Seungsoo leaves it there, allowing it to linger. “Hyung, I can see that. We all can. You’ve been putting on some crazy hours in the studio lately. We appreciate how hard you’re covering for Minwoo hyung. I might not have thanked you for that yet, so–”

“Spare me the prase shower, Woo Gyujin,” Seungsoo grunts, running a hand over his face, onto his hair. “Just tell me to fuck off now so I can go to sleep with at least one argument settled.”

“And make it that much easier for you? Ha, of course not,” Gyujin laughs, amused. “Besides, we’re not fighting, have never fought, and never will. You have nothing to settle with me. But I’ll give you space to gather your courage to face who you really should.”

“Fuck you,” Seungsoo says, just to be the one to get the last words as Gyujin’s walking back and away. It comes off sounding tiny and defeated, a little ashamed.

He doesn’t get that: as soon as Gyujin gets a hand on the door, he calls back, “And in the meantime…”

Seungsoo takes an annoyed peek over his shoulder to glare at him. “What?”

“Follow Dylan back, you fucking drama queen,” Gyujin says, rolling his eyes, grinning like the Devil he pretends he isn't. “And relax, okay? We’ll be fine. We always are.”

And he disappears behind the glass, pulling the curtains inside and turning off the light.

On the tiny balcony only Seungsoo and the never quiet city remain, looking as the sun goes down and down.

[completemessash]

You hate me, don't you? (Part 1)

notes: I’m having a bad day, then my family did nothing but berate me, I’m in my self-conscious feels today, so yeah, this imagine is intense, I would say, cuz writing this stuff makes me calm down. Be warned xx

Warnings: SMUT, degradation, dirty talk, fingering, humiliation

xxx

“You’re a bitch”

You looked up from where you had been sorting Luke’s makeup, so you would be ready to get started with your job once the band turned up. Working for 5 Seconds of Summer was your dream job, but you hadn’t expected to be treated like air.

Well, three of four members were polite, said hi, how are you and goodbye, and you didn’t expect any more, you only worked for them after all.

Ashton, though, seemed to have a problem with you. He hadn’t said a word to you once in the past two months, wouldn’t even look you in the eyes.

And now this.

“Huh?”, you made, meeting his hazel eyes for the very first time. You must have misheard him because you knew that this would not just be the first thing that Ashton Irwin would ever say to you.

“You’re a bitch”

Okaaay, so he did say that. But you had dealt with pissed off bosses before, so you took a slow and deep breath, then asked: “Mr Irwin, is there any way I can help you?”

His jaw visibly clenched upon seeing you stay this friendly.

“I want you to stop this bullshit”

“Excuse me, I am afraid I do not know what you-“

“You know what I fucking mean”, with two steps he was invading your personal space, crowding you against the makeup table.

He was towering over you and you were losing your composure. “I – I don’t know –“

“You’re trying to separate the band”

Your eyebrows shot up and your mouth opened. Flabbergasted was the only way to describe how you were feeling.

Before you could answer, he continued: “Don’t fucking try being stupid with me. You’re treating everyone with this fake friendly act but you ignore me. But I’ll tell you what, you won’t get me kicked out of the band”

“And I’ll tell you something, Mr Irwin”, you lifted your chin to get closer to his face in a hopefully intimidating way, “You treat me like I’m shit on your shoe all the time, so all I am doing is trying not to get on your nerves and stepping out of your way since you seem to dislike me so much. I don’t give a flying fuck about kicking you out of anything or what not”

Okay, maybe you had messed up the trying to stay professional thing by the end. You could definitely get fired for using such words towards him.

“You’re lying”, his voice was a dangerous whisper, “And I know you want me”

You blinked, irritated by his statement. “What?”

“You want me”, he repeated and you had to ball your hands up into fists to refrain from slapping him across the face for the arrogant tone he was using now, “It’s written all over your face. Bet you’re dripping for me already, aren’t you?”

You let out that long deep breath you had taken in earlier. “Listen”, you gave your best to not hiss at him, “not everyone thinks you’re the hottest shit alive. I know your ego is the size of a rocket ship but guess what, I am here to work not to fuck the oh so cool, oh so hot, oh so rich drummer”

His lips pressed together in a tight line like you had hit a nerve with those words.

“I know you’re lying”, he said through gritted teeth.

“Whatever”, you sighed, turning back around towards the makeup on the table, “I don’t have time for this, Mr Irwin, so if you’d excuse me, I have to prepare-“

“They’re not coming until in half an hour”, he said referring to his bandmates. Before you could say anything, he had gripped your waist, roughly pulling your body flush against him.

“Tell me you want me”, his voice was deep. Sadly so deep that you could feel yourself getting wet, just like he was so sure you were. Fuck him and his stupid cockiness.

“W-“

“Tell me”, he repeated, his long fingers pressing bruises into your hips, “I’ll let you go if you say you don’t want this. That won’t change the fact that your little pussy is clenching for me but I’ll let you go, I’m not a monster”

“I doubt that”, you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

You could feel his grip lessen at your words and you immediately felt bad for implyingly accusing him of pressuring you into anything you wouldn’t want. So you pushed back against his hips, pushing your ass into his crotch.

“You seem tiny”, you grumbled, knowing this was the weakest insult you could have thought of but you had to say something to try and keep up the act of totally not at all not even a little being into this.

“Sure”, he wasn’t even hurt by your words, which really annoyed you.

You wanted to make another comment, something about him being all talk and no action, but before you could speak up again, he had pushed your leggings that you were wearing under an oversized hoodie today, down, one hand still around your waist to keep you pressed against him, the other sliding into the front of your now exposed panties.

The groan the left him when he felt wetness coating his fingers as he pushed them between your lips, went right into your ear.

You had to bite your lip to keep from making any sounds as well. His long fingers rubbed over your entrance, up to your clit and back down, making you wet everywhere. He groaned again, when he had spread enough to easily glide up and down.

You tried hard to keep your face relaxed, trying not to give away how good his fingers felt, but when he pushed his pointer finger inside, your mouth dropped open and you couldn’t stop the small gasp from leaving your lips.

Without looking up, you knew Ashton was grinning in the most annoying and arrogant way right now. Two more fingers pushed inside you shortly after and just when you were considering dropping your pride and pushing back on them with a moan, he stopped.

“Told you, you’re wet for me”, Ashton said, scruffy chin resting on your shoulder when he pulled his hand out of your underwear to show you his glistening fingers.

The first time you had met Ashton Irwin’s eyes was already in a way you would not have thought, but the second time being when he was licking your juices off his own fingers was definitely not anything you would have ever expected.

[hestusjamsession]

I’ve been depressed so I decided to do what normal people do when they’re depressed and make a list of my favorite Legend of Zelda fanfics thus far. I think I’ll make a Linked Universe one next.

Almost all of these fics are finished and most are multi chapter. Some are quite long too. I also tried to include a variety of ships and stuff. I’m a multi-opportunity shipper, what can I say?

I know a few of the authors are here on Tumblr but I can’t for the life of me find them. So if anyone knows the usernames of the authors so I can tag them I’d appreciate it.

Anyway…

*cracks knuckles*

1. Make a Wish, Make it Count by LiliansMalice

Three very different people get forced to work together to find a powerful relic that can grant them wishes and solve their (admittedly pretty bad) problems.

It’s got angst, it’s got humor, it’s got found family vibes. And demons. Lots and lots of demons. Such a good read y’all need to check it out. Also, if anyone knows of any more fics like this let me know!

2. Honor Among Thieves by DawnTheRithmatist

The Master Sword has been stolen and as things start to go missing around the castle Zelda decides to do some digging which ends up with her becoming pen pals with a wanted thief.

Zelink fic which Link goes full rogue and koroks are eager accomplices.

3. Beating Around the Bush by Umbreonix

Revali retires from the air force and becomes a remote bush pilot. His life is all well and good (if boring) until a slightly feral researcher from the University of Central Hyrule derails his entire life.

This fic is genuinely hilarious and also heartwarming. Umbreonix writes Revali so well. Revlink fic with a modern spin. (Side note, the fic “Finding Link” by the same author is also really good)

4. Displaced by Socksock

What do you do once you’ve saved the day? Yeah, Link and Zelda don’t know either. But Link has monsters to kill and cool new outfits to find and Zelda has massive bridges to rebuild and loyal knights to smooch so they’ll be ok.

This was one of the first fics I read after beating BOTW. Novel length Zelink goodness with lots of humor and healing and Link dressing up like Tingle because he’s like that.

5. K.K. Love Song by Socksock

Anything by Socksock is gonna be great but this fic literally kept me sane while I was working on site during the Pandemic. Oklahoma be like that.

Modern Zelink fic where the hot new Shiekah Slate game Animal Crossing brings a Princess and a cook closer together. Link apparently does a good KK impression.

6. Nothing More, Nothing Less by Farbsturz

Ravio, Bearer of the Triforce of Wisdom, must head to Hyrule to help it’s Hero defeat the Calamity. Ravio, Bearer of the Triforce of Wisdom, is not sure about this.

Ravio plays Breath of the Wild. Or- the Ravlink fic you didn’t know you wanted.

7. The Queen’s Tournament by AshleysWrittenWords

In order to become Queen, Princess Zelda must marry. Zelda’s plan? Part 1: Host a tournament were the winner gets her hand in marriage. Part 2: Enter said tournament in disguise so she can, to quote Merida from Brave “shoot for her own hand”. And it all goes according to plan until Link decides to enter the tourney as well.

I THINK I might have read this, or something very similar, once upon a time on Fanfiction.net. Twilight Princess-ish Zelink.

8. Branded by Embyrinitalics

In a land haunted by war, two lonely people find solace within each other.

This one’s got a somber vibe to it, but it’s beautifully written and it hits me in the shipper feels so yeah.

9. The Wolf of Farore by Wayward_Chronicler

The Legend of Zelda meets The Witcher in a fic that is technically not finished but has 71 chapters and more character cameos than you can swing a sword at.

Long fic fam this one’s for you. 😘

10. Interim by Starkraving

Link and Zelda have just defeated the Calamity and are wandering Hyrule when they meet a strangely familiar Gerudo who wants to buy Link’s giant horse and has no idea what he’s about to get roped into.

The Link/Zelda/Gan fic filled with angst, humor and lots of Gerudo grammar lessons.

This was the other fic I read right after beating BOTW. Fair warning- its rated E so it’s got spicy parts to it. But if you don’t mind that it’s a fantastic read.

11. Re-Domestication by AnthemXIX

The description says it best: “A semi-feral amnesiac and his wolf guardian try to get along with the locals.”

A really good BOTW Link and Wolf Link fic that isn’t Linked Universe related (Though the author has written several really good LU fics as well). It’s part of a series and they’re all really good.

12. Secrets of the Shadows by @skyloftian-nutcase

When Link goes missing, Rusl finds a wolf instead of his adopted son and ends up making a terrible mistake. Hopefully he can make it to Kakariko in time to rectify it.

Papa Rusl angst because it’s good for the soul.

[mikhailwrites]

Keep Your Aim True

Repost from my AO3, one shot about Soap being into archery, Ghost finds out and some teaching (and touching) ensues.

Ghost stops dead in his tracks. There he is, the sergeant. Standing in the range, tall and proud, but the stance is just wrong. Then he picks something up and Ghost understands even if he doesn’t understand, not really. Because… a bow? Seriously?

The lieutenant stalks along the wall, not making the slightest sound, and just watches Soap. The posture is new. Ghost studies it, taking mental notes. He has no idea why, but he still does it.

Soap slots in an arrow, raises his arm, and locks his shoulders as he draws the string. It’s a fluid and well-practiced move. He goes and goes, drawing further, muscles working and flexing under the regulation green t-shirt. The moment he releases the string startles Ghost a little. There's a whistle, and the arrow buries itself in the target. It’s not quite bull’s eye, but it’s close.

He watches Soap, transfixed by the sight. It seems almost mechanical, the way he takes an arrow out of the quiver on his hip, slots it, holds up the bow, draws, and releases. Again and again, until there are no arrows left. He’s accurate, too, arrows slotted in a nice cluster.

“I can feel you burning holes to the back of my head, you know,” Soap chuckles as he puts the bow down.

Ghost says nothing. He’s not really surprised the sergeant knew about him all along. You can only serve so many missions together without developing an almost supernatural skill to sniff out your teammates.

“Wanna try it?” Soap grins at him as he walks up to retrieve the arrows. “Bet you’d be good with it, too. Or maybe it’s the one thing you would suck at?” There’s an underlying challenge there. Ghost contemplates.

“I could try,” he shrugs, walking up and stepping into the light.

“You gotta get rid of the gloves, though, they’re no good for this,” Soap says as he unclips his guard, handing it to Ghost. “Wear it, trust me.”

Ghost draws the string, it’s heavy, heavier than he’d anticipated. Obviously, it's still not a problem in the slightest, but it catches him by surprise. As he releases the string, the arrow whistles through the air before hitting the target with a definite 'thud'. Well, it doesn't quite hit the target, just the general area. Ghost grunts, disappointed and annoyed. He's an elite sniper, and this definitely shouldn't be harder than hitting a target at 2K.

“Hey, not bad,” Soap says, coming to his rescue. “When I was shooting for the first time, I never found one of the arrows. Try again, I’ll just… correct you a wee bit.”

So Ghost goes at it again. He is holding the bow up in his left hand. Soap is suddenly there, way too close, and holding his wrist. “You have to relax it, don't grip it tight, just... let it rest against your palm.”

“I’m gonna drop it,” Ghost remarks.

“You won’t. Hold it, but gently, it’s not heavy and it won’t kick you like a gun would, you dinnae need to put strength into it, just lock yer arm, like this,” Soap steps so close to Ghost’s back the Lieutenant can feel his body heat and tenses immediately. Soap, apparently ignorant of the effect he has on Ghost, just slides along him, lowers his shoulder a little bit, and slightly rotates Ghost’s elbow: “You gotta remember this, or you’re in for some pain. Here. Draw.” Ghost does. He feels the resistance but it’s just like Soap said, he doesn’t need to grip the bow hard, his arm and the string will leverage it. “Aye, that’s it, just like that,” Soap speaks softly, close to his ear, and with that, Ghost’s focus shifts entirely to him.

“You’re tense. Relax, or you’ll fuck up your shot,” Soap smiles. Ghost thinks: No shit. “Draw it back more. Don't worry; it won't snap.” It’s not the string he’s worried about. Nonetheless, Ghost follows the instruction. He feels his grip on the string unexpectedly loosen, startles, and just plucks it. Arrow flies and hits even more off than the first one.

“That was better,” Soap says, and Ghost is entirely unsure if he’s fucking with him or not.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ghost grunts.

“No, I’m serious. It gets worse before it gets better, I promise. Go on,” Soap nods. Ghost is sceptical but slots in another black arrow. This time, Soap doesn’t touch him, and Ghost does hit the actual target, even though it’s the outer edge of it.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Damn, you could be so deadly with it after some practice!”

“Could you even kill something with this?” Ghost doesn’t even try to hide his doubt.

“Sure. A man with this one, a man wearing body armour with a proper hunting compound bow. Of course, a crossbow would be more practical and more powerful if you, for some reason, couldn’t or wouldn’t use a gun.”

„If you can’t use it in combat, why bother? “

„Ah guess it helps, ye know, “Soap weaved his hand noncommittally, his accent getting thicker, betraying an underlying nervousness.

„I don't," Ghost says, inclining his head to catch a glimpse of Soap with the corner of his eye.

„With the restlessness. It helps with that. I gotta be… present and calm to do it right,“ the sergeant admits, looking a bit sheepish.

"Hm," Ghost huffs, returning his gaze to the target. "Isn't sniping the same? You could use some practice at that too."

"It's not the same. It's... I guess a bit similar since it's methodical and requires focus, but it's not as complex."

“Sniping’s not as complex?” Ghost repeats, incredulous.

“Yeah, that came out wrong. It is complex, just not as much physically complex.”

“Oh yeah? You ever tried one of those big fuckers? Anti-materiel? They kick like a bloody horse.”

“Aye, but that’s just about bracing for the kick. The shooting process is the same, and it doesn't require you to control your body in the same way archery does. I’m not trying to oversell it, you’re a mean sniper Lt., I couldn’t do what you can.”

“Wouldn't be so sure. You seem pretty accurate with this, and I’ve seen you with a rifle. You’re not half bad.”

“Hah! Now you're trying to oversell me. I knew you liked me," Soap grins, and Ghost feels a sudden urge to remove the expression from his face by means he shouldn't even be thinking about.

“Told you before: I like you alive, Johnny,” Ghost says quietly. This is dangerous ground. One he shouldn’t tread in public. In Las Almas, things were dire. Ghost isolated, Soap wounded, limping across the town with only Ghost’s voice in his ear to hold on to. Ghost could excuse the lack of decorum then, but now?

“That you did,” Soap smiles, and there’s something in his eyes that has Ghost looking away immediately. He tries to hide his discomfort by reaching around Soap and plucking another arrow from the quiver. The bow might as well save him.

Or not. As he draws again, Johnny's hands are there too. Touching his back. “Undraw it, please,” Soap asks. Ghost complies. “You’re using your arms’ strength.”

“That’s wrong?” Ghost asks. He does hold the bow in one hand and draws with the other, how is he not to use his arm’s strength?

“Aye, it's really your back that should do the work. Let me show you," he takes off his shirt and takes the bow. “Put a hand between my shoulder blades.” Ghost does, willing himself to stay perfectly still. The skin under his palm is dry and warm. He’s aware of the power hidden underneath. Soap draws the string. Slowly. Ghost gets the message, feeling and also seeing Soap’s back muscles work, shoulder blades pressing close together. “Can you feel it? Now my wrist is slack, shoulder’s relaxed, I’m not leaning on my upper arm strength, don’t need to. I go on,” he draws the string back, fingers tucked beneath the chin. “And let go,” he whispers as the string slips from his fingers. His aim is true.

Ghost knows he can take his hand off of Soap now. He doesn’t, and the sergeant just stands there, unmoving and silent, which is quite a change. Ghost feels bold. He slides his palm up along Soap's spine to his neck. Soap tenses ever so slightly and huffs out a breath.

“You seemed a bit tense there,” Ghost says, trying to justify his action.

“You know,” there’s a smile in Soap’s voice, “you might be right. Better check some more.”

Here is an invitation he should absolutely refuse. He doesn’t. Instead, his fingers dig into the muscle, not too much, but certainly enough for Soap to feel it. The sergeant gasps as Ghost adds his other hand, too.

Johnny’s still, pliant. Ghost kneads at Johnny's neck and shoulders, purposefully keeping his thoughts at bay.

Soap turns without going out of Ghost’s reach. His eyes are dark. He’s slightly flushed as he licks his lips in a cheap bait that almost offends Ghost. Ghost yanks his balaclava up his nose as he grabs Soap by the neck and slams the man to him. The kiss, if it could even be called that, is not pretty. Sloppy, full of teeth, and perfect in just the way they crave. It doesn’t last long, as they’re still in the middle of a shooting range. Anyone could walk in on them, and Ghost would rather not murder a fellow soldier today.

“Fuck, Johnny,” Ghost says, quietly, still holding on to the other man.

“Gladly, we should probably do it somewhere else, though,” Soap grins.

“You’re stupid, and you’re making me stupid, too,” Ghost groans, pulling the balaclava back down.

“Aye, but I’m your stupid,” Johnny smiles, the sweetest and brattiest thing.

“That doesn’t even make sense. But yeah, you are,” Ghost shakes his head before stepping back. To anyone, he’d look as cold and stoic as ever. Soap, however, doesn’t miss the soft look in his eyes. He's definitely not going to be sleeping in his own bed tonight.

[dokujirai]

#79 里帰り (Coming home) Superhuman Share House Story 『CHARISMA』

Watch the track here.

TL Note: 

里帰り (satogaeri) is “returning home to one’s parents” after a period of time. Whether because the person got married or is living away from home. Another possible alternative title to this drama track, “Homecoming.”

Torahime: …! I can’t find them…! My apologies Doctor, I’ll make sure to-

Nakagami: Yanagi-kun.

Assistant 1: Yes?

Torahime: Eeh!?

Nakagami: Any word from the Charisma radar?

Assistant 1: Nothing. Just a little while ago they suddenly vanished into thin air.

Nakagami: Just where the hell did they go…! Those Charismas…!

(Scene fades to black)

(SFX: Sound of the 7 running away)

Thugs: Hey get back over here! I’ll fuckin’ wreck you!

Rikai: Just what is this place!? There is not even a semblance of order here!

Ohse: ?

Amahiko: You’re finally awake, Ohse-san. Did you have any pleasant dreams whilst on Amahiko’s back?

Terra: Amahiko, look out!

Amahiko: Whoops-

(Pipe hits Terra’s head)

Terra: That frickin’ hurt! You weren’t supposed to avoid it!

Amahiko: Eh?

Terra: Didn’t I tell you that if anything tries to hit me, you’re supposed to be my shield!?

Amahiko: Wow!

Fumiya: Ohse, sorry you had to wake up so early, but we’re kinda in a pickle right now.

Kei: RUN FOR YOUR LIFEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Everyone: AAAAAAHHHHHHHH…!

Ohse: W-where are we…?

Iori: It’s a lawless land! ♪

Ohse: Eh?

Iori: This is Saru-chan’s hometown.

Rikai: There is nothing but delinquents here! Big brother Rikai is experiencing culture shock!

Fumiya: If we’re not careful, they could kill us in a heartbeat. Haha.

Terra: But that radar those guys have, it can’t reach us here right?

Amahiko: Are you absolutely sure, Sarukawa-kun?

Kei: Yeah, they put up a jammer for the whole city.

Kei: It’s impossible for them to get anythin’ through here from the outside.

Iori: It's almost like diplomatic immunity. ♪

Rikai: I-I cannot believe a place such as this truly exists in this world…!

Fumiya: There is. You just didn’t know.

(Scene fades to black as they all move forward)

Kei: Ya understand me? These people hate even the thought of strangers more than anything else.

Kei: If ya don’t wanna die, ya gotta blend in here.

Everyone else: …

Fumiya: Got it.

Ohse: Hiyah! Hiyah! Ei! Hiyah!

Ohse: Chop!

Kei: What the hell’re ya doin.

Ohse: I’m practicing my fighting skills.

Kei: Hah?

Ohse: This shitty loser refuses to be a burden to everyone else.

Ohse: Hiyah! Hiyah! EI EI EI EI EI!

Ohse: HOOOOAAAAAHHHHHH!!

Kei: Knock it off, you’ll stand out.

Ohse: W-what the hell do ya want, ya got a problem with me?

Kei: Not even close.

Ohse: Look down on me and I’ll kill! Myself!

Kei: HAAAH!? WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU TALKIN’ ABOUT? Hold on, wait, what kind of reasoning is that!?

Kei: Oi! Stop it already! …!

Iori: Come at me!

Kei: You too, Io? You guys can’t be serious about doin’ this! There’s no way ya’ll can pull it off!

Iori: Now, you’re free to kick my ass! Take this chain and drag it around! Iori: Mess me upppppp!

Kei: Now yer just actin’ like an M again.

Iori: I’m not an M.

Terra: Sarukawa-kun, isn’t there a beauty salon nearby?

Kei: There ain’t none. Ya gotta act different.

Kei: How come yer actin’ the same?

Terra: The beauty parlor? How about a nail salon?

Kei: Quit jokin’ around!!

Terra: Alright, I’ll just make one.

Kei: HOLD ON A MINUTE! WE’RE JUST GONNA STAND OUT EVEN MORE!

Amahiko: Everyone, please don’t be conspicuous.

Kei: WAAAH! What the hell is up with yer fit!? Where even did you get that in this town!?

Ohse: The pervert is here.

Iori: Game on!

(Gong rings)

Amahiko: Fufufu, hahaha! Will you beat Dirty Amahiko?

Kei: Ughhhhhhhhhhhh……

Fumiya: What are you guys doing? We’re not supposed to be standing out.

Kei: That’s what I keep sayin’!

Thugs: Big bro! Big bro Fumiya!

Thugs: What kinda shit we doin’ next!?

Thugs: Give us somethin’ to do, big bro! Big bro Fumiya!

Kei: WHY THE HELL DO YA HAVE A BUNCH OF GOONS WITH YA!?

Fumiya: I’m gonna overthrow the most powerful force in this city.

Thugs: HEELLLL YEAAAAAHHHHH!!

Kei: SO MUCH FOR BLENDING IN!!

(The five of them laugh together)

Kei: You assholes…!

Kei: Just cus the radar can’t find us, doesn’t mean y’all can do whatever the hell you want…!

Fumiya: Man, this really is a nice little city.

Terra: Mhm, I’m pleased with it.

Amahiko: It’s wonderful, Sarukawa-kun.

Kei: … Eh?

Terra: It’s liberating here.

Iori: And you don’t have to worry about what other people think.

Ohse: It’s kind of comforting…

Fumiya: It’s pretty interesting, I’m having fun.

(The five of them talk amongst each other)

Kei: …

(Kei starts walking away)

Amahiko: Sarukawa-kun? Where are you going?

Terra: Hold on.

Everyone else: …

(The scene fades to black, revealing where Kei had gone off to)

Kei: …

(Amahiko: So he was a truant?)

(Iori: … Yeah. He didn’t really go to school all that much.)

(Iori: He couldn’t get used to it because of all the trouble he got into.)

(Amahiko: So, he was in and out of places like these.)

(Iori: Yeah.)

(Iori: It’s really fun to be here. It really changes how you look at things.)

(Amahiko: But… You must have left some time, correct?)

(Iori: Yeah.)

(Amahiko: Why is that? It must be difficult to find a gem such as this place.)

(Amahiko: Just what is going on with this city…)

(Iori: That’s because…)

Kei: !? Who’s there!?

?: …

Kei: I know you’re there, come out here.

Kei: …! Y…You…!

Ryuu: … Kei bro.

Kei: Ryuu!

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Super 067

“Fuck the Zamasu Saga forever...”

Last time, Vegito attacked Zamasu with everything he had and still couldn’t beat him, but that’s okay because Trunks... cut him in half.  And it totally makes how that worked!   Honest. 

Anyway, I was going to complain about how Zamasu kept talking even as he was being cut in half, but that pales in comparison to this episode, where he continues to talk after he’s been cut in half.  It’s called “dignity”, Zamasu, look it up some time.

Finally, Zamasu vanishes in a bright light and everyone congratulates Trunks for securing the win.  “I never heart of a Spirit Bomb coming from a sword before!” Goku says.  “Yeah, neither have I,” Trunks says.  “I don’t even know how that happened.  It’s like someone was making all of this up and they ran out of time and just slapped something together.  But at least we won.”

But they didn’t win, because over where Zamasu vanished, a big column of red and black energy shoots up into the sky...

... And a dark haze spreads out over the whole world.  Also there’s thousands of Zamasu faces, all cackling with insane laughter. 

Everybody’s out of power from all the fighting from earlier, but they still shoot their biggest energy blasts at the problem, and it does nothing.  Gowasu speculates that the Super Dragon Balls that made Zamasu immortal have allowed him to survive having his body destroyed, and now his indestructible essence has dispersed throughout the universe.

Earlier, Gowasu was contemplating Zamasu’s fused body breaking down, and he noted the irony of Zamasu being obsessed with divine, perfect beauty, and how he had become everything he despised.  Could Zamasu truly find satisfaction in his goal, if all it meant was becoming a broken god overseeing a vacant cosmos?  Now we see that idea apparently being made manifest.  Zamasu no longer has a body, and he seems to have been driven insane by his defeat at the hands of a mortal, so he’s just sort of going with it.  

Some of the faces shoot energy blasts down at the Earth below.

And while... someone... the Supreme Kai maybe?... manages to protect this small group and the time machine, anything else that gets hit is destroyed.

Android 8 dies, the Turtle dies, and all of the survivors in West City we’ve seen have died. 

Oh, and whatever Zamasu is doing to the multiverse in Trunks’ reality, it’s also bleeding into all the other timelines as well.  So that’s a thing.

Even Beerus and Whis can sense it, although Whis doesn’t quite seem to understand what it is.  Beerus knows, though.  Or maybe he just has a good guess.

Back to this world, when Zamasu is done, only the group with Goku are left.  Trunks confirms that he can’t sense any other survivors anywhere on Earth.  All the people who helped him defeat Zamasu in the last episode are 100% dead.  Mai shoots her gun into the air, but there’s nothing anyone can do.  Refreshingly, Zamasu has nothing to say here.  I’m not even sure he’s aware of Goku’s group still living on the surface. 

Goku still wants to try to fight Zamasu, but he’s lost too much power, and he’s out of senzu beans.  While he fishes around in his sash to find more, he discovers that button Grand Zeno gave him.  So he pushes it...

And the Grand Zeno of this timeline appears.  He doesn’t know Goku, since they never met in this timeline, but he’s still pretty chill about the whole thing.  He takes one look at the universe and finds it unpleasant.  There’s nothing here but Zamasu making that annoying laugh.

Goku explains that Zamasu is responsible and suggests that Zeno do something about it, and Zeno agrees.  he levitates to the sky and prepares to destroy “everything.”

I don’t think Goku was expecting such an extreme or rapid response, so he tells everyone to hustle those buns and clear out.  The Kais use their Time Rings, and everyone else hops in the Time Machine.  Goku and Vegeta ride on the landing struts.  I feel like that’s a bad idea, but so is staying here, so sure.

And as Grand Zeno does his work, all the Zamasu faces twist with confused terror and vanish.

Gowasu apologizes to Beerus for all the trouble caused by his shitty apprentice-selection skills, but there’s really nothing more to be said here.  Goku and the others return in their Time Machine, but Goku’s not done yet because he wants to take one more trip.  I’m pretty sure Bulma has to make more fuel for that, so I assume the next scene takes place some twelve hours later.

See, Goku wants to go back to pick up Grand Zeno, who’s now just floating in the void by himself.  Trunks handles the controls for this trip, and he reports that he has taken the machine back to the same coordinates they left.  I don’t know, it’s pretty ballsy of Goku to assume that they could even go  back like this.  I mean, would there even be a “here” for them to arrive at?   Would the time machine simply blip out of existence as soon as it arrived?   Or maybe this space Zeno floats in is only here because the time machine arrived here.

Anyway, Goku offers this Zeno a lift, promising to take him to another universe with lots of cool stuff.  Zeno’s like “Yeah, I’m in.” 

Then Goku asks the Supreme Kai to take him to the palace of the Grand Zeno in this timeline, and Goku introduces them.  He promised the local Grand Zeno a friend, and he’s delivered.  Promises made, promises kept. 

The Grand Minister is impressed, and asks if Whis had something to do with this, but Whis says this was all Goku’s idea.  The G.M. says he’s starting to like Universe 7, and Whis invites him to visit anytime.  Also, in this scene they refer to each other as father and son. 

So that wraps up most of it, right?  Well, there’s still the matter of Trunks and Mai, who are now the only survivors of the alternate timeline’s multiverse.   Zamasu killed everyone and Zeno erased what was left.  Whis suggests taking them to a time just before that all happened.   Basically, he would drop them off in the same timeline, before the crisis began.  Then he would contact the Beerus of that timeline, and convince him to destroy Zamasu before he could have the chance to cause trouble.  Beerus doesn’t approve, since that would mean Whis would create another alternate timeline.  

But Whis points out that Beerus has already violated the same taboo himself, when he destroyed Zamasu in Episode 59.  Beerus didn’t travel through time to do that, but he did act on information provided to him from the future, i.e., the similarity of Goku Black’s ki to Zamasu’s.  Therefore, he created a divergenge in the timeline, one path where Beerus destroyed Zamasu, and one where he did not. 

Vegeta has a more practical objection.  No one knows exactly when Zamasu obtained his indestructible body, so if Whis’ plan is going to work, he’d need to do this before Zamasu makes that wish.  Otherwise, Beerus destroying Zamasu would just produce the same ruined universe that Zeno had to erase.  Whis says he has some means of dealing with such a problem, more effective than their Mafuba technique.  But he doesn’t elaborate. 

Of course, that problem doesn’t actually matter, since Whis’ plan requires the Beerus of that timeline to still be alive, and he would have died when Dabura killed the Supreme Kai, years before Goku Black or Zamasu got started.  The real catch to all of this is that Whis can drop Trunks and Mai off in a “safe” version of the world they knew, a world recovering from the Androids, but still thriving.  However, that world will have a Trunks and Mai already living there, which would be kind of awkward.  Can they handle such a thing? 

They agree to give it a shot.  I mean, where else can they go?  I guess they can stay here, but there’s a Trunks and Mai in this world too, so it’s the same problem.  Anyway, before he leaves, Beerus tells Trunks that he’s going to absolve him of his temporal crimes, but only because Whis likes him.  Translation: Beerus had a soft spot for Trunks now. 

In Universe 10, Gowasu checks out his box of Time rings, and there’s a sixth one now.  I think that would be the one created by Beerus’s actions in Episode 59, but I’m still a little fuzzy on the Time Rings.   I’ll definitely have to try to sort this out in another post.  All that matters is that we now have a Timeline E and F in addition to the A,B,C&D timelines from the original manga.  And this suits me fine, because I like the idea of this shitty Zamasu saga involving a Timeline F.

Back on Earth, everyone says their goodbyes to Trunks and Mai, and Vegeta punches him, and he smiles when Trunks blocks it.  They’re both satisfied that he can handle whatever they run into next in their new home.

Also, Piccolo and Gohan fly over to see them off, and Gohan offers words of support, which makes Trunks cry.  Wait, I thought Whis escorted the time machine in this scene.  Maybe he just told them he was going to arrange all that stuff, and he secretly planted a bomb on the Time Machine to clean up the last loose end. 

Anyway, they’re gone, and apparently once and for all, so that’s the end of the Zamasu Saga.  Good riddance. 

It’s been said before, but the ending to this arc is incredibly nihilistic.  The original goal here was for Trunks to save his world from Goku Black, and in the end, he failed completely.  His Earth is destroyed, his people are destroyed, Goku Black and Zamasu are destroyed, and the entire multiverse of that timeline is destroyed as well.  Trunks and Mai get to live, but they have to blend in on an exact copy of the world they knew (give or take a few years), and there’s already a Trunks and Mai living in it, which is kind of an existentialist horror when you think about it. 

I think the creators were sort of hoping you won’t think about it too much after this episode.  After all, the Trunks and Mai of this story are gone for good, so we don’t have any way to check in on them to see how they’re doing in their new home, or even if they made it there at all.  As for the other characters, they can move on with their lives.  Most of the events of this arc didn’t affect them at all, since the bulk of the action took place in a separate world that no longer exists. 

The thing is, I still think about this, because I’ve been writing a Trunks fanfic as a hobby.   Well, it’s not a Trunks fanfic.  He’s in it, but he’s not the lead.  The point is, I do try to keep abreast of Future Trunks continuity, and I swiftly came to the conclusion that this stupid saga should be ignored entirely.  I hate the idea of Trunks’ whole future world dying in another conflict, a conflict so asinine that the only way to resolve it was a literal deus ex machina to destroy his entire reality.

And ignoring the Zamasu Saga is pretty easy to do, since the only lasting legacy seems to be the fact that there’s two Grand Zenos after this, when there was only one before.  So if you follow my Dragon Ball Super Machete Cut, which skips Epsides 3-14, 19-31, and the Zamasu arc, you won’t be all that confused.  I mean, sure, you’ll see two Zeno’s at the Tournament of Power, but they look and act exactly the same, so it doesn’t really matter how many of them there are.  It’s a small price to pay for skipping this dumb stretch of episodes. 

So we’re done.  No more Zamasu Saga.  Things can only get better from here, and now I...

Wait, I forgot I still have to do the manga version.  Damn.  It.

I’ll see you next time...

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Conversations over Coffee (Werewolf!Leo Demidov x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Werewolf AU, Modern AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Leo Demidov x Fem Human!Reader

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: None

Summary: A cup of coffee or tea has the power to bring people together. No matter their walks of life, there is a powerful magic in the small moment shared over a warm drink.

It was a cup of tea which made Leo decide to put his trust in you.

But it was over a cup of coffee he promised to stay.

Author’s Note: I had to rely on Google translator and do some cross-referencing across sites for the Russian used in this piece. If you see any mistakes, please let me know and I’ll immediately edit it out.

Tag List: @potter-solomons @hecatemoon87 @zablife @vir-tual @alikaheroes @dreamlandcreations @buttercup32sstuff @woofgocows @ilovemanypeople @liliac-dreamer @elijahssuit​

TH Masterlist

Not all beginnings are easy, especially when it comes to being placed in an unknown environment. To be fair, I can’t blame him for reacting the way he did. After all, he’d been smuggled into the country after having spent months in a container.

However, I’m glad he’s at least talking now. Well, to me, that is. The staff of the shelter harbouring him and other fugitive Wolves couldn’t get so much as a peep out of him. Don’t misunderstand, they were all the same glad I signed up as supervisor for the WHO’s reintegration program. It is a government-funded program to reintegrate the supernatural into the mundane world without it causing any issues like witch trials and werewolf hunts.   

I remember walking through the narrow hallways and the small rooms, bunk beds on either side with little space in between. The air was stale and musty. People had to almost squeeze past each other to get somewhere. It only made it all the more clear that immigrant housing isn’t a problem which only pertains to humans. 

The staff member at my side, whose accent gave away he’s from Belfast, seemed to become more fidgety the closer we got to the room of the person I asked to be assigned to. 

When we reached it, his breath tapered as he told me to be careful and he’d stand watch. The man I was to meet could be violent in his silence. Fights had frequently broken out, most of them started by others yet always won by Leo. 

Won without getting so much as a small sound out of him.

I stepped into the room, shoulders squared and my chest puffed out with fake bravado. The key to dealing with a Wolf who might still prove to be Feral is to remain calm and collected. Like any other canine, they can smell fear so it’s crucial to have your nerves under control.

Leo sat in the corner of his bed, like a caged animal filled with nothing but distrust. His blue eyes were cold as ice, full lips hardly trying to suppress a scowl. I was to keep my distance. Any kind of provocation would be met with dire action. Fortunately, I had a powerful card to play.

I remained by the door, hands at my side to show I was unarmed. “Leo, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N. I suppose they’ve told you about me.’’

‘‘I know who you are,’’ he sneered, his surprisingly very good English underlined by the thick accent of his native tongue. ‘‘What do you want?’’

‘‘I understand you don’t trust me. Rightfully so, I wouldn’t either if I were you. But I own a fairly big cottage that feels quite empty, so I could do with some company.”

“So you choose a Russian killer, a former KGB agent?” He bared his teeth, fangs already protruded from his gums. “Vraki. You go back, da, return to your nice cottage and live happy. Loneliness makes person strong, you’ll see.”

“Does it?” I tilted my head, foolishly having decided to start playing with fire. “Because I see a man consumed by it before me and I don’t think it’s made him strong.”

Leo rose to his feet, half-succeeding in letting his muscular and imposing frame intimidate me. Then he leant in, close enough for his breath to ghost over my lips. A whiff of mint and cologne hit my nose. Later, I’d recognize the woody undertone as his aftershave. “I have no time for little girl games.”

“I’m not mucking about.”

“Leave.”

“There’s a lot of open terrain where I live. Lots of nature,” I said when he turned his back on me. In hindsight, I suppose the gesture meant he didn’t see me as a potential source of danger. Otherwise he’d kept his eyes on me while retreating. “You can run around freely.”

Now that caught his attention.

Slowly he turned back, enough to look at me over his shoulder. 

“The Cotswolds is really nice. I live in a kind of remote area, but the people don’t really bat an eyelid when it comes to the supernatural. Okay, well, it still freaks them out, but chances are slim something will happen. No witch hunts, in any case.”

He leant in as before, taking me in. Or, rather, he was assessing me. Measuring how much of a threat I was, trying to find out whether I was bluffing or not. After all, the prospect of open terrain must’ve sounded heavenly compared to his holding cell of a room. “You are a funny woman.”

“How about we discuss things over a cup of tea? I’ll show you around the house, where you’ll have your own room of course. If you like it, I’d very much appreciate it if you stayed. If you don’t, well, who am I to keep you?”

I’ll be honest, I bribed him a little bit by offering him the lightest and largest room at the back of the house which provides a splendid view of the rolling fields stretching into the horizon.

And it worked.

He stayed. 

The sound of the front door opening interrupts the silence, shortly followed by heavy footsteps in the hallway. 

“Leo, that you?” I ask without looking up from the dishwasher. 

“Da!”

“Had a good workout?”

“Mhm.”

“The others still listening?”

“Da, the pups still are very much aware who’s in charge.”

Leo has been working as an instructor at a boxing school for newly turned Wolves. There are a couple of humans among them, but they are in the know about the nature of their fellow boxers. Or they find out about it soon enough after accidentally getting knocked out because their sparring partner isn’t in control of their new strength. 

He likes to stay a little longer to get some practice himself and prepare for the next class. Lately, as confessed over last night’s dinner consisting of the borscht his mother taught him how to make, he’s been thinking about participating in tournaments.

I beckon for him to hand over his water bottle. Leo drinks the last of his protein shake, takes off the cap, and hands both compartments over so I can place them in the dishwasher. “Don’t go too hard on them.”

“Some Russian discipline might do them good. Teach them proper. Makes good fighters.”

“Not everyone’s as hardy as you.”

He grumbles something in Russian about controlling something, likely the beast within. Then he points at the large shoppers on the counters. “Also, next time, da, tell me when you go get groceries. I’ll carry bags.”

I laugh to myself, shut the lid, and put on the program. “How about we go out today?”

“Out?” Leo asks, perking up. Had he been in his Wolf form, his tail would have been wagging. 

Though he keeps up a guard, I can’t help but notice he’s at his happiest when outside. Be it on a walk in the countryside, cruising through it on his motorcycle, tending to the garden or the vegetable patches he’s planted, or even so much as a trip to the big supermarket outside the village, his mood is better than when he’s cooped up inside. Nonetheless, it’s a small victory he’s finally sleeping indoors.

“Yes, I thought it’d be nice to go get coffee in town for a change.” A low rumble resounds from his stomach. “Although, let’s make that lunch.”

“Good idea. I’ll take a quick shower and we go. We can go. Um, da, be right back!” He rushes upstairs, his footsteps soon sounding towards the bathroom.

Even though he’s likely not aware of it himself, I cherish moments like these. When the walls crumble and there is no strict boundary between the man and the beast inside. When he’s carefree, excited by the prospect of going on a walk. 

I start putting away the groceries, mumbling to myself. ‘‘You’re really just a fluffy oversized wolf on the inside, aren’t you?’’

A busy day in the village is incomparable to its urban equivalent. Although, the capital of the Cotswolds, Cirencester, hardly becomes any busier than a quiet day in London or Southampton. All the same, it makes for the ideal ground for those wishing to reintegrate and connect with people because it allows them to adjust slowly without being surrounded by a sea of potential triggers.

After parking the car, Leo driving as per usual, we casually walk towards the centre of Baron’s End. The white cobbled market plaza forms the beating heart of the town. On Wednesdays and Fridays, the local farmers sell their produce. On Saturdays, there is a small fabric market. Once in a season, though, an antique flea market takes place here. Yet, even when there’s nothing going on, it still forms the essential link that connects the villagers with each other.

I notice Leo is sticking closer to me than usual, enough so for his fingers to brush past mine. Either he doesn’t notice or willfully ignores it because when I look up, his eyes are trained on something in the distance.

The same thing happened last week while we were out doing groceries. Whereas normally one of us has the cart and the other wanders around, picking up items off of the list or at random, he was adamant we had plenty of time so we could browse together at leisure. There’s also been a recent development in our habit of sitting together by the fire after dinner to read and drink tea. We each used to sit on either end of the sofa, a gap between us. However, Leo now tends to sit directly next to me. I don’t have the courage yet to lean on him when he does, too afraid of the repercussions. After all, we’ve only known each other for around four months, our bond still fragile.

We strike down at a little café in a former cottage. The interior is rustic and simple, dark wood mingled with vintage items and small plants. Here and there, there’s a pop of pastel pink or blue in the form of a print or flower. Bright sunlight streams in through the French windows of the sun room.

The bell above the door tinkles softly as we enter. Leo holds it open while gesturing for me to go in first. Though it happens less frequently now, he still draws more than one pair of eyes to him. And not all of them are appreciative, especially when they hear him speak. “Go find seat. I’ll order. Cappuccino, da?”

But it are the female gazes that are more than appreciative, including the young barista’s, which occasionally make me not want to be out with him at all. It’s odd, but recently I’ve found myself unusually annoyed with them. Moreover, they make my stomach roil and reluctant to leave his side in a way that goes beyond the role assigned to me by the WHO.

Nonetheless, I have to let him do these things. Not just to improve his English, which has improved greatly over these past four months and is likely in part to blame on the many books he reads in the library and in bed. Many a time I’ve seen the light still on in the dead of night, his door cracked open just enough to show him immersed in whatever novel he picked from the pile on his bedside table that night. But I also have to let him so he’ll find his own way.

Without me. 

I nod.

“See? I know what you like. Go find spot to sit. Be right there.” He tilts his head when I don’t move, fists clenched at my sides and my gaze averted to the ground. “Y/N, what is wrong?”

“Nothing,” I let out the breath I’d been holding and force myself to look at him, making sure to first blink away the tears. “Guess I’m still a bit tired. Didn’t sleep all too well last night.”

He grabs my wrist when I turn around. His big fingers are warm, their grip iron-like. Protective even to the point it hurts. “Malen’kiy-’’

Leo lets go the moment I snap my head back to throw him a glance over my shoulder. He’s never touched me before.

Realising the same thing, he opens and closes his mouth. Neither in his native tongue nor his second do words come, so he settles for a sigh and gestures helplessly to the tables off on the side. “Go sit.”

We’re in luck because I manage to capture a seat by one of the windows overlooking the plaza in the sun room. I watch him order, my jaw clenched thanks to the doe eyes the barista gives him. However, she quickly pales at something he says as he points behind him and nods frantically in response.

I sit up a bit, my interest piqued by the strange display.

What did you tell her? It didn’t look like the Wolf came out, but she looks awfully spooked. Should I interfere or won’t that be necessary? Also, what were you pointing at?

There is no time to check out what’s going on because, after doubting for a moment too long, Leo has already arrived at the table. Gently and with care, he serves me the cappuccino. “That’s one for you, malen’kiy. It’s on me.”

Scrambling to regain my composure, I try to keep my voice devoid of the curiosity gnawing at me. “Really, it’s no trouble to-’’

He sits down and holds up his hand. “It’s fine. I recently got paid.”

“Thank you, Leo.”

His features soften as a rare warmth illuminates his eyes. “You are very welcome.”

“By the way, what does it mean?”

“What?”

“What you called me. Ma- Male…”

“Malen’kiy?”

“Yes.”

“It means little one. And since you’re, um, well,” a rosy flush creeps into his cheeks and to hide it he hides behind his cup, taking a big sip of the black coffee, “it- it suits you.”

He isn’t wrong there, being a head taller. But his reaction is telling of the fact that more goes on beneath the surface of the uncharacteristically clumsy argument. There is a reason for the nickname, but he won’t divulge it to me yet.

Nevertheless, perhaps to save us from our mutual discomfort, I clear my throat and take a sip of the soft, foamy coffee in my hands. ‘‘Can I ask you something?’’

‘‘You are full of questions today.’’ He grows still as he takes me in, trying to discover why I’m crossing the apparent maximum of one question a day. Leo doesn’t like talking, especially about himself. Fortunately, I have luck on my side today. ‘‘Go on.’’

I nod at the barista, who’s gotten some colour in her skin again. ‘‘What did you say to her? She looked mortified when you two were talking.’’

He throws a glance to the side before gazing down into his cup, head bowed. A few stray dark brown locks dangle in front of his eyes. ‘‘Hm.’’

‘‘Leo?’’

‘‘I set boundary. Boundaries are good. Keep things in place.’’ Sullen, he takes a sip of his coffee. ‘‘Where they should be. Protects them.’’

The sternness in his voice forms a clue that I won’t get more than this out of him. Evidently, the conversation on this subject is over.

To save us from the discomfort of the violent silence between us, I change the topic to a more business-like one. “So, we’ve been living together for a few months now. How are you liking it?”

“Good. It’s good.” He takes a sip of his drink and nods in appreciation, making it hard to know whether he means the coffee or living together.

“I notice your insomnia has gotten less.” Nowadays, I don’t catch him as often reading in front of the hearth of the library we built together or, if the skies are clear, watching the stars in the sun room. At least he’s staying indoors now rather than wandering off across the meadows or sitting in the middle of them until morning.

“That is true. I sleep better now.”

“Do you think you could be happy here?”

He purses his lips in contemplation. “I think so, da. I owe you a lot and I am grateful for your help.”

“You’ve grown a lot since we met. I’m glad we’re talking now.”

His response catches me off guard. “I am too.”

“Leo… I’ve been thinking. I suppose it’s inevitable, but, how to phrase this, have-’’ the words catch in my throat, too afraid and jumbled to come out. I tap my fingers against the side of my cup.

He puts his down and places a warm hand over my wrist. “Remember what you told me. Breathe. Take your time, but breathe.”

I take a few deep breaths yet do not have the courage to meet his gaze, to see the strange tenderness that’s taken root in the ice. “Have you maybe thought about moving out at some point? Live on your own?”

“And leave you, my friend, my companion, my m-’’ he clears his throat, cheeks tinged with a rosy flush. “No, I stay. The house is very big and you’ll be very lonely. And loneliness is not good. It breaks you.”

“That it does.”

“I’ve seen you change too. You’ve become, how to say, radiant. More life, no, lively.”

I blink, surprised by his observation. “Have I?”

“Da,’’ he answers resolutely. ‘‘You have. It’s good to see. Very nice.’’

“Leo?”

“Hm?”

“Stay for as long as you like.”

Preferably forever. 

“I will.”

[jtl07]

jt (finally) watches warrior nun - s1 e9 (pt 2)

So I finished s1e9 earlier this week but I’ve been putting this off because … I didn’t like it very much. The only thing that I found mildly thought-provoking was the Avatrice scene where fight or flight was mentioned, which I’ll spend the bulk of this post ruminating about.

Just to get it out of my system, I’ll note my main criticisms under the cut. Jump to the paragraph that begins “Fourth and lastly” for when I start talking about Avatrice.

The main problems I had with this episode were four in total (trying my best to keep them concise lol):

First, the length of the scenes, or rather, how there’s an aggravating tendency to cut to a different scene before any sort of value change has been established (I’m thinking specifically about Robert McKee’s “Story” - this post summarizes the concept) - resulting in confusion instead of a tension that builds throughout the episode (not to mention a sort of “color-by-numbers” feel as we hit different plot points, rather than a cohesive, inevitable narrative).

Second, the blocking/staging and overall logic in the Ava-Bea-Lilith-Mary confrontation scene - Bea pulling a throwing star instead of a knife was strange, Mary shouldn’t have been able to put Lilith in any sort of effective rear naked choke with that height difference, plus if Ava had actually shot Lilith, she’d have hurt Mary as well - while Toya Turner killed that speech to Lilith, I couldn’t help but think that gosh, it could’ve been supported better. Anyway, it would’ve been nice if it had been filmed with less close-ups and more ensemble to really capture the chemistry and layers. (I’m thinking about this video by Every Frame a Painting re: ensemble staging)

Third, speaking of support: There was no support for Mother Superion’s reveal as a a former halo bearer here, and I was extremely frustrated by that. I’m not sure if they were trying to give her an air of mystery, a sort of “will she help Ava or will she not?” tension. But there was nothing to support even that. Like, yeah, her fight with Crimson was cool, but even there was no build up; no tension, just confusion. Then in the grottos scene when Superion tells Ava that she’s worthy, I found myself not believing her - because there were no scenes I could point to that showed me that she’d changed her mind about Ava. From what we'd seen so far, it seemed to me less that she started believing in Ava and more that she stopped believing in Duretti. Lesser evil sort of thing, which didn't really match the content of that scene. Again, while Sylvia De Fanti absolutely killed it, I felt like it could have been more than the disconnected, “oh we have to hit this plot point” moment that we got.

Fourth and lastly, there’s Beatrice’s criticism of Ava, aka the fight or flight conversation. I have a couple issues with this, centering around context and content. First, the context: This scene is following both the fight with Crimson’s gang - where we see Ava struggling with holding herself back to not get involved (which I sympathized with hardcore - Alba sells those moments so, so well) - and Mother Superion expressing her trust in Ava.

While Beatrice may not have been present for the latter, she must have been somewhat aware of Ava during the former - after all, Ava didn’t get involved, she did her job! - but instead of praising Ava for her growth, she disregards it (at best), ignores it (at worst). While the criticism itself is in character for Beatrice - after all, Bea did call Ava thoughtless and self-centered - it felt out of character for her to not have noticed the effort Ava had made during the fight.

Also, zooming out a bit further, Beatrice did do the right thing in bringing more explosives. She’s always been one to think of contingency plans, worst-case scenarios. That kind of planning isn’t personal, it’s mitigating risk - for both Ava and the rest of the team. Here, Beatrice is fulfilling her side of the trust equation: if something goes wrong - regardless of if it’s caused Ava or not - she will have some kind of plan to rectify the situation. That’s her job, that’s the value she brings to the team, to every mission. The fact that the conversation centers around Ava so personally just felt very off to me.

Second, the content of Beatrice’s criticism really rubbed me the wrong way. I hate that physiological reactions are presented not only as choices, but also as a binary - from what I’ve learned, there’s upwards of four responses (fight, flight, freeze, fawn). Additionally, I hate that flight is considered lesser, weaker - more selfish, more cowardly.

It really depends on the situation. Whenever I’ve taught self-defense, we’ve always expressed the importance of listening to your instincts and leaving a situation when you think you need to. Additionally, to take a different perspective, there are plenty of military examples where standing and fighting was the wrong thing to do. I feel like we glorify fighting for the sacrificial element of it - but man, living is just as important. Flight has its purpose - it would not have been built into our brains, into our bodies without good reason. Fight is not a superior response. It's just one of many that a person can have.

It’s a very black or white sort of statement from Beatrice and the only leeway I could think of to give her was that maybe for Beatrice, fight is all she’s ever known. That she was never given the chance for flight - or that it was drilled into her head that flight was selfish and cowardly. Taken from a queer and/or Asian perspective, that kind of makes sense. Especially if “fight” encompasses things like “enduring” - as in, enduring the shitty hand that you’ve been dealt, where you learn to survive despite the pain.

After all, Beatrice did say “pain is what made me a sister warrior” - it’s possible that she sees flight, running to be seen as an insult to all the fighting, all the pain she’s had to endure thus far. (Which I suppose that makes it all the more meaningful that she leaves at the end of s2…)

Anyway, I just wish there had been a bit more nuance in that conversation, or at the very least, less of the whole “let’s shame Ava for wanting to live without addressing all the trauma she’s been through” agenda that seems to permeate so many of these episodes in this season.

Sorry this came out much more rant-y than my other posts. Alba was really the only reason why I made it through this episode, she was wonderful to watch in every scene. Just wish there had been a bit more to it, yknow?

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

WIP Wednesday

So 'Technically A Cutsleeve?' is very...wishy washy for me lol. Like I know the general direction I'd like the fic to go in, I have the major beats planned out and I have since I first got the idea for it back in 2021. But how I get there is still very much up in the air, and I've written a lot of scenes that I don't even know if I'll use or not anymore. In one version of the fic (that currently exists and I can post it if y'all are curious) Mo Xuanyu and Lan Jingyi admit their feelings to each other when Lan Jingyi is laid up sick in bed while visiting Jinlintai for the first time and Mo Xuanyu comes to help take care of him since he'd already been helping out in the healing pavilion anyway when Jin Ling came to fetch some medicine for him. The problem is that that timeline/series of events doesn't really work out for the fic anymore because of other choices I've made, but I do still love the idea so I can't bring myself to delete the scene.

I also have a short follow-up scene after Jingyi is well again and he and Mo Xuanyu are enjoying their new relationship...but it doesn't make sense anymore, because I can't use the sick scene anymore, and also the timeline really doesn't work out by then. But I still really like that scene too, so I don't want to get rid of it either 😂 All of this to say, since I don't know if it'll make it into the fic or not but I still love it, I thought I'd post it here for WIP Wednesday, so here's that follow-up scene of the two of them walking through the gardens a little while after they've established they want to be together:

-/-

“You’re awfully smug,” Mo Xuanyu notes with a little jostle of their linked arms. “Would you like to share with the class?”

“Nope,” Jingyi replies, not even attempting to stop smirking. “Nothing to share that you don’t already know.”

“Oh?”

Jingyi readjusts his hold on Mo Xuanyu’s arm a bit to bring him in tighter against his side and his smirk only grows as Mo Xuanyu sighs gustily.

“A-Yi it’s been a month, are you still this smug that you wooed me while on your ‘deathbed’?”

“I was on my deathbed!” he protests, not missing the sarcasm in the question. “Sizhui had given me up for a lost cause and was just waiting for nature to run its course! It’s not my fault your taste in men runs towards those who are sickly and coughing up a lung.”

Mo Xuanyu sighs loudly again and for the sake of their bickering Jingyi pretends not to see that he’s smiling. “Fujun’s memory is stunningly accurate and does not at all lean towards exaggeration.”

Jingyi stumbles gracelessly over his feet at the title – Mo Xuanyu is eerily good at that, finding precisely what form of affection is going to hit him the hardest at any given moment. “You do not play fair,” he chastises even as his ears and cheeks burn.

“And you need to find a time to tell Xuan-ge that we’re courting since we’re really doing this. I know I’m eccentric, but we should still do this the right way.”

That sobers Jingyi up quickly and he stops in his tracks to turn to Mo Xuanyu so he can study his expression. He’s beautiful today (as he always is), wearing a full face of makeup and one of his best gowns, miles of fluttering deep blue silk with an orchid huadian between his brows.

“You being weird doesn’t mean I’m not going to court you properly,” Jingyi protests immediately and he sees something tight around Mo Xuanyu’s eyes relax just for a moment. “A-Yu, why wouldn’t I court you properly?”

“Who said you wouldn’t?” Mo Xuanyu deflects instantly, making as if to turn away to continue on their chosen path through the gardens. “I didn’t say you wouldn’t.”

“A-Yu.”

“A-Yi.”

“A-Yu-“

“Okay stop, we already know we can argue like this for hours,” Mo Xuanyu huffs and Jingyi smirks again as his partner gives up so easily. He’s rewarded with a shove that he immediately counters with one of his own, though after a moment he turns it into an excuse to reel Mo Xuanyu in, tuck him against his chest to hold him close. They’re alone in the gardens, no one yet aware that they should be accompanied by a chaperone, and so he brings Mo Xuanyu in close and presses his cheek to the side of his head.

“I’m going to do this right,” he murmurs quietly against Mo Xuanyu’s silken hair, currently caught up in a complicated updo full of little pins and a pair of blue-jeweled buyao pins. “You deserve all the same things that everyone else gets when they’re courting, anything you want, and I want to give them to you.” Jingyi’s breath catches when Mo Xuanyu slides his slender hands up his chest to curl around the back of his neck, cool and comforting and tugging him downwards so Mo Xuanyu can lean in and press their foreheads together (being mindful of his own huadian and Jingyi’s ribbon, which he hasn’t touched yet).

“What if I wanted to say fuck it and elope?”

Jingyi snorts at that and nudges the tips of their noses together for a moment before he straightens again, arms still loosely wrapped around Mo Xuanyu’s waist. “Fine, let’s go find your brother then and bow to him and then you can come back with me to Gusu so we can bow to Qingheng-Jun and Lan-xiansheng.”

“Oh gods you’d actually do that, wouldn’t you?” Mo Xuanyu marvels and Jingyi smiles widely.

“Anything you want, A-Yu, I’m serious. So be careful what you ask me for.”

Mo Xuanyu stares at him for another handful of moments like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing before he gives himself a visible shake and withdraws to link their arms again and the gesture makes Jingyi’s heart stutter in his chest just as much as it had that very first time. They don’t get much longer to enjoy each other’s private company as they’re soon joined by one of the nursemaids bringing little Jin Ye to Mo Xuanyu, but even then his heart doesn’t get a break.

“Do you remember A-Ling’s friend Lan Jingyi?” Mo Xuanyu asks the toddler perched in his arms as the three of them walk together (now spaced appropriately apart). Jin Ye shakes her head ‘no’ and pops her thumb in her mouth as she regards him with evident imperious distrust. Jingyi does his best to look properly chastised by her glaring rather than utterly charmed. “He’s Yu-shushu’s second favorite person in the whole world, so you have to be nice and show him what to do since you’re my very favorite, okay?” Jin Ye considers that for a long moment, little bottom lip pouting out impossibly far, and then she nods and Mo Xuanyu gives her a smacking kiss to the cheek that makes her giggle. How in the world is Jingyi not supposed to fall in love?

[wool-f]

Wellness: Through & Through | Part Six: The 5am Club 

I’ve spent the last decade online watching videos and reading blogs and articles all claiming that waking up at 5am is the key to changing your life, being productive, becoming to most successful person in the world, the list goes ON. 

As part of this experiment on my body that I’ve been undertaking here on Wellness: Through & Through, I really wanted to try out waking up at 5am and see what changes it had on my life and body. 

If you’re more of a video person, I’ve uploaded a video to my channel for you to watch here, but if you want to see a structured, written out approach, come with me through a journal style approach to waking up at 5am. 

Immediately when I first thought about getting into the 5am routine, I was filled with doubts at the possibility of me becoming a morning person. 

I had hated waking up early for 7am starts when I was in retail and hospitality, I could never imagine doing it WILLINGLY, let alone enjoying it. 

But was I in for the shock of my life - waking up at 5am has changed my life, and I will never go back. 

There are so many significant changes I’ve noticed in my daily routine that have been positive additions since starting my 5am routine and I hate to admit it, but all those articles were correct. It is life changing, you do become a better person. 

I want to start this from the outset saying that waking up at 5am is not going to be for everyone. But I think if the idea has crossed your mind ever, it’s worth giving it a go. 

The biggest change I’ve found in waking up at 5am is that when combined with early morning exercise, I am so much more productive throughout my entire day. It’s actually embarrassing to think about what I was doing before I was waking up at 5am. 

I was doing so much less, I was a lot more lethargic and I was procrastinating a huge amount throughout the day. 

I’m not in any way saying that waking up at 5am has fixed all my problems or cured my love of procrastination, but I am so much more focused and on point when I’m waking up and exercising before the sun has risen. 

I have noticed that when exercise is not factored into the morning routine, I am less productive so that should be noted, but it’s a huge thing that has changed for me. 

Combined in that little change, I’ve noticed I am far less lethargic throughout the afternoon, a fact that has really surprised me. 

Where I would normally go through a mid-afternoon slump, I am powering through my to-do lists, work or off time on the weekends. It’s like a magic trick. 

I’m not sure what the cause of this is, but I’m sure there is a scientist out there who has done a study on it. 

One thing I have enjoyed thoroughly about waking up at 5am, is the extra two hours I get to myself in the morning. Where I was rushing around, shoving my breakfast down my throat and burning my mouth on hot coffee, now I am relaxed, showered and able to eat my breakfast at a normal pace while reading a book. 

There is also a beautiful smell in the air early in the morning, that fades away as the day goes on. I can’t describe it, but I’m sure other people who are early risers can relate. It’s a fresh, crisp smell that hits your nose, and it almost is what I would imagine a fresh imagination to smell like. 

I think deep down it’s the knowledge that nothing bad has happened in the day yet, and there is so much opportunity yet to come, it’s the smell of a new beginning! 

A beautiful part of waking up so early is getting the opportunity to see the sunrise every single day. It’s getting later for me as daylight savings has ended in Melbourne and winter is setting in, but there is really nothing like watching the sunrise and the day begin, knowing you’ve already gotten through the first few hours. 

So, if you hadn’t already guessed, this is a tried and approved message to give the 5am club a go. I honestly am obsessed with waking up early now. I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting older and this is what happens, but it’s definitely something I wish I had done earlier. 

Two tips I have for anyone giving this a go: 

1. Preparation is key: make sure you’re getting enough sleep the night before, that you’re hydrated before bed and that you have your clothes ready to go for the following morning to motivate you to move from the comfortable pillow palace you’ve made yourself over night. It will be a rough first week/two weeks when you begin, but if you’re ready to go from the moment you open your eyes, it will make it so much easier. 

2. Have a consequence for not getting up - I always book a 6am pilates class to force me out of bed, otherwise I’ll cop a late cancellation or a no-show fee. Having something to do as soon as you get up is honestly the key to success with this, especially if you’re a lover of sleep like I am. 

Don’t put too much pressure on yourself if you’re giving this a go, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to conquer. The day won’t change if you get up at 5.30am or 5.45am, but I think it’s really worth giving it a go, even just to give yourself an extra few hours in the morning to do something you enjoy, like read a book, or catch up on a TV show. 

Let me know if you give this one a go, and how you enjoyed/hated it in the comments below! 

You can find me on all my other socials using the handle @kweenofthieves, but outside that, I’ll be back with you all next week! 

All my love, 

Gxx

[savebatsfromscratch]

18. Blinded under painful tears.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50939629

Words: 1,256

Cws: Death, blood, torture, blood

Notes: Koya whump because I wanna check them all off. The squad gets cornered by some new strand of evil team. Hareta is immediately… dealt with, the rest get blindfolded and dragged off. Then, uh, torture I guess??? I dunno man, I’m not good at writing torture.

Prompt: No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.” Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

Koya’s feet tapped against the ground lightly as his group sneaked through the halls of the dark building. A shiver of hardly suppressed fear shot down his spine, and his hands hovered meer inches over his Pokeballs as he strained to listen for enemies in those musty halls. This was a total jackpot. For an opening into the enemy base that he and his fellow officers had been looking for for the past month, it was rather fitting that he would run into it with his dexholder friends instead.

He glanced to his side, watching as Hareta breathed in the dusty air, obviously searching for something that none of the others could get their minds onto. Beside him, Mitsumi calmly held a small camera, which Koya knew was going to be used as evidence the second that they got out of here. On Koya's other side, Jun was holding an escape rope with strong hands. (Though, admittedly, he had a bit of a “white knuckles” problem at the moment.)

Koya grit his teeth as yet another shiver of fear slashed through his spirit. He was literally surrounded by amazing Pokemon trainers, why did he feel so apprehensive? As far as trips into an evil building went, this one was pretty safe. (Hell, he couldn't even think of a single officer who'd ever beat a trainer at Mitsumi's level, and both he and Hareta were nearly on her level, and Jun was hardly far behind.)

So, if he was so safe, why was every bone in his body screaming for him to run right back the way he’d come?

The halls were dark and empty, and every locked door that they passed held nothing but empty cells and quiet lab tables. There were no distant screams, no echoing crashes or bangs, the place was nothing like any other evil base Koya had ever infiltrated. Nothing in there should have screamed so hard to alert him of danger, so what was wrong?

Hareta seemed to find the answer first, stiffening in a very un-Hareta-like terror before opening his mouth to tell the group something-

But it was a something that Koya would never get to hear, as a sudden BANG blasted through the relative silence and sent the group into scrambling fright. Mitsumi yanked out a Pokeball, Jun lifted his communicator to his mouth, but Koya only froze where he stood, unable to even grab for his Pokemon to battle, let alone for a gun of his own, which hung right beside his pokeballs on his belt. No, how could he reach for a form of defense while he was still grasping for recognition of what he was seeing in front of him.

Hareta had been standing there mere moments before. Hareta, bright eyed, intelligent, caring, everything Koya was not.

But now-

Koya felt his heart catch painfully in his throat as a scream of stunned rage echoed through the corridors. Horrible, guttural, genuine. A true reaction to the red that now splattered wettly against the gray concrete.

And the worst part, if any of it could be considered a “worst part”, was that Koya didn't even have time to decide which one of them the horrific sound belonged to before a stinging pain in his neck brought darkness to his eyes.

He hit the floor with a thump, and though his mind swam with memories, he could do nothing to fight the drug as he lost consciousness.

When he woke again, his throat still ached, but now his ears rang as though he'd just gotten wacked upside the head by a fighting class trainer, which was not exactly welcome as he struggled to control his panic as he came to.

A thin strip of fabric covered his eyes, and he felt some sort of rope wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles. For a brief moment he wondered if it was more there to keep him from running, or if it was in an effort to keep him from fighting, but his thoughts were cut short by the sound of a door opening and shutting somewhere behind him.

He tried to swivel around to at least face whoever was in the room with him, but was instead met with a tugging of the ropes on his wrists and ankles, and only managed to incite a low chuckle from the evil that stood behind him.

“You should feel lucky, little officer,” the mystery person drawled, “At least you're not being used like an anatomy puzzle right now,”

Koya felt rage bubble inside him. Oh how he wanted to jump back with an insult of his own, still, he knew better than to further anger whoever had taken him captive. Anyone with the power to surprise and overtake, not one, but four high level trainers like that was no one he wanted to provoke.

Besides, he could do nothing so long as he was tied up, so what was trying even worth?

“What do you want out of me?” Koya managed, trying to remain as calm as he could as clicking footsteps began to circle around him. He strained to see past the blindfold, listening for echos and distant sounds, but the laugh he received in response did nothing to clue him into his location in the base.

“To be blunt, we need to know how much you saw of this place,“ the enemy sounded too giddy for that to be all that he wanted, ”we couldn't let you go if you knew our secrets, right?“

Koya shivered as he fought to keep his face neutral. His mind was going at about a million miles per hour as he tried to come up with a plan, but it was like he was in the middle of the Orre desert, he was coming up with absolutely nothing to help himself.

“So!” The man said, now very close to Koya, causing him to shrink back in surprise, “How much did you see?”

Koya didn't respond, how could he? If he admitted to seeing too much, he was sure he'd end up just like Hareta, but how could he know how much was too much if he'd only been awake for a couple of moments?

With a loud SMACK sound, Koya felt white hot pain exploding across his cheek, and he yelped in surprise as the blow sent him spinning in his bonds.

“I'll repeat myself,” the man whispered, deadly serious now, “How much did you see?”

Koya's chest heaved. What could he say? Certainly not the truth, he and his friends had been through at least twenty halls before their expedition had been cut short, and that had to be “too much,” didn't it?

Koya flinched as the man slapped him again, even harder this time, but he couldn’t draw up the words to defend himself. What had happened to all his training? Wasn't this exactly what he practiced for? Didn't he have the skills to talk his way out of something like this?

Slaps turned into punches, and soon Koya found blood dripping from his nose, but still he found that he could not speak. It was as if the words had been wrenched from him the second he'd heard the question. No matter how many times he was asked, no matter how much his hair was yanked, no matter how much blood splattered onto the floor, Koya could not find the words.

He knew he was totally fucked, so why couldn't he even find the strength to fight it?