#ebe talent

[good-to-drive]

Advice from E.B White (yes, the author of Charlotte's Web) to a 17-year-old Conan O'Brien. Conan realized just as he was sharing the anecdote that he hadn't taken the advice....

[wastedpurity]

raven baxter is my straight crush

raven-symoné is my gay crush

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : LEARNING CURVES : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: Logan helps you learn to ride his motorcycle. Amidst playful teasing and heartfelt moments, you both navigate the ride and discover that the real thrill is the time spent together.

THE SUN WAS JUST BEGINNING TO SET, casting a warm orange glow over the open road as you stood by the garage, anxiously eyeing the gleaming black motorcycle parked in front of you. It was a beast of a machine, all chrome and leather, looking as intimidating as the man who owned it. Logan stood beside you, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he handed you a helmet.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his gruff voice laced with amusement.

You gave him a determined nod, though your stomach was doing somersaults. “I can handle it,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and comforting, like warm honey. He leaned in close, brushing a soft kiss against your temple. “I know you can, bub. Just don’t want you to wreck my bike.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him away. “Please, I’m more worried about wrecking me.”

With that, you threw a leg over the bike, settling into the seat. The leather was cool against your skin, and the handlebars felt solid beneath your hands. Logan watched you with an expression that was half-pride, half-amusement, like he couldn’t decide if he was more impressed or entertained by the whole situation.

“Alright, first things first,” he began, his tone shifting to something more serious. He stepped up beside you, his large hands covering yours on the handlebars. “Throttle’s here, brake’s there. And this”—he pointed to the lever—“is the clutch. Got it?”

You nodded, your heart racing as his breath tickled your ear. Having him this close, his presence so reassuring and strong, made you feel like you could take on the world. Or at least, this motorcycle.

Logan moved back, watching as you tried to start the engine. The bike roared to life beneath you, the vibration rumbling through your entire body. You couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face. Logan grinned back, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Look at you,” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest. “Natural born biker, huh?”

You revved the engine a little, testing the feel of it, but your overenthusiastic twist of the throttle made the bike lurch forward, nearly throwing you off balance. You yelped, your foot slamming down on the ground to steady yourself. Logan burst out laughing, his deep, throaty chuckle filling the air.

“Okay, maybe not a natural,” you muttered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Logan was at your side in an instant, his laughter softening as he rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re doin’ fine. Just ease up a little. The bike’s gotta trust you, same as you trust it.”

“Since when did you get so philosophical about motorcycles?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I’m a man of many talents.”

You snorted, but the nervousness was ebbing away, replaced by a sense of determination. You took a deep breath, tried again, and this time, the bike moved forward smoothly, rolling down the driveway under your control. Logan jogged alongside, his eyes fixed on you like he was ready to catch you at any second.

“There ya go! Nice and easy,” he coached, his voice warm and encouraging.

You rode in a small circle, slowly getting the hang of it. Your heart swelled with pride when you saw Logan’s approving nod. Feeling a bit bolder, you gave the bike a bit more gas, picking up speed.

“Alright, hotshot, don’t get too cocky!” Logan called out, but there was a note of pride in his voice.

You were doing it! You were actually riding a motorcycle! The thrill of it coursed through your veins, the wind whipping through your hair, the powerful engine purring beneath you. You glanced back at Logan, ready to flash him a victorious grin—

—and that’s when you saw the mailbox.

“Oh shi—” You swerved, trying to avoid it, but the bike wobbled, and before you knew it, you were tumbling off the side, landing in the grass with a thud. The bike tipped over, but thankfully, it wasn’t going fast enough to do any real damage.

Logan was by your side in an instant, his concern barely masking his amusement. “You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

You groaned, rubbing your bruised shoulder. “I think I’ll stick to four wheels.”

Logan chuckled, helping you up before pulling you into his arms. “You did good,” he murmured against your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe leave the mailbox out of it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound muffled against his chest. “Maybe you could just drive, and I’ll hold on tight?”

Logan’s arms tightened around you, his voice softening to a rumble that you felt more than heard. “Darlin’, you can hold on to me anytime you want.” He tilted your chin up, his gaze locking onto yours, and the teasing warmth in his eyes made your heart flutter.

“You know,” you whispered, “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He grinned, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss, the kind that made the world around you melt away until there was nothing but him. When he pulled back, there was a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep teachin’ you,” he said, his voice low and playful. “Can’t let my girl be anything less than the best, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Sure, Logan. Whatever you say.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and purple, you leaned into Logan’s side, the rumble of his laughter vibrating through you as you both stood there, the motorcycle forgotten. It didn’t matter that you’d wiped out on your first try. All that mattered was that you were with him, and together, there wasn’t a thing in the world you couldn’t face.

Well…except maybe that mailbox.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know x

Also, tomorrow the first chapter of my Logan mini series will air, so stay tuned!🥳

[gyummigon]

☆ my days with you (they are always happy)

beomgyu x gn!reader

୨୧ genre: fluff/comfort ୨୧ word count: 4.4k ୨୧ summary: after having a crush on your best friend for months, you have a silly, very silly, confession of feelings. ୨୧ a/n: truth be told, this is a little silly, and cheesy, but I wanted needed to write something that felt easy and refreshing. it's a little longer than i originally thought it would be, but it was fun. hope you like it, have a nice day:))

You liked Beomgyu. You liked him because of the way his eyes sparkled when he hummed his favorite song while doing the dishes, when he collapsed on the bed after an endless list of complaints about how tired he was, or when he spoke with overflowing emotion about the things he liked. You liked him because you found in him a kind of gentleness that you didn't find in the rest of the world, that you didn't think you could get from a man. And the amazing thing is that he was a man, but when you were with him, it was as if you saw the world through the eyes of a child. Eyes that saw happiness and didn't twist it, but made it bigger, spread it out and expanded it until those eyes - brown and deep and enchantingly beautiful - were the last thing left.

Perhaps you were in love with one of your closest friends. Or maybe you were just in the right place.

This thought was even harder to resolve when you arrived at your parents' house that Sunday afternoon, having checked off every single item on your mother's shopping list. You had only been out shopping for an hour, but it was as if you were returning home for the first time after the days out of town you had left behind. You didn't even know when you'd left the bags of groceries at the front door, or when you'd turned back to the garden to see that beaming smile with the wrinkles in the cheeks, let alone when your voice, shaky and too anxious for your taste, uttered an embarrassed "hey".

Beomgyu, who until then had been laughing at a ridiculous joke he had shared with your father, turned to look at you with an enchanting calm that could only be found on a beach at sunset, when the moon was doing its thing and the tide was ebbing in deep, sentimental sighs. The boy seemed to see something you couldn't define on your face, for his smile shrank to a soft, almost shy line.

You didn't take your attention off your face as he approached, hands hidden behind his back, and stopped in front of you. Despite your father's loud voice, the mischievous laughter of your younger siblings, and your mother's scolding of the dog to keep it away from the meat ready for roasting, the only thing you found yourself paying attention to was the disturbingly fast beating of your heart.

"Hey," you repeated, no less awkwardly. "What is this, I travel for a few weeks and suddenly my family has already adopted you?"

Beomgyu kept his shy smile and leaned against one of the wooden boards of the porch for a moment. His checkered shirt billowed slightly in the soft summer breeze.

"I think it's your father who decided to adopt me. He says I'm the exact representation of his youth: charming, talented, and outrageously beautiful."

"I think he says that to every young person he meets."

"Are you saying I shouldn't believe him?"

You didn't know when you started smiling, but your cheeks were sure to hurt if you didn't relax the muscles in your face soon.

"No, I'm just saying my father talks too much."

"A sincere and open man, I like him."

"As sincere as a politician in an election debate."

Beomgyu laughed and looked out into the garden, where your father was still sitting in a folding chair with a scowl on his face, trying to light the wood-burning barbecue. In a measured, polite voice that you didn't know he could have and that almost made you want to mock him, Beomgyu offered to help; but when your father looked up and - in the most millennial, bland way possible - gave him a thumbs-up before shouting a friendly "I've got it under control, son," for some stupid, irrational, and probably childish reason, you blushed. You blushed badly.

What the hell, since when did your father call Beomgyu "son"? And since when did your family normally invite one of your friends to join them on Burger Sunday? Was that your mother putting another plate on the table? Was that what Beomgyu did while you were away? Eat your burger in your place?

Beomgyu seemed to read the thoughts embodied in your expression very well, because he laughed softly and lifted a shoulder with an unseemly shyness. Surely, that's how you had captivated them all.

You little harpy.

And yet, to see him as vibrant and jovial as when you left was like a Band-Aid that lightened the burden of stress you'd endured these past few days. When you arrived in town last Thursday night, the first thing you thought of was to look for him, but the idiot had gotten sick from drinking bad milk and had begged you not to visit him until his diarrhea was over. He hadn't texted you since the night before, and you were beginning to think he'd dropped his phone in the toilet during one of his diarrhea attacks, but what you didn't expect was to find him at your house on your way home from the supermarket, nor did you expect to feel the way you felt: nervous, with words thought but never spoken, with desires intensified but more terrifying than ever.

"So... how was the convention that starved you for almost a month?"

You looked up as your younger brother ran past you, the dog not far behind. Before reaching the short stairs that led into the house, Beomgyu scooped your brother up in his arms and spun him around in the air before setting him down and encouraging him back to where your parents were. Your brother ran off with the dog behind him.

You blinked.

"It was a month of physical pain. I didn't know what an international accounting convention would be like until I went to one. I thought it would be like the boring lectures we had in high school and college, but apparently businessmen have fun with taxes and returns."

Beomgyu snorted in amusement and shoved his hands into his pants pockets as he turned to lean against the railing, looking you in the eye with that sweet smile of his.

"I missed you."

"Oh, did you?" you asked, keeping a neutral expression on your face as you raised an eyebrow. Despite your coolness, it wasn't hard to notice a slight blush spreading across your cheeks. It wasn't that you had been away from him for a long time, you had been apart for months at other times, but there was something different about his words this time that made you wonder if he really missed you or if he missed you the way you felt.

"Is that why you snuck into my house as an undercover usurper?"

"See, I've been taking over your family members one by one," he said with mock seriousness as he gave you an exaggerated look. But then the mischievous smile returned to his face, and he took a step closer. "What's the matter with you, aren't you going to confess that you missed me, that you were writhing in agony without my presence?"

"You've been texting me almost every day for the past three weeks, Beomgyu. I don't know how I could have missed you."

Her lips curled into a pout of indignation as she frowned. You noticed that one of his hands was on the railing, inches from yours. "That's really cruel. He was really unhappy."

"Right, how's your diarrhea?"

"Uhmm," he hummed, and from a distance you could tell he was trying to maintain a disinterested expression as he looked away. "I'm a feisty guy, you know? A diet based on soda crackers and oral electrolytes and puf, good as new. Why, are you going to make fun of me? Because let me tell you, you won't make me suffer as much as Yeonjun and Soobin already have."

"Diarrhea teasing is not my strong point."

Beomgyu let out a gasping, feigned sigh and placed his right hand over his heart, his eyes dramatically wide. "Is this empathy real, is it possible you'll come back a little softer?"

You snorted and shook your head. You couldn't remember when last summer had been like this: quiet conversations, laughter, and a silence that seemed somehow comfortable even when tension was building between you. You had forgotten the ease that had always existed between the two of you. You used to hate these months of excessive heat and aimless days, but ever since you met Beomgyu, you begged for every chance to laugh together, no matter the season.

"I'm not going to laugh," you said, lowering your eyes to your hands. You were about to say something else, but the words died in your mouth as he moved even closer, sliding his hand over yours on the railing.

You nearly choked on your own saliva. God, why did you get so nervous, didn't you just talk about diarrhea a few seconds ago?

You said nothing, and neither did he, but you watched his cautious, anxious expression before looking down again at your joined hands with his hand: yours flattened against the light wood, covered by his slender fingers and the soft, delicate pads of his thumbs, almost always rough and calloused from constant use of his guitar. His hand was warm, and you felt your heart flutter as he ran his thumb over the knuckles of your hand. It was a gentle, casual, maybe even innocent gesture, but it felt like a million fireworks on the skin of your hand.

"I... I thought about you while I was away."

He didn't answer, he just turned to look at you, and you couldn't help but feel your heart beat faster when you saw the look on his face. His smile was still there, but it had changed, it had become softer, and you felt like it was the only thing you could hold onto to keep from blurting out the pile of words that had begun to form on the tip of your tongue.

"It's stupid, isn't it?" you added, trying not to notice the butterflies fluttering in your stomach as his fingers brushed harder against yours, as if encouraging you to speak, to spit out the words before they bloated your stomach and turned you into a useless ball of desire and... God, weren't those lips so beautiful? "I've missed you. I've missed you all week."

"All month?" He corrected quietly, and you just rolled your eyes as you tilted your head toward the floor and kicked an invisible rock.

"I guess I miss you every day since I met you."

Even though you saw his smile widen out of the corner of your eye, he didn't respond right away, and that made the knot of apprehension in your chest grow. However, the wave of fear dissipated as soon as it came. His thumb was right on your pulse, probably sensing the way it had quickened for him. His touch was tender, nothing more than the gentle pressure of his thumb against your skin, but you were so mesmerized by the soft gesture that you barely noticed when he took a step closer, his body so close to yours that it was as if you were enveloped in the soft scent of his cologne. It felt like a secret moment, the way that even with your whole family gathered around the grill preparing dinner and the two of you, separated by the noise, just a few feet away, you didn't seem to notice anything but each other's presence.

"Tell me more about it." His voice was lower, softer, sending shivers down your spine.

"You want me to talk about how I missed you?"

He bit his lip as he gave you a mischievous, perhaps very silly smile and... No, it definitely wasn't the smile of someone who wanted to grab your heart and run away, was it? Because, hell, it felt like that.

You forced yourself to look away from his lips. Nothing could make you stupider. Nothing could make you freak out more. You had to avoid them, avoid the madness. But it was in vain, a deluded attempt to escape the traps of your heart, because just as you looked into his eyes, he dropped his gaze to your mouth for a moment, and you were convinced he could feel your pulse fluttering under his thumb. He took another step. Now he was close enough to push your back against the railing, his hand fully clenched over yours, and his eyes lost on your lips, begging you to speak up and do something stupid.

And so you did.

"I... I can tell you how I think of you when I see something funny. Or something frighteningly beautiful. Like those pink sunrises we barely see if we're not lazy and stay in bed till noon. Or two cats curled up on the sidewalk. Not that I want to cuddle with you, mind you... Well, it's not that I don't want to. The point is, cats are cute. Like you."

With a grimace, you paused to take it in and then forced yourself to pretend you hadn't said that. But you were strong, and you didn't let yourself stop, because you had already screwed up, and you knew that if you didn't say those words right then, you could never say them again.

"Today I was surprised to see you with my father, laughing and joking, when my father doesn't laugh with any boy who is related to me. Then I was even more surprised that it felt so intimate, so familiar, so close. I don't know if it was like one of those equations that I know at first glance will make me lose my mind and want to give up life at the slightest attempt to solve it, or one of those formulas that, even unsolved, look like one of the most beautiful in the mathematical world. Yes, I... I just made a metaphor using the words "beautiful" and "mathematical" in the same sentence. Okay, okay, stop laughing. It's just... You laughing with my father, what a disaster. What a disaster to realize that every aspect of my life likes you and what a disaster that every aspect of my life clings to you so much. I think that's why I miss you even when we're close. I don't want there to be any distance between us.

There it was, you said it. Done. Now you could breathe. Now your heart could relax a little, take a blanket and wait for the rainbow or the misfortune. It could go get a bunch of duct tape and Band-Aids or get naked and pole dance around an artery. It could get a funeral box or start believing that it's immortal. And it all depended on the guy in front of you.

Beomgyu's gaze was soft, as soft and gentle as the scenarios that automatically began to form in your head when you saw the mixture of surprise and tenderness that ran through his expression when you finished speaking. He looked down at his hands clasped against yours and exhaled a laugh that came out a little shaky. Then he returned to your gaze and stood there, silently studying you.

"I want to answer you," he whispered, "but I want to make sure I find the right words.

Idiot.

You tried very hard to keep a serene expression on your face, as if your world wasn't hanging by a thread. Then he did something you'd never seen before: he swallowed spit, his gaze sliding down to linger on your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes and swallowing again. "Wait a minute," he said hoarsely.

Without warning, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing against the railing as you struggled to catch your breath.What the hell had that been? You watched as he walked over to the garden table, grabbed a soda, then walked back over to you and leaned against the railing next to you.

He cleared his throat, took a sip, then looked back at you.

"Are you kidding me?" there was a mix of emotions in your voice, amusement, confusion, embarrassment, insecurity, indignation..., the urge to grab the soda can from him and bash his head with it.

Beomgyu blinked, seemingly surprised by your statement, then laughed, his mouth twisting into a smile that felt like a prize.

"What?" he asked, his eyes flashing. You tightened your mouth and he laughed even harder. "I can't believe you just said that!"

"What an asshole," you muttered, nudging his side.

He laughed, but his arms shot out to hold you, just as your nudge knocked him off balance for a moment. His hands wrapped around your arms and he straightened up, but he didn't let go of you or wipe that goofy grin off his face. You struggled to keep up the gesture of annoyance, though it didn't work very well when he pulled you to him.

"I... I'm actually pretty nervous."

His gaze had dropped to your mouth again, and when it came back up to meet your eyes, he bit his lip. His gaze was intense, as if he was struggling to find the right words to say whatever it was he was thinking. He let go of your arms to lean against the railing next to you, keeping his distance so close that your shoulder was trapped between his right arm and his side.

"I want to kiss you, but your dad is right behind me and I'm afraid he'll leave me without a burger," he joked, but his laugh came out too quickly and you realized he was really nervous. His gaze landed on your mouth again and he held it there for what seemed like an eternity before he let out a loud breath and closed his eyes. You were still processing the fact that the words "I want to kiss you" had just come out of his mouth.

"I'm sure you can live without a hamburger, Beomgyu."

His gaze returned to your mouth and your heart skipped a beat as he came even closer. Now he was so close you could feel his breath caressing your lips as he brought his hand to your waist to pull you even closer, and his lips - so soft, so tantalizing, and so agonizingly close to yours - parted and they were about to say something when suddenly your father's voice boomed across the yard.

"Hey, guys," he said in a hoarse voice. "Dinner's almost ready."

The sound of his voice made you jump, and you were surprised at how quickly Beomgyu turned away, taking several steps back and moving as far away from you as possible. His face was red and he held his arms carefully at his sides as your father looked up at the two of you.

"Is everything okay here? You two looked very... lovey-dovey," your father joked, his eyes narrowing as he watched both of your reddened faces and Beomgyu desperately trying to act normal.

"Eh-" Beomgyu opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He opened and closed his mouth as if he was struggling to come up with an excuse. Your father, who was now smiling broadly, looked from Beomgyu to you and back to Beomgyu, who was still struggling. "Sir, I am in love with your daughter."

His unplanned statement came out in a rush, and your face quickly turned to him, mouth agape. He was also surprised by his own words, his eyes widened even more and he now looked at you in disbelief, his lips parted slightly as he processed what he had said. My goodness...

Your father had dropped the lid of the grill, your mother had stopped making the salad, and your brothers had stopped torturing the dog to look at you and Beomgyu. There was silence; no one moved or said anything. For a moment there was only the humming of the grill and the whisper of an occasional breeze. You were sure that Beomgyu could hear your heart beating in your chest and you were sure that you could hear it when he swallowed spit. He was so red, so shocked, that you thought he would faint right there, or run out first and then pass out in front of your house.

"Gee, well." After a long silence, your father nodded and added, "I'm sure dinner will be a long one."

You wondered if the seriousness in his tone was real.

Beomgyu shivered like a tired old oak leaf. Your mother shook her head, struggling to keep a smile from peeking out of her lips. Your siblings, like you, just stared at him, eyes wide.

Your father broke the second silence by clearing his throat and tapping the lid of the grill.

"I think the burgers are ready."

Before you could find the stability to move towards your family, Beomgyu's hand wrapped around your arm and his eyes, now wide and ridiculously expressive, shouted the words you had been waiting for.

"Listen."

"Yes?"

"I... I... It slipped out of my mouth."

"I know." Oh, God. No. You didn't know. You didn't know anything. You weren't thinking clearly. Your heart had eloped to a party and your brain had followed.

"Your dad likes me, look, it doesn't look like he's going to let me go without a burger."

"Beomgyu, I..."

"Listen," he repeated, and you would have told him to lower his voice if you hadn't seen his determination. "If your father banishes me from your house and I don't survive the heartbreak to tell you, I want you to know that I've been thinking about you all this time, every day, at all hours; especially in the morning, which is why every day starts out well now and is all happy and pretty and cheesy and all that. You're so... so fucking cute and distracting, which is why you saw me with my shirt on backwards the other day, which also explains the toothpaste stain on my sweater; oh! And the different colored socks. I didn't know that... This, that... you know, yeah... Love made people so clumsy and clueless, but now I know that if I get hit by a tricycle going three miles an hour, it will be because I was thinking of you”.

He was still talking, the words coming out of him as fast as the stream of water coming out of the hose one of your brothers was using to wash a sausage he had dropped on the floor. You just stood there, mouth agape, struggling to take in and process all those words.

"And just a moment ago I was so excited, so high, such an idiot for what you said to me, I can't believe I almost left without telling you, because I've been wanting to tell you forever. I don't know if it was those beautiful cheeks that I want to cradle and pull and pinch and bite all the time, or if it was the way your lashes whispered romantic tales and happy endings to me. I... I don't know how you did it, or what seductive trick you used to trap me, but you can take as much from me as you want; I don't know how much I have, only that I was empty until you came”.

Beomgyu finished, paused for a moment, and then smiled and shrugged, such an adorable and nervous and yet ridiculous and funny gesture. "Well, that... that's it."

There was no air in your lungs. Your heart, which had come back drunk, racing and out of breath, was beating so fast that you couldn't think of anything but the deafening sound it was making in your chest. One, two, three minutes passed and you still hadn't regained your mobility. Beomgyu inhaled sharply, shrugged again, and gestured to the table where the rest of your family was already sitting, looking at you, trying to pretend they weren't listening.

"I think they're all waiting for us to eat."

Fortunately, he made the decision for you and took your hand to lead you to the table. You still had your eyes fixed on him and your mouth hanging open as he led you to your seat. You sat down and your trembling legs were grateful, but your hand felt empty, sweaty and scared when it came away from his.

Beomgyu cleared his throat, blushed at the sight of you and murmured, "I'll be back in a minute, okay?" Then he left, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

Your father looked at you as if he expected you to say something, but he must have seen the embarrassment and confusion on your face, because he then turned to your mother. "Did you understand him? I didn't understand him."

Your mother laughed. "I love that boy, but God, he talks fast."

"He wants to bite her cheeks," said one of your siblings.

"And pinch them." Said the other.

Your father nearly choked on his soda, and you nearly fell out of your chair.

"What? What is he talking about?"

"He wants to bite her!" your younger brother nearly howled with laughter. "He's always talking about biting her cheeks."

"And pinching them."

You covered your face with your hands and grinned like a fool. You didn't mind the dozens of questions your father asked and the teasing of your siblings; you looked at your mother's smile, full of peace, hope, promised laughter and dreams to be fulfilled, and you admitted to yourself that the days with Beomgyu would always carry a load of happiness that was capable of subtracting the importance of everything else.

At the same time, Beomgyu was leaning against the wall and facing the closed bathroom door, trying to sort out his thoughts. As he stood in front of you, the words came out of him so fast that he didn't even have time to realize how hasty and awkward his statement was. He felt exposed, vulnerable, he needed a moment or two or many to recover, but he was undeniably happy.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, thinking of you and laughing for no reason.

"Oh my God..." he murmured. "I'm so fucked up."

୨୧ txt - masterlist ୨୧ © gyummigon | all rights reserved. copying or adaptation prohibited.

[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (16) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n the isms of a long-distance, working couple i'm back!!! this was supposed to be published in july my bad y'all i got busy :)

masterlist | last part | part 16 | next part

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selinabui happy birthday to the best cousin i could've asked for. thanks for being some racing-obsessed weirdo, for playing video games with me across the world and most of all for once punching some guy in the face for me. love from: the more talented, overall better, most adorable cousin you could've asked for <3 (you'll always be the coolest older brother!) tagged: zhouguanyu24

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chrisyamada 🎵 | Chris Yamada · Pins and Needles (ft. Selina Bui from Empty Bottles)

liked by emptybottles_official and 738,859 others

chrisyamada Surprise drop? @.selinabui and I are pleased to present, to our humble fans, a little collab we recorded back in April. Without further ado, enjoy 'Pins and Needles' tagged: selinabui

selinabui fyi the electric guitar solo is ME bc as if he could ever shred that cool ↳ chrisyamada @.selinabui i totally could

linasgirl4 yall... what in tarnation why have you been sitting on this for 2 months 😭😭😭

lukaszhang ok but when's the mv dropping 🤨 ↳ moonbeamlina @lukaszhang there's... there's a music video 🥹

ceciliapham omfg it sounds so good oooohh it's a slow song ahhh her voice is angelic fr June 7

selinabui Paris, France

liked by oliviarodrigo and 332,164 others

selinabui "are you happy to be in paris?" OUI!

pastry81 close enough, welcome back oscalina!!! ↳ selinabui @.pastry81 oscar pastryyyy 🥺

tina_kim SO NOT OVER PINS AND NEEDLES I'M STARVED FOR NEW MUSIC

oscarpiastri hey there ↳ selinabui @.oscarpiastri oh hi 🥰

aidan_ebass Never ever going to watch a show with you again. Please learn to shut up 🫶 June 9

TWITTER

kay ♡ @ blackcatluna · 1h it genuinely feels like there's an EB show every second night, do these people even sleep 😭😭😭

president linami @.linaminami · 43m is it just me or is the european leg really really busy? ↳ president linami @.linaminami · 42m the band barely has any time to breathe because they keep hoping to countries with like a day or two leeway ↳ president linami @.linaminami · 42m berlin to paris had a four day gap which is one of the longest gap between shows

kayla @luna_apocolypse · 1h tbh it's not super surprising that lina got sick; it's still cold in the northern parts and she wears mini dresses and short skirts for two hours in the evening; plus she's probably exhausted and burning out

lina bui x2 grammy winner @urdaisea · 12m three back to back paris shows... i'm a little worried for lina's health

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

pookie piastri @.op81ln4 · 9h got blessed with cat energy oscar video from mclaren thank you lord 🙏

lina !!! @EB_selina · 4h can i physically afford to watch this race; send advice (i'm sick lmao) ↳ Aidan Park @EB_Aidan · 4h Selina, you have a 40 degree fever get off your phone ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 4h wdym... i'm not on my phone 🥸 ↳ Oscar Piastri @.OscarPiastri · 1h Hey... what did you mean by 40 degree fever 🤨

piaa⁸¹ @.papayaeightyone · 12m uh wtf happened to charles??? ↳ lanaaaaa @.sharlleglrg · 8m that's the monaco curse oversleeping

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

INSTAGRAM

selinabui_news

liked by ceciliapham and 12,002 others

selinabui_news 📱Screencaps of Lina from the Empty Bottles instagram live. Get well soon baby 🥺 tagged: selinabui

piastri_lina how does she still look better than me on the brink of death????

amelia_belrose i hope she feels better soon :( but did you see her face when kas panned the camera over 😭 i thought i was about to witness a murder

marie_h.sb she's been going on stage every night like that 😧 June 11

TWITTER

TMD Tour News @EB-TMDTour · 56m Lina was talking to a fan during the encore, asked for his name and got flustered when he said "Oscar" #TMDWorldTour ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 32m help i think she broke why did it take her 15 seconds to say something 😭😭😭 ↳ president linami @ linaminami · 49m actually wheezing at kas' face, he seriously can't believe she's that down bad oml

oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 40m i'm eating gooooooood tonight

pookie piastri @.op81ln4 · 23m somewhere on earth oscar piastri is kicking his legs and giggling at that clip of his gf's brain shutting down at the mention of his name

camilina gfs fr @ drummergf · 11m this is unironically the antithesis of that sabrina moment with a fan named joshua like 😭 similar reaction of disbelief and surprise but the context could not be more different

MESSAGES

from the phone of oscar piastri

TWITTER

lina !!! @EB_selina · 4h this is actually really mortifying and i'd appreciate if we all collectively wiped it from memory ↳ Oscar Piastri @.OscarPiastri · 3h It's actually my new ringtone for you ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 3h count ur lucky stars we're not in the same country right now

cami yang @EB_Cami · 38m what if i said i'm also feeling a little messy 🤔

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee @urfavsgf @eiaaasamantha @sp1rl @destinyg237 @iloveyou3000morgan

[hannie-dul-set]

heartbeat conquest — day 2.

SYNOPSIS. you’re sucked into a reverse harem otome game, and there’s only one goal— say the right things to conquer as many pretty boys as you can. PAIRINGS. tomorrow x together x reader. TAGS. social media! au, modern fantasy, reverse harem (of fucking course), romance, humor, a whole bunch of weird dynamics maybe HUAHAHAHAHAHHAAH. inspired by the manhwa with the same title, “heartbeat conquest.”

considering the less than bare minimum amount of information you have on your targets, it wasn’t easy to come up with a decision.

of the five, you have managed to unlock three. sanctuary is choi beomgyu. you have no idea why that’s his nickname when the first thing he does is boss you around. his interest is evident in his 0% conquest rate (for now). from what you can surmise based on the description the system gave you— him being an arrogant and egotistical fuck— you believe you might do yourself and him a favor by humbling him a little. in short, you’re not showing up.

another contradictory nickname to the interaction is savior— kang taehyun. now, what is up with this guy? 

admittedly, you might have slipped up, not catching onto the passive-aggression of his first text, but you were going off of no context, so forming a positive response would have been close to impossible. still, from what you know so far, it would be difficult to figure out what exactly is on saturday. hence, it would be difficult to prepare for.

now lover is an interesting guy. choi yeonjun. he texts you that he misses you and is shocked when you respond because…he thought you blocked him? is your ex? a player? he seems to be an attention-seeker, and you have an inkling that making him want your attention would be the best move. therefore, you’re not seeing him this saturday. it seems like he and beomgyu also know each other. picking one over the other might cause some conflicts.

that leaves two targets that have yet to be unlocked: angel and knight.

both appear to be your typical sweet, polite, soft boy love interests from a shoujo manga.yet that’s all you’re working with for now. it would be best to pick one of them. just to dig in deeper and find out more.

though, you’re meeting choi soobin at two in the afternoon, you’re already out and about by 10:00 a.m.

first, to get yourself familiar with the environment, of course. you had the idea that this is some preppy private university, but the scale of TSC is just atrociously large. there are facilities for almost everything, training grounds for every single field and specialization. how you managed to find your way to EB 201 was a revelation.

turns out you— or the character you’re playing— is quite well-known around campus. as a transferee who got admitted late into your second year of university, your talent having been discovered late.

“it’s the first room up the stairs,” jaeyun tells you, one of the students you’d just asked around for directions. he’s bright and smiley and, quite frankly, very good looking that you almost mistook him for a love interest or target. but all your targets so far seem to have known you. and when you tapped on jaeyun’s shoulder thirty minutes ago, armed with a smile and prettily batting eyes, he seemed to be taken and taken off guard right off the bat, and asked for your name and major. “or...or would you like me to accompany you upstairs? let me carry your bag for you!”

the otome effect is quite impressive. “it’s alright,” you smile at him. jaeyun droops and his energy deflates. “i can take it from here. thank you!”

since he isn’t any of your targets, you feel no remorse leaving him behind while you climb up the stairs, shoulder in bag in tow. and just as jaeyun says, you’re met with the door labeled 201. a beat of hesitation creeps up on you. but there seems to be no other options than to just knock and follow your target’s instructions.

so, you do. your knuckles hit the wooden door. once. twice. three times. knock, knock, knock.

a click and a creak. the door opens to another good looking guy. “hi! sorry to interrupt. is choi soobin around?” but he isn’t the one you’re looking for.

in fact, the one you’re looking for is very easy to find. because even when you take a peek into the room and are met with around six, seven other men, your eyes immediately land on choi soobin.

how? 

because he’s the only one with a big purple heart floating right above his head, with a bright and shining 0% right inside it.

“soobin!” the doorman hollers out with a huge grin. “a girl is looking for you!” choi soobin need not that signal to notice you, because he already has, from the moment he caught your eyes, and you greet him with a smile and  wave. you notice a few of the other guys staring and getting flustered a bit, wavering to bump their shoulders and elbow at your target, coughing inaudible whatevers, yet the percentage on choi soobin’s head refuses to waver, even with the faint pink brushing his cheeks, the shaking of his head when he mumbles something inaudible to his friends.

of course, this game wouldn’t give you the grace of an easy difficulty. looks like this guy is deeper than he appears.

“quit it,” you hear him laugh off before jumping to his feet, getting off from his seat. “you’re giving everyone the wrong idea.” 

“i’m sure we all have a pretty good idea of what’s going on here.”

“later, dude! have fun with your assignment.”

his friends’ insinuating remarks aside, you can’t help notice that despite choi soobin’s apparent easygoing air, with each step that he takes to approach you, you can sense his ease slowly disappearing, melting into a jittery nervousness that’s masked by that same charming, boyish smile you saw on his photo.

“did you wait long?” he says, standing right before you now, giving you the privilege to bask in the perfection that the system described. it almost made you miss the hard swallow he forces in— right in the second before he takes away the weight of your bag from you. “sorry about that. i should’ve waited outside.”

“oooh! choi soobin, quit flaunting your moves!”

choi soobin shushes them. you use it as a chance to get a better look inside the classroom. “not at all,” you reply, and it doesn’t appear as though they were just conducting a meeting. why is he saying that he should’ve waited outside when he instructed you to knock and ask for him? “let’s go?”

he looks at you, smiling ever so perfectly. “sure.”

now, in order to avoid any massive fuck-ups, you made sure to look through all the shit in your dorm room earlier. anything that can provide some hints and contexts of this damned gamed that you got sucked into. you discovered that you were majoring in international relations. you discovered that your class with choi soobin is a just a simple elective on organizational communication, and all there is to your paired assignment is to write a report on max weber and henri fayol’s bureaucratic theory and scientific management, and would take an hour maximum to do so you don’t get why choi soobin was making such a big deal out of it.

he’s hard to understand, that’s for sure. you don’t get what his motives are. especially when he’s pulling out all the fucking stops by opening the large, library door before you could even more your arm an inch, by dragging your chair out for you before you could even reach out for it. “do you want to rest for a but? i’ll cover the sunlight for you,” he says, when he can just pull down the blinds because he led you to the tables next to the window because “the view is pretty here,” he says. and when you suggest to transfer to a less crowded spot because people started pouring in at two-thirty, he strongly went against it.

“it—it isn’t that crowded yet,” cho soobin argued. “do you mind if we transfer a little later?”

how odd. what’s even more odd is despite all of his explicit acts of interest—

“what’s— what’s wrong? is there something in my hair?”

why is that floating thing above his head still at zero?

“nothing,” you hum in response, smiling. choi soobin looks mortified at the prospect of something unbelonging in his hair that he whips out a hand mirror. “will you excuse me for a bit?”

he settles down the mirror, a hesitant hand lowering down to the desk. “o—oh. yeah, sure,” he responds. “will you take long?”

“would it be a problem if i will?” you bounce back. he shakes his head and tells you to go ahead, carry on, attempting to reshape his distraughtness with a practiced smile of ease.

hints? progress? what? you can’t dwell on the sudden updates from this damned system, because when you look up from your phone, you see soobin surrounded by a lot of people. different people. not the same ones you saw from the classroom earlier. “you ditched hanging out with us to work on an assignment?” one of them says, jokingly. soobin denies it with a laugh. “aren’t you working on that new pretty transferee from IR? did she ditch you too?” another one raises. well, you already know that the premise of this game has your name floating around and about. it feels weird to hear it upfront, though.

“haha, no, she just left to answer some texts.”

soobin’s defense sounds weak. he’s brushing them off with the same easygoing attitude. “you really went for it, huh?” one of them hums, nudging him. maybe this is your cue to interrupt. “i told you you two would look together! didn’t i?”

ah. it definitely is your cue to interrupt.

“soobin?”

ding!

“should we get back to work?”

the moment you step in, you see it— that mocking percentage flickering from zero to one. 

1%. huh.

that’s interesting. 

“yeah. good timing.”

choi soobin looks at you with an expression that you can only describe as gratefulness.

“sorry, guys! we still have a lot of work to do.”

this is interesting, indeed. you’re surrounded by a bunch of expectant eyes of bystanders left and right, like they’re watching a movie right before their eyes— and you and choi soobin are the main leads. this is quite the situation. and your co-star appears to be both nervous and relieved: relieved that you showed up, nervous while waiting for you to react or respond.

now, how should you deal with this situation? and how do you settle the other four you just ignored?

NOTE. the questions are a bit abstract this time HUAHAHAHAHHA hopefully they aren’t too difficult to answer 😭 i personally hate the limited response choices in otome games bcs most of the time, i won’t act or say in ways that are readily provided. i hope ur all the same as me so u can enjoy this game too 😞😞😞

also, i’ve received feedback that they’d like their actual names to be put instead of the nicknames, and dw!! i will change it to their real names once all of them have been unlocked HAHAHAH.

as usual, answer the form linked above to progress the story. i will close the form once i’ve reached a consensus in the responses. hope you’re all still having fun!! thank you for joining in!!

DAY 1 | DAY 2 | DAY 3 (LOCKED) . . .

heartbeat conquest. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part Two | Series Masterlist

Summary: the monotonous days of practice are starting to grate, but made more complicated by the pianist's lingering words | Word Count: 4.3k~ | Warnings: sexual tension 😘

“Aemond, darling, please…” Alicent pleaded behind the closed door of his bedroom, her worried, motherly voice muffled through the thick frame, “it's not the end of the world, love, okay?”

He'd been in the exact same spot for several hours, his knee bouncing irritably and impatiently. He closed his eyes, as if trying to put on the image of being completely calm. But his hands were clasped painfully, fingertips sore from practice, and he could barely hear his mother through the door anyway, with the large headphones pressed to his ears, with the uncomfortable sting of the cello raking into his brain.

His heart was racing with stress, playing the same bit of ‘Cello Concerto' over and over again, trying to find the part where Otto had incessantly pressured him to perfect it. Wrong timing. Wrong tune. Incorrect finger placement.

Each time he stumbled over the same tricky passage, his frustration mounted. The melody was supposed to soar, but all he could feel was the grinding pressure to not mess up, to not let Otto down, to not disappoint his mother who believed so fervently in his talent.

Where in others, he witnessed nurture in the form of pride, loving gestures and unconditional support. He could see no merit in it. Love to Aemond was tight and oppressive, and weighty on his shoulders.

The door to his room creaked open slightly, and his mother’s voice, muffled and distant through the noise-canceling headphones, attempted to break through the barrier of sound. "Aemond, dinner," she called, her tone gentle yet persistent.

He barely glanced up, giving a slight shake of his head. The outside world, even the simple call to dinner, felt like an unwelcome intrusion.

"Aemond, please," she tried again, her voice firmer now. A choice of tone usually reserved solely for Aegon. "You need to eat. You’ve been at this for hours.”

Aemond cradled his cello gently between his knees, the hum of the ensemble drifted in the air, each musician fine-tuned to perfection with scales and snippets of melodies to practice. But despite this, Aemond found his thoughts elsewhere, his memories blurring into his current reality, where a new challenge in the form of the pianist had emerged.

With every draw of his bow across the strings as if he were an artist gliding a paint-slick brush over canvas, Aemond found his concentration fragmenting. His thoughts were pulled back to the pianist’s effortless expression, her ability to blend technical mastery with palpable emotion. A stark contrast to his own methodical, disciplined approach.

She irked him. She intrigued him. Two feelings which should not hold hands in Aemond's black and white reality. Every single thing his musical education had deemed secondary, she challenged. In the brief moments where he could witness her artistry himself, her performances always lingered, whereas his own, for all its precision, rarely achieved.

“Focus, Aemond.”

Otto's chide was soft and yet audible to everyone. It echoed a long and tired reminder of years past. And he found himself unable to pull back the glare that his own grandfather shot first down the bridge of his nose.

Practice ended how it often had, disappointed and dejected. He could no longer think of her or the words she'd said in their last encounter without feeling the frustration thud in his heart. After all, could the skills she so easily spoke about even be learned?

He longed to see what she saw, how she felt when she played.

The route back to Aemond's apartment was mentally tiring, and the frustration that usually ebbed away with every step, somehow lingered, and permeated throughout his body. For some time, playing the cello had not been met with accomplishment, now more often than not, met with a long and exhausting sense that he could be better.

That is what Alys had said as well, a few weeks ago, when she'd packed up the rest of her things, still pink in the face from Aemond's lips and tongue having pleasured her between her thighs to completion. The difference between her attitude and her parting words almost gave him emotional whiplash.

“I can't be the one to distract you. Not when you need to focus. Not when you have the opportunity to be great.”

Her voice was firm. And there was no room for argument or rebuttal. When Alys said something had to be how it was, that was it. Aemond had watched silently, scrubbing a hand over his face at the closed door of his apartment. He wanted to argue that if Alys had in fact cared that she'd be distracting him, her lack of presence would be just that.

How often now had he been sinking between her thighs, just to think of something else?

He never thought himself a sex addict, and yet the idea of going so long without it, with the show yet months away, made him angry to think how affected he was by it. This was hypocrisy the likes of his brother, Aegon, would love to shove in his face, he just knew it.

The stone square that choked the Grand Sept was speckled with light through the trees, rustling in a manner some would have found comforting. Couples kissed near the fountain, artists drew for money, set up with a view of the Sept while onlookers watched with joy, and children tripped and squabbled through the various nooks that had once marked the spot of a great dynasty.

This was where he waited, taking in the view and the gentle, somewhat melancholic lull of people's lives go past him without a blink. It was an hour before he'd have to traverse back the way he came for his personal booking, to practice the pieces he so desperately wanted to perfect. 

During the day, his phone was off. Nothing was more important than what he deemed his life's work.

With a soft sigh, he sat on the wall, watching the square empty as afternoons drew in, his seeing eye following longingly at a brother and sister, who must have had the same age gap he and Aegon had, chasing one another on the cobbled path. Their squeals of glee and bright, happy faces stirred something heavy in his chest.

Had he ever felt as carefree as that. Had he ever felt like a child. Or had he been a grown man for so long.

His thoughts drifted to his own childhood. He would stand stiff and rigid at recitals, looking out to the expectant gaze of his mother, her burning pride gazing into him. There, there was no room for carefree joy akin to the brother sister chasing each other through the square. His childhood, if it could be called that, was dominated by routine and scales, not play and abandon.

He glances at the golden ticking hands of his watch and with a heaved sigh, lifts his cello case to trudge back along the cobblestones to the music school, feeling the familiar pull of responsibilities. Yet, something about the moment nagged at him, a sense of loss for experiences never had, for a childhood spent in service to a future that demanded everything.

With a heaved sigh and another trudge through the now darkened halls of his music college, Aemond pushed open the door, expecting a deep, sullen and wooden silence. Only to be greeted, or rather, whatever the negative version to being ‘greeted’ is, by the sound of the delicate, light twinkle of piano keys. 

He watched at first with a sense of both unease and interest as she played, her face partly hidden by the locks of hair that had fallen between her concentrated brows. He couldn’t even really see her playing, but could feel the sensitivity of her fingers on the black and white keys, the piece melancholic. 

Aemond willed the crease between his brows, attempting to feign disappointment between his awe. 

“You’re in the room I booked.”

Her eyes pierced the darkness between the opening of the grand piano, searing a memory into his mind through her vibrant gaze. At first, she seemed surprised at not being alone, and then her features settled, and he saw the wrinkles at the corner of one of them that made it clear that she smirked at seeing his annoyance.

She stood and closed the lid with a soft thud, pulling her bag over her shoulder, “yeah well unless you want to try moving a grand piano?” she smirks, raising one eyebrow as if daring him to reply.

Aemond exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his cello case against a nearby chair, conceding the point without words.

 “Didn’t think so,” she replied in a jokey manner, smiling down as she organised her sheet music into a neat satchel bag at her side.

While she wasn't looking, he found himself watching her, for no particular reason. There was something about the way she moved, the confidence she exuded even in the simplest of actions, that intrigued him. It wasn’t just curiosity about her attire or a superficial interest, he found himself wondering about the depth of her character, about the source of her fearless demeanour. If his stolen looks were not to see what she was wearing today, then perhaps to see if he could glimpse into her soul for just a moment, to see where she got her fucking audacity from. 

He sat to prepare his cello, running his middle finger over the bow strings, the density of them feeling somewhat satisfying against his calloused tips.

“You’re not going to lecture me about how I need to… ‘make love to my music’, or some shit like that?”

She chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to resonate a little too deeply within him. “What you do with your cello in your alone time is none of my business,” she quipped without looking up, her voice light yet laden with a hint of mischief.

“Hmm.”

The air between them was charged with an unspoken tension, a dance of mutual curiosity and veiled interest. As she packed up her things, Aemond found himself unwilling to break the moment, his usual reserve shaken by her presence. There was something about her, a boldness, an unapologetic embrace of her own talent and identity, that challenged him, that made him question his own guarded nature.

As she slung her bag over her shoulder, ready to leave, she paused, glancing back at Aemond who was methodically preparing his cello. A thought seemed to strike her, and her eyes lingered on him, curious and considering.

"Actually, do you mind if I stay a bit longer to listen?" she asked, her tone casual but with an underlying sincerity that caught Aemond off guard.

Aemond felt a mixture of apprehension and pride swell within him. He was used to accolades and audiences, but her request felt different, more personal, more significant. His initial instinct was to guard his practice, a time he usually kept private, a sacred space where he perfected his art away from prying eyes. Yet, something about her frank interest, devoid of any apparent ulterior motive, piqued his own curiosity about how she might perceive his music.

He was so taken off guard, as he was so often by her, that he forgot to say anything and simply nodded. He positioned his cello, settling it between his knees, his back straightening as he prepared to play. The invitation was extended on his terms, yet internally, he acknowledged a desire to impress her, to validate his approach and perhaps, to challenge her own musical opinions.

Her posture was relaxed, but attentive, as if she at least wanted to offer him the respect of knowing she was listening wholeheartedly. As Aemond drew the bow across the strings, the first notes resonated through the room, rich and precise. He chose a piece that showcased his technical prowess, a complex Bach suite that required meticulous control and deep concentration.

As he played, he found himself increasingly aware of her presence in the room. Each note was not just played for the sake of practice but as a demonstration of his skill and dedication to his craft. He watched her reaction out of the corner of his eye, her expressions subtle yet revealing. She seemed genuinely absorbed in the music, her earlier playful demeanour replaced by a focused seriousness that matched his own when he played.

The last draw of his bow brought those guarded walls back up again, the same ones that usually came tumbling down when he felt that in the throes of playing, feeling as if he was alone, were so easily crumbled. When the last note vibrated into silence, Aemond allowed himself a moment to gauge her reaction fully. She had leaned forward in her chair, as if she wanted to see his technique closer.

“You play with such precision,” she almost whispered, so quietly he strained to hear them. As if the words hadn’t been for him at all. 

He wasn’t certain how to place her review, negative or positive. And it aggravated him that even in her criticism, she was aggressively neutral. 

"Precision is crucial," he responded, his voice steady but his mind racing. He ached to say more, but alongside fearing he would appear defensive, he was unsure whether he wanted to invite criticism from her.

She paused, considering his question, her eyes locking with his. "Precision is your strength, no doubt," she began, her voice gaining confidence as she spoke. "But music, at least to me, also needs to breathe, to have a life of its own beyond the notes on the page. Your playing is impeccable, but it feels tightly controlled, almost constrained."

He quashed the rising irritation, or at least as much as he could, forcing himself to consider her words from a place of growth rather than confrontation. "So, you're suggesting I let go a little?" he asked, watching as she smiled at his confusion. 

“Maybe,” she said lightly, “allow it the freedom to surprise you. Control you. You might find you like it.”

He couldn’t help but dissect the slight flirtatiousness in her voice. And yet it was almost gentle, a stark contrast to the sharpness he was accustomed to in such discussions.

She broke the silence that seemed to bulge between them, “do you like it?”

His mother watched him eat, her gaze laden with a mix of pride and concern. The clink of cutlery filled the brief silences as she finally found the words.

"Do you enjoy it, Aemond?" she asked, her voice soft yet carrying weight. "The cello, I mean. Do you actually enjoy playing?"

Aemond paused, his fork suspended in mid-air. It was a question that had lingered at the edge of his consciousness, unvoiced and unanswered. Did he enjoy it, truly? Or had it become merely a vehicle for his ambition, a pathway that he had been set upon rather than one he had chosen?

"It sometimes feels like the only thing I know how to do," he admitted, and for someone so often so sure, his voice wavered. 

His mother’s hand reached across the table, her touch warm against his. "Music should be a source of joy, not just a pursuit of perfection," she reminded him gently. "It’s a gift, Aemond, meant to be cherished as much as honed."

Aemond paused, the question catching him off-guard. "Do I like what?" he asked, unsure if she was referring to her suggestion or something more implicit.

She bit back a small smile, and yet it still wormed its way onto her face, “losing control.”

Her question, laced with a hint of playfulness, hung in the air, and Aemond found himself momentarily lost for words. He was unaccustomed to such directness wrapped in…flirtation?

“Losing control?” he repeated, his mouth feeling a little dry. 

“Mmhm,” she hummed, “you hold the reins so tightly. Might be liberating to loosen…or even let go, once in a while?”

The atmosphere between them seemed to thicken, the words ‘losing control’ echoing not just through the room but through Aemond’s thoughts, disrupting his usual composure.

Aemond shifted slightly, the concept of loosening his grip, both metaphorically on his music and literally in his life, seemed to resonate deeper than he anticipated. "And you think that's something I need?" he asked, his voice lower, the hint of a challenge lacing his words.

She didn’t move an inch, but her presence seemed more pronounced. The subtle scent of her perfume mixed with the mustiness of the old practice room created a contrast that was oddly intoxicating. "Isn't it?" she countered softly, her gaze steady on his.

The air between them was palpable now, her every word pulling at something he usually kept well guarded. His heart beat a rhythm almost too pronounced, mirroring the tension that seemed to pulse through the space.

Clasping her bag closed, she stood, "Music is about feeling, about passion. It’s not just the notes, but the spaces between them, the breaths, the moments of surrender.”

Aemond’s response was caught in his throat as he absorbed her words, her proximity, the undeniable tension that seemed to dance around them like the very music she spoke of. How the hell did she do that?

She allowed herself a cheeky smile, one that reached her eyes so quickly that with those alone he would know she was amused, “maybe you should surrender to it sometimes.”

A part of him wanted to dismiss her words, to reinforce the walls he had built around his methods and beliefs. After all, she was the face of his competition, a symbol of the school he had been conditioned to outperform. Yet, the way she spoke about music, with such a raw, inviting passion, made it impossible to ignore the pull he felt towards her ideas, towards her. The rivalry was supposed to be clear-cut, a battle of schools and skills. But with her, it blurred into something messier, charged with an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite name but felt all too powerfully.

It was a dangerous mix. 

To admit she affected him would mean opening a door he was adamant to firmly keep shut tight. One that could lead to complications. Not even in terms of the competition. But for his prized discipline. She watched his expression to her words closely, her eyes reflecting a glint of knowing. He desperately wanted to hate her for it. To remind her that she was no better than him simply because she wasn’t plagued with the need for perfection like he was. That she, beyond the walls of the music school she seemed to haunt, could leave her instrument within them. Whereas Aemond was forced to carry his cello on his shoulders, to support its heavy toll on him, and that every step he took, it took more. 

It seemed like she was going to say more, as her lips parted. But as quickly as they did, they closed softly again, and that enigmatic smile returned. 

Fuck her. 

When Aegon had been in his early twenties, he’d moaned and groaned on the sofa, his phone slobbed to one side, complaining that the girl he was currently texting was verbally edging him. Aemond had merely grimaced, finding his brother's frustration more amusing than relatable.

But now he felt that aggravation of it. The fact that she knew he was hanging on every word, and still chose not to say anything, to leave thoughts dangling in the charged air between them.

She gave him a final nod, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken words and tensions that lingered, then turned and walked away. It was only when she was halfway down the hallway that the perfect response sprang to his mind, but by then it was too late. All he could do was watch her retreating form disappear into the dim, wooden corridor. 

In that moment, Aemond felt like a modern-day Eurydice, fading into the shadows, but with a twist, this time, Eurydice longed for Orpheus to look back. Aemond knew that if she turned, if she offered him one last look, it would mean stepping back into a narrative filled with complexities and perhaps inevitable loss. Yet, he craved that backward glance, a sign that their fleeting connection meant as much to her as it did to him, even if it meant returning to the shadows.

Aemond tried to refocus on his practice as he returned to the solitude of the music room. He played mechanically, his usual precision present but the soul of the music notably absent. The strings didn't sing; they just spoke in monotonous tones. With more than half of his allotted practice time remaining, he packed up his cello, and resisted the urge to hurl it across the room.

Driven by a need for something more tangible, more human than the cold wood and strings of his cello, Aemond left the practice room abruptly.

No more than 15 minutes later, he stood at the smirking figure of Alys Rivers, leaning against her door frame, arms crossed and wearing delicate lacy sleepwear, as if she could supernaturally anticipate that he would come to her.

Her eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and satisfaction, seeing him slightly dishevelled, a rare break in his usually composed demeanour.

“I don't want to fucking hear it.” 

Alys, unfazed by his sharpness, raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly, stepping aside to let him in. Her reaction was more teasing than concerned, her amusement clear in her casual posture. 

"Where?" Aemond's voice was blunt, his usual grace undercut by a barely contained frustration.

"The bed," Alys responded with a flick of her head toward the bedroom, her smirk deepening as she watched him stride ahead.

As he passed her, she couldn't resist adding, "Need some instructions, or do you remember the way?"

Aemond didn't respond, his back to her as he moved into the bedroom. Alys followed at a leisurely pace, her demeanour confident, almost cocky. She leaned against the doorframe, watching as he shed his jacket with quick, jerky movements.

Alys pushed off from the doorframe and walked over to him, her steps deliberate. "Something's happened-," she said, reaching out to smooth the crease between his brows with her thumb, her touch light but insistent.

He caught her wrist, his grip firm. "I said I don't want to fucking hear it," he retorted, his voice low and strained.

Alys met his gaze, her expression partly unreadable. "Okay," she conceded, pulling her hand back gently. She gestured towards the bed. "Show me what you need.”

As Alys led him toward the bed, Aemond followed mechanically. His movements were automatic, driven by habit more than desire. Pulling her hips towards him and slinging her legs over his shoulders was like second nature at this point. Alys was warm beneath him, her body responding in all the familiar ways, her breaths, her touches, her sighs all scripted from past encounters. Yet, as Aemond moved with her, his mind was elsewhere, disengaged from the act. 

The room was silent except for the soft rustle of sheets and the muted sounds of their closeness, but inside Aemond, a storm was brewing. The physical motions were all correct, but the emotional undercurrents were misaligned, leaving him feeling even more isolated as they moved together. Alys seemed not to notice, or if she did, she chose not to address it, caught up perhaps in her own interpretation of their actions.

Afterward, as Alys settled beside him, her breathing even and content, Aemond lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She was close, yet he felt miles away, trapped in a cycle that provided physical release but no real solace.

Sensing his detachment, Alys’ voice broke through the silence, “you okay?”

Aemond didn't answer. Instead, he gently disentangled himself from her and slid off the bed. His movements were smooth but distant, as if he was pulling away from more than just the physical proximity, leaving the bedroom without so much of a backward glance at Alys, barely wounded from his dismissal, naked in bed. Alys watched him go, her expression resigned. She remained silent, making no move to follow him or press him further.

In the living room, Aemond walked straight to the mini-bar and poured himself a drink, his hands mechanically tilting the bottle, the familiar clink of ice soothing his frayed nerves. He took a deep sip, letting the liquid burn down his throat, hoping it would wash away the disquiet clinging to him.

As he turned, his gaze fell on the grand piano sitting under the low light in the corner of the room. It was an elegant piece, one that Alys had long forgotten, now sitting idly and out of tune. The dust gathered in its crevices spoke volumes of its neglect, a stark contrast to the careful maintenance of instruments at his own school.

The piano, much like himself tonight, felt abandoned, left to stand as a mere piece of furniture rather than the vibrant instrument it was intended to be. Compelled by a sudden urge, he approached it, his fingers running along the cool, smooth surface of its keys, each one silent and stiff from disuse. Aemond pressed a key tentatively, listening to the dull thud that echoed back, as if to taunt him. 

For a brief moment, he considered the task of tuning it, of bringing it back to life. It seemed a fitting metaphor for what he needed himself, a realignment, a correction of the discord that had crept into his own life and art.

As Aemond's fingers wandered across the piano keys, his thoughts meandered back to the pianist from the opposing school. She had described music as a living entity, one that breathed and moved, pulsating with the emotions of its player. This concept lingered in his mind as he contemplated the neglected piano before him. He wondered how she would react to such a forlorn instrument. Would she feel compelled to restore it, to draw breath back into its worn frame and let it sing once more? 

Just as he secretly hoped she might rekindle something within him, a spark long subdued under the weight of discipline and expectation.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch

@castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @primonizzutto

@qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Elizabeth Taylor (Cleopatra, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof)—iconic actress with purple eyes and a double row of eyelashes, the real ebony dementia ravenway of old hollywood. known for her stunning tastes when it comes to jewelry and her incredible, incredible advocacy during the AIDS crisis.

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Elizabeth Taylor:

I've been trying to steer clear of the absurdly-big names, but damnit, those violet eyes got me. The *talent*, the *presence*, the string of marriages and (temporally out-of-bounds) work in combating AIDS and pioneering in the concept of the celebrity fragrance line.

Not only did she have gorgeous violet eyes and lashes for days and one of the hottest voices ever, she was also a big supporter of the gay community

Child actress turned starlet, Liz dominated films as one of the greatest screen legends of classic hollywood. If your protagonist has violet eyes, they're imitating hers.

A Legend. She was serving milf rage in Whos Afraid Of Virginia Woolf. A Star in every sense of the word.

She was renowned for the beauty of her eyes; they were a dark blue but could look violet in certain lighting, something that photographers would actually touch up to look even more so in pictures. But even more striking was a genetic mutation that gave her a double row of eyelashes. She was also famed for her string of husbands -- 8 marriages to 7 men. Two-time hubby Richard Burton once said she was “a wildly exciting love-mistress… beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography.”

Her EYES. Early and loud support for gay rights and AIDS victims. Married a bunch of hot dudes, Burton twice!

just look at her. she's gorgeous. there's a video somewhere of her applying her eyeliner in the mirror and I think about it all the time

THE Hollywood actress of all time. Not only was she known for her long dark locks and blue-violet eyes, she also had one of the wildest life stories ever….. She’s Carrie Fisher’s stepmother because her father Eddie Fisher cheated on Debbie Reynolds with Liz. She was knighted as a dame of England. She was married to seven different men, one of them twice. She was also very kindhearted and did a lot of charity activism.

Asides from being an iconic actor, she did a lot of philanthropy and co founded the American Foundation for AIDS research. She’s sometimes considered one of the last great stars of old hollywood

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

[lowtaperfeyd]

Jessica and atreides!reader angst? (Mother and daughter angst then yn slowly turns into evil which jessica slowly realise the pattern was repeating)

Metamorphosis

Lady Jessica x Daughter!reader

(Not beta read, we die like Feyd-Rautha)

author's note: If you guys can't tell I really like writing angst. This is also the longest thing I've written so far :). Also trying a new formatting type.

warnings: mentions of death, mommy issues, mentions of blood, mentions of Paul after drinking the water of life

wc: 1145

Lady Jessica did her job halfway right. To ensure she completed her Bene Gesserit mission, gave birth to twins. A boy named Paul and a girl named (Y/N). While the loophole was clever, the Bene Gesserit could not use the daughter she had given birth to. They said she had tainted her womb while bearing a son. 

Her father, the Duke Leto Atreides, was the only one who actually taught her important things. When she was little she would sit in a stool pulled up near her fathers desk and watch him go through paperwork and meeting notes. While he trained his son to become duke, he trained his daughter what to do in case something happened to Paul. He didn’t brush her off. 

Lady Jessica focused most of her time on Paul. His training, his skills, and his talent. While (Y/N) was taught how to use the Bene Gesserit ways by other members and not her mother. While those tutors did their job well, and she was learning quite a lot, (Y/N) found that her brother, a male, was progressing much faster than her. She was proud of her brother. It wasn’t her brother’s fault, it was her mother’s. 

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

A younger (Y/N) and Paul sat on the damp grass on Caladan on a breezy afternoon. They watched the sun lower into the sky and begin to graze where the horizon met the sea. (Y/N) took small daisies from the ground and started to make a flower crown out of them. 

“You know Paul, if you continue to improve at this rate I wouldn’t be surprised if you were better than our mother.” (Y/N) praised as she continued to pick and tie other flowers together. 

“No, no, no,” her brother replied modestly, “what she is teaching me is all of what she knows. Sooner or later I’ll plateau.” 

“You never know,” (Y/N) chuckled, cheekily, “Maybe one day she’ll go to you for advice.”

When (Y/N) finished the thin crown, she placed it onto Paul's head.

“There,” she said, “I now dubbed thy, Duke Paul Atreides of Caladan. Who will be an excellent and fair ruler.”

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

The only thing that (Y/N) had against Paul, was that her ability to use the voice was much better than his. Paul sounded like a dying horse and (Y/N) could command hundreds of people with her voice. (Y/N) found incredible joy from this. But this fact scared Lady Jessica. 

Lady Jessica was afraid of the power her daughter held. She knew of her hatred against her brother who took most of the time spent learning. Of course this all wouldn’t matter when the Duke died and they lived in the desert with the Fremen. Until Paul had a war forged in his name and (Y/N) had nothing but her brain. 

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

(Y/N) was standing in front of the giant pool of water, watching her reflection rippled and ebbed. As she stood there, she imagined a war that was fought in her name instead of Paul’s. Tons of water, from people who died while waiting for the ‘Lisan Al-Giab’ If this was my war, no one would die. She thought. After a couple of minutes a Fremen woman came by and poured the water of another warrior. If my mother and her witches hadn’t meddled, we wouldn’t have this mess. She stood there for hours, hours past when the sun went down, pondering her existence and her brother’s willingness to say he was the messiah. 

“Are you going to keep looking at your reflection or are you coming to bed?” She heard her mother say. 

“Does it matter if I stay up late? I’ve nothing to do on Arrakis.” (Y/N) responded, sounding completely uninterested in talking to her mother. 

“It does matter, you need sleep in order to thrive.” Lady Jessica declared. 

“Don’t try acting like you care now,” her daughter bit back, coldly, “don’t try acting like a caring mother. Go spread more rumors about Paul.” she sighed out. 

“They aren’t rumors, (Y/N),” She retorted, “It’s what he’s going to do. You and everyone else here realizes who he is and his potential. You need to help Paul.” 

(Y/N) bundled her hands into fists at her sides. Her knuckles popped at how hard she was squeezing them. Your son has changed far beyond what was expected. she thought, you barely recognize him anymore. 

“Would me dying for your cause be sufficient?” (Y/N) uttered under her breath as she continued to look at her reflection, “Should I stand out there and be a martyr? The loving sister of the Kwisatz Haderach…” 

Lady Jessica breathed in sharply and said nothing in return. She took her hands and put them over her stomach where her other child was. 

(Y/N) turned around to look at her mother, “You agree don’t you?’ she assumed.

Still, the Lady said nothing and just looked at her daughter. She met her daughter's eyes. The blue within blue encased her small pupils and her skin looking paler and deeper set than when they had left Arrakis. 

“Why aren’t you speaking?” Her daughter whispered, “Tell me what you think!”

“I think you as a martyr would do as much damage as if you were alive,” She voiced, “your death would be mourned. But, it would not change anything.” 

The sudden use of the voice surprised and startled Lady Jessica, “You imbecile, you using the Voice on your own mother.” 

“You didn’t seem to mind when Paul used it on your old reverend mother,” (Y/N) stated, “Paul and I did the same thing, use the Voice on a reverend mother.”

“You used it on your mother. Paul seized the moment so he could speak.”

“You were never a mother.” (Y/N) asserted, “you were a housemate, an incubator 

at best.” 

This stunned the reverend mother. She had never heard her daughter speak so unrighteously and sternly. It was almost like she had never really known her. The (Y/N) she knew, the sweet girl who collected wildflowers that had grown on the cliff sides, had died when they landed on Arrakis and was replaced by someone cold and quiet. 

“I’ll help my brother.” (Y/N) expressed as she moved closer to her mother, “I’ll do as he says. No matter how much you go against it. It doesn’t matter if he asks me to burn temples or castles, or even destroy planets. As long as I don’t have to follow you.” 

As she concluded her announcement, she turned to hastily walk out of the dark, humid cavern. 

Leaving Lady Jessica on her own; to see what had become of her daughter who would burn down the world if given the chance and her son who slipped unnecessary blood in the name of war. 

[moonselune]

hiiii I’m such a fan! I was browsing ur page and I saw your requests were open!! I’ve had this idea that I think you could pull off really well (if you want of course) of headcannons with Gale and Wyll and whoever else you want from the main crew. But it’s a bard Tav where Tav is a really free spirited performer, kinda Stevie Nicks-ish if that makes sense? But just how they would react to their partner performing and being so filled with whimsy lol

of course, take your time, and take care of yourself, love ya 💋

aww thank you and I love you too nonnie ! oxox

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The Elfsong Tavern was buzzing with anticipation, the usual chatter fading to a murmur as you stepped onto the small wooden stage. Tonight, the dim, flickering lanterns cast a warm glow around the room, amplifying the earthy wood tones and illuminating the eager faces of patrons crowded around their drinks. You stood under the lights, dressed in layers of flowing scarves, fringed shawls, and beads that caught every glint of candlelight, giving you an otherworldly aura. The intricate braids and delicate trinkets woven through your hair shimmered, and your movements seemed to echo the fluidity of the music you were about to bring to life.

The tavern was filled with your companions, too; Wyll and Astarion had secured a spot near the back, their friendly bickering put on pause as they waited for your performance. Shadowheart leaned casually against the wall, though her eyes sparkled with anticipation, and Karlach was already clapping her hands in encouragement. After all, you were their one shot of paying off the drinking tab they had racked up. But amid the gathered faces, it was Gale who watched you most intently, his gaze unwavering as if committing every detail to memory. You could tell he was more than eager for this; he had heard you sing before, but he’d never seen you perform like this. Tonight, he had the look of someone watching a dream come to life before him.

As you took a deep breath, your gaze met his, and you felt a jolt of warmth, steadying you before the first note escaped your lips. When you started to sing, your voice was soft yet powerful, like smoke rising from a fire, filling every corner of the room. The melody was haunting, weaving tales of distant lands, lost lovers, and ancient magic as if you were spinning a spell in every verse. The music ebbed and flowed, pulling everyone in and wrapping them in a shared reverie. You let your hands drift through the air, each gesture enhancing the magic of your performance, your body moving with an effortless grace that only added to the ethereal atmosphere.

Gale sat close, his eyes wide with wonder, his usual thoughtful expression replaced by one of pure, unfiltered awe. He had known you were talented, but he hadn’t realized the depth of your gift until this moment. It was as though he was seeing the essence of you laid bare, wrapped in a voice that seemed to pull emotions from his soul he didn’t even know he had. His hand rested over his chest as he watched, his breath shallow, and his cheeks flushed as he tried—and failed—to keep a grin off his face.

With each song, the patrons were drawn deeper into the dreamscape you painted, applauding wildly between sets, shouting for more. Coins began piling up in the small pouch you’d left at the stage’s edge, a few admirers even coming forward to drop in gems and trinkets as tokens of their appreciation. When your final song faded, you looked out at the room, allowing yourself a breath of relief and satisfaction as the patrons erupted in applause, whistles, and cheers.

Sweeping down to gather your earnings, you glanced over at Gale, giving him a knowing smile. The coins clinked together in the pouch, heavy and promising, enough to pay off the tab and keep the camp well-supplied for some time.

“So,” you teased, swinging the pouch of coins playfully, “what do you think, Master Wizard? Impressed?” You couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the flush of color that had spread over his cheeks.

But he didn’t answer with words. Instead, he rose from his seat and, before you could say another word, leaned forward and pulled you into a kiss. His hands were gentle but sure as they settled on your waist, his lips warm and soft against yours. The kiss was deep, sweetly lingering, full of every unspoken word of adoration he could convey. You felt him smile slightly against your mouth, his kiss a mix of passion and pride, as though he couldn’t help but show you how much he cherished this moment. When he finally pulled away, there was a brightness in his eyes, a joyful awe that left you a little breathless.

“That was… breathtaking,” he murmured, voice a touch unsteady, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “You were absolutely enchanting. You always are, but tonight… I feel as though I’ve just met you all over again.”

The way he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world, made your cheeks warm, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You might just have to meet me all over again later, then,” you teased, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “For now, I think we’ve got some celebrating to do.”

His laugh was rich and warm as he nodded, reaching out to clasp your hand as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The other patrons were still clapping, some singing bits of the songs you had just performed, filling the tavern with life and mirth. As you looked around, clutching Gale’s hand tightly, you felt a surge of joy and a sense of belonging that was only strengthened when you glanced back at him.

“Perhaps,” Gale said, leaning close with a mischievous grin, “we could arrange a more private encore? Not for gold this time, but… let’s say, for inspiration.”

You chuckled, cheeks still warm, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’d be delighted, Gale,” you murmured, letting your thumb graze over his as you both made your way back through the crowd, the tavern still ringing with laughter and song.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The Elfsong Tavern was packed tonight, each seat filled and standing room claimed by folks eager to catch a glimpse of the rare performance. Word had spread that there was someone different gracing the stage, a figure draped in layers of midnight blue and silver with cascades of lace and ribbon, a glimpse of gold dusting your cheeks and collarbone. A glimmering amulet rested against your collar, catching the dim, amber tavern lights, casting an ethereal glow as you moved gracefully across the small, candle-lit stage.

At the back of the room, Wyll had found a perch along the wall, one hand resting on his hip as he leaned back, eyes fixed on you. He’d heard you sing before, often in quiet moments meant only for him and only with the flickering light of a campfire between you. It had been a comfort, the way your voice brought life to tales of distant places and people, weaving threads of fantasy that had soothed his weary spirit after long days. He’d known your voice was magic, but this was different. Tonight, you were stepping onto a stage that turned every eye in the tavern toward you, and he found himself awash in pride and something deeper, something far harder to name.

When you began to sing, the lively hum of the crowd faded into an awe-struck silence. Your voice rose, weaving tales of wild-hearted love, of spirit unbound by law or fear. Each word seemed spun from silver and mist, filling the room with a longing so palpable that Wyll felt his own heart pull with it. He barely registered the breaths he took; each one was held between your lyrics, his gaze transfixed by the way you moved, as if the tavern itself became a world of your creation, an enchanted space, and everyone present was helplessly pulled into your orbit.

You sang of love lost and found, of adventures taken in far-off lands under strange, foreign skies. The layers of your voice, low and haunting, rose to peaks of passion, before returning to gentle refrains that wrapped around each listener, drawing them into your spell.

Your eyes, half-lidded and glittering, swept the crowd but always returned to Wyll, grounding him even as he felt himself drifting deeper into your enchantment. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time, and the realization that he could fall even deeper, love you more wholly, made his heart skip a beat.

As the final note faded, the crowd broke into thunderous applause, cheers rising and the atmosphere charged with a sort of collective reverence. You smiled, a soft, almost private smile, as you offered a bow, looking radiant in the warm light, your cheeks flushed with joy. You slipped off the stage, weaving through the tables until you found yourself standing before him. Your expression shifted to that familiar look, a soft amusement in your eyes as you caught Wyll’s unblinking gaze.

“Well, my gallant hero,” you teased, nudging him playfully, “how much gold did we rake in?”

Wyll blinked, still dazed as he registered your words, his eyes slowly focusing.

“The gold… right, of course, the gold…” He fumbled in his pocket, eyes still locked onto yours as if you’d vanish if he looked away. He was meant to collect gold, to raise some money for the refugees stuck in Rivington. His lips parted, and he tried again. “The gold’s… here. I think…”

You chuckled, crossing your arms as you tilted your head, studying him with a raised eyebrow. “Wyll Ravengard, did I leave you speechless?”

“Speechless?” he said, a bit dazed, before laughing softly, his voice catching. “You left me… spellbound.” He reached for your hand, fingers grazing over your knuckles as he held your gaze, his dark eyes warm and reverent. “I knew you were magic, love. But I didn’t know…” He trailed off, swallowing as he shook his head, his hand squeezing yours. “Didn’t know you could make the world disappear like that.”

Your smile softened, your fingers tightening in his as you took a small step closer. “Just a little music, Wyll.”

“No,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “It’s you.” He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Every word, every note… I swear it was just for me.” You could see him wrestling with his own words, fumbling for how to say what he felt.

Finally, he let out a soft chuckle, his expression slipping into something both tender and slightly bashful as he ran a hand through his hair. “I think I’m a fool, standing here in a love-struck haze when we’ve got a tavern’s worth of coins to count."

“Maybe so,” you murmured, unable to resist a grin as you reached up, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “But it’s quite charming, you know?”

He grinned, the teasing warmth in his expression faltering slightly as he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close. His hand found the small of your back, his other tracing the edge of your jaw as he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against yours. His voice softened to a whisper, as if sharing a secret only meant for you.

“I don’t ever want to stop loving you like this,” he said, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “You make me feel… everything. As if all the world could vanish, and I’d still have everything I need, right here with you.”

You felt your heart stutter, warmth flooding through you as you leaned into his touch, your own fingers curling around the back of his neck.

“Wyll Ravengard,” you whispered, leaning in until your lips brushed his, “if you keep this up, we may just end up broke—because I’ll only be singing for you.”

His laughter was soft, breathy, and it melted into a sigh as he pressed his lips to yours, the tavern and its patrons fading away until it felt like just the two of you beneath a star-lit sky.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Awww i do love these softies. Hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[yaniluvs]

just fine. -h.hj ✭ !

💥 chapter 2.

if you haven't, be sure to read chapter 1 ✿ before , here !

✧ pairing : hwang hyunjin x fem!reader (maybe not) ͏✧ info : sadfic (hah) , a LOT of angst , melancholy (ofc) , drama , feelings , mature themes , suggestive , bsfs , one sided. ͏✧ personas: uni students ; dancers ; hyunjin does art and dance, reader does dance and songwriting. ͏͏✧ word count : 1.2k ͏✧ warnings : mature themes !

may not be best friends -> lovers

— ☆ 

“Earth to Hyunjin?”

Her voice broke through the soft haze of their conversation, snapping Hyunjin out of his reverie.

His eyes blinked slowly as he turned to her, dropping his pencil onto the sketchpad. 

“What happened after? That newbie who was crushing—”

She rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips twitching, clouding her insides. “He wasn’t crushing on me, Hyunjin. The poor guy just needed notes.”

Hyunjin let out a short laugh, but the sound was tinged with disbelief rather than humour. 

"Right, because guys always ask for notes while staring at you like you’re the last piece of cake on the table." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her intently.

“Plus, you’re so fucking pretty, and talented and all. There’s no way guys haven’t tried hitting on you.”

“Look, even if guys are into me—why does it matter? It's not like I’m interested anyway. What if my heart already belongs to—”

The words slipped out before she could catch them, hanging in the air between them like a fragile truth she hadn't meant to reveal.

Hyunjin’s brow knit together, the teasing curve of his lips faltering as he caught the shift in her tone. "What do you mean, belongs to someone?" he asked, his voice dipped in a gentler shade, almost hesitant, as if he were stepping into fragile terrain.

She swallowed the weight of the unsaid, a burden pressed firmly against her chest, threatening to unravel everything she’d kept so carefully hidden. This was dangerous ground, a precipice she wasn’t sure she dared to approach. 

"I just mean... I’m not really looking for anything right now. You know, too focused on school and stuff."

He leaned back, the playful light in his eyes dimming as something more contemplative took its place. 

He leaned back in his chair, that look settling over his features as he absently sketched with a charcoal pencil, his fingers deftly moving on the blank page. The gentle scratch of the pencil was a soft backdrop to their conversation, a counterpoint to the heaviness in the room. 

"Right, school," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her, betraying a curiosity he couldn’t quite shake. "But if you were looking… there’d be plenty of options. I just don’t get why you haven’t... tried, you know?”

She bit her lip, the words she wanted to say tangling with the ones she knew she should voice. Her eyes flickered to the scattered notes and textbooks on her bed, the very essence of her current life.

"Maybe I’m just waiting for the right person."

His eyes locked onto hers, "And you think you’ll know when you find them?"

The brunette’s heart fluttered painfully, leaping a mile of lost hope, the weight of his gaze almost too much to bear. She whispered, her voice barely a breath against the charged air.

"Maybe I already have."

The guy’s expression softened, the veneer of teasing slipping away to reveal a vulnerability beneath. He looked down at the sketch in his hands, his fingers hovering over the delicate lines of the drawing. The room seemed to hold its breath, the soft hum of the air and the distant strains of music mingling in a delicate symphony.

But just as swiftly, the moment ebbed away, and he shook his head with a light, almost melancholic laugh. "Well, when you do find that person, you’d better let me know so I can give him a hard time."

She forced a smile, turning her gaze back to her notes with a heavy heart, trying to ignore the ache that had settled deep within her chest. “Right.. definitely.”

Yet, deep down, she knew she never would. Because the truth, as stark and clear as the lines in his sketch, was that he would never see her in that way. 

To him, she would always be the girl who shared his secrets, his dreams, his fears—but never his heart.

As he continued to sketch, lost in the quiet of his art, she remained on her bed, the distance between them feeling as vast as an uncharted sea.

And then it was another weekend. 

The soft thrum of music and laughter filled the air as a party unfolded in the cozy apartment of one of Hyunjin’s friends, Changbin - celebrating his uni grad.

Y/n was pretty close with his friend group, so of course, she was invited.

Didn't mean she wanted to go though. But well- it was a graduation party right? They'd all be celebrating Chris' freedom from education. Nothing more or less.. right?

Mmm.. but boy was she wrong.

saturday night, 08:01 pm.

The night hummed softly with the pulse of muted conversations, faint music, and the warm buzz of revelry. In the small, dimly lit apartment, the air felt heavy—not just with the scent of summer heat and cheap cologne, but with something more, something unspoken.

But even in the crowd, even with people swirling past her in bursts of conversation and carefree laughter, she felt alone. Worse than alone.

She weaved through the crowd, her smile faint, eyes distant as they wandered—searching, yearning. She could feel the invisible pull, like a thread wrapped tightly around her heart, tugging her gaze toward the corner of the room.

And there, in the far corner, was Hyunjin. And he was not alone.

He leaned casually against the worn leather couch, Seori curled up beside him like they had always belonged together. Their laughter drifted through the air, soft and intimate, like the music was playing only for them. Hyunjin's fingers brushed Seori’s hair out of her face, and the way she smiled up at him made her heart clench painfully.

It was effortless. It was painful.

The girl’s heart ached, the dull throb of it settling low in her chest. She tried to look away, but it was like watching a sunset—beautiful, heartbreaking, inevitable. 

She had always known, deep down, that Hyunjin was slipping away from her. 

Maybe he had never really been hers to lose, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Her fingers traced the rim of the cup she held, absentmindedly. The laughter and chatter around her blurred into a distant hum. 

She felt like a ghost in her own life, a silent observer in a scene she couldn’t even rewrite. Every glance Hyunjin shared with Seori felt like a door closing.

But she wasn’t the only one watching.

— ??

Leaning casually against the wall, his eyes were fixed on her, observing every subtle flicker of her emotions—the way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly when she caught sight of Hyunjin and Seori, the faint sadness in her eyes. 

He knew her well enough to recognize the facade of nonchalance she wore so tightly around herself. And it stirred something in him—a mix of frustration, empathy, and the lingering, unspoken affection he had long kept buried.

He clenched his jaw slightly, trying to ignore the resentment bubbling inside him. 

Resentment toward Hyunjin for being so blind, so careless with someone like her. 

It wasn’t that he disliked Seori. 

No, it wasn’t about her at all.

It was about Hyunjin forgetting the girl who had always been there— who had silently, patiently stood by his side, waiting for him to notice. 

But instead, Hyunjin’s world seemed to revolve around someone else now.

author's note !

AHHHHH ANOTHER CHAPTERRRR been 5 days since i posted omg😨 my mid terms are less than 25 days away and i havent started studying yet bye ok i have the next 2 chapters ready in my draft trust🤟 posting the next maybe tmr or today? day after? idk wtv i feel <3 sooo who do you think is 'him' ? 😛 try guessing in the comments and if yr right i might answer u in a msg ;3 also plz lmk if u wanna be in my taglist !! <3 i love teasing people like this omhfjdsn ok muah BYEEE 💋

[zwolfgames]

|Mistakes|Platonic Yandere Alastor x fem!reader

Requested: /

Warnings: Alastor, condescending behavior, off putting interactions.

Parts: Part 1, Part 2 (You are here), Part 3

The two of you sat peacefully on the kitchen floor for quite a while. Alastor asked you about songs and he showed you his favourite's in return.

It was quite a sweet moment, considering the situation. Listening music during an extermination. Who would have tought?

Alastor hums along to a song he put on. You have to admit, he has a soothing voice. Indeed perfect for a radio host.

A violent scream of pain from outside shook you out of the calmness.

You had almost forgotten about the death outside...

Alastor eyes you curiously.

You may not know it, but he finds you calming to look at. No sharp edges... that big jellyfish cap. You look.. lets say, squishable.

Tough he knows better then to touch now.

"You aren't scared, are you?" Alastor hums in a sing song manner. Teasing smile on his lips as usual.

"There's no need to be scared when I'm here to protect you." He further widens his grin. You just nod meekly, opting to agree with anything he may say to spare your life.

"Y/N, dear. Don't you think you'd look better with a smile?" Alastor tilts his head so he can look right at you, trough the veil of stinging tendrils.

"No... not really? I don't have a lot to smile about." You blink up at him blankly. You see him tilt his head to the side in either curioustity or annoyance.

"How about you smile for me?" Alastor seems to smile even wider at his own ideas.

You attempt a little smile as to not get murdered on the spot.

Alastor seems content and had to stop himself from tilting your chin up to see better. Tough the only thing really stopping him were your tendrils.

"Y/N, is there perhaps a way for you to not sting?" Alastor asks.. way too obviously.

"No." You answer without hesitation. And even if there was, you wouldn't ever turn them off. Hell is dangerous and this guy is especially dangerous.

"I see. A shame, you look soft to touch." He admits casually. You almost cringe and resist the urge to back off. Why does he pull out the creepy shit after you two had a nice music moment?

A moment of silence passes, its awkard to you but the radio demon seems nothing but pleased.

"Say, my dear. What else do you presume we do while waiting out the extermination?" Alastor asks as if this is some playdate.

And truly, to him it was.

"Um... I have papers somewhere, we can.. draw?" You offer awkardly, you only have a destroyed kitchen to work with here. But you don't think he'd have appreciated playing minecraft anyways.

"Drawing, are you capable of that?" Alastor asks in amusment. You almost feel insulted at the way he asked that.

You just nod and take some papers from a cabinet. Finding pencils was a bit harder but you managed.

And Alastor defenitly noticed that you gave him the better pencil.... How sweet and considerate of you.

He doesn't know a lot of sinners who would do that...

Second mistake: A show of Kindness.

Well, atleast drawing time went on peacefully. Alastor was humming a tune with that radio effect enhancing his voice, it was quite calming and your stress ebbed away from you slowly as you just focussed on your drawing.

You aren't sure how much time passed before Alastor stopped humming but he snapped you out of your creative trance.

"What do you think ,dear?" Alastor smiles a bit more genuinly.

He holds up his pencil drawing of... you. Just You. With your little smile.

You blush faintly in a rather shy manner and try not to look away from his drawing.

You didn't know he had a talent in drawing. You also didn't know you were drawing eachother. Yours was just todays made up OC.

"Thats.. very pretty... I'm flattered." You mutter out in embarrasment. Alastors grin widens.

"I just wanted to capture you, as I carry no camera's on me." Alastor boasts as if that's the coolest thing ever.

"Thats neat." You stick a thumb up, it therefore comes out under your stinging veil.

You notice your mistake quite quickly as your hand is taken in the Radio demons.

"I knew it, soft. You're quite untouched, aren't you? Well, that would be obvious, seeing your ability." Alastor smirks. It's as if his main goal this whole time had been to grab a hold of you.

He's quite cold, pointy fingers. Kinda eery.

"Oh look at your little startled face. You're adorable." Alastor teases with slightly lidded eyes.

You attempt to pull back out of embarrasment but he holds on.

"Are you scared?" 

Alastor asked in a more serious voice.

"Not really, you're just cold." You answer simply, hoping thats a decent enough answer.

"Is that so?" Alastor hums, a twitch in his smile as he lets go.

He stands up and summons his cane.

You refrain a flinch as you fear the worst but he instead just summons a couch and a bunch of books.

"Come, sit. We still have some hours to pass."

_____☆_____

Cool

Tag list: @ceramic-raven , @oo0lady-mad0oo

[howlingmod]

LIQUID SUNSHINE

summary - valk x reader , reader's also an idol .. smiles .. more valk pining than anything sorry

wc - i dunno ...

misc - very based on spltoon i wont even lie you are the ian bgm to his squid sistrs (< incomprehensible)

-Valk liked to keep a good eye on the music scene, seeing what everyone else was doing or if there were any new groups on the rise in crossroads- it's just exciting to him! He likes seeing how people innovate on trends and the styles that different artists bring to the table, and, from a business perspective, it's just good to know how the music scene's doing for flipside's sake ...

-He usually just kept an ear out on social media to see who everyone's talking about, and that's how he learned about you.

-You were a part of a band from one of the other regions, and apparently you guys were pretty popular there! He hadn't heard of you before, but it seems like you were just a well-kept secret, a hidden gem.

-It didn't take long for him to make plans to visit, see just how much of an idol you really were. He just wanted to make sure he got the full perspective, is all! (And, admittedly, he was just a little intrigued by some of the photos he seen ... he has eyes! Get off his case!)

-Needless to say, he was not disappointed. He made sure to visit when your band was supposed to be performing and he was decently surprised by the crowd that had formed. It was a smaller concert than he was used to (it's not easy being known by the grand majority of the inpherno ...), but everyone there seemed totally enthralled and happy to be there. You guys definitely had a big reputation for yourselves here, he was honestly a little sad it'd taken this long for him to find out about you guys ...

-Once the show was over, he made sure to try and talk to you all. He had to be careful about it, keeping his head down and sticking to the edges of the room, but he managed to get close without being recognized. After he quietly thanked the Heights for it being a night show (he wouldn't have been able to see the stage before getting someone shouting his name if it was daytime), he made his way over to you.

-You all seemed to be about even in popularity, none of you seeming particularly shafted or overhyped by your fans, but you'd been the one he heard about the most. (Though, that probably wasn't true. He probably heard about all of you the same amount and just paid the most attention when you were being focused on. Woops.) So, he figured it was only fair he tried talking to you.

The diguise he hastily threw together felt just a little silly now. Sure, it'd worked pretty well so far, but he was really starting to doubt that it would work up close like this. I mean, it's not exactly easy to hide horns like his and his fake voice-persona-mix was really starting to fall apart.

"Where'd you say you're from?" Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Crossroads, I just wanted to see one of your guys' shows in person, they seemed pretty fun from everything I saw online," he answered honestly, smiling in a gesture you returned with your own. "Aw! I really hope you liked it then, I hope we were worth the travel..." "Oh, for sure! You guys are super talented! You've got such a unique style, I can definitely see how you pull such a big crowd." Ok, maybe he was laying it on thick, but he was being genuine! He was impressed! Whatever! You laughed at that, shifting in place and glancing off to the side, face feeling warm. "Thank you, I'm just glad people like our work, we put a lot of effort into it." He hummed in response, a mix between acknowledgement and shared opinion. Clearly, even if you two had very different scenes, you were still pretty alike, at least in how you viewed your work. A silence fell after that, just barely ebbing into uncomfortable before he shot up. "Oh, I totally forgot!" He started fumbling for something in his bag before hastily pushing over a vinyl he'd got before heading over here and a market he'd thrown in his bag only a little shamefully, "Would you mind?" You smiled at him, gingerly taking it from his hands, "Not at all, who should I make this out to?" He blanched, biting the inside of his lip hard. He hadn't thought of a name, at all. He stammered, glancing around the room quickly for some answer. Pen was so boring, Poster was obviously a lie, and he's not even entertaining Chair. You snickered, just barely failing to bite it back, "I'll just keep it general." His eyes shot back to you, silently letting out the breath he'd been holding, "Yeah, that works. Thanks." You waved your hand dismissively, "It's nothing, don't sweat it." You handed the vinyl back over to him, meeting his gaze again. There was a glimmer of something he couldn't quite name, perhaps because he was a little distracted by just how pretty you looked in this lighting. Sure, you'd been killer on stage, but it was different seeing you up close like this. Maybe he should've invested in closer seats ... Before he could think to bite his tongue, he was talking again, "You ever think about collabs?"

-He had a different kind of pep in his step when he got back to crossroads. He seemed to be in a constant state of distraction, always thinking about something or other enough to risk walking into walls a few times now. Sometimes he'd say it was music, some bar that he was stuck on. Othertimes, he'd just shake his head and say 'nothing,' before going back to staring off into space. Dom could see right through it, and while he couldn't read his mind, he figured it probably had to do with that person he kept seeing on his phone.

-Valk wasn't sure of where to go from here. He'd seen one of your concerts, he'd talked to you, even figured out you guys were open to working with other artists! Curiosity satiated, right? So then why were you still taking up so much space in his mind, often entirely seperated from your band and music?

-Should he have asked for your number? No, that would've been creepy. He knows more than well how fans can be about that sort of thing. Should he have just told you who he was, then? Ugh, that sounded so full of himself. Flipside might be famous, but that doesn't give him a free friendship card for everyone ever. He was pulling his hair out trying to figure out what he was missing here, what misstep he'd taken, by the time another concert came up.

-This one was different, rather than being a concert he and Dom performed at exclusively, this one had people from all around inpherno perform. It was a big deal, one that he was usually giddy about for weeks before. Seems like he really had been awfully distracted with how it slipped his mind ...

-He didn't have much time to mourn, however, when he noticed your band's name was on the list.

Before the show, there was a red carpet sort of ordeal. Musicians would show up dressed to the nines, flaunting their identity and background through their dresswear for everyone to see. It gave the public some nice photos to look at and some introductions to lesser-known artists with some of the impromptu interviews that cropped up with all the paparazzi. Plus, it now gave Valk an opportunity to talk to you again. It was hard to pull off his usually casual and relaxed demeanor whenever he'd pass photographers by, not wanting to deal with some big ordeal if he looked as nervous as he felt. Maybe you'd already walked? Where would you be then? Heights, what if you'd all pulled out last minute? Maybe you wouldn't even wanna talk to him anyway, did you think he was overhyped? Ugh, that was a whole new thing to worry about. What if he came off as pushy?- Just as he started to spiral, he'd caught a glimpse of familiar horns. Quickly turning to look, he'd seen you standing off in one of the staff-only areas, seemingly fixing up your outfit with all the fluffing and smoothing you were doing. He started over, minding his pace enough to not run over and freak you out. Whatever planned conversation starter he had on his tongue fell flat when you'd looked back at him. Your stage-wear had been perfectly translated to the event, dressed up enough to draw the eye but still retaining your usual sense of style enough to not come off as tryhardy. In shorter terms, you were a showstopper, a heartthrob- if his own heart's aching, fast beat was anything to go off of. "You look nice," he managed lamely. You took the weak compliment in stride, smiling as your hands finally left your top alone, "Thanks! You don't look half bad yourself." He smiled back at you, noticably relaxing, "Are you nervous at all?" "I mean, a little, but I think everyone gets a little bit of stage fright," you hummed, "it's always a little nerve-wracking, you just get better at managing it." "Huh, yeah, I can see that.." "What about you, are you nervous at all?" You shot him a look then, smile just a tinge more wry this time around. He straighted back up, subconsciously shifting in place as he laughed. "Ah, well, a little. It's different performing in front of a more diverse crowd, usually you just have to worry about people who already like your genre, but here you've gotta think about the variety of tastes in the audience," he hummed, steadily growing more comfortable as he talked. He might not be the best at talking to people he wants to impress (when did he start wanting to impress you?), but he considered himself pretty strong in his business sense. The greater mechanisms of being a musician came to him easier than making connections beyong shared interest. You gave a little noise of acknowledgement in response, falling quiet as you thought over his words. He could just barely hear the distant white noise of crowds chattering a room over the buzzing lights in here, fixing his gaze on some scuff on the ground for fear of staring. You suddenly shot up as the silence began to drag on a moment too long, turning your head back to him, "I almost forgot. You asked me about collabs at my concert," you started shuffling around your [ purse / pockets ], "I don't know if you were offering or anything, but if you were ..." you trailed off, holding out a small slip of paper to him. He didn't respond for a few seconds, staring blankly at the paper in surprise. Eventually, he rembered how to move his arms and speak, reaching out to take the slip from you, carefully unfolding it to reveal digits. "You uh... recognized me then, I'm guessing." "You have a pretty memorable face." He sucked in a breath through his teeth, pointedly ignoring the warmth crawling up the back of his neck, "Ah."

[sykeskassie]

Leave Me Your Stardust To Remember You By; Pt. 1

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: ANGST!! No comfort in this one, but implied comfort is on the way. A/N: Inspired by one of my all time favorite songs. Truly, I got hit with the idea on my way home from work yesterday and rolled with it.

Pt. 2 Pt.3

When I turn jet black and you show off your light/ I live to let you shine

You had known Chris almost as long as you had known yourself. Where you began and he ended, no one seemed to know. So many

had told you that when he left for Korea at the tender age of thirteen not to be surprised if the two of you grew apart. It was one of the reasons that he had hesitations about leaving. But you had seen the talent he had, and the drive he possessed. So you sent your best friend off with the promise you would look after his siblings like they were your own, and that you would be with him every step of the way. 

But you can skyrocket away from me/ And never come back if you find another galaxy

It would be years before you got to see him in person again. He was busy with training, and school, and everything in between. However, your love for each other never wavered. You spoke on the phone as often as you could both make time, battling the time zones and the day to day. You never went more than a day without emailing each other, and later on, texting. You made it a point to let him know he wasn’t forgotten, no matter how many miles separated you.

Just leave me your stardust to remember you by

You would sometimes wonder if you would outgrow each other, the way you had outgrown the hoodie he had gifted you when he left. “To make sure you don’t forget me,” he had said, as if that was even a possibility. He was the star in your sky, shining as brilliantly as his smile did. But you never did outgrow him, and he always made sure to send you a new hoodie every year, on the anniversary of his leaving. 

If you’ll be my boat, I’ll be your sea/ A depth of pure blue just to probe curiosity 

As you grew, your love did too. It shifted, and morphed, until it took on an entirely new form. You were still best friends, seemingly the closest to ever exist; you thought that would never change. However, your love shifted from an endless blue to a swirling purple. Suddenly all the ‘I love you’s exchanged held a different weight. Without any warning, you were in love with Chris. When you told him after hours, days, weeks of contemplation, he had the audacity to tell you that he had known. “I didn’t think it needed saying, because it was just a fact. You’re in love with me, and I’m in love with you. Not even oceans could stop that from happening.” You no longer had to hold onto that childlike question of who your Prince Charming was; you had known him all along. 

Ebbing and flowing and pushed by a breeze/ I live to make you free

It turned out that loving Chris in a different way was easy. What was not easy was realizing how much you ached to have him by your side again. You made the effort to see him as often as you could; you had piles of airline miles between the two of you. You had met all of the kids, something that thrilled you since you had been a sounding board when he was handpicking them. They had become such an instrumental part in your life. They would constantly text you, or call you when they got the chance. If Chris was ‘dad’, you were ‘mom’, despite the distance. When Chris would hole up in the studio and go hours without moving, they would call you to get him moving. When he would get too far into his head, it was you they texted to bring him back to them. No one knew him better than you did. 

But you can set sail to the west if you want to/ And past the horizon, ‘til I can’t even see you

As Stray Kids got bigger and bigger, the opportunities for visiting got smaller and smaller. Dates would be arranged, tickets would be booked, and then something would have to be moved around. Schedules would shift, tour dates would get added on, extra promotions would pop up seemingly out of nowhere. It had seemed like such a slow progression —you were used to having to adjust to his schedule, as you had been for years— that you both hadn’t realized how much time had passed until you didn’t get your yearly hoodie. It was tradition to call every year on the anniversary of his leaving, and you hadn’t missed one yet. You could explain away the missing hoodie (perhaps the postal service was running behind this year? Maybe the package had gotten lost?), but to have missed calls and radio silence? You couldn’t come up with an excuse for that. You opened up your text thread to see the stack of unanswered messages from you, scrolling to find the occasional text from Chris that seemed to always be an apology for not being available. With an ‘I love you’ sent off, you closed your phone and tried to pretend that a crack hadn’t formed in the foundation of your relationship. 

Far from here where the beaches are wide/ Just leave me your wake to remember you by

You never did mention the hoodie that had never got sent, and neither did Chris. You couldn’t say if he was avoiding it the way you were, or if he genuinely didn’t remember. Honestly, you weren’t sure which would hurt worse and you didn’t really want to find out. He eventually called you back, apologizing again for not being able to pick up when you had called…and called…and called. “We were working on the song for the new comeback, and you know how the kids get when we get really into it. I noticed you had called a few times, is everything okay?” You played it off like you just missed his voice. Something fundamental had changed between you two, and you weren’t really sure why you couldn’t address it. Maybe it was the fear that acknowledging it would make it real. He assured you that once the comeback came out and promotions were done, there would be more time for each other. He even told you that one of the songs he had written for you. Ironically, he said it was “to make sure you don’t forget me”, and you had to bite your tongue from saying that it wasn’t you who was likely to forget about him. 

When I turn jet black and you show off your light/ I live to let you shine

Eventually, you found out where you began and where Chris ended. It started the day you had gathered every hoodie he had ever given you. You held each one to you before folding it up, tucking the sorrow and emptiness you felt in each fold of the cloth. They had long stopped smelling like him, but if you tried hard enough you could still remember it. You started from the last you ever got, and ended with the one that seemed so small now. It was over a decade old at this point and you could hardly believe that either of you ever fit into it. As you set them all in a box, you grabbed your phone. You typed out a message in the group chat that had seen less and less of all of you in the last months, letting the kids know to take care of themselves, take care of their leader, and that you would be cheering them on always. Before anyone could respond, you left the group chat, blocked all their numbers, and set about finding a pen and paper. On top of the hoodie that signified the beginning and the end, you left a goodbye for the love of your life. 

But you can skyrocket away from me

And never come back if you find another galaxy

Far from here with more room to fly

Just leave me your stardust to remember you by

[wolken-himmel]

In which Sebek discovers (Y/n)'s passion for writing poems and decides to be supportive — perhaps aggressively so.

He just wants to see that smile again.

Request by anon.

"Human, have you already finished exercise four? Do you still require my help?"

"Yeah, that would be nice. I've been stuck here for quite a while now."

Sebek and you had chosen to occupy a table at the far end corner of the hall. Studying together had always been something that both of you looked forward to eagerly, although none of you dared to voice your excitement. Instead, you continued to sit there in silence, each busy with your own identical sheet of exercises.

The sheepish smile you shot him drew an exasperated gasp from him. Without wasting any time, he scooted his chair over to you. "You could have told me, idiot," he grumbled under his breath, although a playful look flashed across his face. "But fret not, for I am willing to help."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the boisterous and proud look on his face — the sight brought you amusement somehow. So, with your gaze trained at your sheet, you uncapped your pen again. "Thanks, Sebek. Thanks," you murmured with a silly smile on your lips.

"If angel berries and aspen leaves react with one another, what does the reaction produce without a bother?"

A gasp escaped your lips, and you couldn't help but suppress the giddy feeling in the depths of your stomach. "That rhymed!" Your eyes shimmered brightly as they bore into his.

He didn't reciprocate your enthusiasm, however, due to the confusion that inhabited his eyes. His eyes eyed you up and down carefully. "What...? No, the reaction between angel berries and aspen leaves doesn't rhyme, stupid. They produce a viscous and purple fluid," he muttered and slapped his forehead in frustration.

"That rhymed again!" you cried out with even more excitement lacing your voice.

Finally, Sebek threw his hands into the air and let out an annoyed growl. "I still don't get what you mean!" he yelled before gritting his teeth.

The volume of his voice immediately caused an annoyed head to peek out from behind the tall shelves. "Please keep your voices low..." the student muttered and rolled his eyes. "We are in a library after all."

"Oh right, I apologise!" With his pale cheeks tinted a slight pink, Sebek lowered himself into his chair beside yours again.

You, however, seemed to have forgotten your alchemy homework altogether. Your mind whirred with such excitement that you dared to grab his hands and squeeze them tightly. "Sebek, you never told me that you had such a talent for poetry. It's like you were born to write poems," you exclaimed enthusiastically. "You rhyme without a second thought. You're amazing!"

"You..." Sebek stuttered out, "...think I'm amazing?"

A series of chuckles escaped your lips once you noticed the bashful yet proud expression on his face. You would have never dared to say it out loud, but he was awfully adorable like this. "Yes, I do. And you should think so, too," you joked and shot him a wink.

He finally snapped out of his stupor, and his face returned to the usual stoic and constantly annoyed scowl. "Oh, stop it... Flattery will get you nowhere. Nice words, about those I don't care." His shaking voice betrayed his strict words, and you couldn't help but begin laughing. Although he sheepishly waved you off, he couldn't hide the blush on his face. "So you like poems, human?"

His question prompted you to nod eagerly. "I adore poems!" you began, your eyes vivid and bright — so full with life like he had never seen before. Your shyness was gone. "Poetry is such a beautiful way to express your feelings... Every poem can be meaningful in one way or another and that is what makes poetry great without being repetitive—"

Sebek listened and watched you with great interest, observing all the small details of your face and voice. His surprise of your sudden outburst — you used to be rather reserved, after all — ebbed away after a while. He found himself comforted by your voice, so soft and excited at the same time. And at first, he thought he would grow blind due to the brightness of your smile as you talked. He never averted his gaze though, even when you eventually stopped.

A sheepish chuckle escaped your lips. "Oh, but I'm rambling again... I'm so sorry..."

After he had snapped out of his trance, he shot up and waved his arms around in protest. His voice was loud and echoed through library. For a moment, you feared the student from earlier would return to complain. But, you somehow didn't have the heart to stop Sebek when he was this worked up. "No, (Y/n), continue speaking! I can clearly see that you're passionate... it reminds me of myself, in a way. Also," he muttered quietly, "it's endearing when you just talk away."

"People are usually bored whenever I start talking about poems... They think it's a strange interest to have." You rubbed your neck sheepishly. "I'm surprised you'd like to know more."

His lips curled upwards into a proud grin. "I'm full of surprises, human."

°

°

°

Later that day, Sebek found himself bursting with the need to tell someone about the incident at the library. The usual tension in his muscles replaced by a fleeting swiftness, the first-year pranced around the hallways of Diasomnia in search for a certain fae that he always consulted when he needed advice. And lucky him, he found exactly the person he was looking for busy in the kitchen.

"Lilia! Lilia!"

The fae in question began grinning once he saw the happiness that the first-year exuded. "Yes, Sebek? What's gotten into you?" Lilia teased while holding back chuckles. "You're... smiling. That's a nice sight."

"(Y/n) said I was amazing," Sebek announced between wistful sighs.

The third-year's lips curled up into an amused grin. "You have hearts in your eyes~" His loud laughter soon ceased to be, and he wiped the last tear of amusement from his eye. "But," Lilia continued in satisfaction, "I'm very glad to see you get along so well with another first-year. I worried about your... erm..."

Silver chimed in, "...obsession with Malleus."

A pout appeared on Sebek's face, and he crossed his arms with a sigh. "You two are always teasing me..." he grumbled under his breath. Yet, when he turned on his heel and prepared himself to leave the kitchen, his grumpiness turned into excitement again. "Anyway, I shall be off! I've got all sorts of poems to read— and to write. After all, I need to support (Y/n) with all my might!"

"That's cute..." The smile on Lilia's face couldn't be wiped off, so it seemed. He watched in satisfaction as the half-fae pranced out of the kitchen with feathery steps.

"I'm happy Sebek finally found a friend," Silver said between yawns.

"Perhaps," Lilia drawled mischievously, "more than a friend, even."

[chickencreate]

Wow first post and it’s art who coulda guessed lmao

A drawing based off a screenshot of the GGBG advert, switching MadCom oc Ebony with BadGirl. Bank’s still in the works!

Character (Eb, Madness Combat variant) made by: @beemers-hell ! Please go check em’ out, v talented artist!