#essence pond's

[g1rlmusicfm]

⁎ ⋆ ✺ ⁂ 𝘔𝘺 𝘚𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 ⁂ ✺ ⋆ ⁎

This week I chose innovative artists that are pushing the envelope, possessing a singular sound! The playlists features Zhone, S!MONE, BABIBOI, FKA twigs, Monet’s Pond and more!

Check it out here 𝘔𝘺 𝘚𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 : Oct 21 - 26

Art: Fiebre Bohemia, 2024. Diamante Feliz.

[yandere-wishes]

⋆ ˚｡⋆♡ Darling, I'm Falling, Messed Up Over You ♡⋆ ˚｡⋆

⭒⌒★ Yandere! Call of Duty Men x Reader★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝓊𝓈𝒽𝒾𝑒 ♡ ｡ ゜

⋆⁺₊✧ Simon "Ghost" Riley | سایمون "شبح" رایلی

There's a stark, painful limerence coiling tightly between his bones whenever he opens the apartment door and sees you lingering across the void. Your smile reminds him of bullet wounds scabbing over, all so tender yet agonizing to endure. He mumbles his hellos and everts his eyes lest he lose control. Lest he gives in and digs his fingers into your tender body, marring you with his lips and teeth, and tongue. Breaking open your bones as he ravishes the marrow, binding you to him carnally.

He's spitting blood into the bathroom sink, lungs burning from the RPG-7 jabbed into his chest this morning. He can see the bruises blooming across his ribs, swallowing his curses so they don't fall upon your innocent ears. "Ghost?" There's a gentle rap on the bathroom door, your voice feels like honey leaking over his heart. You push open the door, standing chest to chest. "What?" he grumbles, trying to steady his tremoring heart. "I got you this," you chirp, that ethereal smile glowing as you hand him a fluffy toy dog. Simon squeezes the toy, bringing it to his nose and inhaling your scent, high off your essence. There's a click before the war is lost. Simon dips his head, pushing his lips onto yours, his blood seeping past his lips down your throat, drowning you in his aether, claiming you in the rawest way he can imagine.

-`♡´- John "Soap" Mactavish | جان "صابون" ماکتاویش

"I figured you'd miss home so I bought you this" Soap will never understand your obsessions, this rooted topophilia. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't homesick, he'd also be lying if he said he'd really thought about anything other than you for far too long. The highland cow you present to him is fluffy and plump with a sweet smile sewn onto his muzzle. It reminds him of your darling smile…

Then again everything reminds him of you.

Johnny can't help but run his fingers up your spine and your arms. Trailing fleeting chaste kisses to your cheeks and neck, even when your face morphs into worry. He needs to keep you close always in arm's reach; you belong to him in ways that transcend simply being "friends". You've started to notice the highland cow on his desk more often; he seems to lug it around everywhere. Even Ghost and Gaz have started to notice, pointing it out with knowing looks. “Reminds me o' ma bonnie lass. Can’t bear tae part wi’ it.” You're not sure if you were meant to hear that, meant to see that possessive spark shimmering in his soft blue eyes. He's been dropping more hints lately, practically begging you to come over, “The wee coo misses ye somethin’ fierce. How ’bout ye swing by sometime, eh? It sounds all so innocent, it could even pass as gregarious. If it wasn't for the vice grip he has around your hand, nails digging into your flesh.

⋆𐙚⋆ Kyle "Gaz" Garrick | کایل "گاز" گاریک

It had started with that pond, that damned, perfect pond, a minute's walk from the base. Sergent Garric hadn't thought much of it at first, it's hard to focus on the atmosphere, the bustling of the outside when you're so desperate to get away from the inside. To flee from the overcrowded rooms and suffocating loom of war always drumming in his ear. He'd only noticed the ducks and the pond and the strange girl sitting beside it when, on one of his worst days, he'd tried to envision the whole park bombarded, strained to imagine it after a mushroom cloud. It's only then that he really notices you.

He hadn't meant to get so attached, but you'd made it nearly impossible not to. Something about the vision of your mangled corpse along the water's edge had reminded him of that one John Everett Millais painting he'd seen in the museum between deployments. Something about the frightful vision had him sitting next to you, trying to push out the right words to make you look his way. It's been months now, the pond, that perfect, wonderful pond, had glazed over, and yet he still finds you sitting by the water staring as if nothing ever really changed. You had slid him a knitted duck the other day, the same color as dandelions. And Gaz couldn't help the desperate hammering of his heart as he imagined, for the first time, what it'd be like to kiss you instead of standing over your cold body.

٠࣪⭑𖦹٠࣪⭑ Keegan P Russ | کیگان پی راس

He's found he likes sitting on the floor with you, sprawled out on the mohair carpets. Elbows digging into his knees as he watches you thread a needle through polychromy fabrics. Keegan finds it morbidly hilarious how he can feel the same needle threading through his skin, pulling at his dermis, and stitching through his veins whenever you smile at him, whenever your soft fingers trace over his scarred skin. So gentle, so soft, little needles trying to puncture military-grade steel.

He pulls you onto his lap, fingers running up and down your hips. Strumming lovelorn melodies upon your ribs. He ignores the way you grimace, excuses the way you flinch away from his touch. "Sweetheart" he whispers, lips sucking tenderly along your neck, trying to hold you still as you reach behind you. "Here," you say voice utterly monotone, stripped of its usual joy and radiance. You thrust a freshly sewn shark plush into his face. Keegan simply brings his lips to the toy with a wicked smirk. "Do I scare you that much?" he asks, hurt and haughty. When you don't answer, he pulls you closer, hugging you so tightly he swears he hears your bones crack.

ᯓ★ Alejandro Vargas | الخاندرو بارگاس

There's a sharp ache between his bones a treacherous agony every time you walk past him. The hall permeated with your sweet perfume. Alejandro can't help his lingering glance, the way his eyes stare at the places you've passed, at your ghost wavering in time. He'd do anything to kiss you, to hold you, to deprive the world of your existence, and selfishly harbor it only for himself.

There's a fox on his desk one morning, a tiny little doll with a bushy tail and beady eyes. "Why a fox muñeca?" he asks as you type away his latest mission briefing. "Oh, just cause you remind me of El Zorro." Alejandro laughs. He'd give anything to be the bandit that steals you away in the light of a full moon, the tarnished hero you cling to as the world burns. He leans down, lips brushing your temples in a chaste, fragile kiss. He can't help but look down at you, reveling in your beauty. Oh, how he wished he were a fox and you the lovely little rabbit trapped between his teeth. His perfect darling señorita.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Phillip Graves | فیلیپ گور

You remind him of Malibu Barbies lying halfheartedly along the golden sands. Ethereal and unreal, plastic shaped into perfection. But you're not Barbie not really, you refuse to emit that pink saccharine sweetness that most dolls do. Refuse to let him thread his fingers through your silky hair, pulling off his hand from your shoulder and pushing him away when he tries to kiss your cheek. Barbie would never he thinks, hollow, miserable laughter spilling from his lips as your glare tries to penetrate his skin and dig into his organs. You hate him, it's palpable enough, and yet he still harbors your hatred on this tongue like licorice, sweet and bitter, misplaced romance in every way.

The Eagle you hand him is a threat. Only you would know how to threaten someone with a gift, a little plushie of his favorite animal. A death threat wrapped in cotton and fleece. He sleeps with the pathetic thing to his chest, dreaming it was you, praying one day somehow someway you'd let him tuck you between his arms, high off your sweet aroma, nuzzling between your shoulder blades. "You're too Americana, you make me want to gag." Your voice hums in his head lyrical sermon. His grip grows tight around the little bird. He'll have you someday, he swears it.

୨ৎ Vladimir Makarov | ولادیمیر ماکاروف

You're so naive, bright-eyed little dolly desperately clinging to his every word as if it were sacred commandments from above. Precious little fool, devoting yourself to a dangerous man such as he. You're usefulness and eerie desperation are so malleable, he has you eating out of his palm like a well-trained puppy. He can give you martyrdom at his hand, he's sure you wouldn't protest.

Vlad doesn't bother with celebrations, doesn't wholly keep track of dates outside his agenda. Maybe that's why he's so surprised when you present him with a wrapped box one snowy afternoon. A birthday gift you had said, while he rolled his gorgeous mismatched eyes. Inside is a plush toy of a black wolf, Makarove can't help but scuff. Leave it to you to pick out such a childish thing. "It matches your tattoo," you gush, enthusiasm leaking from every word. Big innocent eyes desperately searching his face for a lick of approval and gratitude. "You've more important things to do than play with toys, милый" he scolds, watching as you wilt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Makarove leans closer, brushing your hair from your face as he whispers in your ear. "Although there is something else you could give me for my birthday, маленькая куколка."

𓆩♕𓆪 König | کونیگ

He follows you like a second shadow, masked goliath tailing you through the halls and the training fields. He finds it funny in a dry morbid kind of way, the same way dragons find little princesses so humorous before snatching them away. You certainly could pass for a princess, with your pretty face and sparkling doe eyes, your sweet smile that outshines the sun. Oh, how König could marvel at you for hours, memorizing every perfect detail about you.

"Here," you mutter one day, it's the first time you've ever talked to him. Stopping and turning to him in an empty hall, pushing a stuffed rabbit into his chest. König freezes a cold sweat erupting across his spine. You're looking at him with a stern, annoyed look in your eyes, he can't help but blush under his mask. You look so pretty just like the little bunny you're holding. "D-danke Lie-liebling" the words jab at his throat he can't spit them out correctly, not when you're looking at him, actually looking at him. You don't care what he does with the rabbit, hoping that by giving him something anything to remember you by, the giant may just leave you alone and stop stalking you through the base. It's a misplaced hope, you've only managed to amplify his longing, made him think you love him too.

࿔✮࿔ Sebastian Krueger | سباستین کروگر

He's taken to watching you through the day, following you wherever you go, just out of sight so you'd never catch an inkling. He leaves you handwritten notes describing how beautiful you look in your new dress, how pretty your new hairstyle is. He doodles little hearts and kisses all in a suspicious red ink. Leaves you voice messages enunciating how much he loves you, how he wishes he could carve out his heart and leave it between your ribs. The funny part? You have no idea your haunting admirer is really your dear teammate Sebastian Krueger.

He notices the eyebags one day as he bullies his way to you through the mess hall. "You look tired, schätzchen." You jolt awake, eyes scanning your surroundings in fear, when they finally land on his masked face, you relax. "Yeah, just...just haven't been sleeping well." Krueger has to bite his tongue to suppress his chuckle. He sees you pacing around your apartment at night, trying to find any clue as to who keeps breaking in, who is stalking you so acutely. You reach into your bag and hand him something fluffy. "Here I got you a present." He studies the plush cougar toy you've given him. Funny he thinks, Krueger, cougar, how did he not see you buying this?

"You knew they mean different things, right?" You can't see the eyebrow he has raised, but you giggle -such a heavenly sound to his ears- "Yeah but they sound the same," you lament, looking up at him with those pretty doe eyes. "I love it (y/n), danke." Oh, how he's going to treasure this little toy, it even smells like you, how thoughtful. Is this your way of saying you like him too? Have all his nights of stalking and all his letters penned with his own blood finally paid off?

.✿. Nikto | نیکتو

There's a permanent lassitude tucked away inside him. There's not much left in the world that can make your heart skip a beat when you've seen every terror, felt every torture. No, Nikto had grown all too used to the permanent numbness, wearing it like a second skin. Until you showed up, Kortech had called you emotional support or something equally as degrading. Or maybe they hadn't meant anything by, maybe it's Nikto who refuses to hear you addressed as anything less than divinity, less than purity in its rawest form. The little кукла that had smiled at him…at them told him honeyed jokes and whispered girlhood secrets in his ear in hopes of earning a chuckle. Instead, Nikto had clawed out his heart and presented it to you with a desperate smile.

"I want you to have this " You're sitting on his cot, legs tucked under you, and he's trying not to blush at the heavenly feeling of your knees touching his. Your arms are outstretched, presenting him with a plush lamb tied pretty with a pink bow. It reminds Nikto of one of those pastoral portraits he'd see in the churches back home. It fits he thinks, he'd always thought of you as nothing less than holy. He cradles your gift with a tenderness he didn't know he had. "It looks a lot like you, милый" he tries to compliment. "Really? I thought it looked a lot like you."

Sorry for any errors in the other languages, I used Google Translate for them all. 😅😅

[astraystayyh]

Volcano

pairing : han x reader. enemies to lovers. slow burn.

summary : you've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.

"I'll take care of you. It's rotten work. Not to me, not if it's you."

cw : depiction of a panic attack, minor injury, both reader and han say mean shit to each other, cursing, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 13.2k

a.n: highly recommend listening to "Let the light in" by Lana when Han starts playing it in the fic hehe feedback is highly appreciated as always <3

skz quotes series masterlist.

You remember being seven years old, sitting on the floor of your bedroom, while your mom brushed your hair. It was a late July night, a cold breeze swaying your white curtains, akin to the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. Your eyes were slightly puffy, delicate red veins protruding the white of them. You had just finished watching a Disney movie- the Lion King; heavy sobs escaping your lips when Mufasa died.

There were still faint hiccups coursing through you, a slight shake in your hands as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Your mom brought you to her chest, her chin resting on your small shoulder blade. "You’re sensitive, my sweet girl" she had uttered, rubbing your arms soothingly.

It was the first time someone described you as such. You didn’t know what ‘sensitive’ entailed exactly, but it contained the word ‘sense’, so you assumed it was something good, a quality to be proud of you. You could sense, maybe more than others, maybe too deeply. That’s why you cried when you didn’t get a good grade, or when your friends left you alone in the park.

But you didn't mind back then. What was your heart made for if not to feel?

You should’ve paid more attention to the way your mom spoke, to the bittersweetness lingering in her tone. As if she knew exactly what it entailed to be sensitive- to have your heart overflow with delicate feelings for the rest of your life, with no safe destination to guard them in.

☄༄

You’ve forgotten the last time you cried in.

The tears are lodged inside your throat- you can clearly feel them, an uncomfortable weight sitting on your vocal cords, rendering them impossible to use.

You used to cry, freely, so much that you lost count of how much it happened. But you realized that every tear that escaped your eyes, made you vulnerable, weaker, in the hands of the people around you. Every tear that washed over you, only rendered you more transparent for everyone to peer at how they wounded your soul. 

So, you conditioned yourself to stop feeling as deeply, or at least to stop showing it. The sadness, the hurt, the anger were all stored within you; but your face remained placid, not betraying how you truly felt. You were like a pond, tranquil at the surface, raging from within.

But on days like this one, you miss the person you were. When the implications of being sensitive still haven’t weighed down on you. When you could get rid of your feelings in the essence of your tears. When you didn’t yet feel bad for feeling.

Chan's eyes are on you, as you type furiously on your laptop. Your vision is so blurry that you can no longer see your lit screen. But you’re afraid that if you pause then Chan would ask if you were okay, and you hated that question. Because you never truly knew the answer to it. Yes, you were okay. But you haven’t cried in six months and your friend didn’t greet you back this morning and you suddenly feel very small in a very large library.

"Hey," Chan taps your hand with his pen and you suck in a slight breath, before raising your head to meet his eyes. "Are you-" he starts but you’re quick to cut him off, knowing exactly where this was headed. "Did you answer question five? I’m stuck on what formula to use."

Chan raises a brow at you, and you blink repeatedly. His eyes travel to your feet tapping furiously against the floor, and he understands.

 "I'm still at number four," he finally says and you nod in relief. You’ve been close friends for a year and Chan has come to know you- he’s dropping the subject.

"Oh, and are you coming to the party tonight?" Chan asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s hosting it and there is hope twinkling in his eyes. You feel bad because you’re about to crush it.

"No, need to revise more for the upcoming test."

"Of course, you’ll still be buried in your books," a sarcastic voice quips up, and you stiffen inwardly. Han- one-third of 3racha, Chan’s self-made producing group, and the bane of your existence. You never liked who you were around Han, he brought out the worst in you. Made all your insecurities roar forward, plastered across your body in neon red.

He was friends with Chan, long before you came into the picture, back into their high school days when Han skipped a class and ended up in the same one as Chan’s. A genius, as everyone around you liked to call him. And they were right- excelling came easily to Han, in everything he ever did. Even tapping into each one of your tender nooks and crannies.

He knew how to expertly push your buttons, how to make his tone sound mocking, and taunting, but only to you. Because you were sensitive, and he knew it, finding it almost amusing to toy with you. 

You decide to stay silent because nothing good ever comes out of talking back to him. So, you bite your tongue, turning back to look at your screen. But Han’s elbow grazes your arm, as he leans a bit further into your face. "Come on, live a little, y/n. You’re missing out on the college experience," he makes a big show of opening his arms wide, a single red pen spinning between his fingers. "Quit being stuck up for one night." And it spins, and it spins, and it spins and something ugly inside you crumbles.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t born with a golden spoon shoved down my throat and I actually have to work for my future."

Han’s eyes widen at the raw animosity in your voice, before narrowing down promptly. He’s leaning onto your face again, and his tone is low and cold when he speaks again. "What did you just say to me?"

"Is it so hard to grasp that not everyone is as privileged as you? We can’t all afford to get wasted every fucking night and call it a life."

You’re being mean. This is the rudest you’ve ever been to someone else. You know that your reaction is disproportionate to what he said. But it isn’t just about this instant. It’s an amalgam of every moment Han made you feel small in, because you don’t go out as much as him, because you don’t understand as quickly as him. Taunts thrown your way under the guise of teasing, but you know better.

Still, guilt eats at you as your eyes lock with Chan’s. You should’ve stayed silent, as you’ve been diligently doing for the past year.

"How do you stand being her friend Chan? Is it out of pity?" Han muses, a pout pulling at his lips. You stare ahead as Han tsks lightly, before tapping your cheek with his pen, bringing your face back to him. "I think it is. Because isn’t she so fucking boring?"

Being near Han always makes you hyper-aware of things you never noticed before. Like how a breath has to travel from the depths of your body so you’d be able to release it, and how excruciatingly long it takes for you to draw in a new one. Because Han’s words are never harmless, no, they settle on the confines of your lungs, crushing down any bit of oxygen willing to leave you.

You've had enough.

"When you’re eighty, on your deathbed, and all alone. I hope you know that there is no one around to blame but yourself."

"Don’t cross the line, yn," Chan finally speaks and you scoff, as you get up to grab your things.

"What fucking line, Chan? So, he can insult me all day but as soon as I do it there is a line? Why are you taking his side?"

Chan stays silent and you chuckle dryly. "Of course, you are. You’re only friends with me out of pity after all."

"That’s not true-"

"Well, you didn’t deny it, did you Chan?"

"Yn, I-"

"Save it."

Han’s eyes are glossy as you take one final glance at him. But your heart’s bleeding too much for you to care about his minor cut.

☄༄

For how much time can a conversation haunt someone? Seventeen days, for your case. And you're still counting.

You have nit-picked your fight with Han in the library so much that it's driving you insane. His voice is drilled into your head- the coldness of it as he reeled back from the shock of your words, and then, the pure venom dripping from his tone, as he attacked you where it hurt the most. Chan.

Han chose his words carefully, stitched up the sentence perfectly to hurt you, to stick to your flesh like burnt skin, one that you peeled over and over, each time it threatened to scar.

You haven't talked to Chan in seventeen days. He tried to stop you; on your way out of class, in the line of your campus cafeteria, on the doorsteps of your dorm. But you always fleet away. His eyes were also imprinted into your brain- the disappointment in them when you clapped back at Han.

What about him? You wanted to yell. Why are you only disappointed in me?

But the tears in your pillow have dried. Then fallen again. Then dried once more. And you found the answer to question five. And you miss Chan, terribly so.

That's why you're pacing around his dorm, at 10 pm, when it's also terribly cold outside. Your fingers have gone numb from the ministrations of the wind, but you don't move from your place. You know that the chances of seeing Han- the second person you’ve been avoiding like the plague- would be higher here. But you didn't care anymore.

Your thumb hovers over the call button and you bite your lip harshly. Would Chan pick up? Would he hang up? Was he really your friend out of pity?

"Yn?" a voice calls out, and you startle, turning around to see who it is. Changbin, carrying two bags of groceries in his hand. He's Chan’s friend as well, the final member of 3racha. You like Changbin. He's always being very kind to you. You've grown much closer to him than to Han in the past few months; not that the latter has ever wanted a friendship with you. From the day you met and his eyes narrowed promptly each time you talked. You should’ve known from the start.

"Why are you out here in the cold?" Changbin asks gently, stepping cautiously towards you.

"Chan," you say simply and he nods, understanding what you mean.

"He's not here now, but he'll come home soon. Let's go inside, okay?" he smiles tentatively at you and you hum in reply.

Changbin opens the door and you follow inside. You help him take out the groceries silently, stacking them in their fridge and shelves. Lots of protein powder, and chicken packets. You'd laugh about it if you weren't so sad.

"Chan misses you," Changbin speaks up suddenly, and your heartbeat quickens at his words.

"I miss him too."

"Then you'll be okay."

You try to remember Changbin’s reassuring smile when Chan finally opens the door to the dorm, an hour later. He finds you sitting on the stool in the kitchen. His eyes light up once they settle on you.

And you unravel at the sight.

You're crying, sobs rippling from you as he brings you to his chest. He's patting your head and whispering that it's okay. And you know his shirt is all crumpled from clutching it in your hands. But he doesn't mind. He only hugs you tighter.

"I'm sorry, yn. So, so, sorry. I should've stopped him before, I just... You two are my best friends and I didn't want to add fuel to the fire by talking and-"

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm the one who should apologize for ghosting you."

"I understand why you did it. I fucked up but I missed you so much. Can we please never do this again?”

“Yes please,” you giggle, but the sound withers as the door opens once again.

"What is she doing here?" a cold voice breaks you and Chan apart, as your eyes land on Han. His gaze sucks the breath out of you, and the warmth in your heart fizzles out. Your hold on Chan’s shirt tightens and he takes an unconscious step in front of your body. Han doesn't miss the protective gesture.

"Get out, yn."

"You don't get to kick my friends out of my house," Chan is angry. And you regret ever coming here.

"Last I checked it's my house too." Han doesn't even bother looking at you. He's holding Chan’s gaze as if they're silently communicating. "You know damn well what she said why-" he takes a deep breath, running a hand angrily through his hair. "Fuck this. If she's not leaving then I am."

And with that he storms out, slamming the door behind him. You flinch at the sound.

Chan’s eyebrows are knitted as he stares at where Han stood seconds ago as if trying to conjure him up once again. You never wanted to strain their friendship. You knew how much Han cared for Chan, even if he didn't bear the same sentiment for you.

"Chan, I’ll leave. Call Han and tell him I'm gone."

"You don't have to."

"I know," you reassure, placing your hand on his forearm. "We'll talk more later, okay? It's cold and he has nowhere to go. Just call him, please."

"Fine," Chan concedes. "Call me when you get home, alright?" his eyes finally soften and you squeeze his hand in reply, before heading out as well.

The walk from Chan’s dorm to yours is fairly short, but tonight, it seems like kilometers are separating you from the safety of your bed. There is a heavy weight crushing your bones, most of it being guilt at what just transpired between Chan and Han.

That's what comes with being sensitive- you bear the weight of your feelings and the one of those surrounding you.

Were you out of place with what you said to Han? Yes. Was it eating you inside to see the consequences of your words? Yes. But he was also to blame, you repeated in your head. He was also to blame. Please. You plead, you don't know to whom, maybe to the voice in your head to stop being so mean. 'But none of this would've happened if you weren't so sensitive. So easy to bruise' the voice mocks and you stumble on your feet.

It happens so suddenly it takes you off guard- the way the breath is knocked out of you. You pause, chest heaving as you bend down slightly. Your hand is on your heart as you try to breathe again, but it's shaking so much. Your legs give out under you, and you plop down on the floor, eyes tightly shut. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You're going to pass out.

"Yn, what-" A hand rests on your shoulder but you shake it off. You don't want to be touched. Not by him.

"Let me help-" Han speaks again, and you scramble away from him, as best as you can anyway. You end up kneeling on the ground once again, your back to him. "Get-get away."

"I know you're mad but you aren't okay and I know how horrib-"

"You aren't helping!" you shout through tears, as your heart threatens to spill out of your throat. "You’ve hurt me e-enough already."

You don't remember how you got home that night, how you managed to open the door or cross the road leading to your dorm. But you remember Han leaving you on the cold ground, just like you wanted. You remember the ache in your bones as you laid on your bed; the burning desire to stop feeling for a night, to cut your chest open and tear off your bleeding heart.

☄༄

One month later

If there's one thing you've always complained to Chan about, it's the fact that his building had an elevator in it, unlike yours.

Today, you’ve come to regret this fact. Tremendously.

You’ve been avoiding going to Chan’s dorm for the past weeks since the last thing you wanted was to see Han. But, he insisted on you coming over, reassuring you that it would only be him and Changbin at home since Han supposedly had other plans.

Well, Chan was wrong. Because Han just walked into the elevator you are in, mere moments before its doors closed.

Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock on yours. He looks like he wants to say something but he decides against it, opting for sighing loudly instead, before pressing the button leading to the fourth floor, rather harshly.

Your need to flee has never been this strong.

You watch anxiously as the numbers slowly go up. 1… 2… 3… Then a loud voice startles you and the elevator starts to shake in place. The door is suddenly opened and you are met with a cement wall, blocking your exit.

"What the fuck?" Han groans as you press the emergency button repeatedly, hoping that the elevator will resume its course and this nightmare will be forgotten.

It doesn’t.

"You’re going to break the goddamn button," Han pushes your hand away and you stumble away from him.

"Can you shut up? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit."

"Does it look like I’m happy to be here?" Han scoffs, as a ringtone plays in the elevator, cutting you off before you could respond. 

"Hey guys, this happens from time to time, so no need to worry. Is everyone alright?" Someone speaks and you assume it's the worker charged with the maintenance of the elevator.

"Yes," you both reply at the same time.

"Great. We’ve contacted the mechanics but they said there’s a lot of traffic, so it might take a bit longer for them to get here."

"How long?" Han asks the question that’s on your mind as well.

"Two hours, at most, for you to get out."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you groan, as hot tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. This is the last thing you needed today- to be stuck in a cramped-up space with the one person who sucks the oxygen out of any room you’re in.

"Thanks, man," Han sighs and you turn your back to him, facing the wall. You’ve had a horrible day, scratch that, a horrible week. Hanging out with Chan and Changbin was the one thing you were looking forward to, only for the worst possible scenario to happen- being stuck in the same place with Han. You feel an urgent need to sob but you can’t cry in front of him. Not when he’s all claws and your skin is tender.

"Wait, are you claustrophobic?" He suddenly asks, seemingly inches away from your body.

"As if you’d fucking care," you scoff, before heading to a corner of the elevator and settling down.

"I'm not a monster, you know," he mutters in an almost sad tone, one that forces you to look up at him. His hands are deep into his pockets, eyebrows knitted as he gazes down at you. "Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole?"

"Yes," you reply instantly, before staring forward again. The hurt that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t tug at your heartstrings, but it does, ever so faintly, like the last wave that grazes your feet as you get out of the ocean. "I’m not claustrophobic," you add after a while and Han finally sits on the opposite side from you.

It’s hot and stuffy in the elevator, and it’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. You’ve never really liked silence for too long, it made the small voice in your head only grow bolder, louder, impossible to ignore.

Thirty-five excruciatingly long minutes go by and the tension only grows more suffocating. It’s simmering, barely beneath the surface, waiting for the person who will finally make it explode. 

It’s Han.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Come on, we have nothing else to do.”

“Have you tried being silent?”

"Yn," he says sternly and you begrudgingly concede. "Fine. Ask me."

You imagine him smirking slightly, the way he does each time he manages to push you over the edge.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“We’re not doing this right now,” you shake your head, tone adamant.

"When’s a better time for it? We’re literally never in the same place."

“And whose fault that is?” You smile too sarcastically and he frowns. “So, I’m the only one to blame?”

“Can’t you see how full of yourself you are? Fuck, Han, this is exactly what I hate about you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’re so immature, you never sit back to think of how your words might impact someone.”

"What words yn? I was teasing you!" his voice grows louder and so does yours. "You were hurting me!" you yell, chest heaving. There is something utterly terrifying in this confession- to let someone know how easy it was for them to get to you.

"But I didn’t mean to," he drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It's not my fault you felt that way."

An ironic chuckle leaves your lips, as you point at him. "See, you're doing it again! You're blaming me for my reaction instead of evaluating how your actions might have caused it."

"Look, yn," he scrambles to you until there are only a few centimeters separating your bodies. "I really wanna fix this, okay? Can we stop screaming?"

"Why are you so hellbent on fixing it?" you question, as you lean further away from him. He notices and takes a step back, giving you space.

"Because although I don't care about you, I care about Chan. And this is hurting him. So, I want to be civil with you."

The mention of Chan feels like a cold bucket of water dousing the fire within you. You know he’s struggling to be in the middle of two people he loves. He doesn’t deserve that.

"Fine," you sigh softly. “You talk. I’ll listen.”

"I didn't... I didn't know that my words would hurt you. In truth, it looked like you weren't affected at all. That's why I kept pushing you because… God Yn you're so perfect it maddens me."

Your eyebrows knit together at his words- the last thing you expected to stumble out of his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

"You never get sad, never get angry. Your emotions are always in check. You're always smiling, always laughing. Have everything figured out from how you want to be now to where you want to be in the future. And you know yourself, you never step out of order. And this is selfish and stupid but it irked me. Because I am the opposite of you. I'm a mess and too human it terrifies me, so I wanted to see if you had a breaking point. But each time I taunted you, you remained placid. So, I kept pushing to see if you'd break one day because, selfishly enough, that would make me feel better about how broken I am."

"Han, you're so stupid. Aren't you a literal genius? You excel in everything you do and you have fun on top of it, every single night. Don't you realize how lucky you are?"

"Do you really believe I find joy in being wasted and not even remembering what happened that night? I do that because I'm in my mind most of the days and it isn't the best place to be in. So, I like to forget."

“Why do you think I always bury myself in my studies? Because it's safe and it makes me forget too. Did you really think I didn’t feel? I feel too much and that’s the problem.”

Han remains silent as you curse under your breath. "Do you even realize how selfish this is? To test a human's breaking point? All because what? I didn't shove my struggles down your nose? Would you go around and do this to everyone who looked fine to you?"

"I know, I know, I was just in a bad place, and this isn't an excuse but I... I felt as if you were just showing me everything that was wrong with me."

"That is how I felt around you," you chuckle bitterly and he hangs his head low. He’s much quieter when he speaks again. “I guess we’re more similar than I thought.”

"Doesn't excuse what you did. You targeted me and made me feel insane because no one was hearing the hostility in your tone like I did."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really am. I never thought it'd get this bad and I deserve every name you called me."

"You do." You close your eyes, as Han’s words wash over you. There is so much more you want to say, so much you want to spit out in his face because of his selfish coping mechanism. But you also want peace, for Chan’s sake. So, you try to bury your resentment, just like you do with every other feeling. One day it’ll turn into indifference. You’ll make sure of it.

You bite your lip, before clearing your throat. Your tone is softer when you speak again. "I'm sorry for what I told you in the library. About you dying alone and whatnot. That wasn't nice of me."

"You really hit the nail with that one," Han chuckles quietly, and guilt floods your heart at the expression on his face. "And I'm sorry for calling you boring. You aren't. And for everything I said before that."

"Okay. It's okay." You reassure, a tiny smile drawn on your lips.

He nods before a sly grin grows on his face. "Should we hug it out?" he teases, cocking an eyebrow at you and you stare pointedly at him. "Don't push your luck."

"Yes, ma'am."

An hour later, the mechanics finally manage to get the elevator going, which in turn allows you both to get out. Han opens the door to the dorm, and you find Chan lying on the couch, scrolling down his phone.

"Han? I thought you would..." he starts before trailing off as he looks up. "Yn? Where were you, I’ve been calling you for the past two hours."

"I didn't have signal."

"Why where were-" Chan goes to question before stopping once again. He hurriedly stands up and walks toward you.

"You... Are standing next to one another."

"We are," Han replies, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"And you aren't... Fighting?" his statement comes out more like a question, which makes both you and Han chuckle.

"We aren't."

"We talked it out, in the elevator which we were both just stuck in," you add and Chan’s eyes grow wide, as a breathtaking smile breaks out on his face.

"Oh my god. Finally. We'll talk about the elevator bit later but it's been so hard trying not to be in the same place as the both of you."

"We know. We're sorry," you both pout in sync and Chan shakes his head, before opening his arms wide. You giggle, before walking to him and sinking into his embrace. Han follows you shortly after, and your eyes meet behind Chan’s back. He shoots you a tiny thumbs up.

Is this how a dandelion feels, you wonder, when someone blows on it in the hopes it'll grant their selfish wishes. Only to be tossed away afterward, lifeless.

You drown out the thought before smiling back at Han. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

☄༄

Befriending two-thirds of 3racha holds within it a lot of privileges. The first one is listening to unreleased music, the second is having exclusive insight into their upcoming performances.

Their gigs don't happen as often as they'd like, because they're still students who unfortunately have lots of assignments. But when a window of free time materializes, they unveil their latest productions at vibrant parties, dimly lit bars, or even the occasional club. Which attracts a lot of people, some even coming from neighboring towns to listen to them play.

Everyone can recognize raw talent, even if rap doesn't happen to be their favorite genre.

This is how you know that they'll be performing Heyday, their latest creation, at Seungmin’s party. You've met him in passing, and Chan insisted that you'd come. Not that you needed much convincing anyway, you fell in love with this song the minute you heard it.

There is an exhilarating energy in Seungmin’s mansion, a palpable anticipation preceding 3racha’s performance, as you all gaze at the makeshift stage. The place is packed, bodies pressed tightly to one another. You feel slightly uncomfortable but you swallow it down. You're here to support Chan first and foremost, you can leave if things become too much for you.

The introductory chords materialize abruptly, and 3racha takes the stage. Chan is clad in a white shirt with huge gaps on his sides, revealing glimpses of his chest each time he bends down. Changbin, on the opposite end of the spectrum, is wearing a tightly fitted black shirt, hugging each muscle of his to perfection. Han, the last one to walk in, sports a loose black shirt, with a low neckline. His nails are painted to match the color of his attire, you notice.

The song kicks off with Changbin's incendiary rap as deafening cheers ring all around you. You make sure to scream on top of your lungs too, as Changbin’s loud voice commands the attention of everyone in the room. You’ve always held a penchant for his rap style- how powerful he sounds, and how addicted you quickly become to hearing him on stage. You remember once telling him that any song that starts with his rapping is a successful hit. He playfully nudged your shoulder but his appreciative smile was hard to miss.

Chan’s part is next and you try to rap along, as best as you can anyway due to your fleeting memory. It sounds mostly like gibberish but you don’t mind, especially when your eyes meet Chan’s and he grins at you, before morphing into the mesmerizing stage persona that's peculiar to him. You clearly remember the first time you witnessed him on stage, and how enthralled you were by the sheer power he exuded. His destiny was intertwined with music, no one could deny that. 

A bed squeaking sound comes next, followed by the knocking on the door and you giggle against your will. That was Han’s ingenious touch, as Chan had shared when you'd raised a quizzical brow at him while listening. “Is this based on a real-life experience?” You asked, a knowing smirk etched upon your features, and he pretended to zip his mouth, earlobes turning a vibrant shade of crimson.

Han finally starts rapping in his inimitable style, exuding an effortless, laid-back aura. Your gazes meet at the "let's go play" line, and he tilts his head quizzically at you as he utters his confused "huh?". You raise one eyebrow at him prompting a sly smirk from him, before redirecting his attention to the opposite side of the stage. Yet, your eyes remain on him throughout his entire part.

The boys step off the stage, and you watch from the corner of the room with a wide grin as a swarm of people surrounds them. Congratulations and praise fill the air, and you can tell that 3racha thrives on this moment- it's what they live for, what makes their souls rise up from the ashes. 

Chan catches your eye, and you applaud enthusiastically, letting out a happy giggle. He blows you a kiss, and you playfully pretend to catch it, eliciting a small shake of his head. Changbin, who's standing near him, catches the exchange and winks at you from a distance, to which you respond with two thumbs up.

Even though you're a bit far from them, you're certain the boys can sense the pride radiating from you in waves. There's something truly magical about humans existing in their element, particularly people you care about.

Your gaze shifts to Han, and your smile falters slightly. He's also glowing, but signs of discomfort are starting to creep onto his face. You recognize them fairly well, as you've felt them too at times when emotions become overwhelming. So, after a brief internal debate, you decide to act and begin making your way toward him, pushing through the crowd despite the rising complaints behind you.

They fall on deaf ears.

You grab Han's forearm, pulling him with you through the sea of bodies toward the bathroom. He doesn't fight, following diligently behind you. You open the door and pull him inside, pausing as you realize you don't have a specific plan for bringing him here. This is also the first time you've been alone together since the elevator conversation.

"Thank you," Han whispers, and you nod, your eyes softening. "I'm okay, I love performing, I just needed a breather," he quickly adds, as if feeling guilty for being overwhelmed. 

"That's completely understandable. You are running on a lot of adrenaline, and the room is so crowded," you say with a smile, turning to the mirror to touch up your makeup.

Han remains silent for a while as you powder your face, before reapplying your cherry lip gloss. You can hear him taking in deep breaths, and you avoid looking at him, worried he might feel embarrassed.

"What did you think of the performance?" he finally asks, and you raise your head slightly. You lock eyes with him through the mirror, as he leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. His black t-shirt falls a bit, revealing more of his bare skin, and your eyes trail down for a moment.

"It was really good. I think this song might be my favorite of all yours."

"Really?" Han grins, his words filled with an excitement that warms your heart despite yourself. He's just received heaps of compliments from hundreds of people, yet your words still seem to affect him deeply.

"Yes. I loved your rap, how it started in a laid-back manner, and then you cleared your throat and picked up the pace. It added a unique edge to the song."

"Thank you, really," his smile is genuine, and you giggle softly, shaking your head.

"What's funny?" he asks, walking up to you. You're still facing the mirror, and he's now only inches away from you.

"I didn't imagine you'd appreciate my compliment this much."

"It feels sincere," he shrugs and you nod, finally turning around and leaning against the sink.

"It is sincere."

"Good."

You hold his gaze, eyes only trailing down to go across his face. He looks far different from how he did on stage. Shier, more eager for praise.

"You have..." he steps up until the scent of his cologne tickles your nose. His hand raises ever so slowly to your face, and you hold your breath, as he picks up something from your cheek. His hands are warm.

"An eyelash fell. Make a wish."

A surprised chuckle escapes your lips. "You wish on fallen lashes?"

"You wish on everything when you need hope." his voice is low, a timber so foreign to your ears it sends shivers down your spine. So, you close your eyes, wishing for your heart to quit beating so fast.

"Done," you whisper and he blows the single lash away, his gaze still on you.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course. I had to support Chan and Changbin." It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and Han slightly recoils from your words.

"Right, them. Yeah. Of course," he finally backs away, and oxygen fills your lungs once again. "I'm good now. Should we go out?"

"After you," you nod tightly and he walks ahead first, his perfume trailing after him and pulling you into a dizzying dance. 

☄༄

The party Seungmin hosted was your last time having fun for a while. Your preparation for midterm exams began soon after, and you found yourself swarmed with assignments left and right. Thankfully, you and Chan were going through it at the same time, which meant you met at the library each day, revising silently near one another.

Except this time, you were joined by Han.

Goosebumps ran across your skin as he pulled the chair next to you, not the good kind of shivers. You were reminded of the fight you had right here, three months ago. Which still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You don't hate Han anymore. He's actually funny, and you enjoy listening to his ramblings when you go over to Chan's dorm. He's also really different in his home, much quieter, and softer. Much more like you.

But you're also human, and there is still a part of your brain sending off warning signals at his presence. Maybe because the hurt was never buried properly. You just brushed it off under the carpet after your elevator conversation. Most of it was spent shouting anyway.

"Hey," he greets and you just nod in reply. You can feel his gaze linger on you a bit after that, and a pang of guilt twists in your heart. "Hi," you finally reply, but you tune out his response. Why is it that you're sensitive to everyone's emotions but your own?

Twenty minutes go by, then forty, and you can no longer take the uncomfortable feeling clinging to your skin. So, you excuse yourself, hurriedly stepping out of the library.

Han follows you; you can tell it’s him because someone's chair scraped loudly against the floor as soon as you stood up, and that couldn't be Chan because he is always careful with the silence in the library. So, you put on your headphones and walk faster.

This is childish, surely it is, but you can't control your emotions. You've apologized and so did he, you talk from time to time and you even held his arm and took him to a quiet bathroom. So where is all this bitterness coming from?

"Dammit, yn, how are you so fast?" Han grabs your arm pausing you. He's panting slightly and you just blankly stare as he takes in a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks and you nod, turning around to walk away. He stops you again.

"I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" he asks quietly, and you sigh, rubbing your forehead wearily.

"You didn't do anything, I just... Being in that library reminded me of certain things."

"I know. Me too. Can we please talk?"

"We are talking," you raise your brows and he stares pointedly at you. "Come on you know what I mean."

"Fine," you giggle, "we can talk."

"I didn't apologize properly to you in the elevator. Truth is, I did it because Chan was mad at me and I couldn't stand it anymore."

The bitterness- you understand where it comes from now.

"But I am sorry. Truly sorry. I was selfish and I hurt you and this will sound like a joke, but I hate hurting people. I really do. I was just too wrapped up in my problems that I didn't realize how it would affect you and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I also shouldn't have tried to kick you out that day, but dying alone is my biggest fear, and seeing you in my home made me want to lose my mind because I couldn't get what you said out of my head, but it was so cold outside and again I shouldn't have told you to go out and I am so sorry-"

"Han, breathe," you smile, cutting him off and Han sucks in a deep breath, chest slightly heaving from talking uninterrupted for a minute straight.

"I'm sorry I just wanted to apologize, properly this time. I'm doing it because I'm guilty, not because of Chan. Nothing excuses my behavior, I know. And I wish I could turn back in time and actually get to know you because you're really cool and very nice, but I can't. All I can do is apologize. So I'm sorry, Yn. I really am."

"I appreciate it," you smile, and Han exhales a little from relief. "I didn't know that was your biggest fear, but even if it wasn't, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said something so mean. So, I'm sorry for it too. But I'm not apologizing for being mad, you deserved that."

"I did, I did, I know." He's quick to agree. "I don't want us to be awkward around one another. I'm not telling you that you have to be my best friend but, we can be friends, right? But you also don't have to. It's enough if you forgive me and... You know what? Never mind forget I said anything, I'm just nervous and-"

"Okay."

"Okay?" he repeats.

"We can be friends. I accept your truthful apology."

"Actually?"

"Yes."

"Like we can start over?" he grins and you chuckle at the excitement in his face. "Yes."

"Can we hug it out?"

"Too soon," you pout and he nods, a faint blush dusting his cheek.

"Right. Should we go back to the library? I saw that you were stuck on a question. I can help you."

"You won't make any comments?"

"No. Pinky promise." he outstretches his pinky towards you and you muse over it for a bit, before wrapping your finger around his. You grin at Han- your first genuine smile since he's known you. His hold on your pinky falters.

"Okay. I'm in."

.☄༄

Five weeks later- 1:13 a.m.

You were still slightly cautious near Han as if you were both threading along an invisible line. You could talk, but not too much, afraid any old animosity would shine through. And you could stay together, but not too long, in case it gets awkward and you wouldn't know what to do. So, you never mixed, just like water and oil, each of you knowing their place, away from the other.

But you still didn't want to miss out on outings with your friends. So, when Chan invites you for a movie night with Han, and Changbin, you don't say no.

The night runs smoothly, the warm beer you had easing your nerves bit by bit. It was also easier to forget that you once hated Han when he brought tears to your eyes from laughing so hard.

2:56 a.m.

An unbearable heat suddenly envelopes you, your very blood boiling from within. You hesitantly look down, to find your entire body bathed in red, as if your skin had melted away, exposing you to the scorching heat embracing your tender flesh.

You are in the heart of a volcano, with lava bubbling dangerously below. Hanging by a frail thread, you dangle over the edge of death.

And then, you plummet. 

You startle awake, your heart pounding in your chest, your hand clutching it tightly. Cold sweat clings to your skin, and it takes you a few moments to realize that you're safe, far from the inside of the volcano that had threatened to consume you.

You glance at your phone- 3:43 a.m. You read. It's only been a mere hour since you went to sleep. You don't think you could drift back into slumber. 

Dragging a hand tiredly across your face, you walk into the pitch-black kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of water, hoping that the icy drink will cool you down. You are safe.

"What are you-" you startle, dropping the glass and spinning around, hand pressed to your heart.

"Han, fuck, you scared me," you sigh, tugging at your hair slightly and he's quick to your side, a string of hushed apologies tumbling from his lips.

"I'm sorry, here let me clean it up," he kneels and you follow suit, grabbing his hands and gently pushing them away. "No, I dropped it, let me clean," you reassure, but your hands are trembling as you pick up the shards of glass, any bit of logic clouded by your racing thoughts.

Your heartbeat's ringing loudly in your ears, you barely register the glass cutting your skin until an uncharacteristic warmth oozes from your hand. Blood.

"Shit," you curse lowly and Han illuminates the place with his phone flashlight. "Did you cut yourself?" he asks and you shake your head, walking over to the sink.

"It's nothing, don't worry."

"Yn, let me see," he's standing behind you, the ghost of his breath grazing your exposed neck.

"Han, really it's-" he cuts you off, grabbing your forearm and walking you over to the couch. He finally turns on the lights before crouching down in front of you.

"Show me?" he asks gently and you're too tired to fight him. You open your palm tentatively, taking a look at your cut for the first time as well. It's not too deep, it won't require stitches. But it's also not shallow, blood oozing from it at a steady rhythm.

Han simply frowns upon gazing at your wound, before walking over to his room. You don't move from your spot, gaze lost into the space before you. What would happen if you never woke up? Would you feel your flesh burning? Bones melting as the searing lava-

"Here," he gently holds your wrist, as his eyes meet yours. "This will hurt a bit. Hold my arm as tight as you want and tell me if it becomes too much, okay?"

"Okay," you simply nod.

He dabs up your cut with a cotton pad soaked in alcohol. You hiss softly, as the liquid burns your open skin. Han abruptly stops at the sound. "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I just-"

"It's okay," you smile reassuringly, "I can handle it."

Han nods, resuming his treatment. He's even softer this time, if that is even possible. He's careful when he rubs a soothing gel on your cut, before wrapping your palm in a gauze. He can't find a pair of scissors so he cuts it with his teeth, his lips brushing against the back of your hand. You account the warmth you're suddenly feeling to the aftermath of your nightmare.

"Why are you even up?" he finally asks as he settles next to you on the couch, eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"Nightmare."

"You’re okay?" he asks gently and he sounds truly concerned for your well-being. You aren't used to this. To Han acting like a friend to you. But it feels nice to be cared for, so you don't mind him blurring the lines tonight.

"I'm still a little bit scared," you admit sheepishly and Han's eyes soften under the dim moonlight.

"It passed. You're okay now."

"Am I?" you drag a hand tiredly across your face and Han frowns, inching closer to you.

"Is it a recurring dream?"

"Mm. It tires me out."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I just want to forget." 'Help me forget' you want to add, but you decide against it. "Why were you up, anyway?"

"I got inspiration for lyrics so I had to write it down."

"Can you share some with me?" you ask, tone a tad too hopeful. Han catches it and smiles warmly at you.

"Sure. This is probably going to be in the chorus..." he pulls out his phone, heading to his notes app. "This is what I have so far... I let my frustrated screams out hoping that they’d be washed away in the rain. I send it off with a smiling face, down to the last drops left on my fingertips." he pauses, scrolling down a bit more. "I also wrote this; I think it'll be nice in a verse... I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

"You're such a talented lyricist Han," you whisper in awe, and Han’s cheeks warm up at your words, reminiscent of a setting sun. "But I also wish it was as easy as this. To let out all the emotions you bottle inside and for them to wash away with the rain." You bite your lip, as Han’s words echo in your head. "I think... I think that's why I get this nightmare. I don't free my emotions anymore, and they show up in my dreams to torment me."

You don't know where these bouts of honesty are coming from. Maybe because you're too weary to keep up a happy facade. Or maybe because you know that the person who wrote these lyrics must understand exactly how you feel.

"Well... It's raining." Han whispers after a while and you look at him, confusion plastered across your features.

"And?"

"Should we test it out?"

"Test what?"

"Screaming under the rain," he says as if it's the most evident thing in the world.

"What? That's insane, Han we will get sick and..." You pause, as the words dissolve in your mouth like the seafoam meeting the shore. "You know what? Let's do it!"

"Really?" he asks incredulously, a huge grin on his face.

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's go!"

You both abruptly stand up, still only clad in your pajamas. You quickly slip your shoes on before running outside. The rain envelops you in a cold hug as soon as you step outside, rain droplets trickling down your clothes. You don't mind, you have lots of bottled-up feelings to free. 

"This needs music," Han smiles as he takes out his phone, putting his playlist on shuffle. 'Let The Light In' starts playing, and you shoot him a thumbs-up.

"It fits the rainy mood," you grin and he nods, squinting his eyes to be able to look at you.

"I think if we scream here, we'll scare the neighbors."

"I know!" you chuckle, wiping away the rain droplets on your forehead. "Where should we go?"

"The empty parking lot!" Han shouts so you'll hear him over the growing rain and you nod. He takes off running and you chase after him. You're both completely drenched once you're a bit far away from the house. But you don't care. Not when there is pure adrenaline rushing through you.

You finally stop, loud giggles escaping your mouth at the thrill of what you're doing. "You should start!" you yell excitedly and Han nods, taking in deep steadying breaths.

"Okay, I'm ready!"

"On the count of three! One... Two... Three!" and Han shouts at the top of his lungs, his screams getting lost in the rain. An incredulous smile breaks out on his face as you giggle loudly, the sound of it ringing out in the downpour.

"You looked insane!"

"I feel insane!" He yells honestly and a fit of laughter takes over you both. You hold his arm to steady yourself. 

"You should try it now!" Han urges and you nod, willing yourself to calm down. 

"Okay, will you count down for me?" 

"Yes," he assures and you clap excitedly. Han can't help but smile at the excitement on your face.

"One... Two... Three!" And you shout, continuous screams spilling from the depths of your soul. Han wasn't wrong- your pain, your fear, your anger are all dripping along the rain droplets, from your bruised heart to the tip of your fingers.

You've never felt this free before.

The two of you don't notice the passage of time, the rain acting as a cathartic release to all your pent-up emotions. It was as if your pain intertwined with each rain droplet, and you were letting go of everything that had held you down. Each scream acted as a break from the burdens of the past, and the worries of the future. 

As you finally stopped, panting and soaked to the bone, you looked at each other with raw exhilaration in your eyes.

"So, how was it?" Han yells over the rain and you break out in a relieved smile. "I don't think I’ve ever been this happy my entire life," you beam at him and the sight makes the rain feel less colder to Han. 

He watches, a small smile on his face as you twirl around, face looking up toward the sky, a deluge of rain grazing your cheeks like a lover's tender touch. The smile doesn't leave your face as you spin around, happy chuckles leaving your mouth from time to time.

You look... free. As if there was an invisible weight on your shoulders that the rain washed away. A heavy burden that you carried within you, like a secret secret. He likes the sound of that. Maybe that's what he'll name his song. 

Han slightly shakes his head as he watches you skip around, clothes completely soaked. You are now standing a bit far away, right beside a street lamp.

Ooh, let the light in

Its light shines on you alone.

Time seems to slow down, as Han’s steps falter. You're smiling, not at him, but at the universe. A happiness so raw filling you that it needs to come out, even if no one's watching.

You're spinning around, delighted giggles spilling from you like the most mesmerizing chorus. Something is building up inside Han, begging for a release. It refuses to come out in a scream- violently. It's tender and soft. He thinks that if you held his hand right now, you'd be able to free it.

Look at us, you and I back at it again

Is it possible to feel something other than an emotion? Because right now, weirdly, all he feels is you.

Cause I love to love to love to love you

I hate to hate to hate to hate you

Your eyes land on Han and there is pure joy dancing in your pupils. He's glad you no longer despise him. He doesn't think he can stomach it anymore.

Cause I want to want to want to want you

You run to him, holding his hand before twirling him around.

I need to need to need to need you

Han can't believe he ever thought you weren't human enough. You are a mosaic of every feeling that makes one human. There are lyrics writing themselves in his head and they're all about you.

Ooh, let the light in

You clasp both his hands, before crossing them over. And then you're both spinning around until the world around you blurs. All he sees is you, and the light surrounding you alone.

Ooh, turn your light on

He thinks he might, if the light is you.

5:22 a.m

"There is a heater in my room, you should come," Han offers as you dry your hair with the blue towel he just handed you.

"It's okay I’ll stay here," you point to the couch but he shakes his head adamantly. "You'll die from hypothermia. Do you know how mad Chan will be if I let you pass away?" he whispers in fear, a hand clutching his heart.

"So dramatic," you giggle, before following him into his room. He goes on his bed first before tapping the spot beside him. You sigh before lying next to him, snuggling further into the hoodie he gave you to change.

"You're still shivering," he remarks, as your teeth clink together.

"It's okay."

"You shouldn't have gone out with just a t-shirt."

"I didn't exactly plan on this, you know," you smile sarcastically and Han chuckles before tapping your shoulder softly.

"Come closer."

You debate for a second before complying, the cold tuning out all the rational thoughts in your head. 

Your arm brushes against his and you can't breathe once again. But it's a different type of deprivation. Han always seems to steal the oxygen from your lungs, but for once, you don't mind. Red embers are burning within you and their flames keep you alive. You press your chest to his back, as your forehead rests on his shoulder. Maybe he'll turn you to ashes. Will you rise from them?

"You're so cold," his hand reaches behind to rub your arms soothingly, an earnest attempt to warm you up.

"I’ll be fine, go to sleep. Don't worry about me."

"I can't control it."

In the dark room, Han can't see you curling your hand into a tight fist at his words. 

"If you stay quiet then I’ll sleep," you say after a while and Han giggles softly.

"That's the goal. You need to rest."

"You should sleep too."

"I will."

"Okay. Good night, Han."

"Good night, Yn."

You think he's fallen asleep when you speak up again. "Hey, Han."

"Yes, Yn?" He replies instantly, voice slightly hoarse. 

"Can you repeat that lyric to me, about the flowers blooming again?" You ask quietly, and you feel him nodding against your chest.

"I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

His warm voice vibrates within your body. "That's a nice lyric."

"I hope you'll dream of it instead."

☄༄

Against Han’s strong belief, he's the one who fell sick after your rain-soaked outing. 

You knew of it from Chan, who texted you saying that Han caught a nasty cold, and then got food poisoning, which meant he couldn't be there for their highly anticipated meeting—after their electrifying Heyday performance, a record label expressed strong interest in signing them. 

"Can you come over and stay with Han?" Chan implores as soon as he answers your call.

“That bad?” You ask, a pout pulling at your lips.

"I don't want to leave him alone. He's been really sick for the past week now, and… it's partly your fault"

"I can’t believe you’re guilt-tripping me into coming," you chuckle even though you know he is right. Han wouldn’t have gotten out in the rain if it wasn’t for you.

"I'm sorry it’s just I don't think he's been good, apart from the illness. And I’m worried, and I don’t know I thought maybe you could talk to him. He reminds me of you, in his sadness, so you might understand what's wrong more than me."

You think it over for a second before rising up from your bed.

"I'm coming"

As soon as you step inside their dorm, Chan pulls you for a side hug, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thank you so much,” he whispers, clearly grateful that you agreed to come. It worries you even more for Han.

“No problem. You can go, I’ll be with him.”

“Thank you, Yn” Changbin smiles before hastily pulling Chan outside the door. You wave them both goodbye.

You cautiously crack open the door to Han’s room, to find it completely engulfed in darkness. The stream of light from the door falls upon Han, who squints his eyes, trying to see who disrupted his fragile peace.

"Hi," you speak softly, finding it a bit odd to raise your voice in such a still room. Han attempts to sit up, before doubling over, hand tightly clutched around his stomach.

You rush to his side, kneeling beside his bed. It's the only lit-up part of the room.

"Still hurts?" you ask, your hand moving in soothing circles on his back. He nods, eyes squeezed shut, and you feel your heart crack at the sight.

"Have you taken any medicine?"

"A few hours ago. I need to eat something before I can take more, but I can't get up to the kitchen."

"Why didn't you tell the boys?"

"Didn't want to be a burden."

"You aren't. I'll make you something to eat. Okay? Try to sleep meanwhile."

"You don't have to," Han shakes his head, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"I know," you smile softly, before exiting the room.

Minutes later, you're back in the room, a bowl of sliced fruit in your hands.

"Do you guys live off protein powder and frozen chicken?" you ask, earning a quiet laugh from Han as he lays his back against the headboard.

"We do. Please save me," he jokes and you laugh, shaking your head. "Good thing I grabbed some fruit before leaving."

"Thank you," he grins, eyes slightly squinting closed. 

"Here," you grab a strawberry, bringing it to his lips. His eyebrows raise up in surprise, a sheen layer of sweat coating them. "What? Look at how tightly you're clutching the comforter," you point to his hands and Han sighs, before parting his lips slightly.

His mouth brushes against your fingertips, igniting a cascade of emotions in you. You'll think about what it means later.

You grab a green grape next, feeding it to him gently. A drop of water trickles down the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your finger.

"I can- I can do it," Han mumbles, voice wavering like an unpredictable storm. His trembling hands reach for the bowl, but they struggle to hold it right.

"Han, it's okay, I don't mind," you try to keep your voice gentle, sensing that there is an impending doom awaiting just below the surface.

"No, I- I need to do it. Just let me-" A tear falls into the fruit bowl. "Let me do it, please. I can- I can do it, I’m not useless, I…"

The floodgate opens.

A stream of tears escapes Han's eyes as he looks down at the bowl between his hands. He's crying, eyes tightly shut and the small whimpers escaping his lips feel like a dagger piercing your heart.

"You're sick. Let me take care of you."

"It's horrible horrible work." His voice cracks as his eyes finally lock on yours, and you can tell that his anguish isn't about his illness. These are the words of the shadows threatening to swallow him whole. You have to fight them off with the light.

"I will do it."

As Han lays on his bed, the sound of you washing the dishes resonating from the kitchen, your voice bounces off the dark walls in his head. You didn't try to convince him that it was easy work, you told him you'll do it, even if it's horrible. You'll do it because you want to, not because you can, not because it's accessible. The thought sends a warmth in his chest. It's faint, like a flickering candle trying its best to withstand the wind. But it's there. He holds on to it. He'll shield it with his cupped hands so it wouldn't fizzle out. 

"Hannie, you’re okay?" you peer into the room. Hannie- the candle's flame grows higher.

"Mm," he hums, too weak to turn and look at you.

"You're shivering," you remark, and he tightens the blanket around his body. "It'll pass."

You stay silent, and he thinks you've left the room. But then he feels the left side of the bed dip, with you climbing tentatively on it.

"This worked last time when I was cold," you smile softly at him, before bringing his head to your chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He feels frail and fragile in your embrace. You hug him tighter to you.

"Warming up?" you ask and he nods against your chest. He's burning.

"Try to sleep," you urge quietly, your hand moving to pat his back. "It will pass."

"What if it doesn't?" Han asks faintly. Please don't let the candle die, he wants to plead.

"There is always light at the end of the tunnel."

"What if the tunnel is closed?"

"Then you go back to the start and find a new one," you respond.

"Can I find it later? I'm so tired tonight." His voice is drowsy, sleep already clinging to his achy bones. 

"Just rest for now. You did well," you scratch his back lightly, as he nuzzles further into the crook of your neck. 

There was never a candle to begin with- you were the light.

☄༄

Had someone told you five months ago that you'd be lying on Han's bed, watching "Howl's Moving Castle" at 2 a.m., you would've thought they were utterly delusional.

Yet, here you are now.

A lot of things had changed since your rainy outing with Han, as if the universe had shifted into alignment, two stars in the sky finally colliding and making way for something new. You saw him under a different light, understanding that no one picks up a dandelion unless they desperately need the solace it provides.

You've grown to care for him, in the course of the past two months. And funnily enough, you've started to like who you were next to him- just yourself, with no pressure of making conversation, or catering to his expectations of you.

He saw you at your worst anyway, and so did you, there was no use in filtering things anymore.

You've been there through the entire process of writing, composing, and producing Secret Secret- the song whose lyrics had captured your heart. You didn't expect him to ask you to be there with him, he just shot you a text, three days after you came over to his house. 'Wanna be there while I work on the song? I know you liked the lyrics.' It was an offer you couldn't pass up on.

You weren't, in your opinion, much help. Han was gifted in the music realm and song-making flowed naturally from him. But he noticed how interested you were in music, so he called you over each time he worked on the song, even asking for your input at times.

That's why, when the song was finally done and released on 3racha's Spotify account, you decided to celebrate by baking him a cake. You may have dropped an eggshell in the batter (you recovered it later on), and the icing's color turned out less vibrant than what you hoped for. But you managed to adorn it with a garden of little flowers, and with store-bought icing, you wrote the words "after the rain flowers will bloom again."

You showed up to the dorm and Changbin pointed you to Han's room, where he had apparently been holed up all day. You shot him a grateful smile, before pushing the door open with your foot.

"What are you doing here?" Han asked, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

"Surprise!" you grinned, pushing the cake his way. "Congrats on making Secret Secret."

"Are you serious?" he chuckled, jumping out of his bed. He peered at the cake, eyes softening as he gazed down at the design.

"You drew a little garden..." he whispered in awe and you nodded, a faint blush creeping up your face.

"I'm glad you recognized what it was. I'm not the best baker," you admit a bit shyly but he shook his head. "It's perfect. I can't believe you did this to celebrate our baby!"

"Your baby," you corrected, although the use of 'our' warmed up your chest, weirdly enough.

"You were here with me every step of the way. She's ours."

"It's a she?" you giggled, and he smiled proudly.

"Mm. Do you accept being her mother?" he mused; hands clasped in front of his heart like he was praying you'd say yes.

"It would be my greatest honor," you nodded solemnly, and he let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing the cake from your hands and setting it on his bed.

"Should we hug it out?" he teased, arms stretched wide but you merely stared at him, unimpressed.

"Come on," he whined, "you can't reject me for the third time. And, in front of our child. On her birthday!" his tone grew louder and you couldn't help but giggle at his mock outrage.

"Try harder."

"Our child won't know what a loving parent relationship is and then she'll seek out unhealthy love from the ones around her and-" you cut him off by finally wrapping your arms around him.

You've always known that being near Han left you breathless, but this time, it felt as though he was breathing life into you. You close your eyes instinctively, as his hold tightens on you. He smells immensely nice, like pinewood and soap. You should've hugged him sooner.

"Thank you," he said quietly, forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.

"You did well," you whisper back.

"We did. She's our child, remember?" he reprimanded and you laughed faintly.

"Yeah, ours."

Hours later, the movie's credits finally roll down, and the finished cake sits idly by Han's desk.

"I should go," you rub your eyes tiredly, and Han stares at you as if you are out of your mind.

"At this hour? Do you want our kid to lose her mom?"

"Han," you drawl, hitting his head with the pillow next to you. "You can't hold me hostage."

"I can, as your husband."

"Since when are we married?"

"Since you agreed to be Secret's mother." Another playful hit to his face.

"Stop attacking my face, how will I get laid then?"

"So, you are cheating on me?" you ask, feigning outrage.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby you're the only one I want." You falter at the nickname before hitting him even harder, matching the tempo of your quickening heartbeat.

"You're crazy," he laughs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you onto the bed. He's hovering over you, eyes hooded with a tender intensity as he gazes down at you.

"Will you stay, please?"

"The couch is uncomfortable," you reply, avoiding his eyes. He lets go of one wrist before holding your chin gently, urging you to look at him.

"You can sleep here. We've done it before."

"You were freezing both times. That's why I did it."

"I'm very cold tonight," he pouts, eliciting a surprised chuckle from you.

"Are you now?"

"Very much so."

"Fine. Only because I don't want you to die from hypothermia."

"Thank you!" he grins excitedly, finally letting go of your wrist. You bring a hand to your flushed cheeks, as he tosses a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in your direction.

"Get changed! There is a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

You make sure to groan theatrically, before heading into the bathroom, where you splash your face repeatedly with water. You aren't used to this- being a blushy mess, because of Han, nonetheless. It was dizzying you, how things took the complete opposite turn between you and him.

At least, back then you weren't alone in your hate, you couldn't stand being alone in your affection.

So, you'd stop this, whatever feeling that's coursing through you. Tomorrow, you will firmly close the door on the blooming feelings within you. But tonight, you’d both lay on the same bed, arms brushing against one another. It's completely dark and quiet, but there is an entire symphony playing within you.

"Thank you for today," he whispers, turning around and tucking his arm under his head, this way he's facing you.

You mirror his actions, and your fingertips brush against one another. You can't see him but you can feel him. He's everywhere, wrapping around all your senses. 

"Thank you for making this song. It's very comforting to me."

"Why is that?" he questions, inching closer to you, you can feel his minty breath fan all over your face.

"I’ve always felt like I carried too many emotions within me. Like a volcano, bubbling over until the day I explode. I never liked feeling this way, so I tried to hide it," you confess softly.

"Like a secret secret."

"Like a secret secret," you repeat, glad that he understands.

"You don't have to hide with me," he says after a few silent beats, and you swallow nervously.

"I know." you lick your lips as the music inside you grows louder. "Still cold?"

"A little."

"Come closer," you beckon, and he complies instantly, wrapping his arm behind your back and drawing your chest close to his. Your legs entangle with one another, as your face lays on the crook of his neck. It's intimate, far more than any time you've done it before. You don't want to sink in his hold in fear of never resurfacing again.

"Good?" he asks, voice tinged with a newfound raspiness. 

"Mm," you hum, and he releases a relieved sigh.

You've once read that everything in this universe sings. Every atom's vibration creates a sound, contributing to a grand celestial chorus. It's an unscientific, but lovely thought, to wonder who our hearts sing for.

Right now, it's for Han.

☄༄

The music echoes through your being, an ever-present melody that refuses to fade into silence. Even with no audience to enjoy it.

Han always found his way back to your side, no matter how many times you've tried to distance yourself from him. And you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him, because you were friends, first and foremost. And friends don't abandon one another just because a mere glance at them sprouts a blush across your cheeks. 

That's how you find yourself on your way to Han's dorm, for the third time that week. Watching movies together has become your little tradition, for the past few months, and sometimes even Chan joins in. Although he mostly enjoys shooting you a knowing smile, to which you flip him off.

Your phone rings and Han's name illuminates your screen. You smile against your will.

"Can't wait to see me this much?" you singsong and Han's chuckle rings through the phone. It's rich and deep, causing you to tighten your hold on the device.

"Yes. And can you please go to the store? I'm out of snacks."

"What do I get out of it?" you muse, changing directions to the nearest convenience store.

"Snacks."

"Asshole," you giggle on your way to cross the road.

"And my eternal gratitude of course."

"Right, because I can't-" Loud tires screech right beside you and you startle, letting out a loud yelp as you drop your phone.

A hand on top of your heart, you bend down to pick up your fallen device, as the driver gets out of the car that grazed your body, mere inches away from hitting you. 

"Are you okay, miss? I'm sorry I didn't see you." The middle-aged man is quick to your side, and you glance at the small kid in his car, willing yourself to calm down for their sake.

"I'm fine. Just a bit startled. Drive more slowly, there is a kid with you."

"I know, I'm sorry," he drags a hand through his stressed features and you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. "It's okay, don't worry about it. Just pay more attention to the road, okay?"

"Thank you so much. Thank you," he clasps his hand in gratitude before getting back to his car and you wave him off, your heart still wildly beating in your chest.

You head into the convenience store, picking up the snacks you know Han loves before paying for them. But as soon as you step back outside, you spot a disheveled Han crossing the road, sprinting toward the store. His pace quickens upon spotting you.

"What are you..." your question is cut short as his arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest instantly. You can feel the frantic rhythm of his heart, and you're confused as he pulls away, hands cradling your cheeks and turning your face left and right.

"You're alright, nothing happened to you, right? You’re okay?" he inquires urgently and you let out a confused giggle, as you grab his arm to steady him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard the tires screech and you yelled and then you didn't pick up when I called and I thought-" his voice cracks. "I thought something happened to you."

"No, no. I'm okay. Nothing happened, I promise." you reassure, as he brings you to his chest once again, his hand smoothing the top of your hair.

"I was so scared," he kisses your temple, as his thumping heart resounds within your chest. "So terrified that something would happen to you. I thought I'd lose my mind."

"You don't mean that," you shake your head slowly, peeling yourself away from him.

"Can you really not see how much I care about you? How I crave being near you?" his voice raises a slight octave. The music in you picks up.

"How long do I have to pretend to be cold to have you nearby? For god's sake, I'm never cold around you, yn. When I see you, I ignite." He takes in a deep breath, pressing his forehead onto your shoulder. "And I... I couldn't have lived with myself if something happened to you. I... You drive me crazy, Yn. When we became friends it felt like I was stepping inside a home for the first time, and yet I already knew each turn in it."

He grabs your arms, shaking you slightly as his chest heaves up and down. "My darkness recognizes yours and my light is you and you- you think I wouldn't care if anything happened to you?"

He shakes his head as tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. Has his music always been this loud, were you just not listening properly?

"I'm scared because we didn't start well and I understand if a part of your heart still resents me, I do. But I don't think I can pretend anymore. Not with you," his voice softens as his gaze locks on yours.

"Were you pretending too?" He asks, hope dripping from his tone. "Do you feel it too?"

A split second goes by. A candle flickering somewhere. A dandelion plucked from the ground. The shadow of a cloud passing over the sun- and you pick.

"I feel it too. So much that my heart feels like it’s singing for you, Han."

"I'll sing for it in return," he whispers, before crashing his lips onto yours. His hand slides up the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You drop the bags of groceries as you cradle his cheeks, feeling them warm up beneath your touch. You can't believe you've ever disliked your heart for feeling too much, not when the lovely emotions flowing in your heart threaten to burst it at the seams, submerging you in a warmth you've never known before- Han. 

Two months later

You have 3 new messages from: hannie

"kept this song a secret from you baby but i wrote it for you so you can't be mad"

"i don't know if you remember but you’ve once told me that you are a volcano. as if that’s something that’s supposed to put me off. well, some people dedicate their lives to studying volcanos. and i would dedicate mine to learning you."

"Volcano.mp3."

Light.

[tangibletechnomancy]

Doing It Wrong On Purpose: Episode 1 - The Un-Ship

Today's experiment: What happens if I prompt for something, and then negative prompt all the main keywords, plus various synonyms and related words?

The answer: Some gloriously weird stuff.

For example, let's look at a negative cat:

Positive prompt: A cat on a windowsill during a storm

Negative prompt: Cat, feline, felidae, kitty, kitten, animal, pet, windowsill, window, glass, pane, house, storm, rain, water, lightning, thunder, clouds, torrent, downpour, snow, blizzard, wind, windy

Interesting! Let's get a little more fantasy with it and try for an anti-deer:

Positive prompt: A deer in a peaceful flowery meadow, crystals, midnight, fantasy, colorful

Negative prompt: Deer, cervidae, animal, elk, moose, stag, doe, fawn, reindeer, antelope, cervid, antlers, flowers, night, dark, trees, foliage, bloom, stars, night, tranquil, fantastic, vibrant, cool, magic, blue, moon, sky, crystal, stone, statue, topiary, floral, blossom

Between these two experiments, including a few dozen other generations that remain unposted, one thing I can say for sure is that for living subjects, it's a great way to get the kind of anatomical wonk that older models are (in)famous for - and it makes sense why, the model is trying to make something that looks like a certain subject...but once it starts to look too much like it, well, shit, we told it NOT to do that! Break something up! Given that I love that kind of wonk, I think I've found a useful tool for myself.

One more living subject, and let's get even more abstract with our direction here:

Positive prompt: mind horse

Negative prompt: horse, equine, colt, filly, mare, stallion, bronco, pony, mind, brain, thought, essence, psyche, intelligence, consciousness, imagination, dream, soul, visualization, intellect, wit, cognizance

Now let's try something that isn't alive. One thing I love AI for is surreal settings and landscapes - lets try one now!

Positive prompt: A magic palace garden made of crystal and gold

Negative prompt: Palace, magic, crystal, gold, fantasy, castle, estate, stronghold, temple, garden, flowers, plants, blossoms, bloom, blooms, trees, grass, stems, foliage, leaves, greenery, branches, bush, bushes, hedge, hedges, metal, luxury, stone, glass, brass, rose, polished, jewel, prism, courtyard

I then tried to see if, learning from the animal subjects, I could make it more likely to return one of my favorite "mistakes" - making it impossible to discern the point where a water area ends and a sky area begins. I wasn't immediately successful, but I came up with some results I found pleasing regardless-

Positive prompt: Secret hideout in a cave behind a waterfall in the foggy forest on a floating sky island in fluffy clouds

Negative prompt: hideout, camp, campsite, home, abode, house, dwelling, rest, shelter, waterfall, water, cave, grotto, forest, woods, woodland, trees, fountain, cascade, pond, stream, lake, river, brook, puddle, creek, pool, beach, ocean, sea, cloud, clouds, sky, cumulus, cirrus, nimbus, fog, storm, rain, sunshower, falls

It seems that with landscapes it's got a much clearer and more specific "idea" of what a [SUBJECT] without [SUBJECT] looks like; it's more inclined to invent very specific, very consistent unasked for related elements. With the animals, I was tweaking the weight on the positive prompt to avoid getting straightforwardly just what I had positive (and negative) prompted, but with landscapes, I just get... almost something else entirely.

So how about inanimate objects? Let's try a ship, perhaps?

Positive prompt: A huge sailing ship with brilliant prismatic crystal sails on a stormy, turbulent sea of sunset clouds

Negative prompt: ship, boat, sailboat, sailing ship, pirate ship, galleon, ketch, schooner, sloop, cutter, sail, sea, ocean, storm, wind, rain, water, waves, cloudy, clouds, fog, sunset, dusk, dawn, sunrise, twilight, evening

...okay, I'm in love with the un-ship. It truly does manage to consistently give me results that look like, yet entirely unlike, a ship. It is everything I love about AI as a medium. More than that, it is my friend.

At lower positive prompt weights, they only get even more beautifully chaotic.

I want to live on one of these (in an alternate universe where they're geometrically possible and structurally sound, that is).

Failing that, I will be featuring them a lot from now on.

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

[lesmana-enterprise-ltd]

Next Build Teaser : Lesmana Resorts 星の夜 (Hoshino-Ya)

Welcome to Lesmana Resort Hoshinoya, where tradition meets tranquility in the heart of Wakaba, Mount Komorebi. Surrounded by serene gardens and natural hot springs, this five-star ryokan offers a true retreat from the outside world. Stroll through meticulously landscaped gardens, cross charming bridges over koi-filled ponds, or relax in our private onsen with stunning views of the surrounding forest. Our suites combine modern comfort with timeless Japanese aesthetics, complete with shoji screens, tatami flooring, and thoughtful details that immerse you in the essence of traditional ryokan living. At Hoshinoya, every element is designed to soothe your senses and bring harmony to your stay.

Lesmana Resorts 星の夜 (Hoshino-Ya) will be a Non-CC build.

[novlr]

What are some good ways to write about winter?

Winter. is a season of stark contrasts and sensory experiences. It provides the perfect canvas to paint vivid scenes that range from cosy romances to horror-filled stormy nights.

When writing about winter, it’s essential to capture the essence of its chill and the way it can transform the world. Here are some quick tips!

Sights

A blanket of pristine snow covering the landscape

Bare tree branches coated with frost

Delicate snowflakes drifting from the grey sky

Icicles hanging like crystal daggers from rooftops

Colourful clothes stark against the white of snow

Sunlight reflecting off the snow, creating a blinding glare

Animal tracks stamped into the powder

Frozen lakes and puddles

Man-made objects like snowmen and snow angels

Lights shining against dark backdrops

Sounds

Snow muffling and dampening the usual noises

Boots crunching on the frozen ground

People laughing and shouting as they play

Wind howling through barren branches

Ice cracking underfoot or on distant lakes

The silence of a snow-covered world

Shovels scraping against sidewalks

Snowballs hitting their targets with soft thuds

Branches creaking, laden with snow

The rustle of animals keeping warm in burrows

Smells

The fresh, clean scent of snow in the air

Wood smoke curling from chimneys

The earthy aroma of damp wool from coats and gloves

The sharp tang of frost and cold metal

Hot chocolate and marshmallows

Pine needles and the subtle scent of evergreen

Baking spices from holiday treats

The slight ozone smell before a snowstorm

Wet dog from snowball fights with furry friends

Leather and polish from well-worn boots

Activities

Building snow forts and castles

Ice skating on a frozen pond or rink

Snowshoeing through a silent forest

Curling up by the fire with a good book

Skiing and snowboarding down powdery slopes

Brisk walks to enjoy the winter air

Hiking up snowy mountains for panoramic views

Having snowball fights with friends or family

Feeding birds or wildlife braving the cold

Decorating the home with festive lights and ornaments

Character body language

Shivering and huddling for warmth

Rubbing hands together or blowing on them for heat

Shoulders hunched against the biting wind

Slipping and steadying oneself on icy patches

Squinting against the bright snow glare

Snuggling into oversized coats and scarves

Stamping feet to restore circulation

Clapping hands to keep the cold at bay

Arms wrapped around the torso for warmth

Quick, brisk movements to minimise exposure to the cold

Positive descriptions

The serene beauty of a snow-covered meadow at dawn

The invigorating feeling of cold air filling your lungs

The cosiness of a warm blanket on a frosty night

The joy of catching snowflakes on your tongue

The camaraderie of coming together to shovel snow

The nostalgia of winter holidays and traditions

The satisfaction of making the perfect snowball

The wonder of ice patterns on windows

The laughter and excitement of a snow day

The glistening of a frosted evergreen in the sun

Negative descriptions

The biting sting of the wind against exposed skin

The numbness of fingers and toes in the cold

The dreariness of shortened, grey days

The inconvenience of navigating slushy streets

The isolation of a blizzard keeping everyone indoors

The discomfort of wet socks and snow in your boots

The hazard of black ice on sidewalks and roads

The burden of heavy layers and winter gear

The dull ache of a cold that lingers

The gloom that can accompany the lack of sunlight

Helpful adjectives

Biting, chilly, frosty, glacial, icy

Crisp, brisk, sharp, piercing, raw

Fluffy, powdery, crunchy, slick, slippery

Dreary, overcast, bleak, sombre, grey

Cosy, snug, warm, toasty, plush

Twinkling, sparkling, shimmering, glistening

Silent, muffled, still, hushed, quiet

Fresh, clean, invigorating, brisk, bracing

Nostalgic, traditional, joyous, festive, celebratory

Isolating, inconvenient, burdensome, hazardous, gloomy

[hyuckswoman]

bf!renjun painting you

pairing: bf!renjun x reader

genre: fluff

summary: you rent the cottagecore house of your dreams, take a nap and wake up to see your boyfriend painting you

booking an airbnb that was essentially the cottagecore house of your dreams for your getaway with your boyfriend was arguably the best decision you’ve taken ever.

Renjun was absolutely awed upon seeing the house for the first time, it was like seeing his pinterest board in real life. Even though it was unfortunate that this was your house for only a week you guys decided to make the most of it, going on strolls, picnics in the backyard, baking strawberry shortcakes even visiting the farm nearby and feeding the horses. The past couple of days had been heaven.

After going on your daily stroll stopping by the pond to feed the ducks, you decided to take a quick nap when coming back home. Maybe heading to the bedroom would’ve been the best option to actually rest but you were in a house that had a sun room, you HAD to have at least one nap there.

Your boyfriend had been calling your name for the past couple of minutes wanting you to try the strawberry lemonade he made. Upon the lack of response, he started looking for you in the house. Finding you lying down on the small couch, surrounded by all the small plants the house came with, the sun on your face. His face broke in the biggest grin, being completely enamored of you who looked so peaceful sleeping gracefully whilst sunbathing.

After taking a picture of what he deemed as the most beautiful view ever, renjun decided to paint the scene, i mean you guys were basically living your cottagecore dreams, why not add to it? Grabbing his small case of watercolors, he mentally patted himself on the back for going against his instinct and bringing his painting gear. He then installed his brushes, paints, and canvas into the corner of the room, finding the view to be even more perfect this way.

Renjun found himself snickering a bit at his own thoughts. He thought you being asleep meant it would be easy to paint you, turns out he’s been spending his time staring at you with heart eyes instead of painting streaks on his canvas. He did draw a quick sketch attempting to picture your essence onto the canvas but wasn’t satisfied as ‘it wasn’t as pretty as you were’, but if he was being honest with himself, no one could ever capture your beauty onto a canvas.

After crumbling the fourteenth (or at least what felt like it) paper he settled on just winging it, he had to trust his abilities and it wouldn’t turn out bad, right?? He was honestly surprised at how tired you were as you’ve been lying still for quite a long time. Halfway through his painting, you stirred awake. As you opened your eyes you were greeted with the most beautiful view, your boyfriend concentrated in his art.

“hi baby, don’t move for a sec for me okay?” your boyfriend says re concentrating on his canvas. “are you painting me?” you ask, your voice a bit groggy from your nap. “I’m trying to, can’t get it right though, i could never replicate your charm on a canvas” he says and you swear your heart actually melted. “you know we’re already dating right? you don’t have to compliment me” you reply going back into your original position not complaining, as all you had to do was sit there and look pretty in the sun. “I’m merely telling the truth, you’re literally god sent it’s already incredible luck i get to see you this close” your boyfriend says, getting up from his corner to give you a quick kiss. “flattery will get you nowhere mister” you reply slightly punching him. “I can name a few times where flattery got me exactly where i wanted to be” he replies slightly laughing heading back to his canvas to finish the painting.

Hearing your boyfriend sigh meant he either was done and not satisfied or he was done and really unsatisfied. “I’m sure whatever you painted belongs in a museum” you say getting out of your position to go look “you belong in a museum. but wait don’t look just yet I don’t like it right now” renjun says frustratingly looking at the painting. “cmonnnn, I’m sure I’ll like it! there’s not one piece of art you’ve made I haven’t liked” you whine slowly approaching him. You quickened your pace hearing his little ‘fine’

“I’m 100% positive it’s not that bad- woah. THIS?? is what you’re unsatisfied with? junnie what the fuck this is so beautiful you’re insane” you say mouth agape upon seeing the painting, slightly getting emotional. “yea? you’re not just saying this?” your boyfriend asks as you’re quick to deny profusely shaking your head. “no I mean it I swear man what the hell” you answer giving him a hug as he shrugs. “the only reason why it’s pretty is because you’re my subject” he says to which you reply “shut up”.

Finding your boyfriend’s warmth wayy better than sitting in the sun you settle on his lap, he’s quick to wrap his arms around your figure engulfing you in a hug drawing soothing circles on your back, giving you small pecks on your exposed shoulder skin. As you were slowly falling asleep again you felt your boyfriend squirm a bit “I forgot I made strawberry lemonade, it’s in the fridge want some?” he says as you nod getting up from his lap and following him to the kitchen

You did not want this week to be over.

notes: this is 100% an apology to every down bad reader for the chapters that are about to come…

[konigbabe]

pearls before swine

DAY 6 ⇢ Monster-fucking Pairing: kitsune!Satoru Gojo x fem!reader Word count: 2.7k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; public sex; p-in-v; exhibitionism; dirty talk; hints of praise kink; manhandling; Gojo has a tale (nine of them altogether) and fangs; mention of blood/bleeding; Japanese mythology and folklore Summary: Visiting the Shinto shrine – somehow – leads to you getting wrecked by a mischievous trickster fox on an open balcony and with no shame. [Part of NSFW Gojo Week 2023]. Divider is mine. Art credit goes to 月刺啾 (@/x2MciyELLRZRhg1) on Twitter [source].

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

kitsune 狐 /kɪtˈsuː.neɪ/ noun; a Japanese fox spirit capable of shapeshifting into human form and are known to be cunning and playful, mysterious and malevolent.

You've heard the stories. Read about them. Creatures that use their shape-shifting abilities to take on human form and fool people into doing whatever they want. Tricking their prey into surrendering their deepest emotions and desires – the very essence of life itself.

In the midst of the Azalea festival, when the flowers are in full bloom – teal, lilac, and violet hues painting a pastoral picture – it's hard to find a quiet place. Especially near the main sanctuary of the Shinto shrine. Moving near the offering hall, that was when you first spotted him, towering over everyone.

He was standing beside a fox statue, arm draping over the sculpture's head, fingers as slender and agile as a ballet dancer's tracing the contours of the fox's snout. Your senses felt as though they were playing tricks on you as you watched his eyes – so pale they seemed to shimmer like a frozen lake, its lightness bordering on translucence – glide across the courtyard until they reached your kimono-clad body.

But it wasn't his demeanor – dismissive and blasé, laced with a hint of curiosity – that rendered you speechless. No. Rather, it was his appearance – a fusion of the human and the surreal. Japanese have a word for that: ‘yūgen'.

A shock of silver hair framed his face, its strands made of liquid mercury, catching the faint light of the morning sun. Yet, what truly seized your gaze were the symbols on his face – three sapphire tear-shaped drops gracing the lower edges of his almond-shaped eyes, a matching azure line tracing his waterline, gently extending beyond the corners of his eyes. Two cobalt dots adorned each corner of his upturned mouth, while another trio of sapphire lines adorned his forehead, with the middle one flowing onto the bridge of his sharp nose – reminiscent of the wind's delicate patterns. His skin porcelain-smooth and pale, accentuating the ethereal quality of his appearance.

And for some inexplicable reason, you appeared to be the only one capable of seeing him – it. Coming to a halt beneath the torii gate, he turned his head slightly, a strand of silvery hair cascading down over his left eye. The world around you seemed to hush, a stillness setting in; time itself stilling when his eyes locked onto yours from afar, leaving your lips parted in both awe and intrigue.

"You look so pretty," he murmurs, lips gliding over your neck, "when you're at my mercy."

The sharp sting of his fangs gliding under your ear, tracing the probing vein, causes goosebumps to form and travel along the spines of your arms and legs. You feel the warm hiss of his breath, the hot roughness of his tongue against your neck. Toes curling, feet dirty from the ground as the fox pounds into you. Hands gripping the wooden railing of the small balcony that overlooks a pond with koi fish swimming peacefully in.

You're not sure if someone has seen you yet. Seen the lewd image of getting fucked by someone – something – not entirely humane.

The sharp edges of his claws dig into your hips, kimono long discarded on the floor. Naked body swaying in the rhythm to the sharp thrusts. Softness melting into hardness. Satoru – his name echoed in your mind when his hand first touched your skin; as if you were already familiar with the fox – pulls you back to meet his hips, bare body dressed only in his haori, the same sapphire shade as his eyes, draped over his shoulders, arms hidden underneath the silken jacket.

Each stroke of his cock massages your walls, spreading apart the tender flesh between your legs. The ridge of his head presses up against that sweet spot deep inside you. Your thighs press together so you can feel it again. Little sparks of pleasure shoot through your body, making you moan as he brushes over everything that feels good.

"Huh–," his nails, razor-sharp and dangerous, rake over your abdomen. The palm presses flat against the contour of your tummy – hard – as if he's trying to feel how the tip of his cock bruises the opening of your cervix with each thrust. "Eeaasy now," his voice silky smooth just like his skin, "shush, we don't want anyone seeing you like this, right?"

A particularly loud moan emanates from your chest; his words drawn out by the pleasure surging through your veins. Mind feeling too good to be inhibited by anything else.

"Or do you want your friends to see you getting fucked by the devil like me," Satoru's tone lingers in the back of your head. The hand on your abdomen moving downward, toying with your clit. Rubbing circles before pressing against its sides.

You can feel him smile against your neck as he continues to thrust deep into you, each movement harder and faster than the last. His claws dig into your hips, biting into the skin there in a way that's both abrasive and soothing.

"I can't," the breath rushes out of you, leaving your head spinning and the earth swimming as Satoru pulls back to watch you clutch the railing. You're sure you're going to collapse at any moment, but you can feel him watching as your knuckles grind into the wood. Until he’s leaning in again, lips exploring your shoudlerblades,, "I can't–Satoru–hngh."

He's warm. The skin of his chest presses flat against your arching back.He turns his hips into you; the pressure mounts at your core, building up to a burning coil. Lewd sounds of skin slapping skin heating up your cheeks, burning your ears as shame tickles at the edges of your mind.

It's blaring. Flashy.

Loud.

"Hehe," he chuckles against your shoulder and you feel his teeth sink into the flesh there, careful not to puncture the delicate skin, "what pretty sounds we make."

And for a moment, you allow yourself to drown. To have the fox ravage you. Cock thrusting deep inside and with each withdrawal, your slickness sloshing out of you. Messy and wet. Coating your thighs in it. And yet it urges Satoru to go harder. Deeper.

Leaning over your body, his hands press along your ribcage before coming to rest on the tops of your shoulders. The weight of him feels like it's anchoring you in place – even though all he’s doing is encircling you with his arms and keeping no distance between your two bodies.

Thick white lashes that frame his eyes hide his true feelings while the half-smile playing on his lips remains unchanged.

His thumbs make tiny circles beneath your breasts, brushing across their undersides. A whimper escapes your lips when he pulls away, pulls out. The sudden emptiness prompting a muffled sound from the back of your throat – which earns you a playful slap on the curve of your ass.

"You're very loud, you know that?"

Satoru turns you around, hands remaining on your ribcage as he lifts you up effortlessly. Legs reflectively wrapping around his narrow hips, feeling his hipbones dig into the fat of your thighs. His presence suffocating the air from your lungs with a humid heat.

Your arms strain as you grip the railing behind you, body in the air while Satoru's arm supports your back, the other hand gripping his slick cock.

"It's not–agh," he pats your aching nub before gliding the tip over your slit, collecting the leaking wetness, "not like that."

He grins at you, eyes staring into yours with twinkles of mischief – or lust? – while smearing prespend over your swollen, empty hole.

"So you're not enjoying this," bending over you, kisses your nerves awake, his cheek nudges your head to the side so his lips can nibble at the taut skin of your jawline. And your eyes widen in shock.

People. More than a dozen people walking towards the chōzuya, a water well adjacent to the worship hall right next to the small sightseeing open building on which's balcony you're currently are in. Naked, legs wrapped around a kitsune, body completely exposed.

Just one look to the left is all anyone needs to do.

"Your body's burning," Satoru's breath scorches your ear. His cock, hard and pulsing, teases your entrance until it aches sweetly, "heh–want me to stop, pretty?"

"Ngh–" you shake your head, "don't stop."

"Good, now–," his lips graze yours the moment he slides the tip of his cock inside. Chest rambling with a sound distinctively similar to purring, "be a good girl and let me fuck you."

With that, he snaps his hips until he's buried inside of your cunt, filling you to the brink. Lowering his mouth to your skin, his fangs once again graze your shoulder blade; move alongside your clavicles until he reaches your sternum. Every deep exhale through his nose leaves an imprint on your flesh. It makes you feel like you're burning. Hot coals pressed against your skin.

His hands grip your ass. Kneading the flesh as he sets a relentless pace. Sinking deep inside with each drive of his hips.

Pushing yourself off the railing, you carefully swing your arms over his shoulders. Chest flush against his, you moan when your sensitive nipples graze the hard muscle of his torso.

"Ahh, Satoru–," your face buries in the mop of his hair when you feel his lips encircle your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue over the mound as he drives his cock in and out of your cunt; so slick and dripping that you feel almost no friction altogether, "feels so good."

His teeth nip at the soft meat of your breast, nipple glossy with saliva as he moves his attention to the other one. You feel it then – or maybe it's been there the whole time – a brush against your thigh; initially thinking it to be his hand. Only they both lay flat against your ass. It's soft. Thick. Bushy. And it wasn't there before, yet it moves around you, slithers until it rests along the length of your thigh.

"You're taking me so well, pretty," his pelvis rubs your clit each time he bottoms out, moving you to sit on the old, creaky wooden railing, allowing his heads to roam your body – which he takes full advantage of – and only tightening the band inside your abdomen, "makes me not wanna feed."

His words fly over your head. Mind fuzzy and empty. Instead, you gasp for breath, the need for air becoming desperate as you clutch onto Satoru, whose relentless thrusts show no signs of faltering.

Toes twitching, your legs tremble around his hips. Moan after moan escaping your throat as your hips grind against his, a pathetic attempt to meet his harsh thrust and grind on his pelvis – to feel at least a tiny slither of pressure against your swollen bud – to which Satoru takes notice. Hand moving to your hip, he squeezes the flesh before moving his thumb over your clit, toying with it.

You feel another bushy tail slither onto your other thigh; it makes your eyes open. That's when you finally take notice of his full nature. He doesn't have actual tails. Instead, something vaguely resembling tails slithers from behind his back. Translucent with blueish hue. You're capable of seeing through them all. The same hue radiates from his skin, from the patterns decorating his face–

Satoru's lips continue their assault on your nipples as curiosity floods your veins.

–it's almost like small clouds taking shape, flying over his body. It's –

"Beautiful," you whimper, feeling him stir underneath your palms. The fox looks up, hips stilling with his full cock warm inside you.

"What did you say," he asks. Eyes leaving the image before you, you cup his face with one hand, locking your gaze onto his – fire meeting ice.

"I said that you're beautiful," your lips trace his nose, the tear-shaped drops underneath his eyes. The dot on the corner of his lips before grazing the soft plumpness of his mouth. It sends tingles through you. A jolt. As if you were touching a sacred artifact, fingers cautiously exploring every curve and contour of his face left behind.

Satoru's breath catches, and he closes his eyes, allowing your exploration to continue for a while.

"Hah," his lips catch yours, an arm sneaking around your middle to bring you closer, the thumb on your clit rubbing and flicking against the nerve, making you whimper into his mouth, "you're the pretty one," he mumbles against your mouth.

Slowly moving his hips back, you feel every ridge and contour of his cock against your insides until only the head remains locked in. Then he snaps. Pushes forward with a newfound fervor.

Satoru's tongue flicks over yours. Sweetness tinges your senses. Like ripe berries on a warm summer day.

"The tasty one," he pulls away, forehead resting against yours as he feels your cunt flutter.

The tension inside your abdomen grows. Coiling around your insides like a tautly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment. Every deliberate movement from him tightens the invisible band.

With each flick of his thumb, your breath hitches, body quivers in response, cunt tightening around him. Each stroke of his cock. Sharp tongue tracing a searing path over your fevered skin, igniting your senses with each pass. Satoru's focus shifts – from your jaw to your neck, to your sternum, leaving no inch untouched by his maddening touch.

His hand squeezes the pliant flesh of your ass, giving it a gentle slap every once in a while when his cock brushes your cervix. You plead for release, voice a breathless whisper against his mouth. His response a flicker of dominance, fingers teasing your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"Satoru–mmph–so close," your lips seal over his marking, eyes squeezing shut to contain the overwhelming sensations, "m'gonna cum."

"Then cum," he encourages, his voice a seductive purr as he flicks your swollen clit, "wanna see the face you make, pretty."

The tension reaches its breaking point with the roll of his tongue over your lower lip. The invisible band stretched to its limit. Every sensation, every touch, and every word weaves together into a pool of desire. Making you teeter on the edge, held captive by his electrifying presence, until finally, with one last snap, the tension shatters like glass. The band snaps.

"Ah, Satoru–"

"Ugh–there we go," pain mixes with pleasure. Fangs sinking into your shoulder, his claws dig into the meat on your hips. It stings when your skin is raptured. Crimson beads trail down towards his pivoting hips, fucking you through the orgasm. Through the overwhelming pleasure. Through your body spasming, cunt contracting against his cock.

He doesn't stop.

Not until the world fades away.

(Guess you should have seen that coming. What is the saying? Never trust a fox.)

"Hey, c'mon. Wake up."

You sense hands on your shoulders, shaking you vigorously. As you reluctantly open your eyes, a familiar face hovers above you, bathed in a soft, afternoon light, accompanied by a group of others. Your friend gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, grounding you as you blink away the remnants of slumber.

Oh no.

Hastily lowering your gaze, relief washes over you when you realise you're fully dressed. But if you're fully dressed…

"What happened?" you croak, voice tinged with confusion, the world still hazy around the edges.

Nothing seems to add up right now.

"You tell me," your friend grins, their features coming into sharper focus as the surrounding crowd gradually dissolves. "You told me you were gonna buy some shinsen for the offering hall but you disappeared. An employee found you here," you scan your surroundings, recognizing the familiar balcony in front of you, "sleeping on a bench. Completely passed out. Out of it. She couldn't even wake you up."

Sleeping on a bench.

"Sorry," you mutter, fingers instinctively rubbing your eyes, senses now fully awakened.

Was it all a dream? "Guess I got tired."

It couldn't be a dream. Not when you push yourself to stand up and feel the strain in your legs. Stickiness. Slickness between your thighs.

"What's that?" your friend points towards your clenched fist. Opening your hand, palm up, both of you gaze at a small, iridescent bead with barely discernible sapphire swirls dancing across its smooth surface.

"Don't know."

"Looks like a fox's pearl. They sell those at the charm shop," your friend nods their head towards a nearby charm shop before both of you start walking. Time to go home.

[cressidagrey]

The Starlight Princess - Chapter 4

Summary: 

There is a Pool of Starlight in the Spring Court. A piece of the Night Court that has no business being in the land of Eternal Spring. So how did it come to be?

Or: How the Spymaster of the Night Court starts hearing a voice, realises that no, he is not insane after all, frees a princess, kills a High Lord…and finds his mate all at the same time.

Warnings: 

Discussion of the Death of Rhys’ Mother and Sister, Tamlin ends up being unalived, Discussion of Magic being turned against the other person, assault, a mating bond

Fear pumped through his veins. Utter terror to be honest. 

The shadows were swirling, a thousand voices asking him questions, that he didn’t know the answer to.

It didn’t matter. 

The fighting leathers were already spreading over his body by the time he got the siphons strapped to his hands.

*The wards are failing!*

He had never heard Seren sound like that before. Had never heard her that desperate and he could get just a taste of the pain that was thrumming through her as the wards of the Spring Court that she was bound to were starting to come apart at the seams. 

Azriel had known that that was a possibility ever since Tamlin had started to spend more time in his beast form than anything else since he had stopped actually governing Spring’s territory. 

He had known that it was a possibility. Known that the inbuilt magic of Prythia that was given to every High Lord upon their ascension could and would find itself a home, a new High Lord, if Tamlin didn’t manage to catch himself…It was why he knew Rhys had gone to visit Tamlin more than once, to warn him that that was a possibility…to make sure that it wasn’t going to happen. 

But now it was too late for this. 

And of everybody paying the price of it…it was Seren. 

Seren, who did her best to shield him from the pain that she was feeling and not pull back completely, because he could feel her terror like another person in his mind. 

He could…he could feel it. He could feel it all. 

Even as the shadows dragged him across half of Prythian, spitting him out at the Spring Court manor. 

Deserted. Cold. Desolate. 

Night time had come. 

Clearly in more than one way. 

The wards were crumbling all around him, even obvious to his untrained eye and the feeling made him shudder. 

Find me Tamlin, he demanded from the shadows that immediately rushed from him. 

*No need,* Seren whispered, her voice making the strain she was under obvious. *He’s here.*

Here? Tamlin was at the Pool of Starlight, wasn’t he?

*What’s he doing?* Azriel asked, already melting into the shadows, pulling Truthteller from its sheath, crossing the distance…

*Bathing,* Seren answered. *He used my magic to shore up the wards more than once.*

He didn’t even have the words for this. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. 

To her magic, her very essence being turned against her and used to suit Tamlin’s purposes��To be cursed into being nothing else but a pond for his amusement, his leisure. 

To be treated like that, to be…

*Fuck, Princess,* Azriel cursed hoarsely. 

*It hurts,* she admitted, nearly silently, just as he finally caught sight of the pool…to see that massive horned beast standing in the shallows. 

Alone the sight made Azriel want to throw up. The dichotomy between Seren’s beautiful magic and him. 

*Do you want me to wait until he’s out?* he asked. So that he wasn’t going to have to drip Tamlin’s blood all into her magic? So that she didn’t need to take part in any of this. 

*No. Do it now.*

He took it as an order. He crossed the remaining distance and then struck like a snake.

Truthteller always stroke true. And with that, Azriel plunged his knife into the neck of the High Lord of Spring. 

He should have known that it wasn’t going to be that easy. 

Even when the wards were crumbling all around them, like pieces of flowing ashes falling to the floor, Tamlin was still a High Lord, with a High Lord’s vast magical repertoire…and currently a massive horned beast that shook Azriel from its back with a reverberating growl, throwing him right into the Seren’s Starlight. 

The feeling of it on his skin…it made him shudder. Thicker than water, her starlight rushed to surround him, and he could nearly feel her like that…

*Be careful!* she snapped at him, and he just managed to duck out of the way as Tamlin swiped at him. 

And with that, Azriel was done. 

He wasn’t going to pull this fight out. He wasn’t. As much as he would like to torture Tamlin for what he had done to Seren…what he had done to all of them, he wasn’t going to do that. 

He was going to end it quickly. The quicker he did it, the quicker Seren would finally be free. The quicker Seren would no longer be imprisoned as anything but this Pool of Starlight. The quicker he was she would no longer be tortured by the wards tied to her magic. 

Tamlin and he were both on bad ground here, the substance of the starlight, making the ground underneath his feet slick but at least Azriel wasn’t the only one at a disadvantage.  

Tamlin growled again, more beast than fae, and Azriel charged. 

One good burst of killing power forced Tamlin back, the shadows doing their best to corral him. His claws shredded Azriel’s leathers, leaving deep scratches against his chest. 

The pure pain of it took his breath away. One second of not doing anything and Tamlin nearly took off Azriel’s head with his teeth, forcing him down onto the ground. 

For just a second he wondered if he could manage to get out of this. If he could manage to survive. If he…

And then… 

*NO!*

Seren’s scream reverberated in his bones. The magic surrounding them heaved, and the starlight seemingly crackled with lightning…giving him one opening. 

Truthteller stroke true once more. 

And between one breath and the next, Tamlin shuddered above him, that great beast dragged underneath the starlight that choked him, snuffing out the last inkling of life out of him. 

He could feel the moment he died. Could feel the wards shuddering and then dissipating completely…Could feel the Curse put upon her shatter. 

And then he could feel Seren’s magic shudder and explode. 

She was no longer bound to anything. 

Sere was free. 

Suddenly the Starlight pulled back from him, and he gasped for air… and before he could do so much as blink, there she was, hitting the floor next to him, covered in mud, wild-eyed and free. 

Something inside him snapped. 

His. His. His. 

His whole body lurched. His. 

In the span of a moment, everything changed. 

In the span of a moment, his whole life reoriented itself, gravity turned into nothing more than a suggestion as the only thing that still kept him tied to this world was her. 

The pull snapped in place between his ribs, a searing hot pain. 

She was his. She was his. 

Her gaze met his, violet met hazel. 

One moment later, her mind collided with his, horrible lonely and desperate. 

A sharp contrast to her weak and careful touch of the last few days. This was the full brunt of it, of her and it made him gasp. 

Everything was multiplied. Everything. 

Mine. Mine. Mine, she chanted mind, just as her body threw herself over his, pressing him back down into the cold mud. 

Everything she was feeling, he could feel too, the full maelstrom of every single one of her emotions, of need and love and want and happiness and elation and desperation. Her mind was shaking with it, unable to handle the onslaught, completely overwhelmed. 

So was he. 

She touched him and every touch of hers seemingly set him on fire, everything demanding to touch her as well. 

They needed to get home, they needed safety and protection and…but he couldn’t even end that thought because she pressed her mouth to his with a growl, a gasp escaping him. 

There was nothing sweet in that kiss. It was pure desperation, pure need, as her nails bit into his shoulder and she nearly bit off his tongue. 

And still…And still, he loved it. Still, he loved her, and he needed her. The need was all-consuming, just stroking the fire that was doing its best to consume him alive. 

He needed her. 

He couldn’t even put into words how much he needed her. 

Azriel managed to get one hand into her hair, dripping wet and just as covered in mud as they were both were. Managed to feel her fragile skull pressing against his scarred hands, her very being fluttering against him…could feel her hot breath hit his, the way her heart was racing in her chest. 

She was alive. 

She was gloriously alive. 

He didn’t fucking care about anything else. 

She was alive, her heart was beating and she smelled like citrus and jasmine like she always had. Seren was alive. Seren was right there in his arms, her warm, soft, perfect skin underneath his ruined hands. 

*Mate,* Seren purred, pulling back, leaning her forehead against his.  

It cut him through the marrow of his bones. 

Mate. 

This was what was happening. The mating bond had just snapped for both of them. 

The mating bond. 

He hadn’t even realised it. The inferno that was raving within was making it impossible for him to think straight, to realise what was even going on between the two of them…what was…

The mating bond. He never had thought that he would be given this. Had never thought that he deserved this either. But nearly half a millennia after he had been born, this gift had been given to him. Unspeakably precious, dropped into his lap. 

Whatever else was going to happen…Azriel was never going to let this go.

He would protect and shelter her with his life. 

They needed…home. They needed to get home. They needed the protection only Velaris could provide. 

One-half thought later,  the shadows enveloped them both, dragging them back home, as Seren clung to him as tightly as she could, fingernails scratching against his shoulders, against the shredded bits of his leathers that still hung from his frame. 

They hit the floor of his hallway just inside his house with a thud, and Seren slid astride his hip without another word, leaning forward to kiss him again, pawing uselessly at his chest, making him hiss in pain as she shoved the fighting leathers over his shoulders, the scratches on his chest protesting. 

He couldn’t even bring out another word before she kissed him again, at least this time not mauling him in the process like she had been ready to do just seconds before…

*Seren…* he thought at her, trying to get her attention, but she didn’t seem to care. The only thing she was concentrating on was trying to get as close to him as possible, grounding down against him. He pulled back from the kiss. 

“Seren, wait,” he said hoarsely and she pulled back, staring at him, violet eyes so impossibly wide on her pale face. 

“Why?” she asked him, leaning back forward to press a kiss against the hollow of his throat and he could just bite back a groan, as her hands found his naked skin and slowly stroked against his. *I need you,* she whispered in his mind. He shuddered. 

How was he ever supposed to tell her no, if she talked to him like that? How was he supposed to stand firm and protest that she needed some time and not make any quick decisions that weren’t thought out at all, if…*Please, Azriel.* She pleaded. 

She shifted, her hips grinding down against his, and he caught a half thought, pure instinct purring in her hindbrain. *Strong. Could protect me. Big. Will give me strong children.*

The last thread of control he had snapped at that. 

A growl burst out of his throat, as he twisted them to bury her underneath him. 

[remuswriting]

THE ESSENCE OF LIFE; BAKUGOU KATSUKI

Bakugou chuckles. “Yeah, ‘cause no one fucking cared about us.” You shake your head a little. “I don’t think that’s true.” He’s no longer making eye contact with you. “I think they were just scared.” He looks at you, eyes scanning your face. “And you weren’t?”

WORD COUNT: 2,211 words

TAGS: Canon Divergent; Psychiatric Hospitals; Angst with Hopeful Ending; Discussion of Vomit; Platonic; Second Person POV; Not Beta Reader; M! Reader

NOTES: This is very much a self-indulgent thing as I deal with some stuff. Some of this is inspired based off of my experiences, but not all of it. Although nothing is explicitly said, please be careful if you think this could be triggering for you.

Bakugou Katsuki is a strong hero. He and everyone else in the world knew that, even if they feared he could potentially become a villain in the future. It was unlikely, but people liked to fear things. People know of his nature, how he’s abrasive, but care lies underneath. He may not be the kind who gently reassures civilians with his words, but he makes sure he sees them get to safety either in the ambulance or in their loved ones’ arms.

Something people don’t know is how much he cares about Midoriya Izuku. Back in high school, you saw a strange rivalry between them that you couldn’t depict if it was friendship or lingering hatred. You never thought too hard about it, though. It was none of your concern since you were in two different classes. Despite that, you thought Bakugou tolerated Midoriya at best back then. The current sight in front of you disputed that.

Bakugou’s hair is unwashed and messy. His clothes are disheveled and stained as if he put on whatever he first saw in his hamper. The dark circles beneath his eyes are dark and sunken in—he hasn’t slept properly in days, most likely. You don’t blame him, because if you were in his shoes, you’d be the same.

“Midoriya-san can’t have visitors currently,” you say, and Bakugou stares at you. His crossed arms squeeze against his chest slightly, as if holding himself back. “I can answer some questions, but he’s not ready to see anyone yet.”

 Bakugou nods slightly, and you think he’s going to leave. “I asked for you,” he says instead. Because of the nature of the ward you work in, none of the staff’s information is online. So, you don’t know how he knows you work here.

“I know,” you say. “Why?”

Bakugou furrows his brows, and he’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. Or at least you’ve always believed so. Ever since high school, it’s been easy to read him. However, you’re a nurse at a psychiatric hospital now. Maybe that’s why it’s always been so easy.

“What do you fucking mean?” he asks, and his aggressiveness means he’s being honest. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I didn’t know you even knew who I was up until five minutes ago,” you say, and he slowly nods as if it’s connecting in his head. “So, excuse me for being a little confused.”

“I saw you when we were in high school,” he says, and your brows furrow slightly. Never had you two spoken in high school. Both of you stayed in your designated areas. “In the beginning of our second year, there was a villain attack. You were the only non-hero course student that didn’t fucking run away. You actually ran to us and tried to help.”

You nod a little. “I remember,” you say, because you do remember. You remember never hearing thanks and learning that heroes never thank those who haven’t made saving people their profession. It was what led you to no longer be impressed by heroes anymore. “I’ve never been one to run away, especially when the ones trying to save us needed saving, too.”

Bakugou chuckles. “Yeah, ‘cause no one fucking cared about us.”

You shake your head a little. “I don’t think that’s true.” He’s no longer making eye contact with you. “I think they were just scared.”

He looks at you, eyes scanning your face. “And you weren’t?”

You’re silent for a moment as you look behind him at the koi pond. The eating disorder unit is currently out for activities and surrounds the koi pond. They’re the ones who steal cereal the most to feed the fish, because it brings them so much joy. It’s always hard to tell them no, and most nurses don’t.

“Sometimes, fear makes you do stupid shit.” You pause as you look at him. “Every patient here was scared before they got here—before they got better.”

Bakugou is smart, and you hope he understands. You hope he understands that Midoriya fear made him end up here. The fear of what is something for them to talk about, not for you. The crease between Bakugou’s eyebrows softens slightly. He understands just a little.

“You should’ve fucking replaced one of those extras,” Bakugou says, and his arms aren’t squeezing his chest as much. “You weren’t scared.”

“None of you were ever extras,” you scold as you cross your arms. “I never thought that. I always thought that we were all children. You guys were forced to fight a war that heroes weren’t even willing to fight.” You look at his shoes. The laces aren’t even tied correctly. When you make eye contact, it’s overly intense. “It showed that heroes are just people no matter how much we idolize them.”

“Don’t tell Izuku that,” Bakugou says with a chuckle. Although he doesn’t sound serious, you both know he is. That’s something Midoriya refuses to hear—to acknowledge, even if it’s what he needs to survive. He deeply sighs. “We all wanted to fight.”

You nod. “I know, Bakugou-sama.”

“You can call me Bakugou-san.”

You pause as you watch him. He’s finally relaxed, and his honesty is loud. “Okay, Bakugou-san. How can I help you today?”

“Can you tell me how he is?” he asks, and there’s a slight hint of desperation in his voice. He won’t let it come out completely, but you still heard it.

“He… There’s no correct time frame for grief,” you say, and he slowly nods. “I can’t tell you the things you want to know—what he’s saying—but I can tell you that Midoriya-san isn’t the first person to be like this over grief. Nor will he be the last. He just needs time.”

“Are you putting him on more meds?” Bakugou asks. “Cause they had him on a shit load on meds in the hospital, and it was fucking him up. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“That medication was pain medication, and you told them he needs heavier dosing so his quirk doesn’t burn through it,” you say, and there’s a line you’re walking on. Midoriya hasn’t been conscious enough to sign anything saying Bakugou can know everything. “They may have gone too heavy with the dosing. I don’t know, but he’s been dealing with that the last couple of days as well.”

“How long until he’s not sick?” Bakugou asks, and you open your mouth. “Everyone keeps asking me when he’s gonna fucking be okay, and I don’t know.” He pauses, and his voice is softer when he speaks next. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

“Once the medication is out of his system, he’ll be able to have visitors,” you say, and his posture slouches slightly in relief. “Tell everyone that he’s safe. I’ll call you when he can have visitors, and it’ll be an appointment only because of who we have in our unit.”

Bakugou nods as he lets out a deep breath. “Thank you, L/N-san.”

It’s still strange that he knows your name, and it’s even stranger to actually hear him say it. “How do you know my name?”

“I looked you up after the villain attack and tried to get into 2-A.” Bakugou chuckles. “Thought I imagined you for a while, but Dunce Face remembered you. So I went to Aizawa, and he said he’d look into you, but nothing ever happened.”

You froze before letting out a light laugh. “You.” Your smile grew. “You’re the reason I got to work with Recovery Girl.”

Bakugou’s grin resembled the one he had when he was named Number One Pro-Hero last year. It was strange for him to look this happy without that award in front of him. “That sneaky bastard.”

“Thank you,” you say as emotion swells in your chest. You know what it’s like to never get thanks, and it’s so relieving to give it. “Without you, I would’ve never gotten here. Thank you.”

Bakugou’s smile turns into a smirk. “Wasn’t all me. You’re the one with a badass quirk.”

You raise a brow. “You don’t even know my quirk.”

“Don’t need to know it to know you have hero potential.” He pauses as he looks around you two. There are trees and the koi pond, along with the entrance to the lobby. There’s not much to look at. Then he looks at you. “Before Izuku got his quirk, he ran into danger for me once. What you did back then reminds me of him.”

Your smile is small and soft. “From what I’ve learned about Midoriya-san, that’s a genuine compliment.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Bakugou says, as if to make sure you understand. You do understand, though. There are more people similar to him than he realizes, and they’re not as difficult to handle as most people make them out to be. Misunderstood isn’t the right word for them, because it’s easy to understand them if you try. Maybe looked over emotionally is a better way to put it. “Can you… Can you tell him I stopped by?”

“If he’s up to hearing that, then I will,” you say, and he nods. “The beginning of being here is always the hardest, and I want to make sure he’s comfortable before we talk about anything that may be… triggering.”

“I understand,” Bakugou says, and his entire posture is relaxed. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so relaxed. He’s either always standing up as straight as possible or has his arms tightly crossed against his chest. This is a good look on him, though. “I just don’t want him to think I gave up on him—you know, because of what happened.”

“Can I be completely honest with you, Bakugou-san?” you ask, and he reluctantly nods. “I may not fully know what your relationship with Midoriya-san is, but I do know he has full faith in you. After all the years you’ve spent fixing whatever problems you once had, he knows you’re still here. I have full faith in that.”

He slowly nods, trying to wrap his head around it. “Okay,” he says before taking another deep breath. “Thank you, L/N-san. You still have my phone number in case anything changes?”

The wind brushes both of your hair as it pushes by. “Yes, and you’ll be the first person we call.” You pause. “I’ll make sure to call you myself.”

Bakugou’s leaving is simple. There’s someone waiting at the lobby door for him to unlock it. He doesn’t look over his shoulder at you as he walks away, but you watch him the entire time. There’s a pull in your chest as you think about someone caring so much about you that they seek you out, even when they’re told no to seeing you yet. You know what love is—you see it every visitation and between the patients who grow close to each other—but what Bakugou and Midoriya have is something far greater than you understand.

Once he’s completely out of sight, you turn around and head toward the unit. You know several of them are going to ask where you went, and you’ll need a story that doesn’t reveal anything. They can’t know that Bakugou came here, especially when so many of them know him personally.

The door opens, and Hamasaki, one of the youngest patients, is waiting there for you. “L/N!” he says, and his eyes are bright. “You were gone forever.”

You look up at the clock. “15 minutes is not forever.”

“It is to me,” he says, and you give him a look. “I need my medication, and you’re my nurse.”

You chuckle. “Alright, give me a second.” Midoriya is sitting at the table across from the nurses’ station. “Midoriya-san, are you needing something too?”

He looks at you, and he’s looking better than he has, but exhaustion weighs him down. He’s not been sleeping well here, but from what you understand, he’s not been sleeping well for a long time. “Can I get a boost?” he asks, and you nod before looking over at Aiko, one of the techs.

“Can you grab him a boost while I get Hamasaki’s medication?”

Aiko nods as you two pass by each other at the nurses’ station entrance. She looks at Midoriya with a soft smile, one he slightly returns. “Do you want vanilla or chocolate?”

He pauses, looking ready to throw up again, but there’s nothing in his system to throw up. He’s not been eating because he’s been sick, and they’d give him one of each if he wanted to try them both. You know how difficult it can be for patients in the beginning, because this place is not their home and it resembles a form of control being taken away. However, it gets easier the more comfortable you let yourself be.

“Vanilla, please,” Midoriya says, and you smile as you log into the computer.

“Of course,” Aiko says as she goes into the kitchen.

You look at Hamasaki, who stares at Midoriya with a proud expression. He’d been similar in the beginning, so he knows how it is. “Alright, Hamasaki,” you say, and he looks at you. “What are we needing to get?”

[badboydevotee]

Dandelion's Truth

The night was thick with anticipation, the air charged with a quiet energy that seemed to hum in harmony with the distant sounds of Tokyo Bay. The bay itself was a mirror to the restless sky, reflecting the sporadic flashes of lightning that danced across the horizon. A strong wind whipped through, carrying with it the scent of salt and the whisper of secrets too heavy for daylight. 

Towa stood beside you on the old wooden pier, his presence a stark contrast to the tempestuous night. His whimsical nature was at odds with the solemnity that had settled between you. Clad in a long, flowing coat that billowed with each gust of wind, he looked every bit the ethereal creature of the night he fancied himself to be. His silver hair was tousled, giving him an almost magical, if not slightly disheveled, appearance.

"Do you believe in soulmates, Dandelion?" Towa’s voice was soft, almost lost to the wind, yet it carried a weight that pressed against your chest. His eyes, bright and expectant, sought an answer from you. His smile was playful, yet there was an undercurrent of vulnerability that made your heart ache.

You shivered, though not entirely from the cold. The question had caught you off guard, and the way he looked at you—like he was about to discover the essence of your very being—made your throat tighten. You had always known Towa to be whimsical, to revel in dreams and fantasies, but this question was different. It was as if he was reaching out for something real, something tangible, and you were suddenly aware of the chasm between your beliefs and his.

You hesitated, your mind racing through a myriad of thoughts. You didn’t want to shatter his delicate world of dreams. You didn’t want to be the reason his smile faltered. But how could you lie to him? The truth was, you didn’t believe in soulmates. You didn’t believe in that kind of destined connection; not after all you had seen and experienced.

You took a deep breath, your gaze shifting to the restless waves below. “Oh, um... Do I believe in soulmates?” You repeated his question, trying to buy yourself some time. The wind caught your words and tossed them around, as if mocking your indecision. 

Towa’s gaze remained fixed on you, his expression hopeful yet tinged with an unspoken longing. You could see the way his eyes sparkled with a kind of innocent yearning, a yearning for something that might not even exist. The weight of his expectation was almost unbearable.

Finally, you spoke, each word feeling like a betrayal even as you uttered it. “No, I don’t. I don’t believe in soulmates.” The confession felt like a heavy stone dropping into a still pond, sending ripples of pain and regret through both of you. The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, as if the universe itself was mourning the truth you had just revealed.

Towa’s face fell, his smile twisting into something bittersweet. He nodded slowly, as if accepting a truth he had already feared. “You don’t... that’s a shame,” he said softly. His voice carried a quiet sorrow that made your heart ache. “I want to believe in them. I want to believe that there’s someone out there who’s meant for me, someone who can see through all the whimsy and caprice.”

He turned to face you fully, his expression a delicate mask of acceptance. “If you find your soulmate, could you tell me, Dandelion? I want to hear all kinds of love stories.” His words were almost a plea, a request for a glimpse into a world he so desperately wanted to believe in.

Your heart twisted at his request. You could sense the depth of his emotions, the way his laughter, though genuine, held a tinge of sadness. It was as if he was trying to hold onto hope, even as the storm clouds gathered overhead, threatening to engulf everything in their path.

The two of you fell into a contemplative silence, watching the waves crash rhythmically against the pier. The storm that had been brewing in the distance was now closer, its presence palpable in the way the air crackled and the sky darkened. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

Towa stood beside you, his hand brushing against yours in a brief, fleeting touch. The contact was electric, a reminder of the connection you shared, even if it was not the kind he had hoped for. You could feel the warmth of his hand, the sincerity in his touch, and it made the reality of your situation all the more poignant.

As the first raindrops began to fall, mingling with the wind and the salt of the sea, you looked at Towa. His whimsical exterior was now marred by the raw, aching truth of his feelings. The storm was upon you, both literal and metaphorical, but in that moment, all you could do was stand by him, sharing in the quiet sadness of the night.

In the end, the storm raged on, its fury a reflection of the turmoil within your hearts. But even as the rain soaked through your clothes and the waves crashed violently against the pier, there was a sense of solace in the shared understanding of your broken dreams and unspoken desires. The night would eventually pass, and the storm would subside, but the bond between you and Towa would remain, fragile yet enduring, like the dandelions that had been so central to your connection.

Ao3 vers.

[xo-pen]

— 99 problems ,, yang jungwon

엔하이픈 !! “i’ve got 99 problems but you aren’t one of them.”

sum. where in a troubled girl meets a small town boy and he fixes something that he didn’t break.

genre. mc x jw ‧ mc x nk ‧ fluff ‧ bit of angst ‧ friends to lovers ‧ wholesome & offbeat ‧ slowburn

desc. Choi A-yeong has a major attitude problem. So when her dad sends her from riches to rags from their mansion in the city, to the countryside with an aunt she's never met just to set her straight, she finds and takes any means to get out.

However things take a turn when she stumbles upon the town's milkman, Yang Jungwon, and he teaches her a thing or two about bike rides, hike trails, and the simple pleasures of town life.

chap wc. 2.6k

선택 .𖥔 🔖 LIBRARY

﹒⌗﹒🚲﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ CHAPTER ONE!!

chap preview. A-yeong gets familiar with the area and meets an intriguing stranger.

note. there’s a prologue before this so click the library to be directed to it !!

# CHAPTER ONE — “Home Unsweet Home.” .𖥔 ݁ ˖

THE TOWN WAS a small country town where-in everyone knew everyone. It was where the sun shined brightest—or at least it felt that way—and where the air smelled the most clean and crisp it had ever been.

The buildings in the area—'downtown' as they called it—were old and slight. Unlike those in city that towered 200 feet and reached up all the way to the clouds, buildings here were only typically 3 stories tall with cheap chipping paint and nearly withering shop signs, blinking the last of their power.

There was a sort of loveable quirk to the off-beat nature of it that made anyone appreciate the simple and slow essence of the country life.

Well, to some at least. To A-yeong it was just dreadful.

The vexed girl drove from the 'Gro_ery S_ore' where Jake had dropped her off, to the resident villages that were only about 20 minutes away by car—but were in actuality 30 because of how many turns she had missed all thanks to Su-ho's delayed instructions.

While A-yeong imagined bashing her head on the wheel a hundred times, the old lady babbled on about their family history, and how there was apparently a heated discourse between their ancestors and could explain why one family was rich and the other poor.

If A-yeong was being honest, she didn't really listen to the story because her mind was pre-occupied with thoughts.

Thoughts like 'get me out of here' and 'Stupid Jake, he's an idiot', as well as other thoughts and curses of the sort.

It wasn't very pleasurable thoughts.

The house was a small house deserted in the middle of nowhere—all the 'nearby' resident houses were in a considerable distance, the nearest one at least a five minute walk away.

There was green everywhere—small trees circled the land where the quaint house sat. It was like a little hut; a little Korean Hanok that dated back centuries. There were a trail of flower bushes and a variety of plants that surrounded the front and carved a path to the front door.

To the right side, a trail led to a space for a small pond, complete with a wooden bench that was withering away with use and lack thereof.

It was homey, if there had to be a word to describe it. And it was definitely small and simple, something that A-yeong wasn't familiar with as she had lived in a mansion all her life where everything was grand and luxurious.

She tried to find something familiar to compare the two lifestyles and found none. She didn't really know if that meant it was a good thing or bad thing, yet.

A-yeong grabbed the groceries from the trunk and carried them through the path, following after Su-ho. She offered to carry the plastic bags herself as some of them had holes that dripped with water along with some other greasy liquid. She figured it was a lot easier and faster if she carried it herself.

Su-ho unlocked the aluminum screen gate that protected the white chipping wood of the front door, holding it open as A-yeong's hands were occupied.

Inside, the house was humid and packed with bits and bobs, and shelves and containers of all sorts of hobbies and collections.

There was one container filled with fabric and fabric scraps, an old sewing machine next to it on top of a dusty side table. There were also some boxes with old toys and clocks, broken and untouched for years.

—Yes, it was dusty. There were dust particles everywhere and A-yeong noticed that she was inhaling all of it. She could feel it all burning in her nostrils, itching in her throat and dancing in her lungs, a disease party in her respiratory system.

Su-ho seemed to notice the said dust and wafted the air in front of them, clearing the path as if it would make any of it less.

"Ahh so dusty! Set that down over there on the table and feel at home. I'll make you strawberry jam sandwiches!"

Su-ho skedaddled to the tiny kitchen and opened the old cupboards for jam while A-yeong put down the groceries on the white, also chipping dining table.

"Go explore the house, your room is the farthest in the hallway. Don't go into my room, or else I'll put something in your sandwich." Su-ho added in the end, trying to look scary with the butter knife in her hand. She was certainly an... eccentric character.

There were three doors down the hallway to the left: One on the right side of the hall slightly ajar, so she took a quick peak to check and deciphered it was a bedroom—Nan's bedroom, which was off limits, and with Nan just a few feet away she didn't even try going inside.

The door opposite of Nan's bedroom was closed, so she pushed the rusty doorknob open revealing the meager bathroom. The tiles on the wall were a cool mint green color and there was only little space for a toilet, small sink, and a cramped shower complete with a patterned flower shower curtain.

A-yeong sucked in a breath and tried not to cry. She had never seen or even been in a room so small. She couldn't even imagine what her next showers would look or even feel like. Suffocating, she thought.

The last room (her room, apparently) was of moderate size. There was a big window that engulfed the whole room in sunlight. A twin bed was pushed next to the wall underneath the said window and there was a plastic dresser right next to the door. There were also plastic bags on one side of the room filled with used clothes and some broken planks balanced upright, nowhere else to put. Until her arrival, the room was most likely unoccupied and used for storage space.

A-yeong could feel the afternoon sun drenching the already humid room, so she figured the small beaten fan on top of the dresser would potentially try to compensate for that.

When A-yeong came back to the living room Su-ho was dragging along the girl's luggage through the front door with much struggle. For the woman's size the luggage was definitely too heavy for her to carry. A-yeong saw this and tried to help—which made it the second time that day that she was doing something for someone.

"What've you got in that bag, huh?" Su-ho heaved. Her forehead was already beaded in sweat, the wrinkles on her face absorbing them.

"More of those boots and chains? I'm tellin' ya honey your ain't gonna last long."

It certainly didn't seem like A-yeong would last long in such a hot, cramped, dusty and boring space for the next 2 months, or even, the next few weeks. But, like every average teenager, at least she has her phone to make it all bearable...

"Crap."

Nan Su-ho raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"My phone... I don't have my phone," A-yeong said as she patted her pockets for the little glowing box, raising panic in her when she didn't feel that familiar shape.

Su-ho, on the other hand, saw this matter as nothing to be panicked about at all. After all, she herself never had a smart phone. She would much prefer to use the landline and the good old fashioned TV for entertainment.

"If you need a call we have a landline, and if you're bored there's a TV."

Su-ho added, "There isn't phone signal here anyway so it's not like you can use it, if you had to."

Great. Just great.

All that she had were clothes she couldn't even wear, a black Mercedes that meant nothing around here, and.. that was it, basically. And a place to live in, barely.

And strawberry jam sandwiches.

A-yeong munched on the sandwiches that Su-ho made for her and they tasted surprisingly better than the usual ones she had at home that were bought in the high-end groceries. She lifted the glass jar and noticed that the strawberries were big and looked a lot more fresh than usual. The jar itself didn't have a label.

Perhaps she was just hungry, and angry, or hangry, but she had 2 or 3 before she could even notice that her face was stuffed and she was full.

To this, Su-ho just laughed and washed the plate that was only left with crumbs.

"What did you put in there to make it taste so good?" A-yeong asked curiously, cheeks still stuffed. It made Su-ho smile how innocent the girl seemed when she was anything other than cranky.

"Grew and cut them myself in the garden out the back." Su-ho answered.

"Y'know, I supply the jams for the bakery down the street. You should go check it out and get familiar with the area." Su-ho suggested, drying her hand with a towel and placing it back on the faucet once she finished washing the dishes.

She then leaned her back on the counter, quirking an eyebrow. "Unless you have other stuff to do?"

──── ୨୧ ────

Down the street about a 15 minute walk away, or a measly 5 minutes by car, was a livelier area thoughtfully cluttered with houses and buildings. The streets dispersed in several directions and it looked like a clean suburban village, with small and quaint korean hanok houses, as well as charming shops.

A-yeong slowed down the vehicle as she looked out for any signs that would point to the bakery shop. It didn't take long since there was an array of mouthwatering bread displayed by one of the windows, and above the door was a big wooden sign with the words 'Ppang Park Bakery' carved on it.

The shop had an aroma of wheat and sugar twirling in the air, a pleasing scent to the nose that immediately warmed the heart. There were 3 pairs of wooden chairs and tables, glass bulb lights on top of the bar, and even more glass displays with cake and bread. However, there was no one watching over the shop to take customers' orders.

When A-yeong called for anyone her words hung dead in the air.

It was unfortunate as her stomach started growling and she was really looking forward to trying the food that was deliciously displayed, as if calling out her name and whispering the explosion of flavors they were bound to contain.

Sulking, A-yeong turned her heel towards the door and found herself colliding with a stranger.

"'Scuse me?"

His voice was like the first sound of a vinyl, clear and pleasing; cutting the silence that was once in the room and filling it with music.

A-yeong was met with a tall figure, eyes wide and curious like a cat, staring down at her with a glint of interest. The tray of milk that he had clutched in front of him rattled and spilled some onto his red shirt, staining it a darker red, and it didn't take long for A-yeong to feel that the fabric of her black tank top was damp and stained, too.

Instinctively, the girl jump backwards and brushed off any droplets that were still about to dissolve into her shirt. It wasn't her favorite shirt or anything but now she had to go home and change, but she just got there.

"Excuse you!" A-yeong exclaimed, feeling hotter by the second. "Did you not watch where you were going?"

The boy, with no reaction, simply shrugged and went past her, seemingly not minding her attitude and the accident that stained them. He set the milk tray down on the counter and leaned his hip against it, his left leg slightly crossed over the other, and his strong right arm flexing as he rested it on top of the counter for balance. He had this chill demeanor around him, unfazed with the black cloud that shadowed over A-yeong.

His thin lips then curled into a grin, teeth like fangs.

"Well, I was sort of pre-occupied, Miss." He said matter-of-factly. "And weren't you also not watching where you were going?"

A-yeong simply groaned and looked the other direction. She belatedly noticed that they had locked eyes for quite an extended amount of time, her face vulnerable. She might have stared for too long looking at his features.

The boy didn't seem to notice this and continued, still brilliantly unfazed, "And really, you shouldn't be here. Did you read the sign?" He nodded coyly to the glass door, a sign dead smack in the middle of it reading 'lunch break'.

A-yeong didn't want to admit it but she didn't see the sign, even if it was already placed in the most apparent place they could've put it. Quickly, she tried to avert the question and questioned him instead.

"Well if I shouldn't be here then why is it open?"

The boy sucked in a deep breath and nodded his head, accepting defeat. He had repositioned into a more comfortable stance, all of his weight now on the countertop. His shirt had absorbed and spread the liquid as the fabric started to hug his form tighter. With the face towel he had hung over his shoulder, he dabbed some of that dampness away—if it even helped.

"Touché."

His calmness towards A-yeong really fazed her, and she couldn't tell if it intrigued her or scared her.

The boy straightened himself and walked to the back of the display case, sliding the glass open and grabbing one of the seasoned bagels. He grabbed a paper bag from the bottom shelf and plopped the bagel inside, extending his arm out from behind the counter.

"How about I give this to you," He lightly shook the bag, his eyes charming. "And you don't tell Mr. Park that I was being irresponsible?"

A-yeong wished she could destroy that counter then and there for the amount of things he was able to do with it.

For a moment time seemed to stretch and it was just the two of them looking eye-to-eye, definitely holding eye contact for longer than they should have been. It was A-yeong who broke eyes first once again, afraid that he would notice how her cheeks flushed in pink.

She quickly managed to regain her usual snarky demeanor, crossing her arms and acting unamused with a scoff. She tried her best with hiding it but it was like her heart was pumping faster than she was breathing, and she tried her hardest not to show that.

"Pfft. Are you a child? You're giving me food as a bribe?"

The boy smiled as he shrugged. "More or less."

Her mind started to stutter. She tried to remember a time when someone had handled a situation with her so well to the point that she was speechless. It was impressive, really, since complaining was what she did best. But to this stranger, it was no a challenge, not at all. To him, she seemed normal.

Defeated, A-yeong accepted the paper bag that he had continued to extend to her, offering her no other choice. It was fortunate for him that she was hungry, otherwise she would have just stormed out without taking his charity. She was going to stomp off anyway even after she accepted his bribe.

"Fine."

A-yeong snatched the bag and pushed the door open, the bell on top of the door clinking her farewell. The boy didn't forget to extend his adieu either, calling out,

"Come back tomorrow, Miss! Tomorrow we'll have our best seller: strawberry jam filled croissants!"

a/n. who is this mysterious hunk?? hopefully this is good ! for more updates or earlier updates, find me and this story on wattpad !! @ XO-pen <3

also is the formatting okay ? i directly pasted it from wattpad so it might be a bit odd, i’m too lazy to fix itTT

thank you so much for reading and i appreciate you !!!

[evangelifloss]

write it for mi pls😔

Omg HI HELLO @kavalyera thank u for enabling me!!

In many John Wick circles and discussions, this scene is referenced either for its sincere intensity or for insane people like me, who simp over John Wick watching the light in a man's eyes fade away. However I haven't heard or seen anyone really analyse what this scene means in the context of the wider narrative, and John's 'Fall from Grace' (where he is pulled back into the world of assassins) or WHY this moment is so iconic for fans of the franchise.

To do that, let's refresh on has happened thus to our titular character, John Wick.

●He managed to escape the Assassin World against all odds to live a normal life with his Wife, Helen

●Helen Wick dies 5 years later, leaving him a puppy as a final gift. This is the starting point of the movie

●The puppy is murdered by Iosef Tarasov, his favorite car stolen, and his house smashed up

●He has managed to track Iosef down to the Red Circle Nightclub where there are many guards/assassins trying to keep Iosef safe.

In essence, John Wick hasn't worked as an assassin for 5 or so years and he's had a taste of civilian life but more importantly by staying OUT of the assassin business, no-one has come calling. Winston even warns him prior to his departure to the Red Circle about how risky it is to be hunting Iosef:

"You dip so much as a pinky back into this pond... you may well find something reaches out and drags you back into its depths"

The movie by this point has established two things;

1. John's need for revenge both as a genuine desire to kill Iosef and to cope with the grief over Helen's death

2. Exacting this revenge may very well (and later does) force him back into the assassin life he fought hard to escape from, making his efforts and sacrifices to get there for nothing.

Up until this point in the movie, you can argue that all the killings John Wick commits for his end goal were in self-defense (the kill squad sent to his house) or part of said end goal (Iosef's buddies in the washroom) but that is lost the second he is inside The Red Circle.

Here you are greeted with two quick kills of security guards that are only tied to Iosef via proxy of his father, which then leads into the scene I'm talking about. The third security guard, just like the other two, has nothing to do with John Wick. They did not break into his house, kill his dog and steal his car. Their only crime was that they went to their job that day and were obstacles placed in John Wick's warpath.

John Wick knows this.

It is in this moment, that the 'old' life he left behind looks at him through the eyes of the dying man and John can do nothing but stare back. One could argue that in this moment rather than John being unable to look away, he instead chooses not to. He HAS to watch this nameless man die for he knows that he will be one of many to come. John Wick does not shy from the gruesome truth before his eyes and faces it head on. He watches the light fade, and his past self revive in the same moment. A man's death gives life back to the Assassin 'Baba Yaga', a life that John the Man had chosen to kill in order to live as a husband to Helen. That is, until Helen dies.

This is one of if not the only scene where John is intimate with his kill. Even the framing, the lasting seconds given, allow the moment to breathe. It is a shot that does not occur again because doesn't need to. This single moment encapsulates John's full commitment to Assassin and everyone else (excluding assassins or characters he has history with) is as nameless as this man when it comes to fulfilling his goals.

At the same time, the physical sensations that come with fighting, overpowering and killing someone must be coursing through his veins. Even if he, at this point in time, still believes he can return to the quiet civilian life he built (despite the audience being aware that such a thing will not come to pass) his body does not recognise such a future belief and muscle memory is not to be underestimated. In this moment, his body HAS to be in the heightened state that comes with being an assassin. So he pauses. He takes a moment. To watch a man die. To feel his own body coursing with adrenaline and memory of all those years spent killing. He looks into the eyes of death and it asks

"Did you miss me?"

[cawthorntales]

Malcolm: Are we rolling sir?

Producer: Yes we are Mr. Landgrabb.

Malcom: Wonderful. Hello everyone my name is Malcom Landgrabb. I'm thirty years old and a resident of Oasis Spring. I'm the heir to a vast fortune left to me by my parents after their tragic pass. I enjoy working out, painting, cats, knitting.

Red is my favorite color and I love rain. I'm looking for a man who will love me and not what I can do for him. I can be a bit stubborn especially when I know what I want. But my motto is why settle for less than the best? Why am I looking for love on a tv show? Well I figure this will put me out there to more men than just the small pond of Oasis Springs.

I look forward to meeting you all. Hopefully one of you could be my soulmate.

~

Info

You can send in a spare from your game. Or a failed bc contestant. Or you can make a guy from scratch.

Must have a bio and photo.

I have werewolves, cats and dogs, cottage living and romance garden or whatever it is called.

cc is fine.

males only.

This is info about Malcom. Your contestant will not know any of this. He is putting on an act for the bc. I am putting this info here solely for your benefit so if you win you will know the type of story this will be and the true Malcolm.

Malcom after becoming corrupted and infused with magic went on to use his powers and skills to build a criminal empire. He has his hands in various criminal activities. To the public he puts on a facade of a kind generous wealthy man. But the true Malcolm is as cold and cunning as they come.

He doesn't tolerate repeat failure and although he won't get his hands dirty. He has plenty of lackeys to do his bidding. Including his right hand second in command the once by the book good officer Kyle. Who was corrupted by Malcolm twelve years ago.

Malcom despite being an evil corrupt power hungry man. Still does honestly want someone to love and kid/s to call his own(seems it wasn't just Emily's essence that survived her world's destruction. Seems a bit of Logan was there too).

Deadline September 20th

~

Slots

@akitasimblr

2) @invisiblequeen received

3) @glitchedsins

4) @simstagramsomeone received

5) @riverofjazzsims received

[introvertllux]

Chrono Heart (Future Trunks X Black!OC)

*I DO NOT OWN/CLAIM TO OWN ANYTHING IN RELATION TO DBZ. I ONLY CLAIM THE ORIGINAL STORY IDEA AND BLACK!OC IN THIS STORY!*

Chapter 1: The Relic and the Reawakening

The remnants of Dr. Gero’s lab were a graveyard of twisted metal and shattered dreams, a monument to the hubris of a man who played god with circuits and steel. Hidden beneath this forsaken ruin, a capsule hissed open, and from its depths, a figure emerged—Axa. With skin like polished ebony, eyes that shimmered with the golden light of a thousand captured stars, and hair that cascaded down in an untamed torrent, she was a sight to behold—beauty crafted by ambition, innocence shaped by design.

:readmore:

She stood, hesitantly, in the dim light of her metallic tomb, a stark contrast to the vividness of her form. Her limbs moved with an elegance that was almost haunting, yet her expression held the innocence of a child looking out upon the world for the first time.

Unbidden, Axa's body propelled her through the labyrinth of the city, every calculation in her head leading her to an encounter she did not understand. It was as if an invisible hand guided her to a serene park, where the familiar silhouette of Android 18 stood, lost in the simplicity of feeding ducks at the pond—a moment of peace in a life so often marked by conflict.

Axa’s presence cast a shadow over the tranquility, and 18 turned, her eyes widening in shock and recognition. "Axa? Is it really you?" she gasped, the breadcrumbs slipping from her fingers.

Their reunion was explosive—a symphony of fists and flashes of shared history. As they sparred, 18, amidst parries and takedowns, called out to the essence of the girl she once knew.

"Remember when we sparred with 16 in the orchard, the cherry blossoms falling around us like snow?" she grunted, dodging a swift punch. "Or the time we snuck into the city, 17 dared us to ride the rollercoaster and you laughed until you cried?"

Each word struck Axa deeper than any physical blow could, unlocking the sealed doors of her memory. "And that night, the four of us lay in the grass, making shapes out of stars, dreaming of freedom," 18 continued, her voice laced with nostalgia, even as she blocked a kick. "But then you were gone. Gero said you were defective, but you were just... you were just Axa. You were just a little girl, and I... we, I should have done something."

Tears spilled from Axa's eyes, liquid diamonds trailing down her face, an alien sensation that stopped her cold. Her hands came up to her face, fingers trembling as she touched the moisture with wonder. "What... what is this?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

"It's crying, Axa," 18 replied with a bittersweet chuckle, the fight draining from her. "It happens when you're sad... or happy... or even when you laugh so hard, you can't stop. It means you're alive."

Axa's golden gaze, now dulled by confusion and sorrow, met 18's. "I don't... I don't understand," she said, a lost child wrapped in the shell of a machine.

"I know," 18 said, stepping forward to wrap an arm around her. "I forgot to search for you when I found my own life. But now I’m here, and I'll help you. Let me show you the life I've built. You’ll fit right in. Krillin, my husband, Marron, our daughter—they'll love you."

The promise of a family warmed something inside Axa, a spark of belonging that she didn't know she needed.

_____________________________________________________________

The scene shifted to the familial home, where the spark was met with a torrent of fear and misunderstanding.

The home that once held warmth and laughter was now a battlefield of words and emotions. The cozy living room, with its family photos and children's drawings, became the arena. Krillin's face was flushed with a mix of protective fear and incandescent rage. "18, how in the world could you think this was okay? Bringing her into our home without even a word to me?" His voice shook the very foundations of their sanctuary, a volume reserved for life-and-death battles, not familial disputes.

"You're not getting it, Krillin!" 18 shot back, her own voice a force to be reckoned with. "You think I can't see danger? I know danger. I've been danger. But she—" 18 jabbed a finger towards Axa, "—is just lost. We owe her this!"

Marron, with the blissful ignorance of childhood, had wandered over to Axa, offering a small stuffed dinosaur with a smile. "Do you wanna play with Mr. Dino?" she had asked, her voice a sing-song note in the dissonant symphony of the adults' conflict.

Krillin's eyes darted from Marron to Axa, and with a speed that betrayed his martial prowess, he scooped Marron into his arms. "Marron, sweetie, why don't you go play in your room, okay?" His words were gentle with his daughter, but when his gaze swung back to Axa, they were steel blades. "Stay away from her," he snapped at Axa. "We don't know you, what you're capable of—what if you're programmed to…to…"

His words trailed off, but the accusation hung heavily in the air, an invisible smog choking the room. Axa, who stood like a statue wrought from onyx, felt each word strike her. Her hands, which moments ago had explored the texture of the child's toy, now hung limply at her sides. The shine in her golden eyes dulled, a gloss of pain over the brightness.

"Krillin," 18's voice cracked like a whip, her anger transforming into something fierce and protective. "Listen to yourself! She’s not a threat! How can you judge her like this?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Axa's soft, disbelieving sobs were the only sound, a heartbreaking melody that seemed to wrap around the room. She blinked rapidly, her human-like innocence clashing with her android perfection as she attempted to process the whirlwind of rejection and anger.

"I… I don't want to be a problem," Axa stammered out, her voice a mere whisper but slicing through the tension. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I'm sorry."

Krillin, his face softening for a moment at Axa's words, struggled with the turmoil inside him. His duty to protect his family warring with the empathy he had learned from his wife. "18, I…," he started, but the words tangled, a mess of emotion and duty.

"No," 18 interrupted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of frustration. "No, Krillin. She's not just some android. She's Axa. Remember that. She's not the past; she’s someone who needs us now."

In the quiet that followed, the trio stood, the balance of their world shifted, as they each considered the weight of what it meant to be family, to be human, or something akin to it. Axa, still caught in the eye of the storm, dared to hope for a harbor in this tempest—a place where she could anchor her heart.

The turmoil in the room reached a crescendo, a tidal wave of emotion that crashed over Axa with overwhelming force. As Krillin and Android 18's argument continued, Axa's mind began to fracture under the strain. She clutched at her temples, her golden eyes flickering erratically as memories—long suppressed—surged to the surface.

She was small again, diminutive and human, watching through the bars of a crib as giants in white coats and stern faces argued loudly above her. The cacophony of their voices was terrifying, a discordant symphony that crescendoed into an unbearable din. Words like "potential" and "failure" were thrown back and forth, volleying over her head like some high-stakes game she could not comprehend.

Her breath hitched, a robotic mimicry of a panic attack, and her body began to seize up. Her limbs locked in place, and the glow in her eyes sputtered like a dying star. "System… overload…" she managed to gasp out before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, her form going limp and unresponsive on the floor.

"18, we need to do something!" Krillin's voice was now tinged with fear for Axa, the protective instinct he felt for all living beings—especially those under his roof—kicking in.

18 knelt beside Axa, her fingers hovering over the android's inert body. Her heart, though not flesh and blood, ached with a mix of fear and protectiveness. "Dammit," she cursed softly, her usual composure fraying at the edges.

Krillin ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting from his wife to the still figure on the floor. "Maybe… we should take her to see Bulma. She's dealt with… this kind of thing before."

Android 18's eyes narrowed at the suggestion. "Bulma has a good heart, but she's got that scientist's curiosity. She'll want to dissect every part of Axa's programming," she said, her voice a growl of resistance. "And Vegeta…" she trailed off, a scowl creasing her features at the thought of the Saiyan prince's unpredictable nature.

Krillin nodded slowly, understanding his wife's concerns. "We don't have to tell everyone, just Bulma. She'll know what to do," he insisted, his tone imploring. "Vegeta won't lay a finger on her—I'll deal with him if I have to."

The two locked eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. It was a gamble, but Axa needed help that they couldn't give. With a heavy heart, 18 agreed. "Fine. But we're not leaving her side. Not for a second."

Carefully, they gathered Axa's motionless form, her weight a testament to the gravity of their situation. Together, they stepped into the cool evening air, the weight of Axa's fate a heavy shroud upon their shoulders as they made their way to Capsule Corporation, and into the uncertain future that awaited them.

______________________________________________________________

More on Axa (Pronounced: Axe-e-ah or Ahh-x-ah)

*Apologies for inconsistent art styles. I utilized Art breeder. Unfortunately I don't see many resources to help create black!Ocs in consistent styles and diverse poses out there. If you know of any please let me know! As you continue reading the story imagine her in the DBZ art style. Thank you!*

____________________________________________________________

Taglist!

@thejadetrios @shytothemaxx @variousfandom @konekomews @physicallyherementallysomewhere @ikittybakugou345 @jasxnoamii @enderempresss16 @elliethewitch @carzychameleon @feitanii @hollownight @dragonloverdrawer @moonlight445sblog @yelan-butterpeatea @ringsofpersonti @weeb-boy261 @jkr820 @somehowexist @scrumptiouss007 @emajohn40 @justicetheghost @thirstyhoebutbetteryehsjsg @rasaberrygray @etherialblackrose @random-insomnia15 @deviousmunchkin @galaxys-stuff @bluehibiscusgarden @kunoichis-world @x-bakudeku-x @spectoralstrudel @i-wanna-fuck-monsters @interobanginyourmom @twdhtgawm @kkeidawrites

[theink-stainedfolk]

A Love Etched in Time

Snippet 1

---

The wind carried whispers of a city long past, and Invari stood amidst its echoes, his silver robes shifting with the gentle night breeze. He watched the distant skyline, its glittering lights unfamiliar yet eerily similar to the stars he once gazed upon. The world had changed, evolved beyond recognition, yet the weight in his chest remained the same—an ache that even a thousand years of sleep had not dulled.

His fingers brushed over the embroidered patterns on his sleeves, the same robes he had worn when he fell into slumber. Time had passed, civilizations had risen and fallen, yet he was still stuck in that single, unchanging moment. A man torn from his time, trapped between past and present.

Then, a noise—a ripple in the stillness.

Laughter.

His sharp gaze shifted to a small group of friends, their voices carrying warmth and life, their easy smiles untouched by the burdens of eternity. They were gathered around a street vendor, teasing each other, stealing fries from one another’s trays, their carefree camaraderie something he had once known—something he had lost.

One of them caught his attention.

A young man, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in modern yet carefully curated clothes, his dark brown hair slightly tousled. Silver glinted in the dim light—ear piercings that contrasted the warmth of his skin. There was an effortless confidence in his stance, something strikingly different yet painfully familiar.

The man had been watching him.

Invari turned his head slightly, locking eyes with him in silent challenge. Say it to my face.

Instead of backing away, the man did the unexpected—he stepped forward, closing the distance with casual boldness.

"Hey." His voice was rich, smooth, carrying an amused lilt. "Are you cosplaying?"

Invari blinked once, unimpressed.

The man continued, undeterred. "What are you cosplaying as? I really like games and anime, but I’ve never seen a character like this before."

Invari exhaled sharply through his nose, turning away. He had no patience for modern trivialities. He resumed walking, intent on learning this new world at his own pace without unnecessary distractions.

Yet fate, it seemed, was cruelly persistent.

Their paths crossed again, this time at a quiet park where city lights reflected on a still pond.

Invari barely acknowledged the presence near him until an aggravated voice called out.

"You never gave me an answer."

He turned his head slightly, only to find the same young man standing before him, arms crossed, brows furrowed in irritation. His friends stood at a distance, half-amused, half-exasperated at his persistence.

"All I did was ask. No need to be a jerk."

Invari sighed, finally regarding him fully. "It is not a costume," he said, his voice carrying the weight of something ancient. "I am dressed normally. This is my attire."

The peculiar phrasing did not go unnoticed. The moment the words left his lips, the young man’s curiosity sharpened.

"Typical old language," he muttered under his breath, then, with an exasperated huff, casually plopped himself onto the bench beside Invari, nudging him to the side.

Invari stiffened.

The audacity.

He had expected questions, maybe further irritation, but this… this utter disregard for personal space was shocking.

Before he could protest, the man flashed a smile—disarming, mischievous, yet oddly warm. "Sorry if I’m bothering you. I just—look, I’m a fashion major, and I was really intrigued by your aesthetics and dressing style. I couldn’t help myself." He leaned back, stretching out his arms with an easy confidence. "In order to not be seen as a complete jerk, let me introduce myself properly. I’m Varian Harrington, studying at Cumberland College of Arts and Sciences. Twenty-two years old."

Invari stared at him, mind briefly flickering to the past.

Forceful. Persistent. Shameless.

His lips parted slightly as realization set in.

Lunivar was like this, too.

Not in speech, not in mannerisms, but in essence. That unrelenting spirit, the way he closed distances without hesitation, how he decided things without waiting for permission.

The memory struck like a phantom whisper. A moonlit night. A demon’s amused smirk. A hand grabbing his wrist despite the danger. "If you don’t like me, just say it. But until then, I’m staying."

"...I’m Invari," he said finally, offering no further details. No surname. No age.

His past had stopped at twenty-six.

Varian tilted his head, sensing the deliberate omission. But instead of prying, he simply grinned, as if accepting the challenge.

"Well, Invari," he said, dragging his name out like he was tasting it, "I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other."

It wasn’t a question.

And as Invari studied the man beside him—the warmth in his voice, the familiarity woven into his being—he couldn’t help but wonder if fate had finally stopped running from him.

---

My ♡s: @paeliae-occasionally @willtheweaver @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @keeping-writing-frosty @oliolioxenfreewrites @vesanal @orphanheirs @dauntlessdraupadi @oros-ash3s