#i feel like she would be difficult for other people to draw

[serendipitous-girl]

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

❀ summary: Hyunjin never expected falling in love to be so…peaceful. Like a feather blown in the breeze, slowly and gently settling to the ground. He expected it to be harsh, dramatic, and loud. He expected one day for a brick to plummet in his heart with a You're in love! written in big bold letters.

❀ warnings: long ass story, physical descriptors being used but no name, they could be ooc i am not a skz expert, mentions of other kpop bands & people i have no clue about, almost 5k words 💀

❀ notes: i took multiple months to write this and i might have to separate it into multiple parts bc it is annoyingly long. I dunno if its super good but I wrote it for my bestie who loves hyunjin 😁

Hyunjin never expected falling in love to be so…peaceful. Like a feather blown in the breeze, slowly and gently settling to the ground. He expected it to be harsh, dramatic, and loud. He expected one day for a brick to plummet in his heart with a You're in love! written in big bold letters.

But watching her, with her fluffy purple hair and glittering dark eyes, he couldn't help but picture falling in love like cozying up against a fireplace after a long day playing in the snow. Falling in love with her felt easy. It felt like something he'd known all his life without fully realizing.

It was unfortunate that they seemed to be in entirely different realms. She was an American streamer with funny jokes and a big smile. He was a Korean idol who could barely utter a word lest the public eye shun him. Sure, it had gotten better since JYP had passed his entertainment industry to his much more progressive daughter, but still.

His fingers idly curl around his pencil, light strokes against the thick pad of his sketchbook as he watches her most current stream. She was with her friends, having a simple talk with her fans. It reminded him of the lives he did for his own fans, although he was sure her videos were not as filtered.

“Oh my favorite music? I have really liked K-pop since I was in middle school.” she says, her lips curving into that grin that never failed to send butterflies to his stomach. Of course, this led comments to flood all of them asking about her favorites.

“My favorite when I was in high school was Stray Kids,” She explained, making Hyunjin’s heart lurch in his chest. He set his drawing supplies down, fully turning to look at her as if studying the pixels of the screen might help him understand the real her better.

He caught a glance at the comments, asking who her bias was (something he has shamefully been tempted to do) and sat silently hoping she'd answer the question.

The heavens must have been looking out for him because she said, her voice like a melody made by Apollo, “My bias is Hyunjin though I love them all.”

Was he dreaming? Should he get Felix to pinch him? He shook off his thoughts, trying to clear his mind to make sure he heard you right. You kept talking about how you liked Stray Kids as a teenager, how they helped you through difficult times. Hyunjin struggled to understand the way his heart beat in his chest, the swell of pride in his stomach.

He took a glance at his unfinished sketch, yet another futile attempt at capturing the beauty of you. He could never feel like he got it quite right. He needed it to be perfect. One crafted by the gods must be worshiped, not tolerated.

Hyunjin continued to watch your stream until it ended, although his mind was still focused on that moment. It repeated in his head like a broken record, one that he was grateful had broken. If he was to be stuck in one moment eternally, he would choose that one easily.

As though he had been summoned, Felix bounced into Hyunjin's room. He wore a big smile, ready to poke and prod Hyunjin as if they were blood related brothers. However, the older boy was on a mission, and it could not be interrupted.

“Have you heard of this streamer..?” Hyunjin asked, her name slipping past his lips easily. Felix, as chronically online as he is, nodded that he had. Settling the nerves in his stomach, Hyunjin knew he ought to explain.

And so he did. Multiple times, actually, because Felix decided to involve the entirety of the band. Hyunjin couldn't even be that upset. They were a close-knit family. And he knew they would help him.

….

He was fairly certain that everybody around him was fully and clinically insane but he couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest bit. Somehow, he had managed to get an entire event hosted by JYP, which invited all sorts of streamers….namely her.

Although Hyunjin couldn't guarantee she would show up, he was certainly hoping against all odds. So was the rest of the Stray Kids.

“Hyunjin’s got a crush~” Bangchan teased, wrapping his arm around Hyunjin's neck and bringing him closer so he could ruffle his hair. Hyunjin laughed while he tried to wriggle out of the older boy's hold.

Finally, he got out of his hold, just as Hwa-Young entered. She was dressed as formally as ever, a crisp suit and perfectly styled hair.

“Please treat all our guests with respect and understand that the reason they are here is to advertise JYP Entertainment and the music festival at the end of the weekend.” She explained, letting her eyes travel across the people here. All bands under her company had been gathered to discuss this, making for quite the large display.

Hyunjin listened carefully, knowing that part of the reason was so she would come to South Korea. All expenses paid trip in exchange for her to advertise and spread publicity for JYP. He hoped she would spend time with Stray Kids the most.

After she had finished discussing basic ground rules for having a bunch of American social media influencers all around for two entire weeks, she gave a smile and said they would be arriving later that afternoon. It would be a lot, but it would be good for getting international fans for some of the lesser known bands.

All Hyunjin could do was pour all his emotions into the dance rehearsal while he waited to meet her for the first time. Each step helped make him stop overthinking, terribly anxious thoughts plaguing his head.

He just kept moving, making his blood flow through his body. He focused on each step of the dance until it was etched into his bones. Eventually, he had to succumb to the natural progression of exhaustion all humans must deal with. It was conveniently timed because the influencers were starting to arrive.

He wiped off some of his sweat with his shirt and took a swig of his water. Then he walked with the rest of the band with the hopes he didn't look gross.

…..

His eyes immediately darted to her as the crowd emerged, her arm wrapped around her friends’. She was even more breathtaking in person, the red of her shirt complimenting her skin. She wore black cargo pants with a metal chain wrapped around her belt loops, with red combat boots, and a red off the shoulder, slightly oversized top. Hyunjin tried to suppress his smile, happy that she was even fashionable just like him.

Bangchan hurried over to them before he had a chance, after he was the leader and the most sociable of the group. Without thinking much of it, Hyunjin followed closely behind with the rest of the Stray Kids.

“Hi!” Bangchan said, greeting both women with a hug. They accepted it with warmth, both being enveloped by Chan. Hyunjin watched from his spot, trying to stop him from running away screaming. She was rather intimidating!

I really need to go say hi. I don't want to seem unfriendly. He frowned a bit, trying to get his feet to move. With a small burst of relief, he felt himself move closer.

He was standing in front of her, in all her gorgeous glory. She was shorter than him, her head tilting up so she could see his face. Hyunjin wanted to paint her and capture her beauty forever. He wanted to study every feature and examine every inch of her. He wanted to worship her.

Hyunjin’s face flushed when she waved at him, suddenly making him realize where his train of thoughts had been going. He couldn't possibly expect to memorize her body if she didn't even know what he's like beyond a stage presence. (He wondered if they had ever met before, if she had gone to a concert long ago.)

“Hi.” He finally said, pushing the words off of his tongue and into the world. It sounded awkward and shy, like he sometimes felt when placed in front of a camera. Hyunjin wished he could be the painter instead of the muse sometimes.

She smiled brightly, her cheeks curving to allow such a beautiful expression. He was sure he had died and gone to heaven. Why else would an angel look at him so beautifully? He tried to ignore the blood rushing in his ears and hoped that it wasn't obvious he was warming up feverishly. (Would she mind if he kissed her? Just a small one, just to get a taste.)

“It's nice to meet you, Hyunjin.” She said, still looking up at him, “I've been a big fan for years.”

Maybe this was all a very big dream. Maybe the Sandman had decided to give Hyunjin something to enjoy, and he gave him…her. If this was a dream, Hyunjin didn't want to wake up. If the only way he could be in the presence of this woman was through his fantasies, so be it.

Oh, I still have to reply.

Bangchan glanced at Hyunjin expectantly, probably wondering why he was forgetting to speak. His brain was so full of thoughts that he couldn't help the way he got sidetracked.

“Well I am a big fan of you too.” He said with a smile, “I like your streams.” Was that too honest? Would she feel uncomfortable by his confession? He'll repent if she needs him to wash his hands with holy water and pray his awkwardness goes away.

She looked a bit shocked, her warm brown eyes widening ever so slightly. But then she warmed up again, like chocolate melting on his tongue. She was comforting without even realizing it.

“Who would've thought we'd be fans of each other?” she said with a shrug and a laugh before eventually moving on to greet the rest of the people. He wished he could make her stay, say something so stunning she can't help but feel transfixed by him.

Instead, he watched her walk away, trying to ignore the way his heart deflated. It made sense that she needed to walk away and do what she needed to do. It was understandable.

…..

The first day of advertisement was pretty boring. Hyunjin doesn't like to complain much, but he barely got the chance to hang out with her, and he was stuck going over plans. There were a lot of conference meetings, with stale cookies and uncomfortable seating. (He wondered if that was what it's like to work an office job - he's suddenly glad to be an idol.)

“Can we go home soon?” Han whined, already flopping on top of a displeased I.N. Hyunjin couldn't help but understand Han's frustration. They had been holed up for hours doing nothing.

Hwa-Young nodded in sympathy and said, “One more thing to discuss, then you can return to your dorms.”

Hyunjin perked up a bit at this, happy that today was almost over. He had been hoping to spend more time with his love, but she had been placed with the also influencers on the other side of the conference room. His eyes flickered to her as if he were a moth drawn to a flame.

She was listening intently to Hwa-Young, her arms crossed across her chest. She looked more relaxed, maybe even a bit sleepy, based on the way her eyes started to flutter shut. She was so pretty, and Hyunjin would be happy to die if it meant he could look at her forever.

“We have hotels for everybody. Listen carefully to your name so you can retrieve your housing information.” Hwa-Young explained before she started to talk about everybody. Soon, all the streamers left, all of them except for her and her friend.

Hwa-Young blinked in surprise, reading over her list once more before she flushed. Hyunjin watched with a bit of confusion, wondering what happened.

“I am terribly sorry, miss.” Hwa-Young said, hurrying over to whisper in the woman's ear. They talked quietly before Hwa-Young turned to face the bands.

“Will anybody volunteer to house these lovely ladies?” Hwa-Young announced, making Hyunjin’s heart fail. Maybe he was going into cardiac arrest because what the fuck?

Before Hyunjin could even begin to process Changbin stood up, with Bangchan giving an encouraging smile. Oh no, oh no no no.

“Hyunjin can take them in, as long as they are comfortable with it.” Changbin said, giving a charming smile to the foreigners. He was annoyingly friendly, like a gym bro teddy bear or something.

It didn't take long to convince her and her friend, Changbin was very good at charming people. She smiled and said, “Oh if he offers I would enjoy that very much. But I don't want to intrude.”

Hyunjin forced himself to speak, opening his mouth and saying, “It's not intruding. You can stay with me and Changbin.”

He didn't want to do this. He needed to escape her even for a moment. What if his heart gives out from racing so much? Hyunjin did not want her to stay with him, to leave him without any way to stay calm. But he would be kind (mostly because Changbin forced his hand.)

“Thank you, that's very nice.” Her friend also added, still standing beside her. Hyunjin noticed his love’s friend seemed to be rather awkward, looking anywhere but at the group of people before them. He supposed he could understand, but he hoped Changbin might get along with her. Hyunjin would be housing his favorite person in the whole wide world.

Maybe that's a bit aggressive to say though, she may bias Hyunjin but that doesn't mean she likes him all that much. So Hyunjin kept his thoughts locked up tight, not wanting a single one to slip through the cracks.

“Well, now that it's all settled we can head home.” Hwa-Young said with a smile and a clap of her hands. She stood up along with the other idols, all heading to their various dorms.

“Well, I guess we'll be off.” Bangchan said with a sly grin, having the other members follow behind him like ducklings following their mother. It was just Hyunjin and her, well and her friend and Changbin. But they were basically alone!

“Do you want to head to the dorm now?” Hyunjin finally asked, hoping his expression was calm and collected. Basically, it's the opposite of how he was feeling.

She nodded and allowed Changbin to lead the way with her friend following close behind. She walked side by side with Hyunjin, her hand brushing against his.

Surely he would explode, his heart would inhale until it was bursting with excitement. Hyunjin was totally going to die over this weekend. But maybe it wouldn't be that bad.

…..

He did not get a single wink of sleep that night. All he could think about was the fact she was sleeping outside his room, on the couch. She was so close to him, how could he possibly be expected to sleep?

Hyunjin got dressed the next morning, not being sure what to expect. What sort of videos might they film today? Who would he be filming them with?

With a yawn, he exited his room and noticed that she was not there. She must have gone already.

Changbin was waking up around the same time, stretching his muscular arms. His black hair was a bit messy and curled, since it was without the products he puts his hair in.

“Are we heading to the studio today?” Hyunjin asked the older man, tilting his head slightly. Maybe they would be showing the influencers new dances or something. Or maybe they would be writing songs and collaborating. There were many things they might do.

“Yeah, and we're late so c'mon.” Changbin said, walking towards the door and wrapping his arm around Hyunjin's neck. He dragged the younger boy with him, despite Hyunjin's attempts at getting free.

Hyunjin groaned, but allowed Changbin to ruffle his hair and do all the things he usually does. He is like a strange older brother, with the way he likes to tease and is awfully goofy. But Hyunjin likes it.

They walked quickly to the studio, remembering that the boys often left clothes there. So they would be able to change once they were there.

Once they arrived, Hyunjin felt incredibly underdressed compared to her. She was wearing a lavender chunky sweater with a black mini skirt and black tights. She was so elegant and pretty, he couldn't help but feel awkward still dressed in his lounge wear.

She smiled upon seeing Hyunjin, making his heart swell with a strange sort of fuzzy feeling he was unused to. Sure, he always felt warm and safe with the other members of Stray Kids. But this was a sort of feeling that made him want to wrap it around himself like a blanket. It was so lovely.

“What are we doing today?” He asked, momentarily forgetting he should probably apologize for being late or maybe he should get ready instead of staring at her with a look of amazement. He was certain his eyes had glazed over and he had his lips parted, staring as if she had just descended from heaven.

“Oh we are going to be doing some Tik Tok dances together then later we are going to do a kitchen stream,” She explained, her voice confident and self assured. Hyunjin wasn't completely inept when it comes to social media but this still wasn't his speciality. She was in her realm and bringing him in, despite his confusion.

“Oh,” He nodded, only half understanding what she meant. But he didn't want to look dumb in front of her- he wanted her to be impressed. A stream about kitchens? How strange, but if it worked for her Hyunjin would do it without complaint.

“While you get changed, I'll set up the camera.” She said with her lips curved up with a delightful grin. How was he expected to function when she looked at him like that? Like she saw him as more than an idol. Perhaps he was as deluded as his fans, but he wondered if there was a chance she liked him as he liked her.

Hyunjin nodded and moved away, wanting to get dressed as quickly as possible so he could spend time with her. She was calmer in real life, or maybe that's because she needs to be professional. (He wants to uncover each facet of her personality, to peel away the layers until he is greeted with her, the whole and true of her soul.)

…..

“I regret doing dances with professional dancers,” She grumbled, taking a swig of water. Hyunjin watched her from behind, trying his best to not let his eyes stay on her for too long.

“You're doing great,” he said, with an attempt at an encouraging smile. She definitely wasn't a dancer like he was, but she was trying her best. And he was sure fans would find her attempts at doing the Beabadoobee dance to be amusing.

“Well, it's okay since we are going to do the cooking video now.” She explained, turning to look at Hyunjin. Her brown eyes were shimmering delightfully, reminding him of dark glittering jewels. He could stare at her for hours and never get bored, memorizing every line of her face would be the best of tasks.

“What are we going to make?” Hyunjin asked, following her to the kitchen. The other members of Stray Kids were working with other streamers and influencers, doing a variety of activities from singing to doing the hear me out trend.

“Empanadas.” She hummed in reply, pulling Hyunjin’s thoughts back to her. He was like a moth to a flame, helplessly attracted to her. He was weak against her attacks, her ability to reel him in constantly impressive.

She pulled out ingredients while Hyunjin turned on the camera, flickering it onto a stream. A steady flow of viewers came in, making the count get higher and higher. He wished his English was better so he could better read the constant stream of comments in the corner of the screen.

“Hi everybody! Welcome or welcome back depending on if you're new here.” she said, glancing at Hyunjin, “Today's stream is extra special because I have a guest with me! Hwang Hyunjin from the band Stray Kids!”

The chat spammed with excitement, using a lot of smiling emojis and capital letters. He smiled at the camera, trying not to get suddenly shy. He was used to being in the public eye- just not used to it with his crush right next to him.

They got started, with her giving Hyunjin instructions and working carefully on the empanadas. He did as he was told, trying to focus on making food while also appearing entertaining. (How did she do this on a daily basis? At least Hyunjin has his other members to lean on whenever he gets tired. She works alone and works constantly.)

“Guys, stop.” She scolded suddenly, causing him to turn around so he can read what's happening in the chat. He read a few of the comments, a flush rising in his cheeks. Were.they teasing her for having a crush on him? He was so bewildered he didn't realize he had been staring blankly at the screen until she made a noise.

She said to Hyunjin, “Okay, I will admit I had a crush on you back when I was in highschool. Hopefully that will appease chat enough for them to stop bothering us.”

She sent a playfully stern look at the camera, unaware of the way Hyunjin felt like he was going to explode. She had a crush on him when she was in highschool. Which meant she used to have feelings for him. Holy shit.

The rest of the day went by extraordinarily quickly, but perhaps that's just how it felt since he was still distracted by the revelation. Did she still have feelings for him? How deep of a crush did she have back then? Had she talked about it before and how had he not noticed if she had? He watched her videos almost religiously, he couldn't possibly have missed a video of her talking about him. He would have remembered surely!

He couldn't get to sleep for the second night in a row. He was busy thinking about what he learned, how she used to have a crush on him. Maybe he was just overthinking, maybe it didn't matter that she had a crush on him in highschool.

But he couldn't let it go no matter how hard he tried. There was a strange feeling in the smallest part of his heart that told him she still felt the same.

…..

“Hyunjin,” Han said suddenly, snapping his fingers to get his friend's attention. Hyunjin turned around, flustered that he was very likely caught staring at her. It didn't help that she was working with TWICE so close by. He could probably feel the warmth of her skin, smell her perfume. Hyunjin was trying his very best to not get distracted.

“What do you need?” Hyunjin asked, stretching his arms. They were doing some sort of challenge where they needed to run and sing at the same time. It sounded complicated but it could be helpful for when they would go on for a concert.

“You should tell her how you feel.” Han replied, looking up with a rather serious look. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, tapping his foot against the wooden floors. Hyunjin’s eyes widened, his lips parting a bit with shock.

Was Han serious? Did he actually expect me to bare my soul to the girl of my dreams so casually?

“Why? She probably doesn't like me back.” Hyunjin dismissed with a wave of his hand, looking away as though he couldn't fathom admitting this while making eye contact. Feelings are so troublesome it seems.

Han laughed and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, still staring so intently at him. “You can't be serious, Jinnie. She has fallen for you, almost as hard as you have for her.”

He turned away to look at her. She was busy with Momo, helping the girl do some sort of silly TikTok. However, what Hyunjin noticed when he also turned was the fact she was looking at them.

Her mouth broke into a smile and she paused enough to wave at Hyunjin, acting so casual despite the fact she was setting his heart on fire. Did she really feel the same way? Could she possibly want Hyunjin the way he wants her?

Hyunjin looked back at Han, and grumbled in a low tone, “How would I confess to her anyway?”

Han grinned at that, clapping his hands together. The shorter boy said, “Do what feels right to you, Hyunjin. What's a good way to confess?”

Then he walked away, returning to the influencer they were working with currently. Hyunjin stood in place, feeling almost as if there was cement in his bones keeping him still.

How would he confess? Should he write a letter to her? Maybe he should march over there and demand they go on a date! Okay..maybe that's a bad idea. But still, how should he confess?

She will only be around for the concert tomorrow and then she'll be returning to America. Suddenly he faltered, his heart racing with excitement.

What if…? Hyunjin could barely contain his sudden happiness, wanting to already put his plan into action.

…..

“This was a bad idea.” Hyunjin said, attempting to wrangle himself out of Changbin's strong grip so he could avoid getting on stage. It was a futile attempt, with the older man wrapping his arms around Hyunjin's shoulders.

“Nope, you're doing this.” Changbin said, shoving Hyunjin even closer to the stage. There was no getting out of this- he was going to confess to her.

“Fine, fine.” Hyunjin relented, pushing Changbin away with a half hearted glare. Then he shook his hands, trying to be rid of the nerves rattling around his chest.

He walks onto stage, ignoring the way his heart was pounding against his ribs. Looking up, he immediately found her. She was as beautiful as always, staring up at him with awe. He needed to do this - he needed to confess properly.

He said her name like one might a god, worshipping the shape of the vowels on his tongue. “I love you, so very much. I wish to be with you forever, and so I sing this for you.”

Then Hyunjin did what he does best: sing. He chose to sing Ice Cream, knowing it was one of her favorite songs after he had done his research. He put his soul into the lyrics, every ounce of his love into the silky tones of his voice.

…..

After the concert, he was greeted by her. She was a vision, something he wished to see in his mind's eye every time he goes to sleep. He might dream of her forever, use her as solace from the grim realities of the world. If he had her, he might be able to survive anything.

“You love me?” She asked, reaching out to grab his hands. Sparks shot through his fingertips, warm rushing through him wherever she touched.

Hyunjin nodded and said, “Yes, I do. I have loved you for a long time.”

She took a moment to process his words, squeezing his hands. She kept touching him, even the slightest brush of skin sending shockwaves directly to his heart. She was so lovely and she was holding his hands, was she trying to give him a heart attack?

“I love you too, Hyunjin.” She whispered, looking up at him. Her brown eyes glistened with an intense emotion, and something he is finally realizing is love. She stared up at him with a sense of adoration he had only dreamed of previously.

He leaned down, feeling her breath warning his cheek. He wanted to stay like this forever, holding her hands and keeping his face close to hers. With a small dose of courage, potentially regrettable or not, he leaned in close enough to kiss her.

He brushed his lips over hers, savoring the taste of her chapstick. He removed his hands from hers to hold her hips, pulling her flush against him.

She kissed him back, her hands pressing into his chest. She was so perfect, and she was his now, his to love and his to care for.

He pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, letting his eyes flutter shut. This was everything he had ever wanted and more. If this wasn't heaven, he wasn't sure what was.

“Will you give me the honor of being your boyfriend?” He asked softly, still holding her close. If he could put her inside his heart, he could.

“As long as you'll let me be your girlfriend.” She replied, curling her fingers into his hair. Hyunjin could barely think, barely do anything except get her closer and closer. He wanted her, and now he had her. He was the luckiest man in the world.

Hyunjin didn't expect to ever fall in love the way he did. It was a gentle and slow descent, like ice cream melting on a summer's day. He was melting for her, his cold heart thawing to recieve her love. Having her in his arms was like coming home. He might nog have expected to fall in love like this, but he was incapable of regretting it. It was lovely, just like her.

[mahou-furbies]

First impressions on Champignon Witch

This manga isn't really magical girls, but there is a witch in it (duh) and no way I'm not gonna talk about it. I saw this in a compilation of anime that's coming out in 2025 and from the promo art alone I knew this was going to be my manga (from the mushroom witch hat with ornate decorations), and so far it has lived up to expectations.

The story is set in a fairytale style world, where the black witch Luna lives in her little mushroom house in a forest with her magic familiars, and makes various powerful medicine out of poisonous mushrooms. People fear and hate her because she emits poison, and even the few merchants who will do business with her and treat her in a friendly way wear protective items around her and will scrub clean everything she has touched after she leaves. Luna continues to create medicine for the townspeople though, because she has few other ways to feel connected to other people outside seeing everyone all happy about the anonymous source's cures, even if she knows that nobody would want them if they knew they came from the poison witch. Also unbeknownst to the normies the poison she radiates is actually beneficial, because she involuntarily sucks up this vague evil bad vibe energy around her, and turns it into a more manageable form.

The first volume or so is spent following Luna's life, and it isn't until later when she finds the turbo poisoned boy Lis, somewhat cures him and takes him as an apprentice that the main story actually starts. The council of the black witches wants to kill him, because it is speculated that his poisoning will eventually take over and he'll cause large scale ruination, and only allow a limited time for Luna to teach him to manage his own poison.

I like how the whole series has a rather somber tone, which mostly comes from the characters wanting and failing to be close to one another, and trying to make peace with having to give up on someone. Like Luna has lost several of her black witch friends to witch hunt executions. The story also has a difficult relationship with love, since love is "poisonous" to black witches and messes up their magic, and also Luna has to live in isolation anyway. But it doesn't seem like this is a "love conquers all" kind of romance, because it has a side character give a speech on how it's condescending of outsiders to think that life without love is somehow incomplete.

I really like Luna, aside from the lovely character design she also has sweet quiet personality and it's easy to root for her to get through her self esteem troubles. I also like that she is already an experienced witch at the start and not a newbie who is baffled by everything. I'd say my biggest complaint about the story is that lately it has been a lot more about characters other than Luna, I wish she'd come back to the spotlight soon!

Since Luna's character design is what drew me to this in the first place, I was extremely happy that she wears a lot of memorable "medieval fantasy" type outfits. Quite many of them in fact, she has a new one almost every chapter! And sometimes multiple in the same chapter! And you know how I often like to draw collections of animu outfits with the character standing there in a neutral pose, here the author has done my job for me because almost every chapter ends with a good reference image full body pics of the major characters' new clothes! Even the ones that only appear once on a cover! It's like this was made for me.

Finally it should be mentioned that eventually Lis falls in love with Luna; it's somewhat complicated how old he is because he keeps getting aged down by magic so he is chronologically older than how he looks (and so is Luna for that matter, this is a "magic people stop aging" kinda series), but if that's a dealbreaker to you then maybe steer clear.

[yeloenk]

edit: her name is vellum >:-D

(she's a paperlux kid btw ^_^ design may or may not be final, idk yet tbh)

[carefulfears]

we've both talked about how scully isn't jealous fire. what differences do you see between protective scully vs jealous scully?

yeah to me the main difference is that one is more external and the other internal. she gets very emotional when she’s jealous. in episodes like alpha (literally sitting that woman down and going “i’m watching you.” cracks me tf up. Dana nobody is taking your man.) and war of the coprophages, it’s kind of angry. it’s louder, but still something very vulnerable and true to her (hater-ism). in episodes like the end, it’s heartbreak. that’s one of the very few episodes where i think she was purely jealous, and sad. she usually understands what’s going on and i think she knew as soon as she heard him call diana by her first name that something was going to change. i think it hurt her feelings, that specific display of connection, usually reserved for her.

when she’s jealous she retreats. she watches quietly. she cries alone in her car. she needs a moment to herself.

it’s when she’s protective that you can’t shake her for anything. one of my favorite images in fire is her standing in the doorway while mulder and phoebe meet with the arson specialist. i didn’t even notice she was there the first time i saw it. she wasn’t invited. she’s just keeping watch. later, she’s standing in the hallway. after that, she’s in his hotel room, and doesn’t leave when phoebe comes in. says “are you okay?” the moment they’re alone.

people write off her behavior in this one as being “jealous” because she has a lil crush and there’s another woman there, but i honestly find that dismissive. sometimes people discuss scully through such a wide lens, not taking into account who she is. she’s really surprised throughout the time that phoebe was there. it’s that soft edge that still shocks to cruelty, that she never really loses. it’s what shocks in the pilot when the doctor hits mulder twice. what shocks in the following episode when the government agents punch him on the side of the road. (look at you you’ve radicalized scully). it’s what makes her wary of jerry lamana, even before he stole mulder’s work.

but phoebe is so cruel, and so personal, and has so much history. it’s not jealousy that makes scully linger in doorways. it’s not jealousy that spawns that folie a deux. no one else understands. no one else can be trusted. (which i do kind of think started in fire, i’ve said before). she isn’t jealous that he startles when he hears this woman’s voice.

and i know that’s a lot on phoebe as an example, but it doesn’t stop. she doesn’t stop keeping watch. she doesn’t stop shocking to cruelty. she’ll get loud. she’ll make plans. she’ll surprise herself. and it doesn’t come with jealousy’s mortifying intimacy.

(don’t have much else to say but i found this from an old post of mine and wanted to share: “scully has that kind of protectiveness towards him that you have towards a child that hasn't been touched by the world yet. it's very 'the world is at least half terrible, though i keep this from my children.’ 'good bones' by maggie smith. scully in the beginning is like......there is something here that should have broken by now. and she wants to watch him be able to walk into every room with the most hopeful answer and a hand out to every stranger.”)

she shares him with the world only reluctantly, Etc etc

[blackpearlblast]

[ID: drawings of a golem animated by a palestinian flag painted on its forehead. it is seen: holding out its arms protectively in front of a crowd of children, the children also hold each other supportively; catching an air strike missile from the air and throwing it away or crushing it in its fist; turning its back so that a child can warm her hands by the earth oven built into its back, food in a pot is cooking on the fire and a boy holds a cup of steaming tea to his face and enjoys the aroma; clearing away rubble so a man can help up his wife who was buried underneath, she is clutching a baby to her chest; stooping down to look at a kitten a young boy is holding up to show it; and dissolving small flakes of clay from its finger into a glass of water, purifying it. end ID]

@fairuzfan asked people to create and share art for the strike. i wrote an artist statement and then set about trying to draw what i envisioned. artist statement below.

This golem is a protector that I wish I could gift to the children and adults in Gaza. The flag on its forehead is to show that love for the Palestinian people is an animating force for people fighting for a free Palestine all over the world, especially for those in Palestine who are trying to free themselves and their people. Love is the motivation for the call for a free Palestine, not hatred like people try to claim. It is very strong and fast and can catch air strikes out of midair and crush them to dust or throw them back in the direction they came from. It can lift all the rubble of a collapsed building very quickly so nobody can get trapped underneath. It has an earth oven in its back with an ever-burning flame that people can use to warm themselves and cook food and heat water to use to bathe themselves or make tea. Pieces of its clay can be crumbled up and mixed into water to make even the most brackish and unclean water pure and safe to drink.

The golem is always a bit of a tragic figure so I don't imagine it staying around forever once Palestine is free and it is no longer needed. I think it would use its great strength to help rebuild the destroyed houses, churches, schools, universities, hospitals, and mosques and then dive into the Jordan river and dissolve. It would clean the river of all pollution and make the water splash up over all the newly replanted fruit trees, causing them to grow big and strong. Its love for Palestine and its people can be tasted in the fruit they grow for generations.

I choose a specifically Jewish icon of protection because of how it feels to witness such horrors done in the supposed name of Judaism and the Jewish people. For many anti-zionist Jews, we feel like we are acting directly within the teachings of our stories and communities by opposing this genocide. It is difficult to understand how the very people and institutions who taught us these values now fight against them so fiercely. While obviously I would still oppose Israel were I not Jewish, the way I oppose Israel is directly informed by my Jewishness. I hope that someday, somehow, Judaism can bring as much joy and support to the Palestinian people as it has brought grief and destruction. That Jewish symbols used in the name of love and justice will bear more significance than the ones used in shows of hatred. Knowing the depth of the harm caused, I do not know if this is possible. But this artwork and everything I have dedicated myself to these past few months and continue to dedicate myself to in the future is born from this hope. I love you. Thank you for being on this planet with me. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free! And it will be beautiful.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Lay Claim (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: The return of Agatha's ex stirs up feelings in you that would rather have been left in the past.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, a few swear words, angst, mommy kink kind of

When you were told the Witches Road would show you your deepest fears you’d been expecting something like clowns or zombies or the inescapable plod towards death. What you weren’t expecting was Agatha’s ex to show up and stir up all kinds of feelings. That was not the kind of fear you were thinking you would be shown.

Watching Agatha and Rio interact, you felt a pit in your stomach. Turning your gaze down to your bare feet, you scowled, not wanting to keep watching, not wanting to keep feeling. Your silence was all encompassing, not able to even feign interest while this show was going in front of you.

An arm wound through yours, startling you. Glancing up, blue eyes were staring out at the coven you’d unwittingly joined, lips pressed together.

“The universe is conspiring against me,” Agatha said, a displeased growl of a voice.

“Oh please. I doubt the universe is even thinking about you,” you replied.

She rolled her eyes but her lips pulled up into a small smile. The flutter of your heart shouldn’t have been your response, but anything that give her some modicum of entertainment always did that to you. You liked being able to make her happy, even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

“You can’t trust her,” she said, lowering her voice, eyes trained on Rio.

“I know,” you replied, a sick twist in your gut.

You’d met Agatha long before she’d gone after Wanda and gotten caught in Westview. Back then, it had been the fluttering beginnings of romantic feelings. Soft glances, fingers brushing together, soft whispers over spell books late at night. Right on the precipice of something more, you’d teetered for months, waiting for one of you to make a move. And then she’d disappeared.

When she’d walked into your shop with a teenager in tow, you’d been completely caught off guard. Your heart had thudded once, twice, in your chest and you’d had no words. But you’d shown up to her house at the allotted time. Of course you had. It was still a case of when she told you to jump, you asked how high.

After so many years apart with no word from her, you were jumping pretty fucking high to be with her again.

“She’ll hurt you for her own sick gain,” she said, her eyes still locked on the other woman.

Rio turned, looking over her shoulder at the two of you. The wink she gave only made your jaw clench. Those brown eyes lazily dragged from Agatha to you, her smirk settling deeper on her face before turning back to looking forward.

“You assume I can’t take care of myself,” you said, knowing you didn’t sound pleased.

In your peripheral vision, you saw her head finally turn towards you. Those brilliant blue eyes were like a ghostly caress, sweeping over you before settling on your face. She lent closer, her breath ghosting over your skin. You fought against a shiver, knowing there was no way to hide it with her so close.

“Can you?” she asked.

You turned towards her, nose almost brushing hers.

“Just because I’ve never fought you before doesn’t mean I can’t,” you said, “I’m not the one who had her powers taken. I didn’t choose to take such a big risk and ended up losing it all.”

“No need to be mean, kitten,” she said, lips pouting and like a moth to a flame, your gaze focused on them.

“Isn’t there?” you asked, your eyes meeting hers again.

She didn’t give you an answer, only drawing back far enough that the two of you weren’t sharing the same air. You glanced away, finding brown eyes watching in interest. Turning to stare out at the trees, you ignored that probing look from the only person you refused to give your answers to.

“I remember you talking more,” Agatha said as if you hadn’t been difficult, “a real chatty Cathy.”

“It’s been years. People change,” you said with a small shrug that she must have felt through the arm still wound around yours.

“I didn’t think you would,” she said.

“Why?” you asked, not sure what you were hoping to get from her.

“Because I liked you how you were,” she replied.

“But not now,” you said, hating that you’d asked in the first place.

“I’m still deciding,” she said, almost distantly, like the answer didn’t matter.

The answer definitely mattered.

Later, walking beside Jen, you were doing your best to not look at Agatha and Rio again. Snipping at each other, the animosity a front for unspoken sexual tension, you were finding it difficult not to listen in. It was making your skin itch.

“So you knew Agatha before all this?” Jen asked.

“Uh huh,” you said, still watching the two of them bickering.

“What was she like? When you knew her?” she asked.

“Uh… kind of similar to how she is now,” you replied, dragging your gaze away from her, “a liar, manipulative, but so much fun. She was my best friend.”

You glanced back to her, finding blue eyes already there to meet yours. The moment stretched and you felt yourself trembling. Forcing yourself to look away, you found Jen watching with interest.

“But that was years ago,” you said, waving off the pit in your gut, acting as if it no longer existed.

“What happened?” she asked.

“What always happens. She disappeared into the night,” you replied.

“So what? She dropped you without warning?” she asked.

You narrowed your eyes at her, considering her for a moment. She was still looking at you expectantly. You wrinkled your nose and sped up, leaving her behind without an answer. The weight of a heavy gaze stayed on you, longer than you were expecting. You refused to meet those eyes again, hating every second of what you were feeling. This was not what you’d signed up for.

Except it was.

“So what made you agree to this little adventure?”

You’d been so caught up in your own thoughts you hadn’t realised that Rio had fallen into step beside you. You glanced over then away again, keeping your gaze straight ahead.

“All encompassing power,” you replied.

“Ha, right,” she said, “I’m sure that was the incentive that had you joining this band of merry men.”

“What other reason could I have?” you snapped, immediately regretting it when you saw the lick of satisfaction passing over her face.

“Perhaps you feel a sense of loyalty for a certain beguiling witch,” she said.

You scoffed, hoping to cover up the exact reason.

“Or maybe,” she said, drawing even closer, breath ghosting over your ear, “you just want to please mommy.”

You jerked back, snapping your head around to look at her. She was grinning, delighting in your heated cheeks and thudding heart. Her hand slid along your lower back, curling around your hip as she tugged you closer. Your breath was a shudder and your skin felt on fire. Brown eyes rested on your lips for just a moment before finding yours again. You didn’t even realise the two of you had stopped walking.

“Is that why you’re doing it? Are you hoping to be mommy’s special girl?” she asked, voice lowering into a whisper.

You pressed your lips together, eyes darting up, searching for someone, anyone, who could interrupt this moment. Blue eyes flashed and you felt your breath catch.

“Take your hands off her,” Agatha growled.

“And why would I do that?” Rio asked, head rolling in the direction of the other witch.

“Because I told you to,” she said.

“But she’s such a pretty pet,” she said, looking back at you.

Her nail trailed over your lip, a threat held in the gentle touch. You shoved at her, only to find her pressing you closer, chest to chest, caught up in her arms like twisting vines. She drew closer, the scent of wet dirt and rotting leaves invading your nose.

“Stop,” Agatha said.

“No one lays claim to her,” Rio said, lips almost close enough to brush yours, “she’s free game.”

“I claim her.” Agatha’s voice had hardened.

The small noise you made was embarrassing. So close, there was no possibility Rio had missed it, probably locking it away to use against Agatha at a later date. But to hear those words after all this time… You hadn’t been able to stop yourself. Rio released you, stepping away with a small shrug.

“If you say so,” she said. Agatha snatched at your arm, steering you away from the other witch. Your jaw clenched but you let her, like a toy won in a game of tug of war between two toddlers. Ignoring the audience watching on, she strode off, leading everyone further down the road.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered under your breath.

“Yes,” she said, her voice still hard, “I did.”

You didn’t argue, letting her continue to steer you with the strong hold she had on your arm, just above your elbow, fingers digging in hard enough to make you wonder if there would be bruises there later. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, you thought.

She kept silent until you made camp, another day on the road leaving you weary. The flickering fire crackled, the voices of the women familiar in ways you hadn’t experienced in such a long time. Agatha sat beside you, silent and brooding, shoulder brushing against yours. Across the fire, Rio was watching with dark eyes and darker smile.

It felt as if you were turning into a pawn in a game of power you had never agreed to play.

When it came time to lay on the bed of leaves, you curled into a ball, your back to both women. All you wanted was a moment to yourself, the roiling in your stomach and the burning in your veins toxic, making it impossible to forget the jealousy you’d been grappling with this entire trip. This god forsaken trip. You squeezed your eyes closed, willing yourself to sleep.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, the sky never changing from perpetual night. Soft fingers were gently stroking through your hair. Your forehead was gently resting against the side of a warm thigh, your body curled towards the woman you’d missed more than you’d admitted to her. Your unconscious mind had sought out what you hadn’t let yourself want in your waking hours.

Keeping your eye closed, you pressed your face against Agatha’s leg. Her fingers stilled for a moment before continuing. It was soothing, her touch something you’d missed for so many years.

“I missed you,” you whispered, still soft with sleep, not quite able to stop yourself.

“I know you did, hon,” she said, still carding her fingers through your hair.

You sighed, knowing that was probably the best you were ever going to get from her. You shuffled away, dislodging her fingers. Sitting up, you plucked leaves from your hair, letting them flutter back to the road. She reached out for you but you shook your head.

“Don’t,” you said, “this is… I can’t do this.”

Scrabbling to your feet, you looked down at her. The expression on her face was hurt and confused before the mask slammed back into place.

“Fine by me,” she said, “if you can’t do it then you can’t do it.”

“Fine,” you said.

You spun on your heels and strode off, giving yourself the chance to calm down. The ache in your chest was only growing the more time you spent with her and you were certain it was going to end in heartbreak. For you, specifically. Even if she had done that whole claiming thing with Rio.

Which, you weren’t going to lie, was still making your knees weak when you thought about it.

Shoving your fingers through the front of your hair, clenching your fist, you stared out at the road. You should have never agreed to join Agatha’s coven. You’d known it was a bad idea even as you’d shown up to her house. And yet here you were, like a love sick puppy, unable to say no to her.

“Just to be clear, what is the this you can’t do?”

You jumped, spinning around. Agatha, in all of her witchy glory, had managed to follow you on silent feet.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” you admonished, your heart beating too fast in your chest.

“I see your perceptive abilities are still the same as ever,” she said.

“You know what? I take it back. I wish you’d left me alone,” you said.

“You don’t mean that, hon,” she said.

“I do,” you said, “because then I wouldn’t feel like this and I could have continued on assuming you’d just grown tired of me instead of whatever is going on now.”

“You thought I’d grown tired of you?” she asked.

You glanced up, finding those blue eyes staring at you with such intensity it made you shiver.

“We argued about you going after Wanda, but you went anyway and when you didn’t come back I just assumed…” you said, trailing off.

“That I was finished with you,” she finished for you.

“I mean, now I know that wasn’t it, and don’t get me wrong, I want to crucify Wanda for what she did to you. But then on the other hand, it hasn’t exactly been the way it was before you left,” you said.

“I’m glad you recognise you’ve been acting out of character,” she said.

“Not me,” you snapped, “you. You’ve been all mooney eyed over Rio. Lingering glances and stolen looks and bickering all over the place.”

“Careful, kitten. You’re sounding jealous,” she said, taking a swaying step closer.

“Say’s the woman who was ready to throw down with a woman who simply touched me,” you said.

“She was doing a bit more than touch you,” she scoffed.

You closed the gap with her, both hands grasping her face. Her own hands came up, fingers curling around your wrists in a tight grip.

“Don’t throw stones in glass houses, Agatha,” you warned, pulling her closer.

“I’ve missed you too,” she murmured, making your heart ache, “before that bitch put me under her spell, when I was there in Westview getting ready to take her magic. The entire time I wished you were there with me.”

“And now? Do you still wish I was with you?” you asked.

“More than anything,” she whispered.

“And Rio?” you asked.

“Can burn in hell,” she replied, “and if she touches you again she won’t be making it to the end of the road. You’re mine, pet, and only mine.”

“As long as you know I claim you too,” you said.

She lingered, a hair’s breadth from your lips. With your hands still cupping her cheeks, you closed the distance, kissing her the way you’d spent so long dreaming of. It wasn’t the stuff of romance, soft and sweet and butterfly inducing. She kissed you like she owned you, possessing you. You dragged her closer, pressing your body to hers, wanting to feel every inch of her.

The kissed deepened. Heat spread through your veins and you moaned, hands sliding from her cheeks to her hair, tangling your fingers in it until it pulled. Her teeth sunk into your lower lip. You whimpered into her mouth, clutching tighter, not caring how needy you were being. You’d waited long enough for this. You weren’t about to play it cool enough for her to think she’d made the wrong decision by kissing you.

She dragged herself away from your lips, eyes darkened and lips kiss swollen, a flush high on her cheeks. You thought she’d never looked so beautiful, nor more desirable. She was the kind of temptation that had your knees growing weak.

“I bet you’re not wishing I’d left you alone now,” she said, but the breathless note undercut the cocky attitude she was trying for.

“Shut up,” you laughed, pulling her in for another kiss.

You didn’t know how much time passed like that, losing yourself in her. But when you returned to the fire once more, you curled up beside her, head resting in her lap, letting her fingers run through your hair once more. It was the best you’d slept in quite a long time.

The next day, no one mentioned the change between the two of you, but they didn’t have to. It was obvious. Agatha had laid claim to you and you, without any argument, had laid claim to her too.

[the-odd-shu]

Sky regrets trying to play wingman

A continuation of lab shenanigans.

Masterlist

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Characters: Viktor, Jayce, Reader, Sky

(Pre-Jayce/Viktor/Reader) (POLYCULEEEE!)

Summary: A sketchbook goes missing, Viktor and Jayce feel soft about it and Sky is fighting for her life.

Note; this takes place during season 1, and the reader is gender neutral with they/them pronouns.

Lab Illustrator!Reader has a secret A5 sketchbook they don't use for assignments. It's a small thing, that they keep tucked beneath all of their other paperwork during the day, and take home with them every night.

It is as non-descript as sketchbooks come, with a plain, black cover and pages brimming with hundreds of sketches and stuck in sheets of paper.

But what makes it different from their professional sketchbook, you ask? And why does it need to be a secret?

Well, because it is a notebook solely dedicated to drawings and doodles of their co-workers. And neither of them know that Reader has been drawing them.

There are hundreds of stolen moments stuffed between these pages. Late night coffee breaks, where the pencil lines are thick and dark to accentuate the dimness of the lab against the stark light leaking out of the kitchenette, where backs are turned and coffee mugs steam, whilst eyes fall to half-mast from the sheer weight of the late hour.

There are a dozen or so slower, more carefully done doodles of Jayce sprawled out across the lab couch in various positions. Several cane studies, because Viktor had a habit of leaving it in more and more odd places when he has had a breakthrough, and sheer determination and spite keep him standing unaided before the whiteboard.

There are pages dedicated to Viktor reading. And pages brimming with Jayce's broad shoulders and winning smile.

There is a double page spread of Viktor stood before the chalkboard, cane in one hand, his other tucked under his chin with a piece of chalk tucked between two of his fingers, his lips pursed in thought as he tried to find a solution to the problem before him. The lines of this sketch are soft and gentle, almost dreamlike, as the image was teased out of the page.

The pages directly after it show a heavy handed pen drawing of Jayce bent over his desk, goggles over his eyes, his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he welds pieces of metal together. A single, loose curl of hair having broken free of its slicked back appearance, and is now sprawled cutely down his forehead.

And that's only the beginning.

Neither of them know that Reader draws them. As far as they know, Reader can't even draw people. And Reader wants to keep it that way. Because if EITHER of them found the sketchbook, they just KNOW they would not let them live it down. Jayce would be embarrassed, no doubt asking stupid questions like, 'is my nose really like that from that angle' or 'why didn't you tell me I had soot on my cheek', which, how dare he, you'd spent hours learning how to draw him and picking out imperfections was just an insult to your skills. Whilst Viktor would make fun of your subject choices, and then make it one hundred times harder to sketch him without him getting suspicious and catching on and deliberately moving around MORE to make it seventeen times more difficult.

Out of everyone in the lab, Sky was the only other person remotely artistically inclined. She'd shown an interest in your work one afternoon, and let slip that she liked to draw in her spare time. And although she insisted her work was nothing like your professional illustrations, they were good! And you told her as such.

Unofficially, the pair of you had begun taking your lunches outside in the academy gardens together to chat and draw. She did not look it, but Sky was a mean gossip, and seemed to know everything that was going on in the science department. Such as who in the academy was currently trying to court who, or the latest experiment that blew up (literally) in a freshman's face, or that Councillor Medarda herself dabbled in painting.

The last one certainly caught your attention more than the drama on campus, which of course Sky was more than happy to provide more details for. Apparently, the Councillor's paintings were bold and striking. Depicting scenes from her childhood lands, and figures dressed in traditional Noxian-style garbs.

"Gorgeous, simply gorgeous." Sky said, tone bordering on wistful. "And large too. Councillor Medarda works on such a large scale, that some of her pieces literally command your attention the moment you step into the room. I'm sure you can talk Jayce into getting you a glimpse of some of her works. He and the Councillor have been growing close lately."

You ignored the suggestive hint to her voice, in favour of humming noncommittally and finishing up your lastest sketch of Sky perched on the wall beside you, waving her sandwich around as she talked animatedly. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn't notice she was watching, when you flipped back towards the front of your sketchbook, only for her to choke on her next bite.

“Wait!" She blurted out between sharp coughing. "Is that Viktor!?” And then suddenly your sketchbook was no longer on your lap and the apprentice of the man you were always drawing was flipping through the pages. The pages that HEAVILY featured Viktor's face.

Your cheeks burned, and lunged for the sketchbook out of sheer panic, as Sky began discovering just how MANY sketches of Viktor you've been hoarding and that he's not the ONLY ONE you've been drawing.

"Jayce too I see." She mused, more to herself than you. And then she snorted. "Why are there so many?”

“Because I get bored sometimes, and they're always just there!" You defend yourself guiltily. "It's good anatomy practice.”

Which wasn't technically a lie. The lines never came as easily as they did when you’re sketching your co-workers. So much so, that now, it had almost become instinct to know when your pencil had drawn a line wrong, even before you glanced back to the reference themselves to check. The pair of them were just so effortlessly beautiful in their own ways. It would a a crime for you <i>not</i> to draw them, and focus solely on the things you're SUPPOSED to be illustrating instead.

Sky hummed along, having paused on a page with a rapid, barely recognisable pen sketch of Jayce ducking away with a cackling laugh as a furious Viktor swung his cane at his head. Her fingers idly slid down the sketchy lines, a fondness to her expression.

"Have you shown them these?" Sky asked, "they're really good. All loose and fun. I can practically hear Jayce laughing in this one with how you captured his expression."

“Of course not!" You were quick to deny as your cheeks heated. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to show someone you’ve drawn them? Jayce will pretend to be all impressed but subconsciously begin to pick out all the things I got wrong. Like the shape of his ears. And Viktor will tell me it's 'lovely' without looking up from his textbook."

You shuddered at the very thought, already seeing Viktor's disinterested frown and Jayce's tight grimace in your mind's eye.

Sky frowned, her eyes jumping between your down turned expression and the sketchbook in her hands. “I dunno about that."

“Can I have it back now?” She shook her head and went back to flipping through the pages, the other half of her sandwich forgotten in her lap. “You know, I think Viktor would be flattered if he knew you paid so much attention to him. And Jayce would probably try to steal a couple of these and frame them for his desk.” You scoffed.

Sky's frown deepened. "Why are you having such a hard time believing they might like these?"

“Because in the end it doesn’t matter how they'd react,” you decided sharply, “because they're not going to find out. Are they, Sky?”

“You’ve even drawn Viktor's canes!”

“Sky, focus!” “I am focused- IS THAT A JAYCE HAND STUDY-?!”

"OKAY ENOUGH OF THAT FROM YOU!" You tackled her, and she went down screeching, drawing the attention of several passing students as the pair of you fell cleaningly off of the wall and landed in the flowerbeds below.

Sky did not keep her promise.

After a week or two of waiting to give the impression she'd forgotten about the whole ordeal, she sprung into action.

It was obvious now that she knew just how much Reader paid attention to their co-workers. It seemed like they were constantly sketching the boys throughout the day, a private, fond smile on their stupidly love-struck expression, as their pencil flew across the page, documenting coffee breaks and break throughs, and verbal spats. Now Sky has noticed that they did it, she couldn't stop seeing it, and it is driving her crazy. All three of them are so oblivious, and watching her superiors pine for one another whilst doing nothing to move things forward, was NOT the working environment she'd been hoping for during this internship.

So she took matters into her own hands.

When the hour was late, and the lights were dim, Jayce passed out at his desk for a quick nap, Viktor's attention on his textbooks at the chalkboard, and Reader in the kitchen cracking open a can of energy, Sky sidled over to the latter's desk. Her eyes immediately clocked the little, black sketchbook, easily overlooked amongst the other papers and opened notebooks with half complete drawings scrawled all over the place. It was a testament to how much they trusted each other in the lab, that no one questioned why she was lingering so close to a desk that was not her own.

It almost made it too easy for her to simply pluck the sketchbook out of the pile, add it to her pile of library books already balanced in one hand, all before loudly calling "good night" to the room and leaving.

Sky planned to be the first person in the next morning to plant the sketchbook, but the lab doors were unlocked when she turned up, and all three of her superiors were already in the room, looking in various states of exhaustion. Did they even go home last night?

Not to mention, half of the lab looked like a hoard of dogs had come tearing through. Come to think of it, Reader's desk was especially messy, with papers strewn everywhere and the drawers hanging on just barely- oh fuck! They had already noticed, hadn't they?

"Ah Sky, good morning." Viktor acknowledged her from where he was calmly sorting through a stack of books. Picking one up, and shaking it out before placing it onto a second stack and picking up the next. "Right on time." "Good morning," Sky greeted calmly, "what's going on here?" She motioned to the war zone that was the lab. To Jayce balanced precariously on a chair, checking a high book shelf, and the frantic shuffling sounds of Reader under their desk. They were out of view, but somehow, Sky could just envision the frenzy in their expression from the sound of their searching alone.

"Ah, well, Y/n appears to have misplaced a rather important sketchbook."

There was a yelp as a skull collided with the underside of a desk, before Reader's head popped up over the edge. "Sky! I can't find it!"

"Oh no." Sky replied, trying to ignore the burning weight of the 'it' in question, currently hiding in her backpack. "Where did you see it last?"

"They insisted it was on their desk." Jayce interjected, hopping down from his chair with a shake of his head.

"But I'm assuming it's grown legs," Sky joked, "judging by that picked over, barely standing, mess of a desk."

"This isn't funny Sky."

"No, you're right." She put down her backpack and began to help in the search. After all, not doing so would immediately out her as guilty, and she'd already come this far, why stop now. "Come on, it can't have gone far."

Of course, Viktor discovered it amongst his books and papers a couple of days later.

It was during one of those rare hours in the lab when he was alone. The hour was late, but the curtains were not yet drawn despite the darkening sky.

He frowned when his fingers brushed the unfamiliar notebook, tucked behind a stack of textbooks and scrunched up balls of notes. Pulling it out of its hiding place, his brows furrowed as his eyes tracked the state it was in. How the edges of the hardback covers were creased from numerous journeys in bags, whilst pencils marks and scuffs from countless hours of being opened and used, marred the covers.

At first, he assumed it was one of Jayce’s notebook. The material was expensive enough. Definitely of high quality. The paper itself was thick when he rubbed his finger along a page. But when he opened it, he quickly realised the pages are not lined, and were once blank before they had been filled in with hundreds of drawings.

The first few pages were illustrations of everything under the sun. Still life drawings. Animals. People. Silhouettes. Isolated body parts with detailed annotations encircling them, such as the names of muscles and tiny corrective comments like ‘fingers too long’ or ‘that muscle doesn’t stretch that far’. 

Then he turned a page, and was met with himself. And then Jayce. And then more and more sketches of himself and Jayce. Sometimes together and interacting. Sometimes just existing.

The drawings were skilfully done, as all of Reader's illustrations tended to be. A little rough in the beginning, from rushed pen strokes. But then the artist seemed to understand something. A break through of sorts, and he recognised himself more and more. The sketches held his likeness. From the way he stood, to the slouch of him sitting at his desk, to the way his hand held something as simple as a stick of chalk.

They were always sketches from behind or a side profile. Never head on. And any that did depict him as facing the artist, were drawn when his attention was elsewhere; focused down at a textbook, or fixing something on the table. 

It was flattering really. He looked good in the drawings. Confident, with an authoritative aura. Seemingly engrossed in every task he sat down to complete.

And Jayce, Jayce looks good in his drawings too. His sunny personality shining through in drawings where he was animatedly talking or debating with sketched Viktor. There seems to be a whole double page spread trying to figure out the shape of his slicked back hair, and then even more drawings of the gel softening throughout the day, causing strands to fall down around his ears and frame his eyes.

But what really catches Viktor's attention was the way the artist had caught their interactions. The way they have depicted Jayce's softened eyes when looking at Viktor when his attention was elsewhere. The way they caught Viktor's private little smile when Jayce got lost in a muttering spell and stopped including Viktor in the debate. It left him feeling a little raw in truth, like this person had seen something no one else had taken the time to notice before.

No wonder Reader had been so adamant about finding this sketchbook. This must have been hours upon hours of careful work.

Carefully, Viktor closed the sketchbook and sat back in his chair. It felt heavy in his hands, and he almost didn't want to put it down.

The door to the lab swung open then, and Jayce called out a greeting.

"What you got there V?"

And of course, Viktor was contractually obligated to show him. It would simply be criminal if he didn't show his partner just how well their resident illustrator managed to capture his winning smile. A much more accurate depiction of it, compared to the 'man of progress' merchandise the academy sold nowadays.

The sketchbook continued to go unfound.

Reader was growing more and more distraught.

The guilt gnawed at Sky and she confessed.

All hell broke loose.

An hour later, Skye came SPRINTING into the lab, the double doors CRASHING into the walls in her haste to get into the room.

Both Viktor and Jayce jumped in their seats in the kitchenette. Viktor barely managing to keep from spilling his sweetmilk everywhere. And Jayce almost THREW the little black sketchbook across the room, where he had been admiring its pages.

“Woah there, where’s the fire?” Jayce tried to joke, but Sky looked GENUINELY scared. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I left something in here, and the owner is NOT happy with me.” Sky scrambled to explain, as she charged towards Viktor’s desk and began pulling apart stacks of paperwork. Sweat beading on her brow.

“Hey, calm down. What is it? Where did you see it last?” “It was a sketchbook. Um, uh, black, hard cover, it was practically bulging with how many pages it had stuck in it.” Sky explained, "I could've sworn I left it on Viktor's desk." Viktor’s brows jump up in realisation. His eyes dart over to the sketchbook in Jayce's hands, before leaping up to meet the man's wide, knowing eyes.

“I take it that Y/n found out you took it then.” Viktor spoke up. Sky winced. “I may have let it slip-” her voice began to backpedal, before the distant stomp of approaching footsteps made her pale. The gait the recognisable, the tempo just a touch faster than its normal pace. “DON’T THINK HIDING BEHIND VIKTOR OR JAYCE WILL SAVE YOU NOW!” A booming voice hollered from down the hallway. 

Sky became frantic again. She redoubled her efforts.

Jayce very slowly lowered the sketchbook down to his lap, where the table would conceal it from view if anyone peered into the kitchenette. And Viktor just sighed as he got comfortable.

Heavy footsteps approached the laboratory door, which was then promptly kicked open, so fast that the door smacked into the opposite wall for the second time today. Y/n, brandishing a broom of all things, visibly seethed in the doorway. 

“Do you know how much <i>work</i> has gone into that sketchbook?” They demanded, more furious than Viktor had ever seen them before. “How many hours I’ve spent amongst those pages.” Sky looks appropriately guilty. “I know! And I’m so sorry I lost it, I really thought I was doing you a favour!”

Reader’s lip curls up into a furious snarl, eyes narrowing. “And I thought I told you to leave it alone!” They snarled.

“But they’re just so good. I seriously don’t think you should be hiding your talent. What if the right person managed to find it, like Councillor Medarda, imagine the connections-” “And how, pray tell, is Councillor Medarda, supposed to come across my sketchbook in the laboratory of all places.” Skye’s voice lowers. “Well, she does stop by to see Jayce often enough.”

Reader sighed heavily. "Side-stepping that poor excuse, because we both know you were just trying to embarrass me-" "I was not! They're good drawings!"

“Where is it Skye? For the final time.”

They stepped menacingly into the room then, broom clutched tightly in both hands, only to pause when a single sheet of paper slipped out of their pocket and fluttered to the ground. The action clearly held significance, because Sky winced.

Meanwhile, Reader took a deep, steadying breath, before slowly, calmly leaning down to pluck the paper off of the floor. It was only for a second, but Viktor could have sworn he saw yet ANOTHER sketch of him and Jayce, which HOW? They'd been with the pair of them in the lab ALL DAY!

“Now look at me, I’m shedding paper left and right without my sketchbook to keep all my thoughts ORGANISED!” “I’m sorry! I’ll buy you a new one.”

A groan. “Skye, that is NOT the point-!”

“Okay, okay! Time out! Let us all take a breath.” Viktor interjected to which both apprentice and Illustrator startled. 

Reader visibly seethed in place, whilst Sky just winced and ducked her head.

It was the former who spoke up first. “Sorry for the interruption.” They said sharply, eyes cutting over to Viktor and Jayce. To which Viktor just inclined his head, whilst Jayce very poorly concealed his guilty wince. Reader was too preoccupied with Sky however to notice as they turned back to her. “May we continue this debate outside? Preferably away from the workshops?” Skye seemed to shrink in on herself more. Eyes darting over to Viktor, then jumping up to Jayce. 

“Sky!”

“Only if you promise to stop yelling.” She demanded. 

Reader breathed out forcefully through their nostrils. Expression thinning out, shoulders easing, although the tightness to their jaw remained stubbornly present. “Fine.”

"Leave the broom!" Viktor called after them, to which Reader audibly groaned but let the broom in the lab before stepping out into the hall with Sky. The door clicked shut behind them. 

Jayce and Viktor shared a look and held their breaths. Waiting. Listening. The conversation that inevitably started up once the door closes was fast paced, but in the promised quieter tone. 

"I'm just going to-" Jayce began to say before motioning to the desks out in the main lab. Viktor shrugged, and allowed his partner to stand, sketchbook in hand, only for both of them to freeze when a loose slip of paper fell out.

"Oh no." Jayce said aloud as Viktor quickly pinned the sheet to the floor with the toe of his shoe, before it could drift away. "This is going to be adorable, isn't it?"

Viktor did not reply, as he stooping to pick it up. He turned it over, and he and Jayce collectively sighed as they discovered yet another sketch of the pair of them.

They're stood in front of the chalkboard, which seemed to be Reader's favourite place to draw them without being discovered. And it was clear from the way the pair were facing each other that they were deep in one of their debates. But what really caught the pair's attention, was the way that their drawn selves were looking at one another.

Viktor's with a small, knowing smile and a visible twinkle in his eye - which should have been an impossible thing to capture with merely a pencil. And Jayce's who was staring down at Viktor with an intensity in his eye and a playful lift of his eyebrows that spoke of challenge. They looked happy together. Feeding off one another's energy.

And it was startling that an outside perspective had managed to capture such a moment without either of them noticing.

"We don't get that absorbed in our debates, do we?" Jayce asked tightly, a soft look in his eye now as he gazed down at the sketch with reverence.

Viktor did not bother to deny it, because they both knew that they did. Here was a sketchbook stuffed with the evidence right before them.

Jayce tucked the sketch back between the pages, his expression complicated and yet oh so fond for someone who was no longer in the room with them.

Jayce and Viktor put the sketchbook back on Reader's desk, who later comes back in, visibly more subdued, and Sky nowhere in sight.

Viktor cracks a joke about them having stuffed her in a supply closet somewhere.

To which they reassure him that, "no, she had a meeting," and he would still have an apprentice turning up to work tomorrow.

Jayce looks up from his work, as does Viktor, when they make a beeline for their desk. In time to watch Reader stiffen when they see the little, black sketchbook placed neatly on top of their larger, official lab sketchbook. Then they lunge forward, snatching it up and flipping through the pages, shoulders loosening when all seems to be in order.

"You found it!"

"Viktor found it." Jauce interjected.

To which Viktor just preens and makes another joke about Sky thinking twice about getting between Reader and their belongings. He also throws in a compliment on the penmanship, just to see how Reader reacts.

To both of their surprises, Reader locks up at the compliment. “Please tell me you didn’t look though it.”

“I liked them." He said truthfully, "you certainly captured my likeness.” They groan and drop eye contact. 

“Please don’t joke about it.” They plead, “it was just anatomy practice. But I completely understand if it makes you uncomfortable-”

“Uncomfortable?" Viktor parrots back, shooting Jayce a look. "Why would it make us uncomfortable?" "You might feel watched?" Reader offers.

Jayce shrugs. Viktor waves off their concern.

Jayce, "can we put some up on the pin board?" "No. None of these are remotely good enough to be hung up on display!" Reader is quick to deny.

By the end of the day, there are three new papers pinned to the pin board above Jayce's desk. One drawn by each of them in the lab. A chicken scratch drawing of Jayce, courtesy of Viktor. A carefully, but wonkily drawn Reader, courtesy of Jayce. And a recognisable and remarkably good drawing of Viktor done by Reader.

(Yes, they had a drawing competition and sat in a circle around someone's desk, simultaneously posing for and drawing each other. The boys had to do some major convincing so that Reader didn't assume they were being made fun of. And they all ended up having a great time).

Next part

[waywardangel-wilds]

Peeta is always open to drawing or painting anything for Katniss and she's frequently taken him up on it. It's usually not that difficult for him, he loves the chance to paint, to refine his skills. Katniss loves having not only a reminder of certain memories but also a physical representation of Peeta's enduring and almost quiet love for her. And it's easy. Natural. That is until Katniss looks at Peeta one day and asks, "Would you do a self-portrait for me?"

That's hard for him. The sketches are never quite right, the colors are off. Katniss doesn't ever nitpick at his paintings, and she isn't being unkind or anything, but she always looks at the drafts with an uncertain expression only to say, "Somethings not right, Peeta."

Peeta gets frustrated. Why can't he just do this painting? He asks Katniss what is off about the sketches, and it's always a thousand little things. His eyes aren't that severe. He's supposed to have freckles there. His mouth is softer in real life. His hair doesn't curl like that. His expression is off. He can never seem to get it right. What is it about this painting?

They're lying on the couch one day when Katniss says, "Maybe you just can't see yourself the way I do."

That makes him curious. How does she see him? They start trying to figure that out. He says that she should describe his face to him as if he were a plant for the book, and maybe they could arrive somewhere accurate.

Katniss finds it a little funny, even odd, he's himself. He has to be more familiar with his own face than she is, but she humors him. They sit down in his studio together and begin.

It becomes an exercise in getting to know her, somehow, on a level that he hadn't explored before. She spends a long time talking about the shape of his eyes, the fan of his eyelashes, and the color of his irises. Her cheeks stain with embarrassment, and his heart knocks against his ribs, trying to escape, maybe even trying to reach out to her.

She has something to say about details he'd never even thought of before. The angle of his chin, the exact colour of his hair. She has descriptions that don't make much sense to him too. His smile is like spring and his scars are like marigolds. When given time, Katniss ends up arranging a whole bouquet of wildflowers with her descriptions.

He loves her. He already knew that. Heck, people on the other side of the country already knew that, but he'd had no idea, somehow, he still had no idea the depth of Katniss's devotion. It's beautiful and seemingly never-ending and it fills his own heart with joy.

They create the portrait together, after many hours spent alone. It's a painting of his own face, yet, it holds a deep intimacy and he can't seem to look at it without smiling and blushing like a fool. He doesn't think of it as his, even if it's a painting of himself, the painting is wholly Katniss's. He presents it to her when he's finished and Katniss smiles warmly, looking down at it with such affection. She hangs it in the hall, near the bench where she keeps her arrows so she can look at it when she leaves every morning and when she comes back home. That part of the house is very private, he doesn't even really go there that often, so it feels special. To know that Katniss wanted to bring him there with her, in her own way.

[astraystayyh]

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @jdebbiel

Deb JJ Lee is a non-binary Korean artist based in Brooklyn, NY. They have appeared in the New Yorker, New York Times, NPR, Google, Radiolab, and more. Their award-winning graphic memoir, IN LIMBO, about mental illness and difficult relationships with trauma, released in March 2023 from First Second.

Below is our interview with Deb!

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

That implies I am over my art block, but I’m still in it! I think about Kiki’s Delivery Service a lot and how she had to stop doing a thing, and that you can’t really force it, and you have to let it come back to you. It’s a pretty humbling moment, realizing there is more to life than just drawing. I’ve been trying to consume other content like reading or watching movies—anything that is not drawing-related—and to trust that it will come back to me. I think not being afraid to do the small pieces before committing to the big pieces is helpful. Because big pieces are what I am known for, I dig myself into a deeper hole, thinking that each piece has to be bigger than the last one. So yeah! Relaxing and doing the small things before overcommitting to a big piece is the best way to go about it for me.

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

I feel like these are all artists that I have second-degree connections with! Jillian Tamaki, Victo Ngai, and Tillie Walden would be my picks!

What are your file name conventions?

…What file name conventions? I mean, I don’t have specific file name conventions, but I actually have a public Google Drive archive! But I usually put “djjl_whatever-the-title-is_final,” and I would always know it’s the final and legit version.

What is a recent creative project that you are proud of?

I did an illustration for the whiskey brand Johnnie Walker. It’s so wild because I only had four days to finish it, and it usually takes me a week and a half if I rush. And honestly, it’s probably one of my best pieces from this year, which is funny. It was for the Mid-Autumn festival, so I made it as Korean as possible.

How has technology changed the way you approach your work?

I only use my iPad to draw everything now, and if I want to pretend that I have a steady workstation, I’ll use my Cintiq. I still am not as comfortable on the Cintiq as I am on Procreate, but it’s still pretty solid and nice. That’s the good part about technology. The bad part about technology is how AI art has been messing things up for me. I’m currently in a lawsuit about AI art as a class rep. Some of my stuff got turned into AI art late last year, so I have to give a deposition at some point. 

What is a convention experience that has stuck with you?

Honestly, they’re all good! I feel like Lightbox Expo has been really nice because it’s truly been a convention for artists. I feel like that’s where most of my audience is, and they’re all around because their purpose is to be better at art. That’s where a lot of original artists do well because they’re getting art they’re inspired by, not so much fanart. I like the Lightbox Expo because it encompasses the pure love of art very well. 

Top tips on setting up an Artist Alley booth?

Use a Y axis, not just your X axis! Take advantage of it! Branding is also something to think about. It is definitely something I’m getting better at. Having an assistant is also very important. I’ve also heard that 8.5x11 to 12x18 inches is usually a good size for prints, but I also provide postcard-sized prints because sometimes people don’t want to commit to a larger size. 

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

You know this is so funny. I’ve been following @alicexz for over a decade on Tumblr and other platforms. I’ve followed her work since high school, and we’ve only recently become peers. I found her, and we met for the first time in real life, and she recognized me. And then I found all my drawings from when I was in my Alice phase, back in high school, and I was like, “Yo, this is when I was trying to be you so badly!” and she was cracking up and was like “Wow, this is so good!” It was such a sweet moment. I wanted to take a picture of her holding my drawing up. It’s really nice because now we’re peers.

Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing, Deb! Be sure to check out their Tumblr blog over at @jdebbiel.

[lovemyfairlady]

So, about my other post. The masterclass was a success, there were so many people that only four seats were empty.

I’m gonna share some answers and tips from Shirahama in the hour she was with us, she was lovely!

(note that this is a translation from Spanish translated from Japanese, so there may be some mistakes)

About the style:

☆ She started wanting to draw a manga with occidental-style art, but noticed that it’s hard to keep the pace and she understands now why nobody does it. Even so, she also notices that her own backgrounds have so much more details than before. Many scales, many bricks and now many leaches. She (jokingly) said that she would like for her characters to go to she desert or the sea…

☆ Q: I noticed that the style takes things from art deco, what are your referents, is it other mangaka, art or literature?

A: She imitated Urasawa’s style when she was a child and still is an inspiration, also Hayao (I think it was him? The translator got a little confused).

☆ They asked her if she had experience with scientific drawing or gone to safaris, because of the animals she creates, and she said no, but since she was a child she liked drawing animals more than people.

About the proces:

☆ She has so much fun planning the layout of the manga. She sets aside the ideas that come while she writes and revisits them later. The hard thing is knowing where to squeeze them, as they are many.

☆ For the sketch/draft she uses a B9 mine and does the shading and coloring digitally

☆ For inking she uses a tachikawa nib, she says the G type it’s too soft and she prefers another one (sorry I didn’t hear well, but I think it was the 600 type)

☆ After inking, the assistants erase the graphite sketch and fill the parts that she marks with black ink. Many assistants use markers for this part but she prefers a brush because it’s faster. After, they scan the pages and start hatching/shading digitally. Usually she draws the traditional hatching without assistants.

☆ They asked her how many assistants she has. She has three now but there was a time where she had five. They come from ten days to one week before the deadline to help, once the layout it’s decided.

Other:

☆ She doesn’t move around the paper too much when drawing, she keeps it centered. And every time, she remembers to pet her dogs while doing it.

☆ The idea of the wheelchair occurred to her when traveling and walking some pretty uneven stone paths, she thought it would be difficult if someone had to use one.

☆ They asked her “Do you think you could publish some specific references of the special outfits of the characters, for cosplayers and artists?” She said that she would consult with the editors (laughing).

☆ She liked Barcelona and specially the architecture, “I feel like Coco when she discovered magic”, she said. She appreciated the decorations of the buildings and the trencadís (catalan mosaics).

[thehmn]

It might simply be that I don’t frequent ADHD forums enough but I haven’t seen a whole lot of talk about learned social withdrawal.

As a child I made friends left and right but as we all turned into self-conscious teenagers it slowly became more and more difficult for me. Plain and simple, other people thought I was weird. For some reason I never got bullied which I think is related to something my teachers kept telling my parents “She’s such a sweet, bright child and we can tell she’s not malicious or trying to be disruptive on purpose but we can’t teach her anything”

Basically people couldn’t figure me out. I had good social skills with both children and adults, I had a good moral compass, i felt compassion and empathy for others and was willing to go against my friends if I felt they were being bullies, I taught myself English and my drawings showed good observation skills. Because of all that it was decided I should start school a year sooner than most kids and my parents were very proud. Unfortunately that’s probably one of the main reasons why I was never diagnosed with raging ADHD as a child. People soon realized I didn’t do well in a school setting but assumed it was because I “wasn’t done playing” and my ADHD symptoms were interpreted as childishness.

So as I got older my classmates started to distance themselves from me. They were always kind and friendly but they didn’t know how to deal with me and ever since then people have always been worryingly comfortable with calling me weird to my face. I get the impression it’s because they think it’s a choice on my part. To them I’m clearly of “normal intelligence” so I must be acting like this on purpose and my parents would repeatedly tell me to “just act normal” as a child when I told them I was struggling to make friends. I tried so damn hard but kept failing. I knew something had to be different about me and when I first heard about ADHD I thought “That’s me! That’s how I feel!” but my parents said that was impossible because I wasn’t hyperactive.

Because nobody wanted to help me I eventually learned to just stop trying to make friends and keep to myself. I was so tired of being told by friendly, well-meaning people that I was so weird and quirky and unique only for them to distance themselves once they realized it was permanent and not something I could turn on and off for parties. I always enjoyed being alone so it wasn’t a huge loss but it did feel incredibly lonely at times.

Things got a lot better when I became an adult, mostly because adults are generally more chill than teens so my ADHD behavior isn’t as embarrassing to them and ironically they’re often surprised to learn I don’t make friends easily. Unfortunately I learned to be withdrawn in my formative years so new friends are still a rarity. Before I really sat down and put my past into context I even started to wonder if I had autism despite not connecting with anything autistic people said about their experiences. I went as far as to be tested but wasn’t surprised when the diagnosis was negative because of course it was, I kinda already knew that. I was just looking for an explanation.

So while there can be overlap between ADHD and autism (I have just such a friend) my experience is also that oftentimes people with ADHD simply learn to stay away from social situations and entertain ourselves which ends up looking like autism to outsiders.

[skufdaddyswansea]

Mouthwashing, Dual Protagonists, and Captain Curly

While the vast majority of Mouthwashing is shown from Jimmy's perspective, the events leading up to the Tulpar's crash usually follow Curly. There are several interesting reasons for this, but there's one reason in particular that I'd like to focus on.

By setting Jimmy and Curly up as dual protagonists, we're invited to draw comparisons between them. Not only are they the lenses through which we view the story, they pass the role of Captain back and forth between their chapters.

It's easy to feel sympathy for Curly, given the state he spends the larger part of the game in. It can also be easy to gloss over his more subtle shortcomings when measuring him up against Jimmy.

In this post, I want to take a closer look at Curly's character. And more specifically, how he relates to one of the game's most obvious themes.

Is Curly able to deal with the consequences of his actions? Does he realize his own failures and how they harm the people around him? What does he do with the power he's granted over others?

Does Curly take responsibility?

Jimmy's fixation here gives us a good jumping-off point. It's certainly possible that he's only really been told this once or twice, but because he's Jimmy he's blown it out of proportion out of spite. It's also possible he's entirely making it up because he's projecting, but I think the former is more likely if anything.

And, if I had to take a guess where he heard it from, I'd put my money on The Pony Express itself.

In the eyes of The Pony Express, a "great leader" isn't someone diligent or able to meet the needs of his crew. The real reason Curly was able to rise to the top of the ladder and become captain is because he gets the job done without rocking the boat.

I'm establishing all this because I think it's worth examining by what metric he's being judged. Because, while it may be Jimmy who most often digs this point up, Curly doesn't disagree with him. Even in the depths of his ennui, it's important to him that not only is he the Captain, but a good one at that.

When comparing the two, that can again seem difficult to argue against. Jimmy is quick to lash out and shift blame. His resentment and insecurities often drive him to pick fights. Curly prefers to avoid conflict, but knows his position doesn't always allow him to do so. He tries to pick his battles, but when he has to get involved he focuses on de-escalating the situation.

But although their similarities are few, they do exist. And they greatly influence the narrative. Because it is from their shared selfishness, callousness, and cowardice that the entire story is born.

It's time to address the elephant in the room. We can't draw any conclusions about Curly's nature, his character, his role in the story, and his relationship to its themes without digging into his handling of Anya's assault, and the chain of events that follow.

I find it interesting that we never see the initial conversation Anya has with Curly about the assault. We simply know that she confided in him. He is the Captain, after all. The crew is his responsibility.

The thing is, we don't really need to know the exact conversation they shared, because we can imagine it went quite similarly to their conversation about her pregnancy.

She tells him how scared she is. She fears for her life. It never even occurred to him that she was upset about anything other than losing her job. He swears to her that everything will be fine. They'll fix this. All he has to do is talk to Jimmy.

He does not talk to Jimmy.

Maybe the first time he really did intend to. He just needed time. Jimmy has always had... struggles. If we want to, we can be generous to Curly, we can assume his old problems were much less vile. Otherwise, he would have never pulled the strings to get him this job, never put him in a position of power over vulnerable people. Right? But now, this was whole new beast altogether. Because he and Jimmy go way back, he had to process this, figure out what he was even supposed to say.

But at the same time, The Pony Express had just gone gone under. He'd been struggling with dissatisfaction and indecision for so long, and now his hand has been forced. He has his own problems. And Anya seems fine, doesn't she? If she hadn't said anything, he'd never have even known there was anything wrong. It just doesn't seem that important.

Anya talks to Jimmy herself.

She's scared, she fears for her life. But now she knows now that Curly won't defend her, nor give her the means to defend herself. Still, he promises her, they'll fix this. He just has to talk to Jimmy.

Things are different now. He can't sit by and wait for things to work out anymore. After all, it's not only her problem anymore.

Now it's Curly's problem too. How is he supposed to find another job with this on his record? There's only one other person on this ship who understands what he's going through.

He talks to Jimmy.

And he understands. Not that what he did was wrong, of course. Not that he'd done something horrific, irreversible, cruel. But that it now had consequences, and that he wouldn't suffer them alone.

Curly made his decision. He chose his paper-thin illusion of peace and his eroding friendship with Jimmy over the safety and well-being of his crew. And when it all came tumbling down, he decided it was better to bury them all under the rubble than to face the struggle to rebuild.

If Jimmy hadn't been there, hadn't been his co-pilot, Curly almost certainly would not have been able to bring himself to actually follow through with something so selfish and reckless.

But Jimmy was there, and Curly made sure of that.

So, it's time to ask again. Does Curly take responsibility?

Well, yes.

But it's too little, too late.

As much as Mouthwashing is about Jimmy fighting furiously against the consequences of his actions, it is also about Curly being forced to watch them unfold anyway. His silence and inaction, once a choice, are inflicted upon him by his mangled body.

Jimmy may have crashed the ship, but Curly gave him the keys. And so it's fitting in the end that Curly is made to take the full weight of responsibility by the man who he helped avoid it so many times.

[kryptznnn]

♡- Between Us

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

➸ INTERESTS; - na'vi!neteyam x fem!omatikayan reader

➸ BACKGROUND; - You and Neteyam were completely polar opposites. He was hardworking, focused, careful, and of course responsible, as he was to be the future oletekayan of your people. You however were reckless, careless, and lived your life to the fullest; you were free, and he admired that from you. Whether it was your strong heart and spirit or your carefree lifestyle, something was drawing him towards you. How will things go once he realizes your sudden closeness with his younger brother and distance between your relationship with one another?

➸ WARNINGS; - wc.3.4k, fluff, heated tension, kissing, idk couple shit, oneshot

➸a.i; - back w another banger !! gotta say thank u to consistency and not procrasinating as a uni student!!

ˋ°•*⁀➷ˋ°•*⁀➷ˋ°•*⁀➷

You stood and watched from afar with your closest friend; Kiri, as her older brother was in the forest, on a 'date' as his father had described it with a girl around your ages.

The situation was humorous honestly, as you were all a group seated by the lakes in the village, she approached Neteyam, introducing herself and her interest in him and wanted to get to know him more as she expressed her interest in him.

You couldn't quite remember her name, Cela't probably. Honestly, she had earned your respect, her boldness was admirable and flattering, obviously taking everyone by surprise. Of course, you and Lo'ak shared your 'oohs' to which Neteyam had rolled his eyes, gotten up moving elsewhere with her and talked to her more in private.

You watched as they said their goodbyes to one another, but not without a hug being shared, to which you eyed Kiri, and she did the same to you. Right after she walked off, he shook his head, waiting for her to reach a distance far enough before he cupped his hands over his mouth.

"You guys can come out now! I know you're here" He shouted, you froze and looked over to Kiri yet again, she only shrugged. Before you were able to make your appearance Lo'ak and Spider peered out from the bushes a few feet beside you.

Well, it seems as if you two weren't the only people with nothing to do and were curious to where this date would lead too. They walked over to Neteyam, sharing laughter and stupid jokes, then small talk. You took it as the perfect opportunity to walk in, you quickly grabbed Kiri's hand and walked over to the boys.

"Soo how did it go?" You asked, standing in front of Neteyam, who was partially surprised to see you and his sister, both with large smiles plastered on your faces with eager eyes awaiting his answer. He placed a hand over the back of his neck and shrugged.

"She's nice and respectful, I think you guys would like her, she said she's willing to meet you all." He said hesitantly, looking at everything else other than your eyes, he physically couldn't meet your gaze.

In all honesty, he never wanted to go out with her to begin with, he didn't want to get to know her, what she likes, how she feels about certain things, how many family members she had, none of it. He had no reason to explore and go out to see other women when he had already had his mind set on who he wanted.

He wanted you.

Neteyam knew who he was from a very early age, and everyone else did too. He was collected, but also compact, whenever he had his mind made up nothing could change it. So, when he had his mind made up on you it made things all the more difficult to be around you. He'd rather save himself from the awkwardness of it all.

"Buuuuuuuuuuuut" Lo'ak added, poking his brother in the arm who quickly swatted his hand away.

"But I don't think we'll go anywhere further than being friends, I don't see her in that way" Neteyam responded, now folding his arms with a hint of guilt on his face, you scoffed and shook your head.

"Why not!! She's pretty, tall, nice, and she seemed to really like you, friend zoning her is crazy!" You said, throwing your hands up in the air, the others nodded their heads in agreeance. Followed by Spider and Lo'ak calling him a 'skxawng' as you and Kiri laughed in response.

"Because he likes someone else, duhh! Like so deeply madly in love, I mean it's written all over his fac-" Lo'ak cut himself off, slapping his hand over his mouth wide-eyed. Spider and Kiri both shushed him as you looked to them all in confusion with your mouth agape.

Neteyam froze and gritted his teeth at Lo'ak, who repeatedly apologized over and over for his stupid slip up. So, it was true, you were surprised of how blind you were to not even realize it.

He liked someone else,

No

he was in love with someone else

madly in love.

You took a deep sharp breath and said your goodbyes to the group, quickly turning around and walking away making your way back to your family's hut, tears threatening to pry out your eyes and soak your face. Lo'ak quickly pushed past the others and caught up to you immediately knowing something was up, speed walking side by side with you.

"Damn you walk fast as hell hold on" he said, grabbing your arm attempting to slow you down, you just shrugged him off and rolled your eyes. You stopped walking and turned to look at him, eyeing back to the group and especially Neteyam.

"Don't make things more awkward than they already are" you whispered to him, then grabbing his hand and walking further away from the group deeper into the forest. Lo'ak immediately understood the reason as to why.

Their father had raised each of them to have keen eyes, as something he learned back in his days when he lived with the sky people; 'lip-reading' is what it was called, and honestly you didn't like it. It was useful at certain times of course you couldn't complain, but you hated how much of an invasion of privacy it felt like.

Where you two hid the group could still see you, well more specifically Neteyam, who hadn't removed his eyes off of you since you had turned to walk away.

"I can't see what they're talking about, Lo'aks' back is facing here" he spoke, irritation in his voice. Kiri only shook her head as Spider attempted to pat his shoulder, to which he couldn't really reach towards their height difference and patted his back instead.

Neteyam was more or so surprised at first, seeing you and Lo'ak spend most of your time together, you were Kiri's best friend, and it was sure Lo'ak already had his own.

He tried to pry a reaction out of sister of course, asking if it had bothered her how much time you and Lo'ak have spent together the past couple of days. Of course, to his dismay she only shrugged and said she didn't mind, and it was almost destined for the two of you to become close in such a short period of time.

You two were just another version of one another in all honesty. Same personality, same integrity, same attitude, and same careless free living. This saddened Neteyam, he always wondered whenever you were alone with just him were you ever that happy, and what is it that Lo'ak had that he didn't.

Your positive attitude and confidence is what made him realize what he felt for you. At first it was admiration, which he explained to his father on their early fishing trips before his maturing stage. The way he described you and how his face lit up his father could already tell where this was headed, but he just told him they'd have this topic of conversation when he was older in nearly a decade.

Now when he described you, he was unable to hide his smile and bashful face. As he spoke in a loving tone all it took was Neytiri and Jake to share a glance to know what Neteyam was feeling.

It was love, and not just any ordinary family, or platonic friendship kind of love. It was a romantic kind of love, the kind of love he described that he 'wasn't able to see anyone else beside him other than you' kind of love, and he's felt like this ever since.

"Y/n, seriously, you need to talk to him" Lo'ak spoke, placing his hands on your shoulders, you only shook your head.

"And say what exactly?? You're insane!! 'Hey, I really like you and have had a crush on you for a while, but I just found out that you like someone else. I just wanted to get my confession out of the way and move on bla bla.'" You shouted in a whisper, making a fake talking hand to mock yourself and Lo'aks' idea, he sucked his teeth.

"It's not what you think okay? Just give it a shot please, you're in over your head you won't get rejected." He yelled in a whisper back to you, you rose a brow confused by his words, what did he mean you wouldn't get rejected?

Unless if

"Neteyam has feelings for me?" You asked, Lo'ak just gulped, nodding his head then cursing at himself. "So, you knew this whole time about us both and didn't say anything?" You asked again, now becoming upset by his actions, feeling played. Lo'ak threw his hands up in a way of surrender shaking his head.

"It wasn't my business to tell, it still isn't, which is why it's so important you two talk okay?? I thought the closer we got the easier it would be for either of you to just jump off the bat and say something, but no one has, so go." He said, placing his hands down and on over your shoulder, completely unaware that the others had all left to return back to their hut, all except Neteyam of course.

You smiled at Lo'ak, moving shortly to the side then giving him a large hug and thanking him, before walking back to the site everyone was, hand in hand.

You quickly let go of Lo'ak and walked over to Neteyam, a big cheerful smile on your face as you grabbed his hand. He wore a sad expression on his face seeing the short moments of intimacy between you and his younger brother.

Neteyam was used to the expression of jealousy, he's worn it before and has seen what it does to other people, but it wasn't what he was feeling now. Right now, he felt pain and betrayal, from you and more importantly his brother, who knew how he felt. Now thinking it was some sort of competition or challenge now for love, for his love, and it felt like he was losing.

"We must go, I have something important to tell you, let's go to the hallelujah mountains, niwin." [quickly] You spoke with excitement, now pulling Neteyams hand, he straightened his sad expression and looked over to his younger brother who was preparing to part his ways back to the hut as well. Giving his brother a thumbs up and winking, mouthing the words 'you got this bro' before leaving.

Neteyam's head had now turned back to you, who was leading him through the opposite of the forest towards where the ikran's rested. He took this initiative too truly examine your face and excitement radiating off of your body. It reminded him of when you two were children, always doing things you weren't supposed too, sneaking around late at night to the hallelujah mountains or special spots underneath the tree of souls.

He was always left in amazement by how you created the most beautiful or adventurous things out of nothing, or maybe your caring and sweet personality when it came to interacting with children such as his youngest sister. Every single thing you did drew him towards you, and he could hardly understand what went through your mind, but that's what he liked the most, the fact you were unreadable.

"We should go to our favorite spot there c'mon, wake up your ikran so we can go" you whispered in a frenzy, practically buzzing all over. He only laughed softly while looking at you, letting go of your hand and petting his ikran softly, whistling to it while you looked up at the night sky and the stars from above, shining so brightly.

He slowly walked over to you, placing his hand out for you to take before making your way to his ikran, stepping on slowly after he was seated, sitting behind him and placing your hands around his torso, holding him tight.

He only smiled, deep down missing this feeling. The scent of you and the feeling of your head resting on his back while your hair tickled his upper back and lower neck as you two flew into the night sky to the hallelujah mountains.

Truth be told, through the entirety of this your heart was racing. How could it not, you were excited, anxious, concerned and confident. All of your emotions mixed so quickly you couldn't tell which one you were feeling. You were also worried that Neteyam would've been able to hear your heart beating out of your chest, so you took a deep breath to keep your composure.

"Is this 'serious talk' about what you and my brother were talking about? In the forest earlier?" He asked, turning his head slightly to the side to see you, you propped your head up and turned to him, resting your chin on his left shoulder.

"Uh yeah, kind of? It's a long story, but um.." you lead on, not sure what to say next. You didn't want everything to come out now, you wanted to wait for the perfect timing. "All I can say is that it's about how I feel, and you can't know until we get to our destination." You said proudly, slipping a quick joke of how you wished you could pat yourself on the back, to which he laughed at.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ˋ°•*⁀➷ˋ°•*⁀➷

You walked over to the small cave you and Neteyam had explored as children, claiming it as your own. You had cleaned it and decorated it with one another of treasures you had gotten from each of your adventures and your several 'near death' experiences from being so reckless. Fortunately, Neteyam was there every single time to save you, to where you two would laugh about the matters afterwards.

"Za'u, niwin, we have to clear the air." [come, quickly,] You spoke, grabbing a large cloth and draping it over yourself to stay warm, as you gave another one to Neteyam, to which he thanked you and smiled in return.

He wasn't sure if you could tell, but his heart was beating loudly, and quite harsh, as if ready to burst out of his chest. He kept fidgeting his fingers, and trying to steady his breathing, but his mind was rushing to millions of questions.

Were you going to tell him about his brother? Did you like his brother? Did you know he liked you? Did you know how much he likes you? Is something wrong with you? Your family?

His heartbeat was ready to deafen him, thumping so hard in his ears he genuinely believed his brain was beginning to ring as well.

"I've wanted to talk to you for such a long time now, I always pictured how this would go or what would lead up to this moment, but I never thought it would happen this way.." you stared, smiling to yourself as you picked up one of the shells Neteyam had brought here a few years back off the walls of the cave and fidgeting with it.

Maybe he would've felt something was off with you or your confession, or not believe what you were to tell him as you were the first person to encourage him to go on his date with someone else. If you really like someone you wouldn't push them to go find something in someone else, they wish to see in you, that's obvious enough.

You licked your lips and swallowed, parting your lips to speak, but hesitate.

Just spit it out, spit it out

"I've thought about us, and our friendship for a while Nete..." You said, still keeping your eyes locked onto your hands and your new 'toy' that helped you relax your nerves a little. Stopping the pounding coming from your head and hands, which were previously trembling. "I feel drawn to you, in a way I can't really explain. I do love being your friend, and I love all of the memories we've shared with one another, but I feel like there's something else there." You spoke with your eyes shut, now no longer fidgeting your fingers. Your cheeks had flushed madly to a point only Eywa would know, you felt your entire body tense up and heat up.

It's over, you did it, you spat it o-

Your thoughts were cut off by a pair of lips meeting yours, snapping out of your trance you open your eyes to only see Neteyam pulling back from you, wetting his lips. Your mouth was left agape, you didn't expect this to happen.

"I'm in love with you Y/n, I have been since we were children, even before we found this cave and stashed all of our memories in here. I see a better version of myself through you, even though our personalities and responsibilities are complete opposites it's only drawn me to you more and more with each passing day. I don't think my feelings will ever change for you unless if they're getting stronger and honesty, I don't want them too. When I saw how often you'd be with L-"

You cut him off, removing your shawl and coming up closer to him, closing your eyes and kissing him passionately. You didn't want to hear anymore, you didn't want to keep talking or going around bouncing back and forth, you just wanted him. You wanted to hug him, kiss him, console him, hold him, love him, and you wanted him to do the same to you.

Before you were even able to pull an inch away, he had already dived back into action, placing a hand over the back of your head and upper neck, bringing your lips back to his and kissing you passionately. You could practically feel him smile through the kiss, making you smile as well.

Within seconds you two pulled away, both out of breath, hands over your chests trying to catch it. You placed a hand over Neteyam's chest, slowly climbing off of him as he watched you intently, placing a hovering hand over your back in case you toppled over.

You both looked at one another and smiled, then burst into laughter, hugging one another tightly. Although this confession hadn't gone how either of you predicted, the outcome was worth it.

"You cut me off, skxawng" [idiot] he joked, to which you chuckled, shaking your head and placing it against his broad chest.

"It's easier to show than tell, plus your speech was all sappy you would've made me cry" you added. You earned a chuckle from him as well as he wrapped his arm tighter around you.

Eventually after some time you two had accidentally drifted off to sleep, but only for a short time, as you jumped up and woke him, telling him it would probably be the best time to return back to the village as everyone else was probably worried, he nodded in agreement.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ˋ°•*⁀➷ˋ°•*⁀➷

"Tìfnunga, they might be asleep" [quietly] Neteyam spoke, placing his index finger over his lips, you nodded as you tip toed lightly along with him to the entrance of his hut, hand in hand.

He tugged your hand lightly, as you looked up at him, just to smile and feel your cheeks heat up. He slowly opened the flap entrance to find all of his family, and yours, seated inside eyes set on you both.

No words were shared at the moment, everyone's eyes glanced to you, then your lover, and then your interlocked fingers that couldn't be pried apart by anyone else no matter how hard they tried. Then they all looked at one another, nodding in agreement as you and Neteyam looked over to one another.

Then a sudden outburst of cheers began, everyone 'woo'-ing or clapping and calling out their battle cries out loud, you only shook your head and laughed, now hugging Neteyam's arm as he laughed as well.

"Thank Eywa it's about time you two returned we've been waiting forever!" Lo'ak spoke, throwing his hands up in the air as Kiri shook her head and pointed her thumb at him.

"This bigmouth told everyone you two were gone and that he had spoken to you, and said we have to celebrate when you come back" Kiri said, her index circling the room when she mentioned the word 'everyone', making Neteyam smile.

"The only time my baby brothers' mouth hasn't gotten me in trouble" Neteyam joked, pointing at Lo'ak than thanking him, who accepted his gratitude, then immediately scoffed after realizing his backhanded comment.

Now this is a life you could get used too, all you ever wanted with the person you've always wanted.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ˋ°•*⁀➷ˋ°•*⁀➷

✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn

[writerquil]

Hi, can I request a one-shot of Jax with a ballerina! reader? 👀, it can be romantic or platonic (she/her pronouns)

Jax x Ballerina Reader (FEM READER)

You'd tried your very hardest to avoid Jax ever since you'd first met him. And it wasn't just because of Ragatha's firm suggestions, it was also because the first time you'd interacted with him he'd smashed your porcelain arm and played it off as an accident.

Caine luckily could fix your arm with just a snap of his fingers but it offended you nevertheless and you'd made a point to stay away from him ever since.

Unfortunately for you, it just intrigued Jax further and egged him on.

He didn't directly approach you anymore and let you distance yourself but conducted mischievous pranks on you from afar instead.

It began with him laying a rat beneath your sheets, so when you uncovered it during night, it left you shrieking and hobbling away from your bed, drawing the attention of many other characters.

You slammed backwards onto the floor, holding out your fragile palms to steady yourself. Luckily nothing on your body had seemingly broke or cracked, but you barely acknowledged it as you jerked your head around the room in an attempt to watch the rat flee.

To your annoyance, the rat had scampered away just as they all peeked in.

Jax, who had joined the gawking characters at the entrance, cocked his head and grinned directly at you, eyeing your fallen position on the floor.

"Wow, rather ungraceful for a ballerina." He quipped smugly.

You glared right back, connecting the dots immediately.

You attempted to explain to the others that he'd planted a rat in your quarters but as Ragatha searched your room alongside you, in search of the pest, she discovered nothing.

"Maybe you just imagined it?" Ragatha guessed.

"You don't believe Jax would do such a thing?" You sighed back, smoothening down your leotard and grimacing.

"Well... he definitely would." Ragatha admitted. "I'm just surprised he's done it to you of all people."

"Why wouldn't he do it to me?" You asked in annoyance, placing your hands on your hips. "He's a prick."

Ragatha shrugged, giving you a slight smile.

"He just hasn't really insulted you much, not even behind your back."

You frowned; but shook it off.

Insults weren't needed when you tormented people instead... as annoying as it was, that was probably Jax's logic.

All you could really do now was prepare yourself for the second prank.

But this one was different.

You strolled through the circus, eyeing the combustion and flurries of colours with wary eyes. It was always overly colourful but these walks tended to help you clear your head and escape from Caine's wretched adventures so you took them anyway.

But of course, all things must come to an end and you reached the edge of the tent pretty quickly. You were preparing to swing back around again when suddenly voices rang out distantly from behind a green block.

You frowned. Who else could possibly be these deep into the tent as you were?

"...Somebody has to tell Caine to stop using Gloinks..." Ragatha grumbled.

"Doubt he will, he loves them." Zooble deadpanned. "Do you think that the newcomer will get swept away by them like me someday? She's really breakable."

You pressed up against the block, resisting the urge to peek.

"Hmm... maybe you guys will go back down to the queens nest together then, killing two birds with one stone." Jax said pleasantly.

Zooble audibly scoffed.

"Whatever. You'd come down to save her anyway. Your stupid little soft spot for her is so obvious!"

Jax's snarky protests were drowned out by Ragatha's giggles and eventually their footsteps echoed away until their voices finally faded completely.

You tried not to feel too special but it was a little difficult to drop the possibility of Jax even caring slightly for you and as you walked back to your quarters, narrowly avoiding gloinks, you could barely suppress the urge to beam or smirk triumphantly.

As you nudged your quarters door open suddenly you heard metal clink from above you and you glanced up to see a can of yellow paint, tipping straight over you.

You tried to avoid it but you were practically a deer caught in headlights at this point and it washed over you, leaving you to spit out paint.

Footsteps breezed by you accompanied by cheerful whistling, no doubt Jax.

But this time, you didn't feel as angry as you were before.

[fuckyeahimafangirl]

I come here late to give my opinion on what Nicole Maines said in her book about the Supercorp fandom (go to Twitter for more info, but she basically gave her point of view of things as a queer actor on the show having expected things from the queer fans, confirmed we were being queerbaited while also blaming us for some actors getting fired). I appreciate her side of things and feel for her. But reading that I felt that A LOT was overlooked, especially the context of it all. So sit back if you care enough to read this and come with me as I go on a rant and we go down memory lane to give some context into what it was like to watch Supergirl live as a Supercorp fan.

The first season of Supergirl had its fair share of ships. People liked Kara/Cat, Kara/James, Kara/Win maybe anyone? I don't remember that one but I'm sure there were people out there who liked them. Some people even liked Alex/Kara (a conversation for another time). Kara/Cat shippers could also like Kara/James, because both ships had some strong foundations in the narrative, they were undeniably good ships, regardless of how you feel about age-difference relationships or straight relationships lol. There wasn't mostly an issue, except with the ones that liked Kara/Alex.

In between the first and second season of Supergirl it was announced that a main character would be gay. They didn't say who, though. Speculation began, of course. They did say that Maggie Sawyer was coming to the show but it was not confirmed that she was going to be a lesbian and even less whose love interest. 

Then the second season premiered. And in the very first episode Kara Danvers meets Lena Luthor. Their scenes together were filled with sexual tension from the very beginning, look at their meeting scene without context and a bit of an open mind and most people will see their chemistry and think that maybe Kara was meeting her soulmate. And the first scene of Supergirl meeting Lena Luthor? It was already drawing a parallel between them and Lois/Clark, one of most iconic, recognizable and undeniable canon ships of all time. Drawing parallels between these two ships was the creators of the show's favorite pastime and it started from day one, before the ship had any fans because we hadn't met Lena just yet.

But in that episode we did meet her. And we fell in love fast. Because their interactions and the interest concept of Lena's character were good. Could it really be that Kara was the main gay character? Could it really be that they were going to give us an epic love story with Supergirl and a family member of her family's historically known enemy? Could they dare to make the famous superhero anything other than straight?

It wasn't just a delusion on our part at that time. It was a real possibility based on real facts. Kara had suddenly dropped the guy she spent the entire previous season chasing after. She got him and dumped him for no good reason (the writers didn't bother to give it a good excuse) and in the same episode she meets this woman, at the start of the season we were going to discover a main gay character.

These are all facts.

A few episodes later Maggie Sawyer makes her debut and it's clear that she's Alex's love interest from the first moment. Cool. It's not Kara but at least it's Alex (because, at the time, we know, WE KNOW, that they don't have two lesbian/queer women characters in the same show unless they're dating each other. How could we think that gay people will surround themselves with other gay people? silly us), that was the reaction: We still LOVED that it was Alex, because it still made sense. And it was difficult to find Sanvers fanfic without it having Supercorp in it because we were all the same people, of course most of us liked both ships. 

Now, I obviously don't know her, but I seriously don't think that Chyler can say she felt overlooked by the fans that season. Alex's coming out scenes were some of the best we had seen in our entire lives up until that point, and we made that known. Not all of us might have been on board with Sanvers (some storyline choices could've been questionable) but with Alex? No one loved her more than the queer Supergirl fans. And in the meantime Supercorp kept getting screen time, their friendship progressing in a Clois kind of way that was beautiful to witness. While Maggie and Alex's relationship advanced pretty quickly from an "I'm not gay" to a rejection to a proper first kiss, Supercorp was building a bit more organically as Supergirl kept saving Lena's life, as Lena opened up only to Kara, trusting her all the while Kara was keeping this huge secret from her. We ate that shit up, of course we did.

After season two was over we got the news that Floriana Lima (Maggie) was going to leave the show. I remember Chyler saying that she wanted to do right by us and whoever came next was gonna stay. And I'm not faulting Chyler for what came next, at all. Chyler was and always will be one of the best things on Supergirl and she has always treated the fandom with the utmost respect and love. And I hope she only received the same treatment back (and I hate to know she got those letters from people threatening to kill themselves, but let's have a little compassion for those people and their mental health, I hope they're doing well).

So Maggie left. And while some fans were not coping well with that, most fans understood it was the actress' decision. That was fine. What wasn't fine was the decision the writers made by making the breakup about not wanting babies when they were about to get married. How on Earth (any Earth) a couple don't talk about that particular issue BEFORE deciding to get married? It was an easy way out. But okay, it's just a TV show, I don't write it, we can move on from that... In the same season, at the same time this whole discussion and breakup occurs, the very same person who wanted to have kids has a meet-cute with a SINGLE MOTHER, Sam. The story was full of promise, she had a kid already with whom Alex got along amazingly, there was great chemistry between all three of them, Sam also had a dark secret being basically her sister's most powerful enemy, their relationship was mostly well built throughout the entire season. But guess what? She wasn't her new love interest, and left at the end of it. 

A lot of Supercorp fans LOVED AgentReign (Sam/Alex), by the way. A lot of Supercorp fans also loved ReignCorp (Sam/Lena) and a few even loved AgentCorp (Lena/Alex) and SuperReign (lol what was the name of this ship? I don't remember but Kara/Sam). And guess what? There wasn't a war between us. We were mostly the same people multishipping because it's fun and because these were interesting characters with interesting relationships created by the writers. We were inventing and wishing for stuff, but the foundations were laid for us, some (most) things were there and most of us were just screaming that we liked what we were being given and wanted more of that.

And that's why come season 4, some people were having a hard time accepting Dansen. Because we were mourning the loss of Sam and her relationship with Alex, the what ifs are always the worst, no matter the situation.  But most Supercorp fans embraced Kelly (and Azie, we love Azie and what we got to see of her relationship with Chyler, and Katie and Nicole), the vast majority of us ended up loving Dansen despite the writers not always doing a great job at writing their arcs. And it's awful that some fans treated her and other members of the cast horribly, but that was by far a small portion of the Supergirl fandom in general, and especially the Supercorp fandom. And, by the way, as a side note because racism was part of the problem for a minority of the fandom, A LOT of us in the Supercorp side of it are not white people from the US, A LOT of us are from other countries/races/cultures (that can be racist too of course, but the point is we don't know the races and motives of everyone behind a keyboard).

And that season most of us also embraced Nia because she was the first trans superhero, because of her queerness, because she was an awesome fun character, because she was relatable and geeky like most of us. We embraced her, her relationship with Kara and her relationship with Brainy. And we showed that by trending Nia related things, by adding Nia to our fanfics and fanarts. Nia was a Supercorp ally for most of us and we didn't exclude her from the art because we loved her as much as we love some of the other characters in the show.

Now, if Kara would have had, after the first season, one male love interest that was decent enough, we would have still love and wanted Supercorp, that's true (especially when it had been years of build-up) but most of us probably would have liked the pairing anyway, because we loved Kara Danvers and wanted her to be happy and to have the love she wanted at the beginning of the show (which she didn't get, by the way).

But the writers decided to give her, instead, another man who didn't treat her well. And I couldn't honestly tell you half of William's storyline because I couldn't care less. The creators of the show didn't make me care. Hell, I didn't even see Kara cared enough about that character. The writers should know their audience and should know that the audience needs moments to make them care about the characters, the writers have the power to make that happen. Many times I've seen a fandom hate a character one episode and love them by the next one, because sometimes all it takes is one good scene, or one good arc. William never had that. And now we have confirmation of what we knew all along, that maybe they were writing half-assed storylines for their love interests because they were too busy trying to figure out new ways to queerbait us. If they would have put a quarter of that effort into creating good love interests for Kara and/or Lena (but especially Kara), most of this conversation wouldn't still be happening 3 years later.

We embraced Andrea Rojas, we embraced her so much that we shipped her with Lena. Most of us weren't the blind Supercorp-or-nothing crazy fans a lot of people to this day make us out to be. When things were good, we mostly liked them. But please, please, let's be honest here, a lot of the time Supergirl was not a great-written show. And I get that those are Nicole's friends but a little objectivity, especially after all these years, would have come a long way.

These past few days I've read a couple of people saying Supercorp was the only good thing about the show. Those kinds of people were and still are a very very minority. A lot of us started the show before Supercorp existed and LOVED (still love) the Danvers sisters with all of our hearts. And the writers, at times, didn't know how to keep up with that relationship, the one that at first was the very center of the show, all that well either.

Most Supercorp fans didn't actually like that the 100th episode revolved all around Supercorp. 1) Because it was queerbaiting at its finest. 2) because it should've been about the Danvers sisters. Or at least about all Supergirl's most important relationships in equal measure. Yes, Lena was a big part of her, but ALEX EVEN MORE SO. The fandom didn't make that happen, we didn't fire any actor either. These were decisions made by the people who had the power to make anything in the show happen. If we would have had our way we all know what we would have done, and no, it definitely was not p**n (the most used AO3 tags for our ship speak for themselves).

I didn't see Nicole's last paragraph on the subject shared much. A lot of people didn't see that she acknowledged a small portion of the good the Supercorp fandom did.

But by the time you get to it, you already have a bad taste in your mouth. Because it still reads as if she's talking about us all without a care that "the toxic fans" were just a loud minority. Not to say that the good guys weren't louder, because Supercorp is still what it is to this day because we're still loud. So why is there very little mention of that? The way we supported Nia's episode? The way we supported Kelly's?

And because we were having fun and we were loud about our love for two fictional characters, WE WERE ALSO RECEIVING THREATS from some toxic fans, hell, the day before yesterday some fans were receiving death threats like it's 2017. Everything she says the cast and crew were dealing with, the Supercorp fans were dealing with it as well, and more so because the toxic people felt validated by the choices the creators made. Validated by some writers on Twitter making it worse. Validated by some of the actors who were also mocking us. We were all called delusional, and that was the most chill thing you could be called.

I understand her point of view, and I imagine that was not a great first experience in that kind of set, and I would love to have the opportunity to talk to actors about this topic that fascinates me (relationship between fandoms and cast/crew). But context is important, to see other people's point of views is important when having these conversations. She felt her own community wasn't supporting her when most of us were and that didn't come across at all. Not even with her final words. 

The fact is, they were hurt by a small part of their own fandom (which, by the way, they have no idea how old those toxic fans were. Not to say that adults are not toxic. But we, as the non-toxic adults, should also think of the demographic and react accordingly). And most of us, the queer Supercorp shippers, were also hurt by the toxic part of the fandom and by some of the people she's trying to defend. Let's be clear, there's not "mayyyybe," they were 100% wrong in queerbaiting the hell out of us from day one and mocking us for believing the bait. Make no mistake, most of this is a consequence of THAT.