#i hate making these but its been... a LOT
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wrotebymii · 2 days ago
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MAYBE ITS ME? … | Date Everything x gn!reader
Summary: After leaving your house because you can’t handle being hated in your very own home, Sam talks with you while your house becomes quiet…
Warning: minimal angst, honestly it’s a little fluffy with you and Sam. The objects are miserable now. There will be a part three and four!!
PART ONE | MASTERLIST | READ ME
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Sam has been the most understanding friend what felt like your only friend she tries her hardest to bring you out of your slump and rationalize while simultaneously making fun of you as to why your relationships within your home have a burning hate for you.
She’s pointing fun yet logical, allowing you to rant about what you did and where you possibly went wrong with each. She sat across from you, leaned forward with her elbows on her knees in full concentration. You were sat back practically melting into the furniture that didn’t despise you, moving a hand around to exaggerate your speech with the other stuffing your face with food like you haven’t eaten in weeks. Lowkey, you haven’t.
“When I talked to Hoove, being nice and supportive while telling him not to work too hard—I thought I was being sweet ya’know—“ You stuff your face and swallow.
“—but apparently NOT?? He got angry with me, when I tried backtracking and apologize which crazy by the way he said he HATED ME?!” You shout, you can feel your face heat in anger at the thought before tears well up.
“Or how I tried to speak with Daisuke—“
“Who’s that one?”
“Oh my tableware, he’s like tall about yay-high with black hair a portion of it in a bun with like dishware themed robes…I heard from others in rhe kitchen that he’s into taking things seriously” You explain with a wave of the hand.
“I actually…heh I thought that we’d get along, he likes taking care of the dishes and even tries to fix them if they crack due to me but that’s not the point I too like fixing things, I want to fix things…but I guess unlike him or fake it till you make it like Tony…I just make it worse…”
“I…I just wanted to be friends or the I don’t know? Date? The whole reason of the damn glasses.” You mutter, you push the snacks away and use a napkin to clean yourself.
Dating them, any of them wasn’t the main goal. Sure it’s interesting but realizing the things around your home have their own lives in the house was so cool!
Being a hermit, a homebody it felt like a this was a way to help you as well, to get better with being social and maybe let you learn that the outside wasn’t so scary and not everything was out to get you.
But, you messed it up—perhaps you tried too hard, pushed too much, didn’t push enough, didn’t flirt when needed to, too flirty for some, or didn’t have enough specs for the correct dialogue and it came out lame. Now, you’re both miserable in the house and out of it.
Sam was trying, really was. As you spoke she’d occasionally glance around her apartment as if the ranting was making her paranoid about her house. Sighing she runs her hand down her face. She should’ve said something about the weird black stuff in that bathroom, maybe it was the fumes getting to you, but she shook her head.
“What else happened?…”
“The breaking point?”
“Yeah, what made you take off the glasses?”She asks, you groan, slumping back and wiping away a few stray tears as you remembered.
“I was going to the Breaker Box Club, ‘cause Eddie and Volt were still nice-ish from our previous conversations—I hadn’t talked to them in a bit by then cause I was trying to salvage whatever was going on between Harper the hamper and Dirk dirty clothes. I wanted to catch up and help Eddie with some of his work like last time.” You shift in your seat uncomfortably.
“When I entered it was packed, I was happy for them that their business was getting bigger but I knew it was gonna be a lot to take on so I went to find one of them to offer help…”
“…you try and help a lot…”
“I do, it’s…the only thing I can give to them—“ you stop yourself, continuing the story of the night prior.
“But, I knew I wasn’t welcomed. Everyone avoided me, whispering around like I was back in school. Again, Volt saw me. I remember waving at him as he walked over way too quickly. We talked as he pushed me along the way I came from, when I noticed I was confused and…worried I lost another person again…” You take in a deep breath.
“I did…the gossip around the club didn’t go unnoticed by the owners he wanted to get rid of me so it didn’t disturb the customers. I tried talking to him saying that I wasn’t a bad…person…” You don’t sound convinced yourself by that statement.
“He wasn’t having it, his…skin almost turned this light blue? His hand gripped my arm to drag my away from the prying eyes, it hurt…not to make him anymore mad I let him, throw me out…” Voice trailing off, Sam looks stunned, like this was the most juiciest soap opera ever.
“You got kicked out of your own break box—“
“YES, I GOT KICK OUT” you yelled but not at Sam, yelling at the absurd thought of being thrown out of your own break box.
“Crazy…” She elongates the ‘zy’ in the word, unsure how to handle the rest of this.
“Do you think there’s a way to start over with them? All of them I mean?”
The sun was setting, making the silence seem light and comforting. You’re tired, and don’t know where to tread next, so many ideas run in your mind that you—wait…
There might be a very dubious way to get your life back to normal. The thought felt terrible, too personal and guilty, but you don’t seem to have any other option. At least not right now. So, you’ll pin the idea with Keith in the back of your mind. And let it fester or wilt as you and Sam brainstorm together.
Back at the house.
The ones that cheered for your leave are quiet, basking in the dullness of the house. Sure they can talk to one another but…that’s uneventful. The house is missing apart of itself the part of you. The human part. The fragile, unpredictable, unproductive, and lonely ways of you has gone missed.
But everyone refuses to say it out loud. They’re all still bitter and angry with how you treated them—wait…why exactly are they all mad? Some can’t remember but feel justified, although, looking back they just remember you trying. No.
No. You hurt them. They think…
Okay—well they aren’t sure…not anymore.
The lights are off because there’s no need to see, the sinks and baths don’t run because there’s no one to draw it for, the wall creaks and settles sadly, coffee pot remains unused along with the beauty products, television, books, sofa, stove—all of it. All of them are…completely bored?
Maybe, making your life inconvenienced and almost down right harassed in your day to day life after you stopped interacting with them wasn’t the right way to express their anger. A day turned to four then a week then two weeks.
Dorian can feel the worry in every room about when you’ll return, he huffs. Bedroom Dorian stands still, looking up at the ceiling then down to the floor, watching Florence quickly scramble around her time book with all the new complaints and meetings for Celia.
He reluctantly…steps forward. Away from his position to stand right in front of the poor woman. He rather be doing his job, the thing he thinks so highly of. However, he too is miserable more miserable than laundry room closet Dorian because what is his purpose now that the one who he open and closes for…is gone?
But he’s convinced himself that speaking with Celia will help.
Or so he hopes.
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righteousknighteous · 3 days ago
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The woman in the stone tomb simply blinked. A frog-like movement of one eyelid at a time. Her eyes were a pool of constantly shifting hues, glowing in the dim lighting of an ancient room exposed now to modern air.
There was a moment of pause, as she began to get up, her limbs much longer than that of a normal person, making her appear taller than she'd looked laying down. Her hair was a ghostly opacity, flowing much more than it should be with the lack of a breeze.
She looked out to the crumbling wall of the ancient room, to the modern basement it was connected to.
"Yeah. Just me... This is going to ruin my deposit, isn't it?"
"Deposit?"
"Yeah... My landlord's gonna hate me..."
Without much warning, the woman began to leave, heading up the stairs.
"Goodness! I had not realised how... plain and dreary human abodes had become..."
"Yeah, landlords like to paint everything white for some reason... Sorry, who were you again?"
"Oh, how rude of me! I am Vergadre, Goddess of Light and Creation! And who might you be, Hero?"
"Sam."
"Sahm?"
"Saam."
"Saym."
"Saaaam."
"Sam?"
"There you go."
"Sam. Hero of Light, Wielder of the Sword of Release, the Hammer of Righteous Fury, the Spear of Accuracy, the Strength of Courage..."
"That's a lot of weapons..."
The brighter shimmer of nature's daylight showed how the woman's head seemed to marble into a translucent upper half. Like some sort of Crystal Skull.
"Yes, well NORMALLY there's a hero for each weapon..."
"I haven't even wielded one of those weapons. I was just down there with some tools doing work in the basement."
"...What sort of tools?"
"Uhh, saw, hammer, screwdriver, power drill..."
"They'll do. To you, Sam, Hero of Light, I bequeath to you my greatest gifts!"
It's been four months since then. Living with Vergadre was... a learning curve. Much like living with some sort of hybrid between a cat and a baby, she had no idea what the modern world was like and needed constant teaching about its dangers.
And she kept stealing the damn hoodies.
Still, at the very least things around the world started to improve, now that humanity's goddess had returned.
Trying to convince weirdos to stay away from the rental house because there's no way it could be turned into a temple was a bit more of a challenge, however.
...
Still, I wouldn't change it for the world.
“Heroes of Light! I thank you for releasing me! Now I can bestow my gifts to each of- Uh… wait, is it just you?”
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bluemantics · 20 hours ago
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JULANCE DAY 1: GARRISON
“Oh, Lance, you look so tired! And pale. Are you getting time outside, or do they hide you in metal rooms away from the light? You need sun, and rest!”
“Ma—“
“We have paid for you to go to a fancy pilot school! They should be treating you better. I’ll talk to the teachers.”
“I got scholarship—“
“They better not be feeding you slop!”
“Mama, stop!”
A pause settled over the small dorm room, finally giving Lance space to breathe. He sighed, letting his back slope and blinking back the exhaustion that threatened to consume his whole body. Overhead, LED lighting washed out his skin, the effect only enhanced by the shitty camera on his tablet. He leaned back in his desk chair after a moment, embarrassed to have snapped.
“I’m sorry,” he began, apologetically looking away from Maria McClain’s expectant face hovering onscreen. I’m having a great time, Mama.”
The words tasted like a lie.
“Good. I just worry because I love you,” she reminded him, her smile lines tugging into a slight frown. God, Lance hated to see that expression on her face. He mustered up his best plastered-on smile for her benefit.
“Seriously! I’m eating great food. Lots of friends, but it’s only week one, so who knows what’ll happen? And I’m learning loads. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
“Okay,” his mom relented, voice quieter. “I miss you. Please call again soon, we all would like it.”
“Even Rachel?” Lance teased.
“Especially Rachel,” she laughed. “Te quiero mucho, hijo.”
“Te quiero,” Lance replied, leaping to end the call. Finally met with a blank, dark screen, he threw his head back and groaned.
A face appeared over his, blinking down at him curiously.
“Gah!” Lance reeled forward in shock, which was a mistake, as it led to him banging his forehead against the other boy’s.
“Ow!” They both shouted in unison. Scrunching his face, Lance rubbed at his forehead and glared at the offender. “Hunk, what are you doing?”
“Sorry, sorry!” Hunk blurted, his lip trembling as he gingerly poked at what would likely become a bruise. “I was just listening— well, that sounds creepy, I’m not a stalker! I promise! It’s hard to believe me ‘cause we’ve only known each other a week, I bet. Just, y’know, I could hear from my bed and I get how it is when moms worry— I have two of them, they worry lots. And I was just wondering why, if you don’t mind—“
“Spit it out, man!” Lance huffed, crossing his arms. Honestly, he hadn’t talked to his roommate, Hunk Garrett, much since they’d started at the Garrison. He hadn’t talked to anyone, really.
It had only been a single week since classes began and Lance had moved into the dorms. In that time, he’d tried his best to make a few connections. Even though they all started at the same time, Lance felt like everyone already had a clique. No one was outright rude to him, save James Griffin (who had actually turned around when Lance introduced himself). Still, he’d been unable to get past a simple “where are you from?”
Anxiety held Lance tight in its clutches without a person to lean on. He hadn’t even had the chance to get to know Hunk because of their alternate orientation schedules, separated by engineer and pilot classes. After the first three days of constantly being kept busy, it just became too awkward for Lance to feel like reintroducing himself. He wasn’t new to sharing a space, but it definitely seemed like Hunk was nervous about it, with the way he ran to the bathrooms to change.
Lance decided he wouldn’t judge Hunk, despite the odd behavior. The Garrison was nothing like the comforts of home, and everything felt strange. Maybe he was an only child.
Now, though, after a week of quietly shuffling around each other, this interruption was very, very strange.
“Why did you lie to your mom?”
Lance blinked at his roommate. He wasn’t expecting that question. “I didn’t lie.”
“You did, though,” Hunk pressed, shifting his weight and looking away from Lance. He twisted his hands. “You said you have a lot of friends.”
“Okay, wow, that’s rude.” Lance blinked, taken off guard.
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Hunk quickly changed course. “I’m in the same boat! I… just saw you sitting alone at lunch today. I didn’t realize we have the same lunch, and, um, I’m really, really sick of eating alone.”
A pang struck through Lance’s chest. He connected deeply to that sentiment, even if he was ashamed to be caught in his lies. “Oh, uh, okay.”
“Look, my moms are freaked out about this school. I had to twist arms to get here. I really, really don’t want them to get even more upset if they figure out I’m eating alone,” he rambled, now looking at Lance directly. “We could eat together? Maybe? You could also tell your mom.”
“Yeah! Yeah, okay,” Lance tried to cover up his eagerness, crossing his arms and attempting a nonplussed facade. “Sounds… cool.”
“Cool!” Hunk beamed, sticking out his hand. “Shake on it?”
“You’re funny, Hunk,” Lance decided, shaking his hand with a small, lopsided smile. “It’s a deal.”
Hunk’s hand fit warmly around Lance’s, and something clicked.
“So.” Hunk beamed while he fidgeted with the hem of his uniform. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Garlic knots.”
“Oh, man! We’re totally gonna be friends.”
“Because of garlic knots?”
“Absolutely because of garlic knots.”
The next night, when they had garlic and oil smeared across their hands under the harsh lights in the restricted kitchens, Lance discovered that Hunk was right, and maybe always would be.
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itadooori · 3 days ago
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my slightly cohesive squid game s3 thoughts (SPOILERS)
obligatory disclaimer that i am NOT trying to tell anyone that they're stupid or illiterate if they don't agree with this. you're more than entitled to your own feelings about s3, these just happen to be mine. i'm not looking to fight with anyone, i just thought i'd share some things that may help someone come to peace with season three a little more. buckle up folks this is a YAPFEST
To preface this, I want to say that whenever I interact with a series and it makes a decision I don't like and/or don't understand, I try my hardest to figure out why it's there. This is essentially what this post is: me figuring out why the things that happened in squid game s3 happened. Some of the things still bother me despite the reasons I've seen, and some things I've made a bit of peace with.
Over the weekend I've been formulating my thoughts about s3 and the finale. I also read some interviews explaining certain choices, as well as posts from people who liked the ending/the season and people who disliked the ending/the season. I wanted to give myself a bit of time to post about this with a clearer head, and also wanted to try to understand the message HDH was trying to send.
I've given myself some time to process Gi-hun's death, and I think I'm actually okay with it? I've always kept his death as a real possibility in mind, so the fact he died didn't shock me, but did devastate me as he is my favorite character. I honestly loved the journey that Gi-hun's character went through this season as a whole, it was so full of grief and despair and was extremely heart-wrenching.
Some posts that helped ease my mind a bit about Gi-hun's choice (as well as some of the finale as a whole) are this and this.
(I also found this post to be interesting and it opened my mind up to some deeper thinking, so I'd give it a look if you're interested!)
Now. I want to admit: I am not as unhappy with the ending as much as I initially was. After reading some of HDH's words and other peoples' analysis on the ending, I'm starting to understand the angle it's going for, and I do appreciate it.
Obviously, my critiques haven't vanished -- I have my fair share of things I'm not happy about. I wish that In-ho had a bit more screen-time. I heavily dislike how Jun-ho's character was handled in s3. I also think that the pacing was off in places, notably in the latter half of the season. And of course, I do wish that the reveal scene had a bit More to it.
Also I just dislike the idea of an American spinoff so I was bound to dislike that last scene LMAO but that seems more like Netflix meddling than anything HDH wanted.
HOWEVER, there were also several things this season that did hit me very hard, and that I hold close to my heart. Many, many people have brought up (and rightfully criticized) the things I mentioned above, and I feel that elaborating on those points would be regurgitating what's already out there. So I'll spend some time talking about the things I DID enjoy in s3:
• IDK if this is a hot take or not, but I really loved the Dae-ho and Gi-hun stuff. It was so fucking dark and the furthest we've ever seen Gi-hun fall and I enjoyed every second of it. I don't think Gi-hun was simply mad at Dae-ho about the ammo; that was only part of it. Dae-ho I think on a narrative level served as Gi-hun's internal monologue towards himself, and I think this is backed up by the fact Seon-nyeo tells him that killing Dae-ho will clear his bad karma. And in that altered state of mind, induced by a psychotic break, he believed that. Obviously, when he killed Dae-ho that caused some sort of Realization, which is why he switches from "it's your fault" to "it's my fault" as he attempts suicide again. Also, on the topic of Dae-ho, if you're upset about the military reveal, I'd recommend reading this post because Netflix fucked up the subtitles and I think the more accurate translation falls more in line with his character.
• As a trans person, I honestly liked how Hyun-ju's death was handled. Her death did not strike me as uniquely gore-y or horrible, nor was it tied to her transness. It was tied to her core traits of kindness and commitment to other people. Her death, imo, continued to humanize her. I hope that her existence helped open up some peoples' minds.
• I loved the callbacks to Sae-byeok. First, the more subtle one of Gi-hun telling Geum-ja that he's "not that kind of person" just hit me like a TRAIN. I teared up. And then when Gi-hun had an outright flashback to Sae-byeok when he once again thought about killing someone in their sleep, I actually bawled.
• The entire Gi-hun/In-ho flashback sequence with the dagger. I have no notes. That was beautifully done and one of the best scenes in the entire season imo.
• MIN-SU'S ENTIRE JOURNEY IN S3 WAS REALLY COMPELLING TO ME?? I already really liked him before, but I was absolutely enamored by what they did with him. The hallucinations were genuinely terrifying, and him finally taking Se-mi's hand in death actually made me tear up. I love that lil guy. He straight up went thru every circle of hell.
• Geum-ja's speech to Gi-hun was very very touching. Both of these characters just went through the worst day Ever and yet she still shows him kindness and a reason to keep going. I love all the subtle expressions LJJ displays in this scene too.
• I liked that No-eul got a good ending. She deserved it. I'm glad that she gets to reunite with her daughter, a reflection of something Gi-hun didn't get to do.
• The tragedy between Geum-ja and Yong-sik....goddddddddd I wept.
• Seeing Gi-hun carrying around Jun-hee's baby was like cocomelon to me. The way he smiled at her had me sooo weak I love him so much.
• Woo-seok's little side plot was fun and I liked seeing him get some spotlight.
• Jun-ho not wanting to become a cop again LMFAO I loved that the story still sticks to its dislike of cops and the justice system.
• Of course, as always, the cast's acting was absolutely phenomenal. Even for scenes I don't like, the actors did the best that they could and I think they deserve recognition for that.
There are some more things I could list, but this post is getting long enough lmfaoo
Now, I believe that my feelings on season three are more complex than they were initially. I feel a little isolated from the majority of the fandom right now because while I have my issues, I don't Hate it. Far from it, honestly. It feels more like a "i enjoy many things about this, and i understand and appreciate the message being sent, i just wish that some of it was done Better" type thing.
I've also been looking at squid game, especially season three, similarly to how I'd look at a Greek tragedy. Squid game shares a lot of key elements you see in them: dramatic irony, hubris, hamartia (a fatal flaw or lapse in judgement leading to a character's downfall), peripeteia (a sudden reversal of circumstances), catharsis (emotional release), and moral dilemmas. The themes also overlap, and I'm reminded of tragedies like Electra. And I think that some of s3's choices make a little bit of sense if you see the story as emulating a Greek tragedy; I'm not saying you have to like it, but for me it made me more understanding of the message being conveyed.
Finally, I want to say that my love for squid game hasn't diminished at all, and I won't be leaving the fandom any time soon. Even with my complicated feelings about s3, I still think s1 and s2 are incredible and it's worth sticking around even just for them.
TLDR; my thoughts are still complicated, but i don't think the season is as bad as i initially thought
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aldisobey · 1 day ago
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Lichfic 🌚🌚🌚🌚
hehehhehehhe you know I can't say no to you. (@by-ilmater @crowofstarlight same fic ya asked about! I'll answer last a tidbit later.)
But since lichfic is taking me way too long to release I want to show off my 'theory' or no 'direction' you helped me with. Or at least the way I'm taking it. Thanks for pointing out shapes when I had to throw spaghetti at a wall.
The Lich Lords DIDNT MAKE SENSE to me. This is part of my attempt to figure out these lich bitches—Emmrich included—and how they could work in Thedas? Keep it true to some form? This is Worne's epilogue.
Because when I finished Veilguard my gut was twisting. Rook is still going to die. Emmlich is going to live forever. How to solve mourning forever? How to solve LICH LORDS even letting that happen? Don't the other Lords see that? Don't they know?! They call Rook "Volkarin's Beloved" at the ritual? They're fully aware. So why let it happen? Knowing the tragedy and pain that await?
What if it's necessary
Emmrich dropped the letter. It sounded wet when it landed. And like a whip-quick gale through a small-leafed tree—thick and full—the bones of his body shushed.
"No..." and his voice dropped low like stone.
"It..." his fingers fumbled—a moan timbre climbing higher—his voice echoed in the room.
"He!" The first Lich Lord he knew. The one he... found? Found him? The one that taught. The one that guided. The others met only in ceremony. He only really knew—the eldest. They had met alone when... the choice... and something like a groan left him. A sound akin to glacier—ice cracking taking inch verse stone.
But the noise didn't stop. Didn't stop. The truth read. The letter left. This.
Lich Lord Volkarin,
Firstly. Condolences. On the loss of your Beloved and your name. Please cease reading should your name appear in this letter. It is one of the first things we lose after the tether's departure. After our Beloved's death. The Necropolis takes it. There is no prevention.
You are free of all duties until your Beloved's death. I suggest you bring them here.
DO NOT TRAVEL.
You are free to do as you please—as you must—but do come visit me it is a thing to be shown.
If you read now your name, Emmrich Volkarin—do yourself a kindness and fold this letter. Tuck it away. Live a full happy life with your Beloved.
HERE.
Read on after your second death. Nothing will be between the lines.
—Emmrich Volkarin—
And here the trembling lich had to unfolded.
It is my deepest regret to inform you, that I have mislead you—in part. Everything we have spoken of is true. We are desperately needed here. At least three. There is not much work to be done so long as we remain. But remain we must. This much you knew.
But there is worse.
I am tired, young Lich Lord, I do not know my age, I do not know the current age. What need have I for that? It passes. But I am tired of trying to remember. I am tired of trying to work. The only memory that matters is her. I study more how she looked. I could tell you, the hairs on her head, the number of them at the hour the minute. The length, the cut, the braid. But I could not tell you if today is in summer or winter.
The stars move Volkarin. And seasons as well.
I can tell you she was born in our summer. And hated heat, but loved taking everything. Nothing was enough. And she smelled of saffron, dry wood, and sage. Young Lich Lord I study every memory of every day. I hope you and he remained. We traveled so, and lived in sun. And still and I cannot leave, I. I am tired of it. I would like to rest with her—in flame.
I intend to 'retire' sometime after your Beloved passes. There will be some centuries of training and guidance. But soon young Lich Lord. Soon I will need you to watch and guard and keep the other two bound here.
You see they have gone quite mad. Or started that way.
They never had a strong tether such as you, such as I. They tried other methods. I tried other methods with them, guiding, helping. I did not want another to live... live as I. It is all too much now and you may not forgive me that is your due. But I am tired young lich lord and the Necropolis would fail should I depart without true heir.
Do not trust the other two. One never loved. Only took. Ensared and brought in a tether to hold him in place. I might explain why a soulmate is necessary later, but anything around her is difficult for me.
But one took and the other gave all, or thought they did in obsession. They received naught. Received condemnation, a spurned attention a wicked fascination—not love. I was willing to try anything, Lich Lord, but pieces were missing.
Their tethers did not know them whole.
Some of what their tethers believed stayed with them. Coated the souls hue during ritual. Not for the better. They are a success for base Necropolis demands, but ultimately my failures.
You are what the Necropolis needs.
Young Lich Lord I write this after your ascension and I name you successor. We watched. He paced, he shook, he stood, and all that time never... he is a soulmate tether. Beloved said then and true.
I will bear your curses. We were the same once. When you exist to my time... we both know what's at stake Lich Lord. This is the service. This is the cost. A watch made in mourning.
There was no signature. Simply an end.
Dread.
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mononijikayu · 1 day ago
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love is a losing game — ryomen sukuna.
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GENRE: alternate universe - squid game au
WARNING/S: afab! reader, romance, angst, break up, post-break up, hurt/comfort, on and off relationship, profanity, violence, gun violence, death, implied suicidal ideation, emotional manipulation, emotional distress, trauma, resentment, confessions, toxic relationship, gambling addiction (implied), longing, pining, bittersweet, reunion, depiction of violence, depiction of gun violence, depiction od emotional manipulation, distress, depiction of trauma, depiction of death, wife! reader, husband! sukuna;
WORD COUNT: 4k words
NOTE: in honor of me losing my mind this week due to squid games and alien stage, i did something of a mix of it. i genuinely needed to get this idea off my head. its a lot. for the resources to the japanese games and other stuff i mentioned, i'll put them below so you can read about them!!! anyway, enjoy!!! <3
masterlist
if you want to, tip!
THIS WAS YOUR BREAKING POINT, IF THERE WAS ONE. You had just finished your second shift, perhaps worse than the first one. You could barely have the strength to tie your apron right, let alone smile at your boss as he muttered something about cutting hours next week. 
The city air was damp, but this place was even damper. You could feel your knees ache from standing for too long, and you could still feel the bruises on your pride from that morning’s encounter. 
Another debt collector coming once again. You hated when they did that, ruining your peaceful day, your existence. Different faces. Same tone. Same threats. All because of him. Ryomen Sukuna. Your husband. Or… ex-husband now, you supposed.
You’d loved him. God, you still did. You probably still do. That stupid kind of love that lingered in the marrow even after the body rots. But it wasn’t enough for you. Not when he kept making reckless decisions, chasing fast money and leaving you to clean up the blood trail behind.
So, you left everything and him. You found yourself finding the courage to take what you could and moved out. You built that house with everything you had but took nothing but your clothes and a dented rice cooker. 
You told yourself it was for the best. You needed that peace. You need to love yourself, take care of yourself. That’s what your mother would have wanted for you. After all, that was more important than loving someone.
But the debts didn’t stop with him. They came for you too. You changed your address, you even reverted back to your birth name. But they still managed to find you, those stupid brutes. The lot of them are crude, and horribly terrifying to even look at. 
Yet you didn’t have the heart to tell Sukuna. You didn’t call him. Not once. Too proud. Too tired. Too angry. But mostly because you knew what he’d say just from thinking about it. With that certain reassuring look, one you knew you would fall for, he would say to you: “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
He’d say it with that smirk, with the same careless ease he used to take your last savings to pay for a poker hand he swore was a sure win. You sighed heavily, pulling your coat tighter around you as the wind bit through your sleeves. The bus stop was still a block away. Your feet dragged.
That’s when he appeared.
A man in a finely cut suit. 
Smile too polite to be genuine.
“Sumimasen, ojō-san.”
The voice came to you all too lightly, as if dropped into the air like a coin in water. You turned, startled at his presence. He was already too close. Smiling like an old friend. Like someone who’d been waiting just for you.
“Do you have a moment to play a game?”
You blinked at him. “What?”
He held up two square pieces of thick, colored cardboard. You looked at them carefully. You could see that it was old and well used. It was too worn at the edges. But that bright colors blending together with those figures was recognizable. Menko.
It was a game you hadn’t seen since elementary school. Even then, it had evolved into a different thing. This sort of menko was the old kind. You slap the tile on the ground. Then you try to flip your opponent’s piece. Whoever flips it wins. 
It was the familiar old schoolyard rules, the ones which your grandmother used to teach you when you were still a little girl. You couldn’t win against her, though. She was too much of a pro at it. 
“Traditional games.” he said, still smiling like he wasn’t wearing a suit worth more than your last three paychecks combined. “Very simple. If you win, you earn cash.”
You eyed the tiles, then him. “And if I lose?”
“You get slapped. I know it’s not the old rules, but I don’t wanna take it from you.” he said cheerfully, like it was the weather forecast. “Just a little change. Nothing serious.”
You almost laughed at his words. You were tired. You had just finished scrubbing tables at a ramen stall that paid you half what it owed. And now this man was talking about childhood games and slaps? You didn’t have time for this.
But then he crouched, unhurried, and set a thick envelope on top of his briefcase. Peeled it open for you and almost instantaneously, it showed the cash inside. Your mouth opened agape. It was ¥10,000 per win.
The gears shift in your head. It would be enough to buy groceries. Even maybe enough to get the collectors to back off for a few days. Just maybe, it would even be enough to shut your mind off and breathe. Your pride hesitated. Your exhaustion didn’t.
“…Fine.” you muttered, stepping forward. “But….Just one game.”
And that’s how it began.
Not with a fight. Not with a scream.
Just a slapped Menko card on the pavement and a stranger’s smile.
The first slap across your face stung more than you expected. The sound cracked across the empty alley. Your cheek flared with heat, but the man only laughed, handing you the next card like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Another round?”
You hesitated. Your hand hovered in the air. But the pain was familiar. For a moment, it reminded you of everything you were running from. The voicemail from the loan office. The unpaid gas bill. Ryomen Sukuna’s debt collectors are camping outside your apartment like vultures on a power line.
You nodded. “Again.”
Three more slaps. Your cheek was flushed and burning. But then you got it. Your tile hit him with a perfect strike, flipping it finally. He clapped at your success. You hated it. It was too calculated. Too eager to be the salesman.
“Excellent.” He handed you the envelope. Neat. Crisp. ¥10,000. “See? You’re not unlucky after all.”
You kept playing soon after that. That adrenaline got you going. That’s what winning does to you, even in the smallest ways. Humankind can be addicted to the feeling. It was gratifying to just have one moment of good, even with the bare minimum. And you hated that. Win. Slap. Win. Slap. 
You didn’t even notice when the bus you were supposed to catch hissed past in the distance. Didn’t notice the sun beginning to set.  By then, you had five wins. Fifty thousand yen. Your wallet was heavier. Your cheek, sore. But you could almost taste relief.
The man adjusting his tie, still all politeness. “You’ve got grit, I see.” he said. “That’s rare. I’d like to offer you something more… lasting.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What kind of more?”
“More reward.”
He opened his briefcase again and took out a cream-colored card. It had vibrant gold lettering. No name. No address. Just a phone number. And a symbol you didn’t recognize. You looked up at him. He was still smiling that same way, one which made you uneasy.
“If you want to clear your debts—truly clear them—and maybe walk away with more than you ever imagined… call this number.” he said. “But be warned. The games beyond this point… aren’t quite so harmless.”
You stared down at the card. You thought of the phone calls. The pounding on your door. The sleepless nights spent wondering if you’d made a mistake leaving Sukuna. And you thought: what’s left to lose?
You took the card.
He smiled at you.
And then he left.
That night, in your cramped 1K apartment, where the lights flickered when the kettle boiled and the neighbor’s dog barked like a curse against your walls, it was hard to not think about it. You stared at that card like it was cursed.
You told yourself you wouldn’t call. That game in the subway was enough. Everything about this would be beyond insane. But at 2:34 a.m., when the latest message lit up your phone.
「 最後の警告です。返済期限は明日です。」
Final warning. Your deadline is tomorrow.
You dialed the number, both curious and too sudden.  The voice on the other end was cold. “You’ve been accepted. We’ll send a car.”
You nearly hung up. Nearly. But instead, you whispered back. “Okay.”
In a shadowed parking lot at dawn, a black van waited. You stepped inside.
You didn’t know what was going to happen. You didn’t even know that you would see him there again. You didn’t know what awaited you. All you could do was think about the fact that this was the only way to escape your reality.
Yet you didn’t know that the worst was yet to come. But you didn’t know that. Not yet. Not until the games began. Not until you saw blood spilled on concrete and heard his voice again in the middle of it all, rough and familiar. Still yours in some stubborn, ruined way.
You were the last to enter. The van doors shut behind you with a final-sounding click, and silence followed, thick and uncomfortable. The only sound was the gentle hum of the engine and the shallow breathing of the others. 
There were six of you, all wearing the same dull colored tracksuits with numbers on the chest. Yours was 046. No names. No questions. No warmth. You didn’t look at them. You couldn’t do that even if you wanted to.
So, you just stayed silent. You just leaned back against the seat and stared at the floor, hands clenched in your lap. You told yourself this was just a game. That you could survive it. That you had no other choice.
But your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. The van drove for what felt like hours, until your eyelids grew heavy and your body gave in. A sharp prick on your neck came just before everything turned black.
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WHEN YOU WOKE UP, THE WORLD LOOKED TOO BRIGHT AND COLORFUL. All you could see were the vibrantly decorated walls. The bright paintings of childhood games from the ceiling. The dull yet shiny tiled floors. It was almost nauseating how childishly pastel everything was. It was like some cruel dream of a kindergarten.
You sat up on a hard bunk in a massive dormitory lined with triple-decker beds. There were dozens of others now. You could see men and women, all ages, all races. Some looked confused. Some are too calm.
And then your gaze locked on him. He was leaning against the metal post of a bunk bed, arms crossed. Same gray uniform. Same unmistakable face. You would know that face from anywhere. Number 49, Ryomen Sukuna.
Your mouth went dry. It felt like the air thickened between you instantly as you continued to stare at him the way you did. You tried to look away but you can tell he saw you before you could look away. His scarlet eyes narrowed. Soon enough, he made his way to you. 
“Well, well….” he drawled, voice low and edged. “Look who finally decided to come and see me.”
You flinched. “I didn’t. This isn’t about you.”
He laughed once. Bitter. “Are you sure about that? Because last I checked, you didn’t care if I lived or died.”
You stood slowly. “Don’t twist it. I cared. I just couldn’t keep bleeding from your mistakes.”
His jaw tensed, but he didn’t reply to your words. He knew you were right. You hated how much your chest hurt, seeing him here. That scar on his lip was still there. His scarlet eyes were still that infuriating shade of crimson. 
And somehow despite everything, you still remembered what it felt like to sleep beside him so peacefully. The weight of his arm around your waist. The heat of his breath on your neck. But that was before the collectors. Before the screaming. Before he chose chaos over you.
A loudspeaker crackled overhead. “All participants, please proceed to the arena for Game One.”
A door opened on the far wall, from the right side. As you all walked there in a line, you saw the armed guards standing there, waiting. You didn’t move for a moment, until Sukuna stepped past you. His voice is low, just for you.
“I don’t know what game this is. But I know one thing—” he paused, glancing at you. Then at the armed guards. “I’m not letting you suffer here��…die here.”
You scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Why would you care?”
He didn’t answer. And maybe it was just a trick of your heart, but when the guards herded everyone forward and you stepped into the blinding light of the first game. You could’ve sworn he stayed just a little closer to your side.
Like old muscle memory.
Like it was an instinct.
Like love that refused to die quietly.
The light was too bright. Artificial and blinding, like stage lights at a show you didn’t want to be in. As your eyes adjusted, you found yourself standing on sand, actual real sand. You found yourself almost confused. 
This feels like those summer days by the beach, enclosed in this room. It was what it felt like, but beneath it was a painted sky so blue it was almost offensive in its cheer. But you were certain now. You weren’t in the city anymore.
Rows of players shuffled in beside you, uniformed and stiff with fear. Concrete walls loomed around the field like the inside of a stadium, and in the distance stood a massive Daruma doll. It was hard to look at, with its oversized, grotesque figure, its painted face staring blankly ahead.
You recognized the game the moment you looked at it. It was Daruma-san ga Koronda. You’d played it as a kid with the other neighborhood kids. You had chanted those words with your friends in schoolyards and summer parks, trying not to laugh as you froze mid-step.
But no one was laughing now. Everyone around you was taking this as seriously as they possibly could. That was certain. The Daruma’s head turned slowly, mechanical joints whirring. Then the voice rang out across the field.
「だるまさんが…ころんだ!」
Everyone ran. The Daruma’s head snapped around. A sharp bang cut the air like a hammer cracking glass. The man beside you dropped. Hard. Blood was already soaking through his shirt. 
You flinched at that. You could hear a few people, someone beside you screaming so loudly, it could puncher your ears. The guards raised their rifles. The gates behind you slammed shut like the jaws of a trap. Sukuna grabbed your wrist, yanking you down before your legs gave out.
“Keep your head, babe.” he muttered. “Don’t move unless I do.”
You stared at him, dazed. “They’re shooting us—”
“Yeah, genius.” His grip tightened. “Welcome to hell.”
Another chant echoed across the field.
「だるまさんが…ころんだ!」
You bolted forward. The Daruma turned. You froze. Someone behind you tripped. Bang. The game was merciless. Precise. The moment the Daruma faced you, if you even twitched. It was the sound of the bang that came after.
It felt endless. The repeated rhythm of the chant, the thudding of your heart, the bodies falling one by one. You followed Sukuna’s movements like a shadow. When he crouched, you crouched. 
When he stopped, you stopped. When he darted forward, you did too. Until you could smell blood on the wind and taste bile in your mouth. But somehow, you kept going. You just had to. Or else, you would be one of them.
You noticed the way Sukuna’s body moved. It was not reckless like before, but sharp, measured. How his head turned just slightly toward you before every sprint. How he never let go of your hand, even once.
And then, the final line. Just five feet away.
「だるまさんが…ころ—」
You ran. Both of you.
「—んだ!」
The Daruma turned. Sukuna yanked you backward, both of you crashing into the sand. Your elbow hit the ground hard. The air fled your lungs. But you hadn’t crossed the line too soon.
You were still alive.
Follwing that was silence.
Then a single chime.
Game over. The Daruma’s eyes went dark. The gunshots stopped. There was only silence. And then only the sound of weary breaths remained. You didn’t hear the last few bodies fall. Just the pounding of your heartbeat and the rough rasp of Sukuna’s breathing beside you.
His hand was still on your back. Still steady and still holding you strong. The surviving players, maybe numbering less than half, were herded into a line by the masked guards. The sand soaked with blood behind you.
And for the first time since stepping into the game, you realized: This wasn’t just about survival. This was war. And the only person you could trust here was the man who once broke your heart far too many times.
"Can I trust you?" You whispered to him.
He looked at you. "After that? With your life."
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YOU HAD SEEN FAR TOO MUCH, AND YOU HAD ENDURED FAR TOO MUCH.  Yet the only thing you could be thankful for was that you were alive, somehow. And that against every odd and all that grievous feelings you have, you were still with your husband, Sukuna.
It was strange, knowing how this all began. That you were still breathing. That you were still next to him. And even now, despite everything, you couldn’t help but stay near. When you ate, when you slept, you always had to be near him. Or else, you knew you would grow mad. 
Throughout the games, you’d leaned on him for everything. Just as you used to do when you were happily married. You leaned on him for safety, for strategy. For something that still, quietly, resembled love. As horrible as this situation is, this was the most married you had ever been.
This was the penultimate game, at least that’s what you think. Now there were only thirty of you left. And they needed to lower the number now. That’s what they’ve been doing with all the other games. Just to narrow the winner.
They led you into a new room. No pastel walls. No fake skies. Just gray cement and harsh white lights that buzzed like flies. At the center: a square tatami mat. Two cushions. A small lacquered box sat between them. 
Inside, you saw the glint of round, flat glass disks in green, red, and clear. Your eyes widened. It was Ohajiki. You turned around to Sukuna and then once again to the pieces of marble on the ground.  Two guards stood at the back. No other players. Just you.
Your breath caught. “What is this?”
One of the guards stepped forward, flanked by guards. His voice was cold and smooth. “Congratulations. You’ve reached one of the final games.”
He gestured to the mat and the box. “This is Ohajiki. This event will be done in pairs. Each player begins with ten pieces. Take turns flicking. Whoever collects all twenty wins.”
You stared at the disks. “And if neither of us…?”
“If no winner is declared within thirty minutes, then we must follow protocol.” the guard said flatly. “Both players will be eliminated.”
Your chest tightened. “Wait, there has to be another way—”
“No, stop.” Sukuna said softly. “They won’t change their minds.
You turned to him, eyes full of panic.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t bargaining.
He just looked… resigned to fate.
“They knew what they were doing with this.” he murmured. “It was always going to come down to this. Us. You know that.”
Your voice cracked. “I’m not doing this. I won’t—”
“You have to.” He stepped closer, slow, careful. “One of us has to make it out. That’s how this works.”
You shook your head, tears already blurring your vision. “You know I can’t. Not like this. Not you.”
He gave a tired smile. It reached his eyes, just barely. “Yeah. You can.”
He picked up one of the colored pieces and slipped it into your hand. “Here. Start with this. Let’s say I misjudged my shot.”
Your heart twisted. You had survived hell. Bullets. Betrayals. People turned into corpses. Friends lost. Names forgotten. But now they wanted this? When your relationship was starting to be your everything, they wanna take it away too?
“You idiot, you fucking idiot.” you whispered, voice shaking. “Why do you always do this?”
Sukuna chuckled under his breath, the sound broken, full of something sharp.  “Because I’m still in love with you. And if one of us gets out…” He looked at you. “I want it to be you.”
“No, no. Fuck no. I’m not going out of this place without you. You know that!” you said, stepping back. “We’ll cheat it. We always do. We’ll figure it out—”
But the guards raised their rifles at you. Sukuna sighed and took you away from them for a distance. The timer started. Thirty minutes, finally going and coming, ticking away on the massive screen. Sukuna knelt down on one cushion. Then he gestured to the other.
“Come on.” he said softly, smiling at you. “Just a stupid game. Like when we were kids. On the tatami. Trying not to flick too hard.”
You sat down. Your hands trembled as you flicked the first piece. You were never good at Ohajiki. Sukuna was always the better one. He was even praised for it. You continued to play, feeling your heart thumping the entire time.
The flat marbles continued to clack gently against another and knocked it aside. You collected another one. Sukuna took his turn. A bad aim. He let you take it. You knew that. And that was frustrating you, angering you. But he didn’t stop.
You won another. And another. Each round, his pile shrank. Yours grew. At fifteen, your hands dropped to your lap. Your chest heaved. He continued to do as he wanted, as he wished, with eager failing.
“You’re letting me win.”
Sukuna didn’t deny it. “You always had better aim, between the two of us.” he said, a soft smile in his voice. 
“You’re a fucking liar.”
“Being a liar is good.” He whispered to you. “But that’s enough for me. You’ll survive. That’s enough for me.”
You stood, shaking. “No. I’m not finishing this.”
“Then we both die.”
You didn’t move. You couldn’t. “I’d rather die with you—”
He came to you. Touched your face with his calloused thumb against your cheek. “Don’t say that.”
You looked at him desperately. “Sukuna, please…..”
“Live for me, okay?” he whispered. “You think I want to go? I don’t. But I can’t let you die here. Let me do this. Let your good ol’ husband finally do something right for his wife, okay?”
He just continued to hold you as you started to cry in his arms. You took in his warmth, you took into the embrace that you knew you would never get again. You felt his lips press against your head, his fingers tracing the edges of your tresses. 
The timer ticked louder.
Twenty-eight minutes.
Twenty-nine.
“Let’s finish this game.” He said as he let you go. He smiled at you. “Let me see you do well.”
You looked at him, tears endlessly falling.  And with shaking hands, you flicked your final piece. He watched the piece arc in a clean, trembling line with your final flick. The flat marble tapped his final piece and sent it skittering across the mat.
The soft clack was deafening. Your vision blurred with tears as you reached out and gathered the final disk. Twenty. Silence. No cheer. No applause. Just the low mechanical ding of the timer stopping.
Game over.
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even look at him. Not yet. But he moved first. Ryomen Sukuna stood up slowly, knees cracking, shoulders slumping like he’d just dropped a weight you couldn’t see.
He stepped over the mat, his steps quieter than ever. Your husband crouched in front of you one last time. His long, beautiful callused fingers cupped your cheek, wiping away a tear that had no end. He smiled at you.
“That’s my girl.” he murmured.
You finally looked up at him, shaking, broken, mouth open like you wanted to scream but couldn't. He didn’t do anything else, he just laughed. He moved towards you, pressing a kiss on your cheek once again. You shake your head at him, feeling the tears fall even more than before.
“Now go win the whole damn thing.”
The guards moved. Your body tensed, but he didn’t resist. He just turned, hands raised, walking toward them like it meant nothing. But at the last second, right before the door, he looked over his shoulder.
There it was. The face you fell in love with. Not the devil-may-care gambler. Not the stubborn man who couldn’t stay out of debt. Just your beloved Sukuna. The one you had loved with your whole heart. Your husband, your ruin, your misery…..and your home.
“I’ll be waiting.” he said softly. “Somewhere.”
And then he was gone. You just stared as they dragged him through steel doors that slammed shut like the end of a book you never wanted to close. You sat there, the Ohajiki pieces warm in your hand. As if they carried the last of his heat.
You didn’t remember standing. Or walking out. 
Or how the guards said your number out loud.
But somehow, you moved from your position.
Somehow, you lived. And then became a widow.
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epilogue 
Spring came late that year. The cherry blossoms bloomed like they always did. Always soft, fleeting, unaware of all the blood that had been spilled beneath skies just like this one. You stood beneath a tree in Ueno Park, hands tucked deep in your coat pockets, watching petals fall without grace.
The world kept turning. The money was still untouched, sitting silently in the account like a ghost you couldn’t exorcise. You paid off Sukuna’s debts from what little you’d earned before the games, just enough to get the collectors off your back. The rest… stayed. Cold. Untouched.
You worked again. Small things. Quiet places. 
You mostly kept to yourself these days. 
You never told anyone where you'd been.
Not like they needed to know anything about you.
Sometimes, you dreamed of him tenderly into the night. Not of his death. Not of the guards dragging him away. But silly things about him. The things that made you fall in love with him in the first place. 
His terrible singing in the shower. The way he used to hold chopsticks like a child. His laugh. That brutishly loud laugh that sounded identical to the cracking of an old bell. The way his fuschia hair glistened against the sunrise. The way his scarlet eyes looked at you.
You cried yourself for hours after those dreams. Those were the parts of him the games couldn’t erase or take away from you. Just as much, these were the parts you wished you still had. The parts of him that you would always mourn, until the day you die.
You visited a shrine one morning, early, when the city hadn’t quite woken yet. You lit incense. You carefully laid twenty Ohajiki pieces in a neat line on the stone. You said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
But as you turned to leave, a breeze lifted around you. That soft, warm, carrying the scent of blooming sakura. And for just a moment, you like to think that you could almost hear his voice saying those words again.
“I’ll be waiting.”
You smiled through the ache in your chest. “I won’t keep you waiting too long.” you whispered back. “I promise.”
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since squid game is going global in-universe, i thought about how it would be in japan. at first i tried other sort of games, but like kendama, which you can read about in one of the sourced links. but it didnt fit.
so i tried to find something similar to the original games, while maintaining its japanese roots. of course, i do have to tweak some of it to fit in the context, while also being able to bring out the story and some respect.
i thought about making it longer, but it wouldn't work. as it would just be repetitive and i would have to do a bit more searching and fitting for what game suits it all. so i ended up shortening it. still i hope it is enjoyable to you all!!!
here are the sources:
menko
how is menko played?
daruma-san ga koronda
how is daruma-san ga koronda played?
ohajiki
how is ohajiki played?
reader and sukuna's numbers are 46 and 49. together 46 and 49 read something like "yoroshiku" (よろしく) in wordplay which means best regards/please treat me well/nice to meet you and thanks in advance. but in this context, i used please treat me well and best regards.
4 = よ (yo)
The number 4 is pronounced shi or yon, but in wordplay, it's often shortened to yo.
6 = ろ (ro)
The number 6 is pronounced roku, and the ro sound is taken from the beginning.
4 = し (shi)
Again, 4 = shi here.
9 = く (ku)
The number 9 is pronounced kyuu or ku, and ku is used here.
147 notes · View notes
sunflw3rbouquet · 23 hours ago
Text
i'm gonna love you
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toji x male reader
overview: husband headcanons!!, kissing, science teacher reader, toji's job isn't described (but he's not a hitman lol), petnames (baby), title from d.o! tw: toji being toji, mentions of suggestive activities
…sun✰ ending pride month with headcannons about the loml! i hope everyone had a great pride and i love y'all sm!
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✰while toji is rough around the edges and has been through a lot, he’s definitely one to trust his partner, especially after they spend more time together
✰when they started dating, toji was not that relaxed. he was constantly on edge and never let himself relax around his boyfriend
✰but now that they’ve been together for almost a decade and they’re married, toji lets himself truly be comfortable 
✰whether it’s walking around in nothing but his boxers or allowing himself to rely on his husband doesn’t matter, he just becomes the most relaxed guy ever
✰he’s not changing himself for you, instead it’s allowing himself to bring down a wall he built to protect himself
“babe, can you get the mail? it got delivered a while ago- why are you naked?” y/n asked, his voice trailing off as he saw toji’s bare body walking through the living room. toji looked at y/n after the question, eyebrows raised.
“‘s my house, can i not dress how i wanna?” toji responded, turning towards his husband. y/n’s eyes flickered between the portions of toji’s bare torso, a soft smile creeping on his lips.
“well, you can, just it’s surprising to see.” y/n happily responded, going to stand up from the couch. “i’ll go get the mail myself.” he compromised, pressing a soft kiss to toji’s lips. the man smiled happily, his scar curving as his lips bent.
“d’ya not want the apartment complex to see me like this?” he asked, hands sneaking up y/n’s sides. his chest was pressed against y/n’s, which wasn’t an unpleasant sight.
“no- no you’re gonna stay in here, okay? and then i’m going to come back and spend some time with you.” y/n hurriedly started, his hands rubbing toji’s jaw with fervor. he slipped away, putting on his shoes and rushing out the door. 
toji smiled softly, going back to spread out across the couch. he waited for y/n to return, eyes closing until he heard the door swing open, the mail getting placed on the bench at their entryway. y/n’s shoes slammed against the floor, the door hitting the door frame as he shut it.
”welcome back, miss me?” toji asked, opening his arms for y/n who gladly jumped into them, a smile creeping onto toji’s lips. being himself had its perks.
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✰toji is a very affectionate man
✰while hates pda, he loves to have his husband close at home
✰he hangs off of him like koala bear, constantly making sure he is as close as he can be to his husband
✰while he loves hugging you, kisses are his favorite things
✰he’ll kiss you anywhere
✰lips, cheeks, head, neck, shoulders, back, chest
✰the list goes on
✰if you have skin on your body, he’ll kiss it
✰it’s most of the time very sweet, but sometimes he gets a little lost in his thoughts and won’t stop
“toji, i’m ready to sleep.”
y/n’s request fell on deaf ears, toji’s lips still incessantly moving against y/n’s chest. his head moved up and down, his black hair poking up in every direction as y/n gently stroked his fingers through the strands.
”baby, please?” y/n asked again, toji’s eyes looking up to meet y/n’s. his lips were a bright pink, skin puffy due to the lengthy time spent admiring y/n’s warm skin.
”i love you so much. i can’t stop.” toji responded, his head resting on y/n’s chest, eyes twinkling. “you’re so amazing.” 
y/n let a soft smile creep on his lips to match toji’s, his hands trailing down to toji’s shoulder. “i’ll give you one more kiss, then let’s sleep, hm?” he prompted, toji reluctantly agreeing.
their lips pressed together, not moving. they felt their skin clash, warmth flooding through their bodies.
”good night, toji.” y/n spoke as he pulled away, turning off the lamp that rested on his nightstand.
”goodnight, y/n.” toji responded, putting his head in the crook of y/n’s neck and drifting off to sleep.
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✰toji’s number one hobby is bragging, especially about your relationship
✰he brags about your wedding, whenever you get a new promotion
✰you love him, but sometimes it gets annoying
✰he can’t help but show off all the time, and of course he’s going to show off his greatest treasure!
toji’s grip around your waist was tight. his hand cupped around your waist hard, fingers rubbing against y/n’s suit jacket. the glass of wine y/n held sloshing as toji swayed, deep in conversation with his friends at his coworker’s party.
“y/n actually just got promoted! he’s the head of the science department at his school now.” toji exclaimed happily, his eyes shining brightly as he talked to nanami. 
y/n had already heard this same conversation 10-ish times, getting more disinterested each time toji brought the topic up. “baby,” y/n whispered, leaning into toji’s sighed. “you don’t need to brag anymore, hmm?” he finished. toji stopped mid sentence, looking into his husband’s eyes.
“i can’t. i’m so proud of you, if i don’t share it i might go crazy.” toji replied, a bright smile gracing his lips. this smile didn’t come out often, which made it even more special. over the years, he realized it only came out when toji began to talk about y/n. 
a soft smile began to grace y/n’s lips, mirroring the one that was on toji’s. “fine, my love. whatever makes you happiest.”
with his husband’s permission, toji began to talk again, his voice ringing through the house with pride.
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✰toji is very adamant about “keeping the romance alive” as he puts it
✰whether that’s dates, random presents, or more suggestive activities, toji’s obsessed with it
✰you’ve seen him watching those aesthetic couple youtubers and looking at a pinterest board full of date ideas
✰he’s incredibly sweet about it, taking time out of his day to surprise you with presents and dinner when you get home from work without any reason except for the fact that he loves you
✰these acts move you so much that you start repaying him back as well, and it becomes a tradition between you two
the restaurant toji had chosen to have dinner at was dark, candles lighting each individual table. y/n flipped through the menu, deep in thought.
“would you like to share spaghetti bolognese?” he asked, looking at toji with a smile. toji sighed softly, leaning forward. 
“i’ll get whatever you want, hm? i want you to be happy.” y/n rolled his eyes at toji’s flirtatious statement.
“i think you just want to flirt with me.” he replied, toji reaching out for y/n’s hand. 
“well, two things can be true at once.” toji smiled, pressing a soft kiss to y/n’s knuckles. the waiter came to their table, toji giving her their order.
the time before their food arrived was full of toji’s relentless affection. the man complimented him and kissed his hands to no end, heat burning from y/n’s head to his toes.
”do you have no shame?” y/n asked, face leaning on his hand as he stared at toji across the table. his husband was staring straight at him with a bright smile, barely blinking with hearts in his eyes.
”you’re just really gorgeous.” toji responded, the waiter putting their dinner in between them. y/n just smiled, grabbing his fork and digging in. he ate the spaghetti quickly, one noodle hanging from his lips. “you’ve got something on your lips.” toji spoke, y/n looking up to meet his gaze.
he saw toji move closer, his lips connecting with the end of the noodle y/n was eating. was he doing the thing from the lady and the tramp?
y/n ate a little more, toji following him until they met in the center. their lips connected in a gentle kiss, y/n smiling happily before pulling away. “i love you, even if you’re cheesy.” y/n said, toji laughing.
”i love you too, always.”
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✰as he gets older, he definitely sees his body and personality changing, and like all of us, gets insecure
✰and yet, he never gets go fully experience these thoughts 
✰his husband was always giving toji compliments, and reassuring him that he was beautiful
✰”i love your stomach, it’s such a good pillow” or “your arms are so strong and cozy” and even “you’re so handsome. my husband has the most beautiful face” bring him comfort and happiness whenever he hears them come out of your mouth
✰toji always says the same things in response, like complimenting the gray that pokes through your hair and the way your face scrunches when you smile
✰growing old is a privilege to him, and getting to grow old with you is one of the best things that has ever happened to him
toji stood in the mirror, his eyes trailing his figure as his hands moved across his body. he poked the skin on his stomach, watching as it moved back.
he had been going to the gym less, and he had found himself indulging in y/n’s cooking more frequently, but he didn’t expect to see physical results. maybe it was because he was getting older. toji didn’t enjoy change, especially when it was physical.
”baby! there you are!” y/n smiled, his eyes going to toji’s soft frown. “are you okay?” toji let out a sigh, his eyes dull. with this visual bad expression, y/n went to go hug the man tightly, his hands rubbing up and down his back. “what’s up with my handsome husband? why is he sad, hm?”
y/n felt toji sink into his arms, toji’s face nuzzling into y/n’s shoulders. “i’m just feeling down. i’ll be okay.” toji responded, his hand brushing through y/n’s hair listlessly.
there was an understanding between them, y/n already knowing what toji was upset about. “i think you’re handsome, and you’re body is gorgeous.” he whispered, kissing the top of toji’s hair with a smile. toji chuckled softly, his lips grazing y/n’s neck.
”thank ya, dear.” toji replied, allowing himself to sink into the warmth of the man he loved. “i really needed it.”
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✰contradicting with his scary exterior, toji loves kids
✰it’s something you’ve noticed more over the years, now reaching it’s climax
✰whenever you hang around your friends with kids, toji always seems to disappear to play with the kids
✰he’s scarily good with them, too
✰babies stop crying when he holds them, he can quell a worrying toddler, and you’re not entirely sure how
he does it
the new year’s party toji and y/n were at was settling down, parents wrangling teenagers while others soothed half awake toddlers. y/n had escaped from the kitchen full of people to find toji sitting on the couch, a baby in his arms. he had a bright smile on his lips, the baby fast asleep.
”hey handsome, is this your baby?” y/n playfully asked, sitting down next to his husband with a smile. toji rolled his eyes, allowing y/n to lean into him.
”yeah, does that turn you on?” he asked, y/n smacking his shoulder. “you’re going to wake the baby if you keep acting like a whiny toddler.” he replied, rocking the baby as they babbled quietly. y/n let out a puff of air, watching toji as he interacted with the baby.
”you’re having a good time, right?” y/n asked, toji turning his head to look at him.
”the best time. i’m with you, and i get to take care of your friend’s cute baby.” toji’s words were sincere, and y/n’s heart filled with a rush of domestic joy. his husband was somehow more gorgeous when he was taking care of children. it was the cutest sight, toji laughing happily when the baby cooed or smiled at him.
he knew that toji wanted a baby, and whenever he saw toji interact with kids he was more and more convinced it was a good idea. ”we should probably get going.” y/n whispered, pressing a kiss to toji’s cheek as y/n’s friend came to grab their baby. toji stood up with a frown, leaving the house hand in hand with y/n, small children waving at him as they exited.
”one day.” he muttered, y/n squeezing toji’s hand tightly. he nodded slowly, watching as toji began to smile again.
y/n always wanted to make toji happy, because he was happiest when the love of his life was happy.
✰toji doesn’t bring it up a lot, but you can tell he wants kids of his own
✰every happy smile is ended with a soft frown, and his voice trails off whenever people mention it
✰maybe he’ll be lucky someday soon, but that’s something they would have to discuss
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i love my toji! 2161 words
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xylatox · 3 days ago
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how to hex a heart || kth
Taehyun fic, taehyun fic, taehyun fic!! Hehe super duper excited to read this because taehyun <3 and its rain’s writing :) 
I still no nothing about hogwarts (sue me) but I will enjoy and love it anyways.
Already love that Sunoo and mc are friends :) He is the cutest and sassiest boy ever
“Obviously it was an accident,” Taehyun cut in, voice cold and clipped, The potion dripped from his vest in sluggish streaks, soaking into the ravenclaw blue. “Next time, try looking where you're going instead of skipping around like some deranged fairy” 
I have no reason to be giggle but I cant like I love it when Tyun is so blunt and straight to the point (and maybe a little mean :3) ahh
Also her personality really is the sweetest, God bless her soul I want to protect her. I also love though that she has a bite to her
“Besides, a little Knotgrass never hurt anyone. Except maybe his ego.”
Makes me super happy to see that despite her cheeriness she’s able to bite back ugh
I fear I was Taehyun on the inside in uni😭😭BUT I SWEAR I HAD VALID REASON </3
Their dynamic is so cute despite all the tension, ugh I love them so much
“That potion was for me, actually,” he snapped. “A concentration tonic. For my study schedule. Unlike you, I don’t need to flirt my way through classes.” 
I take it back I cant be that mean😭😭😭 I just say slightly mean words when things were common sense </3
I think Taehyun’s jealously is honestly, kind of cute </3 Maybe I am just down bad (I really am) but I understand his sentiments and hers too. I much prefer having a colder demeanour opposed to the cherriness of mc but her personality isnt a problem because it isnt forced like a lot of people and shes genuinely just the sweetest thing ever
But here, under the stars, he looked… tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix.
Ah I love this :( Like, theres something so difficult about being tired that no matter how much sleep you get youre always exhausted. Its like your brain has no where else to release the energy so you just, try to fix it with sleep but it never works and just makes you more tired instead </3
Also its sososo cute she give him her Chocolate Frog which is basically her pick me up
“I hate the way you lie.” A pause. A breath.
This line took me back to Love The Way You Lie by Eminem and Rihanna and omg I feel nostalgic
“I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you.” Your breath catches in your throat. Your mouth suddenly like cotton. 
SCREAMING AND THE KISS???? Rain ugh, Im so obsessed with  your words.
It was fire meeting fire, snow melting on burning skin. His mouth met yours with all the tension of months pressed into a single, trembling heartbeat. He kissed you like he was trying to erase every insult, every rivalry, every bitter word. You kissed him like you’d been waiting for him to stop running.
Rain I swear I will love your words till the day I die
Also not Taehyun acting like nothing happened :( Thats too mean. I know hes pushing her away (for some good reason?) but ugh it hurts no :( 
The extent of his meanness breaks me so much oh my god. I feel embarrassed hello?? Like she genuinely tries so hard despite everything and hes still so cold and ugh her reaction breaks him too when he realized he went too far
“You’re always happy. You shine so damn much it hurts. And I... I’ve spent my whole life trying to be perfect, trying to be what everyone expects.
I loved this line. Theres something about trying to live up to someone else’s expectation that literally just makes things so much harder and being cold just somehow makes that easier, but mc has it so naturally so I get where Taehyun comes from. I also understand mc, and my heart just goes to her because of how sweet she is
The letter in the epilogue is so sweet oh my god😭😭 Tyun is such a tsundere and Im obsessed with it.
And somewhere between the heavens and the earth, a boy who built walls and a girl who tore them down find something far sweeter than victory. Not perfection. But something better. Home.
I cant believe Im tearing up. This was so beautiful Rain :( I genuinely love them so much. They mean so much to me, I love that mc was Taehyun’s person who tore down his walls and ugh :( wishing everyone to find this.
HOW TO HEX A HEART k.th
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೨౿ ⠀  ׅ ⠀   ̇  7.5K ⸝⸝ . ‌ ׅ ⸺ word count.
pairing s𝜗𝜚 ravenclaw ! taehyun ៹ hufflepuff ! reader ᧁ; angst ˒ fantasy ˒ hogwarts au
warnings ⊹₊ ⋆ angst hogwarts au grumpy x sunshine academic rivals to lovers yearning characters are aged up set in a college like hogwarts setting ft sunoo (enhypen)
in which୨୧ ㅤִ Love was sacred, love was rare, love was fleeting...but Taehyun wanted none of it. Instead searching for a fullfilling life in the pages of texts books and viles filled with potions, your cheery personality and natural smarts did little for his ego and too much damage to his high standings in all of Hogwarts academics. He must put a stop to it...if he wished to stay on top.
★ !rain's mic is on ⋆ ͘ . chat I'm so excited!! This is apart of a collab I'm doing with my fellow writers and friends: the nine and three quarters collab. I hope ya'll enjoy. guys I actually hate how rushed this is. I'm sorry!! i wrote it ages ago for our event and it’s been siting in the drafts for a while now, i can honestly say….its not even nearly close to my best work. i wish it was better because taehyun deserve better! i’ll be writing my coraline fic soon as a redemption arc for tae, i swear by it!
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The dungeon was alive with a symphony of simmering cauldrons and chattering students, the air thick with the sharp tang of fluxweed and the earthy musk of powdered root of asphodel. Candles floated above the stone tables, flickering with a lazy indifference, casting golden halos across glass vials and worn parchment. You sat hunched over your cauldron, stirring clockwise; then counterclockwise, exactly as the textbook instructed, though you liked to think you added a little flair to your technique. Beside you, Sunoo leaned over to check your progress, his face drawn in a mix of admiration and mild panic. 
“I swear mine’s more brown than bronze,” he whispered, frowning at his own mixture. 
“It’s because you’re overthinking it again,” you giggled, nudging him gently. “You have to let the potion speak to you. Feel the ingredients. Make a little magic of your own, y’know?” He rolled his eyes but smiled, accustomed to your blend of mysticism and mischief. You were sunshine in a bottle, golden, glowing, maybe a little overwhelming on days like this, but endlessly kind, brimming with a passion for the craft that made even the most monotonous ingredients feel like keys to a hidden kingdom. You adored Potions. It was alchemy and artistry, mystery and discipline, all bubbling into something beautiful. 
“Alright, ingredients table, now!” barked Professor Oakenhart from the front of the class, his robes flaring dramatically as he paced. “Step carefully. If you spill the unicorn hair again, Nott, I will make you polish the cauldrons with your tears.” You perked up immediately, hand shooting into the air before anyone else could even blink. “I’ll go!” you chimed, hopping up from your stool and bouncing toward the table with a spring in your step.
But in your unbridled enthusiasm, you didn’t see him. Kang Taehyun. Towering. Silent. Cold as the dungeons themselves and twice as sharp. He was the kind of student who didn’t just read the textbook — he memorized the footnotes, corrected the professor’s misquotes, and brewed potions with the precision of a seasoned apothecary. And he hated you. Not in the way someone hates a rainstorm or a bad meal; no, he hated you with purpose. Your effortless charm, your laughter echoing across the corridors, the way professors smiled just a little too brightly when you answered questions correctly. Worst of all, you matched him. In test scores, potion grades, practicals. You were sunshine to his storm cloud. And it infuriated him. 
So when you turned and smacked straight into his chest, your half-filled vial of brewed Knotgrass solution flying from your hand and splattering all across the front of his pristine uniform, it was more than an accident. It was an act of war. “Oh—oh my god—I didn’t see you—! I’m so sorry!” you gasped, hands fluttering uselessly in the air, unsure whether to mop it up or vanish into the floor. “It was an accident, really, I didn’t—” 
“Obviously it was an accident,” Taehyun cut in, voice cold and clipped, The potion dripped from his vest in sluggish streaks, soaking into the ravenclaw blue. “Next time, try looking where you're going instead of skipping around like some deranged fairy” You blinked, momentarily stunned by the venom in his tone.
“I—” But he was already striding off toward Professor Oakenhart, presumably to report the offense and extract his revenge in the form of docked house points or an extra essay. The silence he left in his wake felt oddly loud, like someone had extinguished the warmth in the room. You returned to your seat with what you hoped was dignity, though your cheeks burned and your heart thudded a little too loudly in your chest. Sunoo was watching you, eyes wide.
“That was brutal,” he whispered. “Are you alright?” You forced a bright smile, even though the potion fumes still clung to your nose and your pride felt a bit bruised. “Just peachy!” you chirped, plopping back onto your stool and picking up your ladle. “Besides, a little Knotgrass never hurt anyone. Except maybe his ego.”
Sunoo snorted into his sleeve. Somewhere behind you, you swore you could feel Taehyun’s glare like a knife to your spine. 
Professor Oakenhart clapped his hands for silence, the crystalline ting-ting-ting of his silver rings against his wand echoing through the vaulted stone. Bubbling cauldrons fell obediently to a hush, the once-lively chatter collapsing into a hush so complete you could hear the delicate pop of fluxweed bladders bursting in the brew. Oakenhart let the hush linger, he enjoyed suspense the way a sphinx savors riddles; before letting his voice pour down like cold mountain water. 
“Next year’s class prefect,” he announced, letting the words hang, “will be chosen in three weeks’ time. The badge will go”, his dark eyes skimmed the room, “to the student who best embodies the virtues that keep this ancient castle alive: scholarly excellence, unwavering helpfulness, and the kind of leadership that does not require howling at those beneath you.” His gaze flicked, ever so briefly, toward the Ravenclaw benches, then to you in your Hufflepuff yellow, where you sat up straighter on reflex. A hush of anticipation prickled through the air, sparking like powdered moonstone hitting hot embers. 
It took no more than a heartbeat for both your hands and Taehyun’s to shoot skyward, mirror images of ambition in two very different skins. Your arm rose with sunshine optimism, sleeve fluttering like a pennant above a castle tower; Taehyun’s lifted with predatory precision, elbow locked, fingers slicing the air as if claiming rightful territory. Two comets on intersecting orbits. “Questions?” Oakenhart invited, his thin smile hinting that questions were only respectable if they tasted of genuine curiosity and not vanity.
Taehyun noticed you first, noticed the way your fingertips wiggled for attention as though determined to catch falling starlight, and a quiet scuff of disapproval hissed past his teeth. “Little miss perfect,” he muttered under his breath, the phrase delivered like a curse brewed from nettle and spite. But the professor’s nod landed on you, not him. You stood, straightening your robes with a soft brush of palms, and the dungeon’s torchlight caught the hopeful glimmer in your eyes. “Professor,” you began, voice warm as summer rain, “will academic collaboration — tutoring students outside one’s own house, for example; count toward the leadership criterion, or is it measured strictly by individual achievement?” The question sailed across the room, thoughtful and earnest, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon from the potion still clinging to your cuffs. 
Taehyun’s scoff was immediate, a low, velvety sound of contempt. “It’s hardly rocket science,” he drawled, loud enough for the nearest cauldrons to tremble. “Prefects inspire excellence, they don’t spoon-feed it. Obviously individual performance weighs heaviest.” His sarcasm slithered through the air like a smoky serpent, confident that everyone would see the answer as plain as daylight. 
Instead of bristling, you turned to him with the brightness of a heliotrope bending toward dawn. You dipped your head, just a fraction and let a beatific smile unfurl, soft and sincere. “Thank you, Taehyun,” you replied, voice edged with honeyed cordiality. “But I find that shining your light helps others see where they’re going, and what’s leadership if not lighting the path?” Your gentle retort glimmered with the audacity of grace, and the dungeon seemed to flicker brighter for a heartbeat. The sight of your tilted head and unconquerable optimism struck Taehyun like a spell gone awry. A low, involuntary snarl rasped from his throat, a feral sound quickly smothered behind a pursed line of lips, but not before you caught it, not before half the class saw the flash of winter in his eyes. The tension between you twanged like a harp string wound too tight: one pluck away from music, one tug away from breaking.  
Professor Oakenhart cleared his throat, once, sharply, expelling the storm before it could fully gather. “An astute question, Miss, Yes, mentorship and cross-house assistance will be tallied.” He inclined his head toward you with a hint of approval, then pivoted to Taehyun. “Mr. Kang, if you have a different inquiry, do raise your hand properly rather than providing commentary mid-air.” A ripple of muted laughter swept the benches, but your gaze held steady on Taehyun’s. Where his irises turned to flint, yours softened to amber, and in that quiet, smoldering stalemate something unspoken sparked, an ember that might turn to wildfire or to warmth, given time and care. For now, though, it merely glowed, pulsing in the shadowed dungeon like a promise you both refused to name. 
Sunoo nudged your elbow the moment you sat, wide-eyed and whispering, “I think you just poked a Hungarian Horntail.” You responded with an easy grin, quill poised to continue your notes. “Better a Horntail awake,” you murmured, “than a dragon who never learns how bright fire can be.” Across the aisle, Taehyun pressed a palm flat to the cool desk, steadying himself against the tremor of unfamiliar emotion. His quill scratched furious strokes into his parchment; ink as dark as midnight vows, but beneath that practiced scowl, a new question brewed in secret: How does one extinguish sunshine…without first stepping into its light? 
After the classroom became a quiet hush, everyone working silently alongside their partners, Professor Oakenheart instructs Taehyun and yourself to rise and follow him to his desk. “You will both report to the potion storeroom tonight. Seven o’clock. No excuses. And no magic.” He says with a sigh. “I cannot have students arguing in class, it’s unsavory.” 
“Yes, Mr. Oakenheart.” You say with the downward tilt of your head. Taehyun didn’t say a word. His robes still glistened from your accidental splash, the potion drying in uneven patches across his sleeve. He glanced at you once, briefly, with all the warmth of a midwinter frost, then turned away. 
You walk back to your seat next to Sunoo solemnly, sitting down next to him silently. Sunoo whispered, “You’re cursed,” under his breath as you sat back down. You grinned and whispered back, “Just peachy.” 
Seven o’clock arrived like a tolling bell, and the potion storeroom, usually locked, usually silent, opened with a low groan as Professor Oakenhart wordlessly ushered you both inside. The room was narrow and cluttered, lit by a handful of enchanted lanterns that hovered in lazy loops, casting golden light onto rows of old wooden shelves. Vials of powdered roots and dried wings lined the walls, their labels yellowed and curling at the edges. The air was rich with the scent of earth and time; rosehips, wolfsbane, peppermint, and mildew. “You’ll sort and organize all of this,” the professor said, gesturing to a chaotic pile of unbottled ingredients and stained glassware stacked across the center table. “Without the use of wands. You leave when it’s done.” 
Then he left, the heavy door clicking shut behind him with an ominous finality. You turned to Taehyun with a sheepish smile. “Well… could be worse.”
Taehyun didn’t even glance at you. “Could be over faster if you stopped talking.”
“Oh, come on,” you said, grabbing a jar of shriveled billywig stingers. “You act like I spilled that potion on purpose.”
“You didn’t not spill it,” he muttered, picking through a box of dried dittany leaves with the care of a jeweler inspecting glass. “You’re always fluttering around like a butterfly with no sense of direction. No wonder you can’t stay upright.” You rolled your eyes and tossed your hair back defiantly. “You’re so dramatic. One splash of Dreamless Sleep on your sleeve and you act like I’ve ruined your career.”
“That potion was for me, actually,” he snapped. “A concentration tonic. For my study schedule. Unlike you, I don’t need to flirt my way through classes.” The words hit like a slap; sharp, misplaced, and far too personal. 
You blinked. “I wasn’t flirting, Taehyun.” He didn’t reply. Just turned, his fingers tight around the neck of a decanter filled with bluebell essence. The silence stretched long and brittle. You turned back to the shelves, trying to focus on alphabetizing vials instead of the heat rising to your cheeks. You hated that he could twist your sunshine into something shallow. You hated that it hurt a little, even if you knew better. It was when you were climbing a rickety step stool to reach a jar of flobberworm mucus that it happened, your foot caught on a crooked rung, and the world tilted sharply. You yelped, arms flailing for balance, but gravity was faster. 
And Taehyun; curse him, was there. He caught you by the waist in a startled breath, your chest nearly colliding with his, both of you frozen in a strange, suspended heartbeat. For one unbearable second, the air was different. He smelled like cloves and parchment and the faint memory of apples. His hands were warm through the fabric of your robes. Your face was tilted up to his, and his jaw tightened like he was holding back a thought that tasted too much like truth. Then he let go. 
You stumbled back with a startled gasp, catching yourself against a shelf just in time to stop an entire row of beetle eyes from toppling to the floor. “You—!” you started.
“I’m not your babysitter,” he snapped, brushing his hands down his robes like your presence had scorched him. “You’re so dramatic,” you said again, this time with venom. “One second you’re catching me, the next you act like I’ve hexed you.”
“And you’re unbearable,” he bit out, his voice low and dangerous. “Always smiling, always talking, always pretending the world is sugar and stars. It’s exhausting.” You stared at him, chest heaving, the light from the lanterns catching the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the irritated furrow in his brow. But underneath all that anger; buried like a secret, was something else.
You exhaled slowly. “Maybe it’s not pretend.” Taehyun said nothing. Just turned back to his work, jaw clenched, knuckles white where they gripped a jar of valerian root. 
You returned to the pile of unsorted ingredients with a huff, brushing the dust from your skirt and refusing to meet his eyes. The silence between you wasn’t peaceful, it was brittle, strained, the kind of silence that creaked like a staircase in an old manor, aching to be broken. Taehyun was the one who cracked first. “Maybe if you focused half as much on your work as you do on being liked, you wouldn’t be in detention.”
You turned sharply, a vial of crushed lovage seeds in one hand. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Oh, I did. I’m just stunned you think being liked is a flaw.”
He scoffed, not looking up from the set of empty phials he was aligning by size. “Popularity isn’t the same as talent.”
“And coldness isn’t the same as intelligence,” you snapped. “Just because you glare through every lecture doesn’t make you smarter than everyone else.” He finally turned to face you, eyes flashing like lightning behind stormcloud lashes. “I’m not cold. I’m focused. There’s a difference.”
You stepped closer, your arms crossed now, potion dust glittering faintly on your sleeves like constellation flecks. “You’re so scared someone else might outshine you that you treat everyone like competition.” 
“No one has outshined me,” he replied, voice like steel. “Until you.” 
The silence that followed was a strange one. Thicker. Quieter. Like the world had taken a step back to let those words hang between you — taunting, trembling, true. You blinked. “What?”
He looked away too fast. “Forget it.”
“No, you said—” You took a step closer, your heart thudding, not from the argument, but from the accidental confession strung beneath it. “You said until me. You think I’ve outshined you?” 
“I think you’re exhausting,” he muttered, back to organizing now with unnecessary force, placing bottles like they’d offended him personally. “You breeze through everything like it’s easy. People like you. Professors praise you. And somehow, despite all your little smiles and your sunshine-and-daisies attitude, you’re still top of the class.” You stared at him, stunned. “You think I haven’t worked for this?”
“I think you’ve never needed to work as hard,” he hissed, not cruel but bitter, like it was a wound he’d carried for too long. “You show up and everyone adores you. I have to fight for everything.”
Your voice softened. “That’s not my fault, Taehyun.” He paused, a jar of dried mint frozen in his hand.
“No,” he said, after a breath. “It’s not. But it still feels like I’m running a race you get to skip the hurdles for.” You didn’t know what to say to that. The space between you wasn’t so wide now. Just one potion-stained table and a pile of unsaid things.
“I don’t try to make you feel that way,” you said, quieter now. “I just… I like being here. I like learning. I like this world. It’s not about beating you.” Taehyun exhaled, slowly. “It’s always been about beating me.” You looked at him then; really looked. The precision of his posture. The tension in his shoulders. The fury not just with you, but with himself. With his need to win. And buried beneath that, the fear of what it might mean to lose to someone like you.
“Maybe,” you said gently, “it doesn’t have to be a race.” He looked up, and for the first time, he didn’t seem angry. Just tired. And quietly, painfully aware of you in a way that went far deeper than rivalry ever could. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said, but his voice had lost its edge.
You tilted your head and smiled; not mockingly, but softly. “Maybe I would.” He didn’t smile back.
The sky was ink-blue, bruised with stars. The Astronomy Tower stood quiet, wind whispering through the slits in the stone as if the castle itself was holding its breath. The hour was late enough that most students had turned in, their dormitories dim with drowsy candlelight and dreams. But you couldn’t sleep. Something in the air tonight felt unsettled. Heavy. Like the prelude to a storm, but not one outside. 
A strange instinct tugged at you; soft and insistent. So you wandered, slippers padding across stone, drawn not by sound but by silence. You found him there. Taehyun. Perched on the low ledge of the Astronomy Tower with his knees pulled up and his arms resting on them, his robes dark against the greystone, face upturned toward a sky he didn’t seem to be seeing. There was something wrong in the stillness of him.
He was always sharp in class, always stiff with pride, always holding himself like a blade; ready to cut, ready to be cut. But here, under the stars, he looked… tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. The kind that came from being measured too often. From being whittled down into something small and perfect and hollow. You approached gently, your footsteps careful. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you at all. Just kept his gaze fixed forward, eyes unreadable, expression carved from stone.
But you saw the parchment clutched in one hand, wrinkled and shaking slightly in the wind. You didn’t ask what it said. You didn’t need to. The way his shoulders curled inward, the way his mouth pressed into a thin, unfeeling line; it told you enough. So you sat beside him. You didn’t speak. Didn’t press. Just opened your satchel and wordlessly held out a Chocolate Frog, your last one. You kept it for exam days and rainy Sundays, but tonight, it felt like he needed it more than you. For a second, he didn’t move. Then, without looking at you, he took it. His fingers brushed yours. Cold. Tense. But real.
You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease. You just sat beside him in silence, letting the stars be the only witnesses. Letting the wind pass between you like breath. Letting kindness be quiet and simple and soft. And when you left, he still hadn’t spoken. Still hadn’t looked at you. But the Chocolate Frog wrapper sat folded neatly on the ledge when you returned the next day.
The next morning in Potions, everything feels almost normal. Almost. You and Sunoo arrive late, breathless from a stairwell that decided halfway through to rotate in the wrong direction. Professor Oakenhart levels you both with a tired glare, but waves you in without comment. You settle into your seat and reach for your ingredients; belladonna, porcupine quills, armadillo bile, your fingers moving on instinct while your mind drifts elsewhere.
To the Astronomy Tower. To the letter he never spoke of. To the way he never thanked you. To the way you hadn’t needed him to. It happens so fast you barely register it. A soft pop. A hiss. The sharp crack of glass. And then, boom. Your cauldron erupts in a bloom of green smoke and sparks, a chemical chaos that splashes up in a hot rush of steam and acrid potion. You flinch, arms flying up to protect your face, heart hammering in your throat. But nothing touches you.
Because in the heartbeat before the blast, a shield spell snaps into place; silver and curved like a falling star, held firm by a voice you know too well. “Protego.” When the smoke clears, you’re blinking through tears, more from shock than anything and coughing through the haze. Your cauldron is scorched, bubbling like a wounded beast, and Sunoo is somewhere under the table muttering prayers. 
But all you can see is Taehyun. Standing across the aisle. His wand still raised. His hair mussed slightly from the force of the blast. His robes dusted with soot and powdered nettle. He says nothing. Just looks at you for one long, unreadable moment. Then lowers his wand, turns on his heel, and walks back to his seat like nothing happened. You stare after him, stunned. Because it wasn’t like him to help. It wasn’t like him to notice. But he had. And something in your chest warms like sunlight over frost. 
The Professor grumbles something about careless brewing, assigns a week’s worth of clean-up duties, and moves on. But you don’t care. You’re still staring at the back of Taehyun’s head, and the words you didn’t say last night echo louder now than ever: Maybe it doesn’t have to be a race.
– 
Snow had draped itself over the castle like a dream.
Hogwarts shimmered under winter’s enchantment, its towers crowned with frost, its courtyards glowing gold with fairy lights. Students bustled about in robes lined with velvet, their laughter rising with each breath like smoke into the star-splattered sky. Tonight wasn’t the Yule Ball, not exactly, it was something smaller, softer. A midwinter celebration organized by the Prefects and Professors: music in the Great Hall, warm drinks passed from student to student, and the magic of December clinging to every flickering candle. You arrived with Sunoo, cheeks flushed, hair kissed with snow. Laughter danced on your lips before you even crossed the threshold, Sunoo telling a joke that made your sides ache, your friends gathering around like stars drawn to your gravity. You were radiant in your winter robes, something golden in your grin. You loved nights like this. Nights full of warmth and wonder. Nights where the world felt like it belonged to you.
He was already there. Taehyun stood on the far edge of the room, near the refreshment table but untouched by it. Alone. Always alone. His Ravenclaw blue scarf hung loose around his neck, frost still clinging to the hems of his sleeves, and his expression unreadable, carved from cool stone.You didn’t notice him at first. Not really. Not until someone asked you to dance.
It was a boy from Gryffindor, tall, smiling, a little shy. He offered you his hand and you, ever the sun, said yes without hesitation. Your friends cheered. Sunoo nudged you playfully. And soon, the two of you were spinning between floating candles, the music lifting your steps, your laughter like honey and light. Taehyun noticed. He noticed the way your head tipped back when you laughed. The way your hands fit so easily into someone else’s. The way you looked, joyful, unguarded, lovely, and not at all like the girl who once gave him her last Chocolate Frog in silence.
He didn’t stay. He turned before he could think better of it, his footsteps soundless on the marble. The corridor outside the Great Hall was quiet, save for the distant hum of music and the soft hush of falling snow through an open window. He didn’t know why he left. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t have the words for it. He just knew he hated watching someone else hold your smile. So he left. And you followed. 
You found him near the foot of the grand staircase, his back to you, the golden candlelight brushing against his shoulders, setting soft fire to the edges of his silhouette. “Taehyun.”
He didn’t turn. You stepped closer. “You left early.” 
“I wasn’t enjoying myself.”
“Why not?”
A beat. Then: “You looked like you were.”
There was something sharp in the way he said it. Something jealous. Something that trembled beneath the surface, unwilling to admit what it truly was. You folded your arms. “So you were watching me.” He turned to you then, slowly. His expression unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes were thunderclouds.
“You always want people to look at you,” he said, low and quiet. “So don’t act surprised when they do.”
Your breath caught, more from the venom than the words themselves. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you always have to be seen, don’t you? Always the center of the room. Always dancing, laughing, shining — like you need everyone’s attention to survive.” You flinched. But you stood your ground. “And you push everyone away because you’re afraid they’ll see something you’re hiding.”
“Better than parading around like you have nothing to hide.”
“At least I’m not cruel about it.” You quip back, hurt. 
“Oh?” he snapped. “You think I’m cruel because I don’t fawn over your every word? Because I don’t melt under your smiles like everyone else does?”
“No,” you said, stepping closer now, your voice trembling not with fear but with fury. “I think you’re cruel because you can’t stand that someone else might be your equal.” His jaw clenched.
“And because you’re angry,” you whispered, “that I make you feel something you can’t control.” Silence. Thick, aching silence. 
“You’re insufferable,” he breathed.
“And you’re impossible.”
“I hate the way you laugh.”
“I hate the way you lie.” A pause. A breath.
“I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you.” Your breath catches in your throat. Your mouth suddenly like cotton. 
Then, like a flicker of a flame Taehyun was kissing you. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire meeting fire, snow melting on burning skin. His mouth met yours with all the tension of months pressed into a single, trembling heartbeat. He kissed you like he was trying to erase every insult, every rivalry, every bitter word. You kissed him like you’d been waiting for him to stop running. When you pulled apart, breathless, your hands still clutched his robes. He stared at you, stunned. Like he hadn’t meant to do it. Like he wanted to do it again.
You smirked, the corner of your mouth curling just so. “Still hate me?”
His lips twitched. “More than ever.” But his voice was hoarse. And his fingers didn’t let go.
Morning broke cold and silver, the kind of pale light that softened the snow but sharpened the air. In the Great Hall, everything looked the same. Students chattered over toast and pumpkin juice, scarves half-tangled around their necks, steam curling from mugs like the remnants of dreams. The enchanted ceiling swirled with drifting snowflakes and a pale winter sky. But something was off-kilter in the space around you. Something missing You scanned the tables without thinking, eyes flickering past familiar faces. Sunoo noticed, you could feel his gaze as you forced a too-bright smile, buttered your toast with robotic precision.
“Did something happen last night?” he asked, voice soft, careful.
You shrugged, looking down at your plate. “Nothing.” But your hands trembled. And Taehyun wasn’t at his usual place near the end of the Ravenclaw table. Not that you were watching. Not that you were waiting. But still. You saw him again outside the library, later that morning. His robes were immaculate as always, scarf draped neatly over one shoulder, a book in his hand he wasn’t reading. You approached him cautiously, your heart fluttering like a sparrow trapped in your ribs. 
“Taehyun,” you said, gently, like the name itself might break if you spoke it too loud. His eyes flicked up. Cold. Unbothered. Your smile faltered. 
“Can we talk?” you asked, hands twisting in the hem of your sweater.
“No.” Just like that. Clipped. Sharp.
You blinked. “What?” 
“I said no.” Something inside you shrank, just a little. “Taehyun… what happened last night—”
“Was a mistake.” The words hit like a slap. You felt the breath leave your lungs, staggered by the sudden, cruel distance of him. “You kissed me,” you said, voice small, cracking. “You said—” 
“I got caught up in the moment.” His tone was flat, practiced. Like he’d already rehearsed these lines. Like he’d spent the whole night scrubbing every softness out of himself. “It didn’t mean anything.” The world tilted. Your lips parted, your voice caught in your throat. You could feel the sting building in your chest, behind your eyes. He didn’t look at you, wouldn’t. His gaze stayed fixed on the spines of books he wasn’t reading, as if pretending you weren’t there would erase what happened.
“I thought you—” You bit your lip, hard. Swallowed. “I thought you cared.”
“I don’t.” It was brutal, how easy he made it sound. And that was what broke you.
You turned before he could see the tears spill, before your voice could crumble entirely. You ran, not caring who saw, not caring where you were going, just needing to escape the weight of that hallway, of his voice still echoing inside you like the last note of a song gone wrong. Snow flurried around you as you burst outside, not feeling the cold through the heat in your cheeks. The castle loomed behind you, windows glowing warm with light you couldn’t bear to be near.
You collapsed beneath the shadow of a tree near the lake, the frost crunching beneath your knees, and let yourself cry. Quietly, messily. Like the sky had fallen only for you. You hated how much you’d hoped. Hated that one kiss had unraveled you. Hated that even now, even with his cruelty still ringing in your ears… You still wanted to believe he didn’t mean it.
The next morning came like a betrayal. Sunlight poured through the dormitory windows, golden and gentle, but it felt wrong against your skin. The castle still breathed with its usual rhythm, owls cooing in the distance, portraits murmuring, fireplaces crackling softly, but none of it reached you. It was as though something inside you had gone still. Quiet in a way that even your cheer couldn’t touch. You sat beside Sunoo in the Great Hall, picking at your breakfast with no real interest. Your usual glow was gone, dulled into something shadowed and quiet.
Sunoo nudged you gently with his shoulder. “You didn’t say much last night.” You didn’t meet his eyes. “There wasn’t much to say.”
He watched you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “This is about Taehyun, isn’t it?” Your fingers curled tighter around your spoon.
“We kissed, ” you whispered, barely audible. “And then he said it was a mistake.”
Sunoo’s brows lifted, and then quickly drew together in concern. “What?” 
“I thought it meant something,” you said, voice cracking. “But he shut me out. Said it didn’t mean anything. Like I was just… a moment to him. A mistake to be scrubbed out.”
Sunoo’s expression darkened. “What a bloody idiot.” You gave a weak laugh, one that didn’t reach your eyes. He reached across the table and covered your hand with his. “Look, I know you like to see the good in everyone, even in jerks who don’t deserve it, but maybe it’s time you started putting that heart of yours somewhere safer. Someone who’ll actually protect it.”
You nodded, lips pressed tight. “You’re right.” But the ache didn’t lift. Later that day, you filed into Potions class with the rest of the students, your bag slung over one shoulder. The scent of crushed herbs and simmering roots clung thick to the dungeon air. You walked with your head high, shoulders back, smile forced into place like armor. He was already seated when you walked in. Taehyun.
Sitting at his usual spot near the front, posture rigid, jaw tight. His fingers tapped soundlessly against his textbook. He didn’t look up when you entered. Didn’t so much as flinch. But you felt the chill in the room anyway, the weight of all that was unspoken crackling between you like a live wire. Still, you were you. Still sunshine, even with cracks in your light. You walked over, careful steps echoing softly, and perched on the edge of the desk beside his. “Hi, Taehyun,” you said, your voice light, as if your heart wasn’t twisting. “I was wondering if you finished the reading for today. The part about powdered asphodel, wasn’t that fascinating? I thought—”
“Can you just shut up for once?” His voice cut through the room like a blade. The entire class went still. You froze. “I’m trying to concentrate,” he said, still not looking at you. “And I don’t need your insipid, cheery commentary. Merlin knows it’s exhausting enough seeing you parade around like everyone’s personal ray of sunshine.” 
A few people snorted with laughter. Someone whispered behind their hand. You felt every eye in the room swing toward you, your face, your smile, your frozen stance. And Taehyun finally looked up, and his expression was cold, clipped, composed. But your world cracked. You swallowed the lump in your throat, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. You looked around, saw the amusement on their faces, the mockery, the disbelief that anyone as soft as you could’ve tried to reach someone as sharp-edged as him. And then your gaze landed back on Taehyun.
“All I’ve done,” you said, voice trembling, “is try to be nice to you. To care for you. Even when you were cruel. Even when you didn’t deserve it.” He said nothing. Your voice dropped to a whisper. “But I’m done.”
You didn’t wait for his reaction. Didn’t want to see if there was even a flicker of regret in those storm-grey eyes. You turned on your heel, your shoes tapping hard against the stone, and fled the classroom. Again. But this time… you didn’t cry. This time, your chest burned with something else. This time, you were done being soft for someone who only knew how to bruise.
Taehyun sat frozen in the aftermath. The laughter had faded. The stares had drifted away. But the silence that followed your exit rang louder than anything else in the room. He stared at the empty space where you’d stood, chest hollow and knotted, something sour rising in his throat. The words he’d thrown at you echoed back in his ears; sharp, venom-laced things forged in fear, insecurity, and pride. And regret, thick and immediate, curled in his gut like poison. “Taehyun?” the professor called. But he didn’t answer. He stood up abruptly, chair scraping back, and bolted.
His shoes struck stone as he ran through the corridor, breath tight, wand forgotten. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to find you. That he had to. His heart beat painfully against his ribs. The hallways blurred past him, students turned their heads as he passed, but he didn’t stop. He found you in the greenhouses, your favorite place, tucked behind the castle where the air smelled of earth and mint, where your emotions could breathe. You stood alone beneath the arching glass dome, surrounded by sleeping winter blooms. The late afternoon light spilled through the frosted windows in ribbons of gold. You had your arms crossed, head bowed, lips pressed tightly together. When you heard the door open, you stiffened.
“What do you want?” you said, voice hoarse, but strong.
Taehyun’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry.”
You laughed, bitter and soft. “You’re always sorry.”
“I know.” He took a step closer. “I know I keep ruining things. I know I keep hurting you. But I don’t—” His voice broke. “I don’t mean to.”
“Then why do you?” you snapped, eyes glassy, anger trembling under your skin. “Why do you keep pushing me away? Every time I try to be kind, every time I try to care about you — you throw it back in my face.” Taehyun looked down at his hands, curling them into fists. “Because you make it hard to pretend I don’t feel anything.” You stared at him. 
He looked up, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes were wide, vulnerable, raw. “You’re always happy. You shine so damn much it hurts. And I... I’ve spent my whole life trying to be perfect, trying to be what everyone expects. And then you walk in, and you’re better than me, and kinder, and I didn’t know what to do with that. So I lashed out. Because it was easier than admitting I—” He swallowed. “I like you.” Silence bloomed between you. Quiet. Fragile.
“You’re such a bloody idiot,” you muttered.
Taehyun blinked, startled. “What?” And then you stepped forward. Fast. Sure. Your hands came up to grab the collar of his robes, tugging him down before he could react. Your mouth crashed into his with a force that knocked the air out of both of you. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was furious, raw, earned. Taehyun made a soft, strangled noise in the back of his throat, his hands fluttering for a moment before settling; one on your waist, the other braced against the table behind you. But you didn’t wait for him. You deepened the kiss, teeth and warmth and heat and something frantic behind it all. You poured your anger and your longing into him, tasting the apology on his tongue, daring him to mean it.
When you finally pulled away, breathless, your eyes burned into his. “I’ve liked you for ages, you emotionally constipated genius,” you whispered, chest heaving. “But I’m not going to keep running after you if you’re going to keep running from yourself.” His mouth parted. He didn’t speak. He only nodded, once, reverent. 
“I won’t break for you again, Taehyun,” you said, softer now. “So if you’re going to kiss me back next time… mean it.”
“I will,” he breathed, eyes wide, lips swollen, still stunned by the hurricane of you. “I swear.” And this time, when you kissed him again, it was slower. Sweeter. The first page of a new chapter written in ink instead of fire. And for once, he let himself feel it.
The announcement came quietly, a simple flick of parchment and a name spoken with no ceremony. At breakfast, the Great Hall was humming; spoons clinking against porridge bowls, owls flapping in with the morning post, low chatter weaving between house tables like mist. Professor McGonagall stood at the podium, spectacles glinting as she unrolled the scroll of student appointments. Her voice carried with its usual sharpness, precise and unyielding. “The Prefect position for next term,” she said, “has been awarded to Miss Eliza Rowe of Gryffindor.” 
A polite smattering of applause followed. Nothing loud, nothing triumphant, just the rustle of hands clapping out of obligation more than celebration. Eliza, three seats down from the golden trio’s old haunt, blinked, then straightened her back and nodded once, the picture of composed satisfaction. She’d dotted her i’s with logic, crossed her t’s with ruthlessness, built her empire from timetables and perfectly executed essays. And she deserved it. You blinked, mid-sip of pumpkin juice. Across the table, Taehyun paused, one hand wrapped around a buttered scone. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. And then, like a shared secret, you both burst into soft, startled laughter.
No bitterness curled on your tongues. No resentment twisted in your chests. There was no sting to the loss, only the warm realization that you hadn’t even noticed the stakes anymore. Taehyun leaned forward, elbows brushing the edge of his plate, eyes gleaming in the slanted morning light. “You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve lost anything and not wanted to hex someone about it.” You smirked. “Wow. Character development.” 
He grinned, actually grinned, the corners of his mouth curling like sunlight creeping through storm clouds. “Don’t push it.” You looked down at your plate, then back up at him. “I mean, we both lost, technically. And yet…”
“And yet,” he echoed, voice low and warm, gaze lingering. His fingers brushed yours under the table, just a whisper of contact, but it said everything. You glanced around at the bustle of the Hall. No one was paying attention to you anymore. The spotlight had shifted elsewhere. You and Taehyun were no longer the top contenders, the academic titans vying for dominance. And you didn’t care.
The rivalry had sharpened you both, carved out the edges where you met, but now, here, in this quiet moment between spoonfuls of marmalade and melted butter, it felt like something new was blooming. Not softer, exactly. But truer. Less about pride. More about presence. “I think,” you said slowly, “I’d rather have this.”
He tilted his head. “This?”
You shrugged, fighting a smile. “Us. Whatever we are now.” For a moment, Taehyun didn’t answer. Just looked at you, like you were the only person in the castle worth watching. Like maybe, in some unspoken way, he’d already chosen this over everything else. Then he said, “Me too.”
Epilogue 
The letter arrives on a Tuesday. It isn’t sent with an owl, or folded with formal corners. It’s slipped into your Potions textbook, tucked between a page on amortentia and the properties of powdered moonstone. You find it when your fingers brush against the soft, familiar parchment, sealed with nothing more than a pressed flower. A heliotrope. His favorite. And yours. Your name is scrawled across the front in his ever-meticulous handwriting, slanted and confident and just a touch dramatic. But inside; it’s him, wholly and undeniably.
Meet me at the Astronomy Tower. Tonight. Midnight. Don’t bring Sunoo, or I swear. 
Stop asking questions you already know the answer to, Little Miss Perfect. It makes me want to kiss you. Which is inconvenient. Because I hate you.
—T.K.
You laugh, soft, delighted, head shaking in disbelief. The paper crinkles in your hand as your fingers clutch it tighter, your stomach blooming with something golden and giddy. You press the letter against your lips, a half-suppressed giggle escaping. He still says he hates you. You roll your eyes, slip the letter into your sleeve, and go anyway.
The Astronomy Tower is quiet when you arrive, the air tinged with cold and the faint, fragrant echo of spring pushing through winter’s shadow. Snow clings in delicate lace to the ramparts, the sky a deep indigo velvet scattered with stars. Hogwarts sleeps below, its windows glowing faintly, warm and distant. You find him leaning against the parapet, robes fluttering slightly in the breeze, curls tousled and dark against the moonlight. He doesn’t turn as you approach, but you know he hears you. He always does. “You’re late,” Taehyun murmurs, without looking.
“You’re impossible,” you reply, stepping beside him, shoulder brushing his.
He finally glances at you. “And yet, here you are.”
You smile. It’s soft, easy. “What’s the occasion?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks up, at the moon, at the stars, at anything but you. When he finally speaks, it’s quieter. “I used to come here to get away from people. To think. Sometimes just to breathe.” You say nothing. You let him unravel in his own time.
He exhales, long and slow. “Now all I think about is how badly I want you here. All the time. Even when you’re babbling. Even when you’re winning at things I swore I needed to beat you at.” You glance at him, heart beating like a drum beneath your ribs. He turns to face you fully now, the night making a poem of his profile, sharp lines, soft edges, eyes full of unspoken things.
“You ruined my solitude,” he whispers. 
You tilt your head, teasing. “You’re welcome.” 
His lips twitch. “I should hate you for it.”
“And yet?”
“And yet,” he says, stepping closer, “you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to be wrong with.” You reach for him first this time, fingers brushing his, pulling him into your gravity. He meets you halfway. The kiss is quiet. Slow. Like a confession. Like a wish. Above, the stars burn steady. Below, the castle dreams. And somewhere between the heavens and the earth, a boy who built walls and a girl who tore them down find something far sweeter than victory. Not perfection. But something better. Home
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(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox
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orangeocelotmartyn · 3 days ago
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Compilation of (nearly) every time xB brought up Keralis when talking to Bdubs on stream 6/27/25
xB: (overlapping Bdubs) As long as you're not left handed-- Bdubs: You will hear me talking about it. xB: --then everything's fine. Bdubs: So not left handed. xB: Okay. Cause that guy--(he giggles)--he's just, he's full of excuses. So. Bdubs: (demanding) Who is? xB: That left handed guy. (pause) Keralis. Bdubs: You don't even say his name anymore! (xB giggles) xB: (overlapping Bdubs) That left handed guy. Bdubs: Is that where we are, in Voldemort territory?! (Bdubs joins in on the laughter) xB: He who shall not be named. Bdubs: "He who shall not be named" in the ship above my base. xB: He was like, "oh," he was like, "xB, I'm gonna be your neighbor now," moves like, two hundred blocks away. Bdubs: Yeah. xB: (offended) That's not a neighbor. (he giggles) Bdubs: No. No, that's intrusion.
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xB: It’s a very pleasing aesthetic. Bdubs: It’s sickening. xB: You love it. (Bdubs begins laughing, and xB joins) Bdubs: There’s a lot of Keralis up there. Yeah. xB: (through laughter) I’m not saying anything, but, uh– Bdubs: (judgemental) Mhm. xB: –I’ve killed Keralis once or twice. Bdubs: Yes. I can see that.
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Bdubs: Let's see Keralis', uh, or actually, maybe not. Maybe that's spoilers. I know he's working on something. xB: No, everything here, at my base, that is currently here, has been seen. (Bdubs begins laughing, and xB joins) Bdubs: Why was "my base" in caps? xB: Wait, what? Bdubs: Oh yeah. I could t--it sounded like, uh, when you said "my base," its MY BASE. xB: Well, cause I-I own all this. Bdubs: Yeah, this is all yours, so spoilers. xB: You looking for a boat? Bdubs: Yeah, oh, yeah, I would like a boat actually. xB: I mean. I've got a nice one.
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Bdubs: --in, I said I hate in video games, every video game you load it up and it's cranked, like, to a thousand. xB: Oh, just, yeah, it just blows your eardrums out, yeah. Bdubs: Every game, every gamer lowers the volume-- xB: Mhm. Bdubs: I don't know anybody that plays at one hundred, um... xB: Crazy people? Bdubs: But here I am. Committing the same sin. xB: Keralis probably plays at a hundred. (he giggles) Bdubs: Ohhh, wow. I'm sensing--(automated Bdubs voice: Point. Lime.) I'm sensing-- xB: That guy. Bdubs: --a little bit of resentment there. (xB giggles)
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xB: I'd be--I'd totally be down to play doubles, on this. Bdubs: Yeah! Yeah, you and Keralis versus, uh...me and Tango or something...or-- xB: I'm down. Bdubs: You and Keralis...you're down for that, okay, I was, I was setting you up there. (xB giggles) xB: I don't like Keralis. But I still like Keralis. Bdubs: I see, I see. (xB giggles) Yeah. That makes-- xB: It's a love-love* situation, you know what I'm saying? Bdubs: Of course. xB: Get it, love-love*, that's a tennis joke. (he giggles, and Bdubs gasps in realization) Bdubs: Very good! *love-love in Tennis refers to a score being zero to zero, likely due to zero being seen as an egg--l'oeuf, in French, which can sound like "love"
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xB: Somebody broke out a piece of the eye! What is--fricken guy! I blame Keralis.
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(xB is giggling) Bdubs: You got Beef right here, you got Keralis-- xB: Yeah, Keralis moved away though. Bdubs: --within earshot-- xB: He moved away. He's like way out-- Bdubs: Wait, to where?! xB:--that way now. Bdubs: In the boat?! xB: He's-he's built stuff? That I can't show. So. Bdubs: But it's your base. (xB giggles) xB: I will show you-if you wanna go look at it? Cause you're probably not recording? Bdubs: I'm not, no. xB: I will show you where his, his, um--portal is? Bdubs: Okay. xB: And then you can go in and look at it. Like, I've seen--like, I've seen it, but I'm not gonna go there on stream. Bdubs: Sure, sure sure sure sure sure sure. Yeah, cause I know he's been working on something. xB: Yeah. So it's right over here. Bdubs: Oh, that is off a little ways, okay. xB: Right. Look, see--how close Beef is. Bdubs: Yeah. xB: He's like right there, and then Keralis is way out here like we've got cooties. Bdubs: (snorts laughs) He's so far! xB: And he's like, "I'm right next door!" and I'm like, "you're so far away." (he giggles) Bdubs: I mean, this is, this is both ends of the spectrum, isn't it? He-he was just right in the middle of spawn, just surrounded by everybody. xB: Right.
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alexanderwales · 3 days ago
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youve spoken in the past about how in webfic its preferable for works to be +1 million words long and how they seem to be the norm. this seems to be a relatively recent phenomena, that of the writer who writes specifically gigantic multivolume doorstoppers, as opposed to the past where it was more common to write relatively short self contained books, do you agree that this is a recent phenomena and if it is why would you say that it is happening?
I think there's been a long history of continuation pressure of all kinds, it's just been different depending on the material conditions.
Dickens published The Pickwick Papers serially in 1836, and expanded it in scope because it was immensely popular, and because he was writing a serial, he was able to adjust to demands. Arthur Conan Doyle is my other go-to example, because the Holmes stories kept being written, became a brand, had their own continuity issues, etc. The complete works come in at ~400k words, which is small by webfic behemoth standards, but not that small, and Doyle notably kind of hated Holmes and stopped writing him for a while until public and economic pressure forced him to come back to the character.
As you go forward in time, printing technology gets better, publishing systems change, and you get even more of these super long continuations, e.g. Tarzan, whose complete works are 1.5 million words -- almost a Worm!
A big part of what makes this happen is that readers have lots of options, but are routinely disappointed by new things, making them gravitate toward "safe bets". Writers do not tend to be visible or brands, so if someone reads something they really adored and then the author comes out with another book, there's a good chance the reader just ... doesn't read it? Which means that there's pressure on authors to keep going within the same world. I'm not steeped in pulp serials, but many of them were long runners.
Where webfic often differs is that the frame is that this is all "one story", and also, that it can be a lot longer, but I think it's largely the combination of the same pressures, only moreso. When you write webfic, you're competing against a very very wide field, and when you read webfic, the signal to noise ratio is especially terrible. And where before "a book" was the most coherent structure because that's how words got to people, now having one long narrative with "arcs" that only mostly resemble the rise and fall of books makes more sense. Chapters are the size they are because of logistical reasons (long enough for a reader to get invested, short enough that the author can produce them at a regular clip). And arranging things by books means that there's a definied stopping place, which you don't want. You don't want to give the reader a place where they say "nah, that was fine, but I'm out".
The ballooned size of webfic, to me, is the result of a lot of things, but financial and attention incentives is the major one, and the rest comes down to ease of production and consumption. Yet I do still think there's a lot that sprawl and longtermism has to recommend it, and that this is one of the things web serial authors are getting better at, leveraging the specific ways in which the unending behemoth species of fiction can best accomplish the goal of entertaining readers, and all the stuff that's just not possible when you're confined to a novel.
And eventually, an author runs out of things to say, or enthusiasm for a project, or the readership dwindles because they don't have the stomach for something that long either, and you get something new and fresh as the old story is (hopefully) put to bed.
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kyoshithewriter · 15 hours ago
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Babyboy.
wc: 4.1k
Warnings: smut (18+)
A/n: And just a little one shot for a special mutual who commissioned this (thank you girlie and I hope I didn’t disappoint🫶🏾)
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Camila rolls her eyes as she’s immediately bombarded with the sounds of yelling and rambunctious laughter when she pulls into her apartment’s parking lot. She had one of the most exhausting days today; work is usually a handful, especially in her position as CFO of a highly successful company. But life had taken a toll for her recently, Camila had been so distracted by her familial struggles that she forgot about the presentation she had to make today. She stayed up until 4 am this morning after the CEO had sent her an email with a gentle reminder yesterday afternoon that made her heart physically drop to her ass. As anyone would expect, it was rushed and a little sloppy and many noticed. But they know that’s not her usual way, and they understand that she has been going through something heavy lately so she wasn’t chastised. Still, Camila hates feeling incompetent and hates the feeling of embarrassment even more. The sharp, intense throbbing at her temples and dry, red eyes are lingering reminders of how much she sobbed in her company’s underground garage for almost thirty minutes before making a quick stop at the grocery store and finally driving home. She longs for a warm bath as well as some warm, creamy pasta with a well chilled glass of wine. Maybe another crying session to get today all out of her system. But first, she’ll have to pass that dreaded basketball court. The basketball court that’s occupied most evenings by a group of five friends hooping until the sun dips over the horizon and the moon takes its place. The group of friends who always show their appreciation for her every evening she struts past the court on her way to the apartment building. All except one.
“Fuck.” It’s whispered to herself while she steps out of her car. Reaching for her bags and laptop, Camila deepens the scowl on her face as she slams the door shut. Trying to balance all the load in her hands is a struggle, but she’s determined to make it work. The heels on her feet that add another four inches to her 5’5 frame move surely across the asphalt.
“There she goes… hey mami.”
Camila does what she usually does when she’s not in the mood to be polite… ignore them. Keeping her gaze straight ahead, she continues her brisk walk toward the building; she knows they’re young, not an excuse for their behaviour but she just knows what to expect. On top of that, she knows what she looks like. Camila is no egomaniac, but her body is curvy in the right places and the outfits she wears to work complements her frame in the best way possible. Her curly hair is always moisturized and styled nicely and her light makeup enhances doll-like features just right. Besides, they haven’t been overly aggressive or crass. They overheard her speaking Spanish on the phone to her family back home once and the nickname ‘mami’ stuck. Her determination to keep her gaze straight ahead backfires when her right heel catches on a pebble. A small, helpless scream comes tumbling out her mouth as she stumbles. Camila is quick to right herself before face planting on the ground but at the cost of some of the things that she held in her hands. The expression on her face is one akin to horror watching her laptop clatter to the floor.
“No… no no no no.”
Camila drops to her knees uncaring of her bags they lay scattered across the floor. Her laptop is one of her most valuable possessions. Not only because of all the work she does on it, but because it was a gift from her mother. She doesn’t care that it's an almost outdated model— Camila carries it around with pride, despite the fact that it sometimes overheats, despite the fact that it lags and glitches. She treasures it and now it’s probably ruined. The tears are immediate; they blur her vision trail down her cheeks relentlessly. So much so that she doesn’t notice the figure scaling the chain linked fence and hurrying over to her side.
Gentle hands tentatively reach for her own that cradle the laptop with the screen smashed. “Hey, it’s oka-”
“Don’t touch me! It’s not okay! It’s ruined.” She sobs noisily around the words.
“It’s ruined and my mother gifted it to me and-”
“Hey. I’ll fix it. I promise I will.”
The steely determination in his voice makes her look up at him. It’s the one who lives in the building and invites his friends here to play. He’s the one who usually stays quiet and stares rather than join his friends in their attempts to get her attention. The brown skinned man has the most beautiful, big brown eyes. His nose and mouth are small and suit his slender oval shaped face well. The medium sized dreads fall into his face and frame it nicely. His wife beater clings to his skin with sweat and shows off his broad shoulders and toned abs. He’s gorgeous and Camila has always noticed but she just refused to acknowledge it. Being a woman in her 30s, she refuses to be swayed by younger men. She’s at the period of her life where she’s looking for something serious: dates, romance, marriage and eventually kids. Most men his age (she guesses he is about 24 or 25) aren’t looking to commit.
Sniveling, she stares at him skeptically. “Can you really fix it?”
He nods; “Give me two days.”
Camila notices then that his voice is lilted heavily with an accent. French, if she isn’t mistaken.
“Okay.”
He helps her gather her things in silence but keeps the laptop under his arm.
“Let me help you.” He reaches for one of her bags.
After a moment of brief hesitation, she allows him to take the bag of groceries from her hand.
“Thank you.”
He only nods in acknowledgment. Camila leads the way inside the lobby where he joins her in the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor with surety. He knows where she stays because they live on the same floor. Camila has seen him around but she’s usually quick to avert her gaze terrified of the awkward ‘hellos’ and his heavy gazes. She’s not sure if it’s because his eyes are so prominent why his stares feel so piercing but they shake her to her very core.
“I’m Jules, by the way.” He says evenly without glancing back at her.
“Oh, I’m Camila.” She mumbles softly.
“Sorry about my friends. I asked them to stop but they don’t understand that not everyone likes to play around like they do. They’re harmless, I promise. And after today I know they’ll apologize.”
“Uh… yea they’re usually easy to ignore but today was just so heavy and I… sorry for breaking down like that.” Camila knows she’s an emotional person; she has always been. Her first instinct to every situation is tears— whether she’s happy, sad, excited, angry or frustrated, the tears come first.
“Don’t apologize. Tears aren't a weakness.”
Camila is momentarily stunned. “I know but even I can admit that I cry a lot.”
He laughs softly at her bashful expression. “Cute.”
One word and it makes her belly flip and her heart flutter. The sensations sober her up immediately; she can’t allow them to toe that very thin line between friendly chatter and flirting.
She clears her throat loudly; “How much to fix my laptop? You’ll probably have to replace the screen right?”
He eyes her intently for a second. Almost as if he can hear her very thoughts and knows exactly what she’s trying to do. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished with it.”
“Are you sure you can fix it? How are you so confident that you can?”
“I work in IT.”
“Oh. That’s cool.”
The elevator doors finally slide open and they both exit the small space.
“I’m fine from here.” She reaches to gently remove her bag from his hand.
“Are you sure? I could walk you to your door.”
Camila shakes her head vehemently. “It’s okay. Thank you.”
Jules nods his head but watches her walk away without moving an inch until she’s safely inside her apartment four doors down from the elevator.
*********
True to his word, Jules’ friends offer heartfelt apologies the next day with even a bottle of pink moscato thrown in to express their regret.
“Thank you.” She smiles shyly at them who hang their heads like thoroughly chastised kittens. It’s almost amusing.
“Uh, we were doing it mostly to tease Jules because we know he has a-” the man who introduced himself as Nick suddenly trails off in a painful wheeze as Brandon throws an elbow to his ribs.
“We were just being dick heads and we’re sorry.” Brandon immediately chimes in with a smile that’s a little too wide. The other two chortle just behind at the chaotic exchange.
“Uh… okay. Well, um… I’ll see you around?”
All except for Nick nod eagerly, he’s still rubbing at the tender spot on his ribs while glaring daggers at Brandon.
A few hours later, while Camila is applying the last of her skincare products to her face, there’s a firm knock on her apartment door. Cautiously making her way to her door, she looks through the peephole and the tension melts from her body when a very familiar face comes into view. Jules is the picture of calm with her laptop in hand.
“You already fixed it? But you said you needed two days.” She says in awe while tentatively reaching for it.
“Uh…model is common so the screen was easy to source. I also cleaned the motherboard so it should stop overheating.” His eyes linger on her body in the dark blue, silk chemise. It falls just to the tops of her thighs and shows off her nipples that’s pebbled from the cool air.
“Thank you so much. How much do I owe you? I’ll double whatever you charge.”
Jules eyes her with something dark behind his stare.
“Odd request, but could I perhaps have some food? I spent the entire day focusing on this and missed dinner.”
Camila gasps dramatically. “Of course! I was just about to put away the stew I had left over in the fridge.” She hurries to let him in, already in mama hen mode at the thought of him being hungry. Jules sits patiently while Camila reheats the food. The spices intermingle with her scent of something sweet like plums and vanilla; he immediately figures she uses scented candles throughout the clean space. There’s a framed, grainy picture of her when she was younger grinning at the camera on the lap of a woman who she clearly got her looks from. Camila re-emerges from her kitchen with a green porcelain bowl filled with white rice smothered by beans and what looks to be various kinds of meat and some vegetables. His mouth waters; but he places the dish on the small coffee table in front of him.
“What is it? You don’t like beans? I could make you a sandwich-”
“Non. This looks very delicious, I’ll get to it in a second.”
“Oh, is everything alright?” Her voice is soft and melodious. She’s so beautiful and has been driving him crazy since she first moved her eight months ago. He’s always admiring from afar; she’s all woman. The way she walks, the way she talks, the ‘no- nonsense’ expression on her face as she struts through the building in her heels. He already has an idea of who exactly she is: maybe older than him and independent—the kind of woman who maybe grew up with younger siblings that she had to keep in line.
“Let me take you out.” The words are accidentally blurted from his mouth. He intended for his approach to be more refined, so he sounds more mature. He wants to impress her so badly; it’s why he fixed the laptop in a day rather than two. He knows she’s the kind of woman who takes those sorts of things into consideration. He’s useful, he keeps his promises, he delivers and he’s efficient in it. ‘I can take care of you.’
Camila groans. “Jules please don’t-”
“Don’t overthink it. Just one date. If I’m not what you’re looking for then I’ll leave you alone.”
“How old are you even?” She cocks her hips, eyeing him with skepticism.
“26.” He replies smoothly.
“Older than I thought but still… Jules I’m 31. I’m grown and looking for something very serious-”
“So am I.” He immediately counters.
Camila pauses to size him up. “So a lot of younger guys say and then I find out they can’t handle me.”
“I can handle you in any way you want me to, bébé.”
The confidence oozing from his tone, the scorching look he fixes her with, it’s all too much. She hasn’t been laid in a very long time and her body reminds her of the fact. Her skin burns, her nipples tighten and her belly clenches.
“And how do I know that for sure?” She blinks up at him as he stands to tower over her.
“Let me show you.”
Camila is ashamed to admit how eagerly her body responds. She nods slowly, watching him approach.
He invades her personal space, staring down at her pretty, flustered face. “Let’s make a deal though, Camila.”
She nods dumbly.
“After I… handle you well enough, then you let me take you to dinner.” Confidence clings to every word.
She breathes in his every exhale like a woman starved. “And how will you know if I’m thoroughly… handled?”
“I’ll know.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, he captures her lips in a kiss. His lips are plush and warm, and he’s unhurried with his movements. Just testing the waters. Camila presses her body against him eagerly. His hands lightly skim at her arms, her sides with gentle caresses that pull a little moan from her lips. Jules uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in her open mouth to teasingly explore every crevice of her warmth. There’s a hint of mint that mingles with her own unique taste that makes him groan. He trails his hands in the small space between their bodies to gently flick at her nipples over the soft material of her chemise.
“Mhmmm, Jules.” She whines on a breath trying to move against him.
Jules slips his flexed right thigh between her legs and Camila wastes no time in grinding against it. Her breath stutters, mouth falling agape as she moves against him with enthusiasm. He pulls away from her searching mouth to plant open mouthed kisses along the length of her neck. Nimble fingers grasp at the hem of her chemise to gingerly pull it up her legs.
“You’re so desperate already and I barely touched you, hm?”
Camila whines in response, body strung too high on arousal to feel shame for eager reaction to him. He steps away from her briefly to pull the chemise over her head. She blinks up at him, thighs squeezing together. Her caramel skin is littered with a few red blotches; she’s so worked up already and so so beautiful. Jules takes his time to eye her, rubbing at his goatee appreciatively.
“Jules, please… I want- I need you.”
“Is that so, baby? You need me?”
His voice rumbles so deliciously from his chest. Camila nods, eyeing him with wide, pleading eyes.
“Go kneel on the couch, pretty. Face down, ass up.”
Camila scrambles to obey his command. She’s a panting mess as she lies there. Her skin buzzes in anticipation while she waits, she can’t see what he’s doing behind her back and it heightens her arousal tenfold.
“You’ve soaked your panties all the way through from some kissing and grinding, Camila?” He tutts teasingly at her.
Burying her face further in the cushions of her couch, she whines in lieu of responding. Jules wastes no time in kneeling behind and sliding her panties down her legs torturously slow. To tease. To build the anticipation he can feel vibrating off her tensed body. Her pussy blooms before him like a flower: soft, sweet and glistening. Her clit is swollen and sticks out from between her folds, begging for attention.
“So fucking perfect.” He presses a thumb against it and Camila mewls in response. Leaning closer to her folds, he takes a greedy inhale. Her musky scent makes all the blood in his body travel south. He’s hard as marble, but he has a point to prove; so he ignores his own need and leans in to lick a slow stripe along the length of her slit. The wet, warm glide of her most intimate part against his tongue is so heady that he groans gutturally. Her little moan in response is so sweet that he’s forced to bring his hips forward against the couch to take some of the edge off.
Camila grips onto the cushions for dear life as he Jules starts lapping at her pussy like a man possessed. He alternates between suckling softly on her clit and licking his way up her slip to tease at her entrance.
“Fuck, Jules. Don’t stop.” She moans, pushing back against his relentless mouth. He brings his thumb to press firmly against her engorged clit while he finally dips his tongue inside her. Camila’s eyes roll to the back of her head. It’s all so wet— on the sloppier side just the way she likes it that most men she had before failed to deliver. Jules is bold in the way he spits, slurps and groans against her slick flesh. The sensation that another man hasn’t given her in so long begins to creep in. Camila always had the idea that older men would be better in bed and just thought she had been unlucky with the few she stumbled across in recent years because they never managed to make her feel good. Not even close to the way this man five years her junior is making her feel. Jules is fucking with her in more ways than he even realizes.
“Jules, baby… you’re gonna make me…” she trails off on a sob at a particularly harsher suck on her swollen bud. He groans loudly and the vibrations tip her over the edge. Camila’s toes curl painfully and a soft little scream is ripped from her throat as she peaks. The pressure that almost felt like it would burst from her body snaps so deliciously; her clit throbs wildly in the safe warm cavern of his mouth. She rocks her hips against his face wildly, reaching back to grip at his hair. Jules takes it all in stride, allowing her to ride her high until he screams turn to soft moans then gentle little hiccups. He laps at her languidly as she twitches on his tongue. Then drags the wet muscle all the way up between her plump ass cheeks to tease at her rim a little. Camila jolts and moans wantonly.
“Fuck, Jules. So good. Wanna kiss you.”
He hums, releasing his grip on her thighs. Camila sits up on trembling legs to scramble hastily in his direction. His face is absolutely drenched with a mixture of her essence and his saliva. Cupping his face gently, she pulls him in for a sloppy kiss; licking away at the wetness on his face in between pressing her lips against his.
“Please fuck me. Need it. Need you.”
“Fuck, need you more, baby. You don’t even know, Camila. Wanted you for so long.” He hurries to strip out of his shirt and sweatpants. Jules retrieves a condom from his wallet. Camila drinks in the sight of him greedily. His broad shoulders, narrowed waist and prominent abs are all mouthwatering. But what makes her moan almost longingly is the sight of his length. Brown, hard, thick and just about average in length. The tip is red and oozing. Ready. He rolls the condom on smoothly.
“Spread your legs, baby.”
Lying flat on her back, Camila draws her knees into her chest and spreads her legs open for him. Jules climbs onto the couch. There’s an air of impatience around him as he lines himself up at her entrance. Camila moans when he presses against her opening; the gentle pressure gives way as her body opens up to swallow him greedily. They both moan when he bottoms out.
“Jules, so full.” It’s said around a pitiful sob.
He places an open palm against her lower belly then begins to rock his hips. Jules hisses, feeling the slight bulge of him inside her beneath his palm.
“Fuck, so good bébé. I’m gonna take such good care of you.” And Jules doesn’t just mean right here in this moment. He wants to be the man who fulfills her every need no matter how grand or how trivial.
Camila keens when he angles his slightly to the left while increasing the pressure of his palm against her belly. She’s so wet that the sound of him gliding through her is like water. Her slick essence clings to his dick every time he pulls all the way to her entrance to plunge back deep inside her body. Her right leg kicks out a particularly deep thrust; Jules captures it to kiss and lick at her ankle.
“Jeez… don’t stop. Fuck me just like that baby boy.”
Camila is so overwhelmed by pleasure that she can’t even feel embarrassed for the term of endearment. But Jules. Jules curses out loud with a deep groan. He likes that. He wants to be her baby boy. He wants to hear those words from her mouth again and again. Closing his mouth around her big toe, he suckles on her clean skin like it’s something to savour and quickens the pace of his hips.
Camila shrieks as the familiar sensation charges at her. All the men she has been with, no matter how grown, as ever treated her entire body as something to be worshipped. It’s not only the feeling of his warm eager mouth but the visual of it. He looks to be savouring the very taste of her skin. The rhythmic clenching around his dick alerts him that she’s close.
“Jules…” she sobs.
He presses against her lower belly harder. The added pressure steals the very breath from her lungs. Camila grunts helplessly as the orgasm tears through her body. Jules keeps going, chasing his own high, uncaring of how she splashes and wets even his face.
“That’s it, bébé. Shit.”
Her breaths are ragged and her legs tremble like leaves beneath his body.
“Jules, too much.” She cries out when her voice finally returns, her body quivering as he draws out the orgasm still fucking deep into her overstimulated body.
“You’re a big girl. You can take it, hm?”
Jules folds his body over hers, burying his face in the crook of her neck as his thrusts grow harder. Tears leak from her eyes as he keeps pressing against that spot inside her that no man has ever cared to find.
“Shit… I might come again.” She cries weakly.
“Do it, baby. Show me how much you love it.” He trails off into a sultry ramble of French that forces another orgasm from her overwhelmed body. She clings to him desperately as she whimpers, spasming around him. His thrusts grow sloppy above her as he moans loudly.
“Fuck, Camila. Say it again.”
And he doesn’t even have to say it. She already knows. “So good baby boy. Best I ever had.”
Jules moans from the pit of his belly before his hips stutter. Camila clenches around him as he warms the condom deep inside her body, wracked reverent whispers of praises leaving her lips. She calls him ‘baby boy’ again and his moan muffled in her neck sounds almost pained. Camila lies there in a daze with the weight of him pleasant against her chest. Their erratic breaths eventually slow to match each other’s in content, satisfied unison. Jules pulls away from her neck to stare at her wrecked face. She expected to find his expression smug; he talked the talked and oh did he walk it. Instead, he eyes her with some almost tender shimmering in those big brown eyes that she knows will cause her many problems in the future. The future.
“Friday. 7 pm and Chez Marie.” Not a request or demand. A statement. He handled his business and they both know it.
She nods almost dumbly. “Uh huh.”
He presses a gentle kiss on her lips. “Good. I’m your baby boy now.” He smirks at her bashful expression before resting his head against her chest again.
And Camila. Camila really likes the sound of that.
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bangrychannie · 3 days ago
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Stray Kids Fic Recs - Enemies to Lovers
Another one of my favorite fanfic tropes is enemies to lovers (or more accurately for a lot of these, rivals to lovers). There's something about the journey of mutual hatred to falling in love that is so amazing to read! Below is 10 of my favorite fics with the enemies to lovers trope-- mostly 2min this time (shocking for my minsunger heart), but there's a few other ships here! And if you want more recs, I have a masterlist here! :)
L + Ratio + Didn't Ask by yutotama (2min | 1/1 | 9266 | Teen)
Seungmin’s phone relentlessly pings. Irritated, he picks it up and scrolls through his notifications. “Oh god, the woke police are on my ass.” Jisung scoffs. “Yeah, normally people don’t like it when you tell them to die, Seungminnie.”
OR: After beefing with the most insufferable man on the internet, Seungmin meets him out of character and falls in love.
Crack treated seriously is also a great trope and I think the ridiculousness of the story goes great with the enemies to lovers trope! Minho has a popular twitter meme account and beefs with Seungmin online and they fall in love <3
Our Special Spot (Under the Mistletoe) by megaversenumber1fan (Hyunin | 1/1 | 4906 | Teen)
“I’m dragging you to this party whether you like it or not,” Seungmin decided, “You’ll thank me for it later.” “I guess,” Jeongin grumbled, even though he knew Seungmin was right. He probably would feel better after he got there and got a few rounds of eggnog in him. Though, there was one variable that he was still nervous about. “Hey, mind if I sit here? There isn’t a single seat left.” As if he had been summoned by Jeongin’s worried mind, the variable appeared beside him: Hwang Hyunjin. — Minho has the amazing idea to hang up mistletoe at his Christmas Party.
They're enemies and also idiots, your honor
36 Questions to Fall Out of Hate by leebitcore (Minsung | 1/1 | 15719 | Explicit)
Images of Lee Minho’s stupidly smug face flash through Jisung’s brain as he marches out of the dining hall to go to the faculty building. He can already hear his condescending voice, arrogant as he teases Jisung about them being partnered up. Something along the lines of “Happy to see me? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we do well.”
Jisung and Minho are paired together to test the 36 Questions to Fall in Love for a school project. There’s only one problem – Jisung can’t fucking stand him.
leebitcore is a fantastic writer and I love this story!! This one is more academic rivals to lovers.
Sure Strike by falloutgirl (2min | 1/1 | 27963 | Explicit)
Minho's eyes trail down Seungmin’s shirtless body, his toned arms, his lithe form, the bit of lean tummy that Minho has been imagining biting into for weeks. His eyes follow the sweat dripping off Seungmin’s hair and down his chest, rolling down his abdomen as it pools against his bellybutton. His gaze sinks lower, lower, and he sees all of Seungmin, in nothing but the tightest pair of white boxer briefs Minho’s ever seen. A strangled breath breaks its way out of Minho's throat. There’s nothing left to the imagination.
This story features everything I love from Stray Kids fanfiction. Seungmin is a baseball player, and Minho "hates" him (he is down bad to a criminal degree). The smut is crazy so mind the tags lol but it is soooo good.
Is This Your Card? by dwaekinyz (2min | 1/1 | 15061 | Teen)
"That's the whole point of magic," Seungmin grumbles, fingers wrapped tightly around the straps of his guitar case. "What?" Minho asks with a tilt of his head, "Making the other person look like a fool?" "Isn't it?" Seungmin raises a challenging eyebrow.  "Seungmin, honestly," Minho dramatizes a disappointed sigh, and he pairs it with a light shake of his head, "Yee of little faith. Is that what you think of magic?" "Magic isn't real."
Or: Seungmin kind of declares the annoying magician that has started to show up at the art building pulling coins out of Seungmin's ears and telling him to clean them better (his hygiene is perfect as it is, thank you very much) as his enemy at first sight.  Minho thinks the guy that always walks with a guitar case on his back and frowns at his card tricks might just be the cutest person he's ever seen. 
Seungmin is such a hater in this one and I love it lol super cute fic
AITA? by velooscuro (Jeongsung | 1/1 | 2856 | Mature)
u/jutdwae (11.5k upvotes, 1.2k downvotes) YTA. Just because you have weird closeted gay thoughts about your roommate doesn’t give you permission to get up in his personal space and bother him. This is like common sense actually. Did you go to kindergarten? Did they teach you the golden rule? Or were you too busy suppressing your Mega Gay thoughts to pay attention? >u/doolset (217 upvotes, 8.4k downvotes) OP >Ouch. Once again I am NOT GAY (!!!!!) but what you said makes sense. Once again, I’m looking for SUGGESTIONS on what to do instead of annoying my roommate if that’s such a problem. And nobody suggest anything gay because I’m literally not!!! >>u/jutdwae (7.6k upvotes, 465 downvotes) >>You should probably just have nasty gay sex with your roommate dude. In a homosexual way.
Jisung has been annoying his roommate for not-homosexual reasons.
This one is a little bit of a stretch but it's short, funny, and good. I've recced many veloo fics on my page before bc they're such a good writer lol
sappy love songs and convenience store runs by cloudfall (Minsung | 1/1 | 8304 | Teen)
When Minho was first told by the company that they would have more creative freedom on their group’s first full album, his expectations weren’t high, especially when the only producer he was allowed to be working with had created some of his most hated songs. Little does he know, J.One will be nothing like he expected and may even become something more in his life.
Minho hates Jisung because he doesn't like the songs he writes for his idol group. Seeing their relationship go from shallow dislike to friends to lovers is so fun and I love this fic
cloud chasing by sapphirenightinggale (2min | 13/13 | 60899 | Teen)
superhero au where Seungmin finds out the co-worker who hates his guts and the man who he loves are the same people and it is a slippery road from down there.
This fic is SO GOOD!!! It's one of the first skz fics I ever read and I love it deeply. 2min are detectives who hate each other but at night are superheroes who work together to keep the city safe, and have no idea who the other actually is. It's long but it's worth it
Glory Days by velooscuro (2min | 1/1 | 13722 | Explicit)
“What is it for you, baby?” he asks, his breath catching at Seungmin’s movements. “The humiliation, the anonymity—or you just like sucking cock?” Seungmin doesn't answer—can’t—but moans around the cock in his mouth. He could—he could push himself. Get it down his throat and press flush against the base. And from there, he doesn't quite know what he'd do, but he wants it anyway. There's a laugh, a pretty one. “Maybe it’s all of it for you, pretty.”
Or: Seungmin is not a freak. He's a normal, boring office worker who is just trying out a freaky thing.
I have 100% recced this before and i don't even care because everyone needs to read this. Life changing.
That's all I have for enemies to lovers for now!! Hope you enjoy these recs :)
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directdogman · 2 days ago
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Hey doggo, I finished season 3 of squid game, how was it for you?
Personally, im feeling like davetrap in dsaf 3 after the legacy ending. Not well.
Its also 5am so imma try to head back to bed after this
I watched it and I gotta say, I felt disappointed. I really liked S1, kinda liked s2, and felt they had more potential to really wrap things up, but somehow it wrapped up less cleanly than s1's cliffhanger ending (instead going for a second cliffhanger ending with less clean arc resolutions overall.)
I didn't hate everything in it, dgmw, but it doesn't seem like they really learned the right lessons from what people really loved about S1 and actually somehow went backwards despite having a lot of useful feedback on what they could've done better. I'll give some examples. (spoilers below)
I was really excited to see the VIPS again bc their inclusion is the one thing everyone who saw s1 agrees could've been better executed. I read that the VIP dialogue was really stilted because it was translated badly and they just didn't have time to rewrite it before the scenes were shot (even though the main VIP guy in the lion mask had line revision suggestions to sound more natural.)
Somehow, it was arguably worse this time around, despite them having time to get help with the lines. Really unnatural dialogue that worsened the scenes people were the most excited to see. It would've been very easy to fix the dialogue's phrasing. Hell, they could've hired me for $10 and a sandwich! I'd have done it!
The CG baby was really off-putting and also completely undermined its own inclusion, as the audience would obviously care less about an uncanny CG baby than a real one, esp given all the close up shots of the face, which badly conflicted with the visual style of the show. They could've 100% used a doll for the faraway shots and then filmed the closeups separately to the action.
Using the theme of bartering for the safety of an innocent life works less effectively when every time there's a closeup, you wince slightly at what's being saved. The fact the baby was also unnamed on top of it meant it acted more as a macguffin/symbol than as a character, which I get was a writing choice, but with it also being CG, it led to the narrative closing around a character that essentially was just an unnamed CG object. Not crazy satisfying.
I also wasn't crazy on the ending of Gi-Hun's arc itself, which basically just ended with the exact thesis statement of The Platform, another Netflix original with the same themes/commentary, with Gi-Hun taking Goreng's place, saving an innocent child after being corrupted and declaring "the child is the message. the child is the future." I think the Platform executed this idea much better and having the crypto-bro sacrifice himself for his kid would've been more narratively satisfying, as it would've refuted the Front Man's point in the same way S1 ended with a refutation of Il-Nam's point, that some humans ARE good, and Gi-Hun getting to raise the child and being a better father this time around would've been a better followup to the promise he made.
The cop arc also largely went absolutely nowhere and could've been removed from the show entirely after S1. All that time spent on boats.
Though, I did think the game ideas were largely good (though the rope bridge was pretty much a 1:1 equivalent to the glass bridge from the previous season. I think the human chess theory was way cooler.) I liked them fleshing out the wimp character and making him snap.
The "one more game!" guy was fantastic, top tier character (though I felt his ending wasn't as satisfying as it could've been. Given the amount of debt he had, the logical way to end the character fittingly would've been for his followers to realize that even with the 'required' number of deaths per round, he logically would've needed another corpse to escape his death, and realizing they had no reason to let him live. he sorta just died like the others, with that point basically going nowhere.)
I also liked the arc of the eliminated entrant getting saved from death and getting to rejoin his sick kid. That arc was genuinely very well resolved and did kinda make me smile. I also liked seeing some flashbacks of the frontman as a player, but would've liked way more in the place of the boat scenes, thanks.
So, yeah, there's some good things in it, but I have to say, it didn't seem like they exactly knew what they wanted after finishing s1.
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c0b-webz · 11 hours ago
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rickyxhorror:
1. I have always been a freak about music ever since i was little, and ever since i picked up the guitar at age 10, it has been the only thing i could ever picture myself doing. 8 years later, it has become something almost of an obsession. I’ve been in and out of bands since i started high school but haven’t found anything solid yet. Now that I’m about to start college, I’m beginning to doubt myself. 
Through the years i have always been told it was an unrealistic dream by my parents and peers, i’ve even been kicked out of bands because i was a girl and they didn’t think i would be serious about going to practices or playing shows. All of this has driven me to become the best that i can be and then some. Im a very social person but i can recall many times in the past 4 years that i have gone home from parties and friends houses because i wanted to go practice. 
Despite the previous statements, theres still a part of me that doubts that it can even happen. My mother has always told me i can do what i want as long as i get a college degree first and I’ve applied to a great art school so that i can go into sound design, but she just doesn’t understand why i need to actually be in a band. Coming from a relevantly small town on the south-side of Chicago, that kind of mentality is not uncommon. Everyone around here has blue collar jobs and its a rarity if you see anyone make it out of the 1 mile radius of where they grew up. None of my family or friends understand my need to get out of here and do the things i want to do. Even my boyfriend of 2 years does not support the lifestyle i want to have and even makes fun of me for dressing the way i do or sounding so “cliche” about wanting to make it in the music business. (Needless to say, that relationship is on its way out) I feel like i have no support from anyone and if they do support it, its more of a “Well you can try but i really don’t think its going to happen.” On top of that, I may not even be able to go to the school i want to because of financial issues. 90% of the reason I’m even going to school anyway is so that i can meet people to start a band with and without that i feel like its all hopeless. I realize 18 is still very young, and ill have a lot of time to figure things out but its getting harder and harder to remember that every day.
Your situation actually sounds a lot like mine. My parents told me ALL the time that I needed to get my life together and get a “real” job. I quit numerous jobs and actually quit school halfway through my degree because I didn’t want to do anything other than music. I had to move across the country, away from friends and loved ones, to be able to do what I wanted. That was the sacrifice I made to get where I wanted to be. The only thing you can really do is believe in yourself. Don’t let anyone tell you who or what to be, and never take no for an answer. People don’t live their dreams because they either are a. too scared to go out of the box to do something new, or b. they get discouraged and give up. You don’t want to be stuck in a position where you’re 40 years old, hate your job, and regret never finding out “what if”. If this is the only life we have, don’t waste it being a puppet for those around you. Do what YOU want to do. Follow your heart, follow your dreams. I know it’s hard, believe me, I do. Work through the bullshit, because in the end, all the tears you’ve shed, and all the effort you put into it will pay off. And best of all, you can stick a big middle finger up and say “fuck you” to all the people that said you couldn’t do it.
2. Do you have a girlfriend? If so how does it feel being committed to a band and a relationship? 
I don’t have a girlfriend. I don’t know if I ever could while I’m in a band, to be honest. I’m very involved when it comes to having a relationship, and I want to be able to give 110%. Unfortunately, I’m giving about 150% to the band, and it would just be lopsided. I don’t think that would be fair for a girlfriend to have to deal with, and I wouldn’t want someone to have to go through that. Now, on the other hand, if I had a girlfriend that was just as busy as me, it might not be a problem. Who knows!
3. How do you guys figure out where you all play? Like does the label pick the venues, do you guys or both?
When we accept tour offers, our booking agent sends us an email with an itinerary of all the dates and venues. It’s pre-set up for us.
4. How do you stay so positive? You went through a shitty situation, and have a constant reminder of it on your body, but you don’t seem to let that bring you down.
You said that you live in the now, and you focus on the present. Is it hard to live to that when some of the lyrics to your band are about living in the past? The lyrics to “Cobwebs” pretty much are the opposite of how you live your life. Is it hard to be around that negativity sometimes?
Being positive is extremely hard, especially when something ridiculous and unexpected happens that you weren’t ready for. For the most part, I think of everything that comes along as cycles in my life. Things change for a reason. Most of the time it doesn’t matter what that reason is to me, because things always have a way of working out for the better. A lot of the time something will happen that will slap me in the face as a way of saying “you’re rubbing against the grain. Just go with the flow”. I’m extremely thankful when that happens because then I’m mentally aware that I’m off track a bit and can refocus myself to now. The scar I have now reminds me of, yes a darker time in my life, but also a good moment. When you can help other people with similar problems because of something you went through, it makes the scars a good thing. 
It can be very difficult being positive with so much negativity around me. When we’re on tour, I’m around constant arguing and complaining. When I’m intently present, however, I’m calm inside no matter what the circumstances are around me. The only thing to watch out for is getting sucked into negativity and joining in.
5. Where do you get your jewelry?
A lot of my necklaces and rings I own came from a shop in Seattle called “Gargoyle Statuary”. Most of the time I just find little random shops on tour that have the sort of stuff I like. One of my favorite places to go is “Necromance” in Hollywood off Melrose. Look it up and check it out if you’re in that area.
6. What songs do you sing/scream in for the album creatures?
In Immaculate Misconception I scream the line “that I sing” after the heavy breakdown before the last chorus. 
In Cobwebs, I’m in the gang vocals in the line “forever” right before the first chorus, and in the line “we’d have a fucking show” before the break in the second verse.
In Dot Com Pt II I do the lines “but nobody heard me”/”I just couldn’t help it”, right after the first chorus.
In City Lights, I sing in the gang vocals at the end.
They’re just very small parts, and they’re all screaming for the most part.
7. Why did you quit being vegan?
I’m in a band full of meat eaters, and it’s too much of a hassle to go out of the way to find “special” food for one person. Plus, it’s extremely expensive. I’m not complaining about the change.
8. When did you realize that this is music was what you wanted to do?
The first show I ever played in high school was when I realized. The feeling I got when I first stepped onto the stage was life changing. I immediately knew.
9. How do you like your coffee?
If I’m making it myself, I use hazelnut creamer, nothing else.
10. Are there any other goals you have set for yourself that you would like to accomplish?
I’d like to eventually write my own book. That’s definitely up there on my list. I also want to write an acoustic album, and maybe do an electronic side project as well. But I don’t see any of that happening anytime soon with all of the upcoming things we have going on. Motionless In White will always come first before anything else.
11. Did you ever think that your band would ever be as big as it is now? If you didn’t make it this far what do you think you’d be doing?
Well, technically, I joined the band when they were gaining hype. So I knew things would grow from there. It is definitely strange to see so many kids singing the words to our songs at shows now, though. It’s a very surreal feeling. If I wasn’t playing music, I would probably be in LA or New York doing something with film. I went to college for almost two years to get a degree in film production, and seriously considered moving to LA when I got done. And then I completely just dropped out because I knew it wasn’t what I truly wanted. But yeah, I’d probably be doing something in film.
12. Would you ever publish any of the things you write, whether it’s poetry or just a short story and what’s your favorite author or poet?
As I said before, I’d love to get something published. If you know how, please, point me in the right direction! My favorite author is Chuck Palahniuk, and poet would be Edgar Allen Poe.
13. So the problem is I am taking to much for granted right now and I hate myself for it and I am tired of being stuck where I am at and doing nothing…. Well the only solution I can think of is to move somewhere where I know no one really and where I dont know my way around. I wanna do what scares me most and thats being completely alone and conquering my fear and finally growing up and doing something with me life. Now the question is do you think its stupid to do that, to move somewhere far away from everything? Your really good with advice so if you read this and have an opinion I would really love to hear it lol
I’m not sure why you feel that you need to move. The grass always seems greener on the other side. Odds are, when you get to a new location, you’re going to feel the same way. Work on your internal state before making a big decision like that. Once you become solid internally, the external world will shift along with it.
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messerscest · 22 hours ago
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very sleepy rn but I think Barty's first wet dream was about the nerdy Gryffindor who's covered in scars and always hanging around Regulus' big brother (a few years later he begged Remus to recreate that dream)
-💥
mentions of religious guilt/internalised homophobia, choking, drinking
i had to rewrite this, im so mad but anyways
yes. Absolutely, i love the idea of barty battling every gay feeling he's ever had over remus who just has no idea.
Barty is convinced his life is ruined before it even starts. This hasnt stopped. Its been 5 years and no matter what he does he cannot get rid of that scarred face from his mind.
It started when he was 12, waking up in hot sweat with his cock about to burst with no idea what sex even was, but it felt good and he cried after he came.
The books in the library told him it was normal to see faces he knew in dreams like that, that it was normal, totally normal and it happened to everyone to have wet dreams about people they didnt actually want to have sex with. So it's fine and logical and that was that.
He was 12, and that was fine, but it hasn't changed, he's had sex now, with women, normal teenage boy things and yet every dream, every session under the blankets with his hand he sees that stupid scarred face and crooked smile.
So Barty does the reasonable thing, he has a lot of sex and drinks alot. He has sex all the time even though it doesnt really do it for him, sure cumming is a relief and he has the libido for it so he does it but the real reason is to stop the face that haunts his dreams.
And drinking? every weekend, every party, every excuse that comes, barty takes.
Which leads us to now, where barty has drank way too much and he's wandering the halls for a place to smoke.
He totally didnt know remus was on prefect duty patrols and he totally didnt mean to run into him- he's drunk remember?
so when he sees that stupid face he lays it out. Yelling at remus that he's ruining everything and that he fucking hates him because he wants to be normal and fuck his fist without thinking of him and then he's cut off-?
he's cut off by remus kissing him, remus is kissing him and tasting the alcohol on his tongue and inhaling the smoke from the drag he took last.
They split, and barty is conflicted. He's never been so hard in his life, but he also just kissed a boy.
Remus doesn't let his mind wander too much because remus has him against the wall,
and his hands are around his neck and he cant breathe and oh my god he might cum.
He cant stop speaking between harsh breaths, telling remus that he thinks he's gay and he needs remus to fuck him before he goes mad he needs this.
He needs it so bad that he helps remus take his trousers off even with his hands shaking as air returns to him.
Remus fucks him right there, his head against the concrete wall and his cock leaking onto the floor where his trousers are bunched at his ankles
neither of them strip properly, focused on nothing but having remus inside barty
They fuck like animals, remus keeps his grip around bartys neck, pulling him back with every thrust and barty sobs on it. He sobs because hes so full and this might be the heaven he was promised.
He cums, hard, his legs give in until remus is just holding him up and using him, which makes barty dizzy with how hot that is.
Remus cums inside and helps him sit on the floor.
A promise of writing whenever he wants round 2 murmered into his hair with the farewell kiss remus leaves there.
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chewyhanniebug · 1 day ago
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okay i wasn't going to make a post directly addressing what's going on but this is an important one. now more than ever, i strongly suggest staying off twitter, especially if you're not used to funnelling out ragebait or have the awareness of being easily swayed by opinion. there's nothing wrong with acknowledging that. it's natural with everyone catastrophising. that's why i want to bring this up now.
there is a lot of misinformation going around. it was already a problem but now pannchoa has jumped in with an article that has taken other messages out of context and added their usual hateful comments from knetz. this is not news reporting and they've been sued for misinformation in the past. other people are running with it and spreading further hate. it wouldn't surprise me if it made its way over here too even if it appears to be with good intentions at first glance.
please be vigilant. please stop and think about what is being said. please don't get swept up in this. you can't believe everything you see.
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