#i know that might not sound like a lot to some people but only the first main fic is done. the third one is arceus chronicles.

[syluriar]

please...help me - sylus x mc!reader. part 1

sypnosis: you call sylus to escape caleb.

a/n: i know i'm not the only one who thought this, a lot of us sylus girlies wanted to call out man and get him our of sjyhaven ASAP. so i wrote this little fic for that, and as you can tell by the title this is just part 1. ofc that means there'll be a part 2, maybe a part 3??? let's wait and see :)

warning: caleb being possessive (yandere??). mc (you) feeling uncomfortable and scared of caleb. hurt and some comfort by sylus (i luv you<3 ). this is rushed and like all my fics, have no grammer check.

word count: 990

RING RING

The vibration of the phone rang loudly through the bathroom, the one place Caleb grants you privacy. More than one you were thankful that he wasn’t here, his duty calling him out to do some work, work that you don’t question anymore, exactly how he likes it.

“I’ll be back soon, Pip-squeak,” He said with a tone meaning for warmth, but you feel the opposite, especially when he looks at you with a smile, the one you remember from your childhood, but it’s not the same anymore. 

“Don’t cause any ruckus, ok? We don’t need a repeat of last time.” 

You shudder at the memory, the way his hand had gripped your wrist and dragged you to your bedroom and placed you not so gently on your bed, scolding you not following his orders and locked you in. He would only allow you to come out for food and he would watch you the whole time you ate, sending shivers of fear down your spine the more it went on. It lasted for two weeks, after that you had a bit more freedom, but every night he would announce it was time for you to sleep and lock you in the bedroom, the next would be the same.

And you hated it. You hated how different he was, how much he had changed since you last saw him. Where was the Caleb that joked around with you? The one that always picked you up when you were feeling down? The one that would wipe away your tears and hold you close? 

Where’s one where you felt safe with? 

Gone. He was all gone, and he scared you. You couldn’t stay here any longer, to try and get the old Caleb back. You had enough of being ordered around and being scared. 

RING RING

Despite Caleb’s watchful eye you managed to snag a new phone as he confiscated yours, checking though all your data to make sure you couldn’t leave, Luckily you thought he would do that and got rid of anything that would get you into trouble; contacts, messages and pictures in your camera roll. So far he hasn’t commented on anything which you pat yourself on the back for.

Another thing your proud of is remembering a phone number, just one that you know would get you out of here.

RING RING

“Please pick up…” You whispered desperately. You have called the number twice now, and you hope people are right when people say third time's the charm, because you needed as much luck as possible right now.

RING RING - 

“I must say your persistence to get hold of me is both annoying and -”

“Sylus!” You couldn’t hold back the happiness as you heard his voice, it had been so long since you last heard it.

“...Is that you, sweetie?”

“It is.” You answer, the endearing name making you blush instantly. 

“Who’s phone are you calling on? Did you get a new phone and not tell me?”

“I’ll tell you that later but I need you to listen to me.” Time was of the essence, and you didn’t want to waste any of it. “I need you to track this phone and come help me.”

“Help you?” His tone held confusion. “What trouble have you gotten into now?”

“Don’t ask. I just need you to come to Skyhaven and get me out of here, fast.” You spoke hastily, you might have sounded desperate, but right now you don’t care. 

“You sound weird, kitten. Are you alright?”

Trust him to take notice. “Please, Sylus. I can’t get out of here and I’m….” You take a deep breath, tears threatening to spill. “I’m scared.”

His answer was instant. “I’m coming, sweetie. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out in no time.”

It’s like a weight is lifted off your shoulders, your heart is lighter and a smile graces your lips. “Thank you. Please hurry Sylus, I don’t like it here.”

“I can tell, sweetie. I’ll destroy everything if it means getting you out.”

“Maybe don’t go that far, there are innocent people here.”

“The ones that hold you against your will are nowhere near innocent.”

You grimace as you think about Caleb, a small piece of you feeling guilty for this, but you needed to get out of here, and if that meant hurting Caleb to escape…then so be it.

Looking at the time, you realise you’ve been left on your own for a while, and Calen would be due back soon. The last thing you wanted was for him to find you like this. “I have to go now, but I’ll see you later?”

“As soon as possible, sweetie. I’ve been making arrangements since you first said you needed my help.”

You end the call quickly and stash within your period products, you knew that Caleb never came in your bathroom, but just in case he changed his mind, at least you knew he wouldn’t search through them.

But now your body is full of nerves, you can’t believe you managed to get through to Sylus, even more so that he’s coming to get you. You just have to wait and keep playing Caleb’s game till he comes, which he assured you will be as soon as possible. In Sylus’ language, that could be within a few minutes to an hour. You hope it’s the first option, but you were determined to wait if that’s what it took.

Before leaving the bathroom you remind yourself to go back to your usual personality that Caleb likes, if he see’s any of your happiness he’ll question it, and you don’t know how long you can lie and fake it for. 

So you lower your excitement, lose your smile and take a few deep breaths to calm your beating heart. Once your assured that you’ve gone back to the obedience look, you open the bathroom door - 

“Have a nice phone call, Pip-squeak?”

[so-i-did-this-thing]

been thinking of investing in a bass pro shop hat to simultaneously get gendered correctly and avoid being clocked as trans... I live in a pretty conservative rural area so I figure if I dress like the local cis guys they'll think I'm one of them and act accordingly.

The only issue is I'm pre everything so my voice sounds like shit. If I talk they'll either clock me or assume I'm a kid but I can just not talk unless needed, right?

Do you think this is a good idea?

In this moment in history, we need a mix of visible and invisible trans people. There are many different roles to play when fighting fascism and not all are on the front lines.

I am in a support role right now, so am pretty stealth currently. And maybe that's what you need to ask yourself -- is anyone directly depending on you and how does that influence your plans?

It's also hard to answer your question because I don't know your experiences trying to pass in public, and if your current presentation to an outsider reads as "cis female" or "some kind of queer".

With all the kindness in my heart -- don't confuse gender euphoria with the ability to pass. Get some second opinions on your cishet cosplay. Take photos at unflattering angles, from the back and sides. I'm still unsettled at how my silhouette at certain angles clocks me.

You also need to decide if there is a point where you're safer off presenting as female. What you would do if you ever reach that point and what the consequences would be.

If this will be your first time presenting as male in public, you might want to wait a bit while the current chaos of the new admin settles. Things are highly unpredictable right now.

If you do attempt to pass like this, stay out of bathrooms and try to go out only during the day, ideally with cis friends. Drive safely. Avoid doing things that require showing your ID. You want to be invisible and be mistaken for a teenager.

If you get clocked, it's very likely you'll be taken for a lesbian, as so many transphobes still forget trans men exist. Which still may not lend you much safety if they're homophobic. Rehearse how you would respond in a confrontation.

It's always a risk, trying to pass in hostile areas. Because the retribution could be even worse once transphobes learn they have been "deceived".

It has to be your call. But put a lot of thought into it and practice where it's safest.

Good luck and take care.

[kanmom51]

JM and JK shower together

FACT!!

Be honest now. We thought it, we assumed it, and now we are getting confirmation.

And yes, this is within military settings, but you need to be really naïve or daft to think that this is happening only because of the military setting or only since they enlisted.

I will explain this once, because people seem to hang on to the "they have to shower together in the military" and "these are communal showers and they shower with others as well".

NOPE.

What might have been true for basic training, the whole designated shower times and showering together (for soldiers as a whole, not JM and JK, because they did not shower with others from the start, I've talked about this in previous posts), is not true once they are assigned to their units. At that point soldiers can shower at their own free will and time, before or after duties. Depending on the barracks there will also be a difference of how these showers look - you could have a bathroom for every room of 4 (this would be in newer quarters) or multiple stall showers for barracks with bigger rooms that hold multiple soldiers. JK and JM have different duties within their unit. Different timetables. And yet they choose to wait for each other and shower together.

They don't have to!!

They choose to!!

In any case, point being that JK and JM CHOOSE (once again that word) to shower together.

Just the two of them!!!

But then, they have always been showering together.

I mean, they've been doing it for years.

And I'm not talking about the early days when the lot of them may have had to shower together. No. I'm talking about when they are 2 grown ass men, including when they are no longer living in the dorms (which would be for at least 4 years now).

We might have only guessed or assumed it in the past though. You know, because of us believing they are a couple, their shared accommodations and the crumbs they have left for us, like the good Hansel and Gretel that they are.

What am I talking about, you may ask?

Well, here are a few examples...

I guess I'll start with Jikook in Malta.

Hobi's surprise visit to JK's room.

Finding a wet haired JK in his pj's, telling us he just came out of the shower. Ignoring a wet haired JM also in the same room. Clearly having showered shortly therefor.

Not cutting proof, I know, but definitely eyebrow raising suspicious.

JM telling us JK's shower lengths

Current shower lengths.

JM knowing this. The others not (if the "they live together in the dorms" excuse is sounded).

Then we had Run BTS episodes 131-132.

I will let JK speak for himself.

Next we have JK's live 27 July 2023.

That was a doozy, wasn't it?😂😂

That was smoking

the flirting

the posturing.

This one was over the roof loud, and because of that maybe one of the loudest moments just flew over some people's heads...

What is he saying?

He'll grab his toiletries and go over to do the live? Shower at JM's before? Shower at his after? Do the live, shower and sleep over? Whichever of these you go with it's god damn fucking loud.

The ease in which JK just says it too. It's just something he's used to do. Go wash up at JM's. Because what? The shower in his luxurious unit in Brunnen doesn't work? The man lives a few minutes away from JM and yet he needs to pop over to his to shower?

I ask you this: do you think JK is going to JM's to shower alone? Something he can clearly do at home?

And JM? I didn't hear a no to the "I'll come over and shower at yours". Just a not now to the live. So...

Ays jeju shower

🐰We might feel differently after a shower.

🐰This might be because we just swam.

🐥ppeuriri~

This time no giggles, just a smile and then a sultry expression walking towards JK.

Cut.

Talk about showering with them off camera.

And lots of shady stuff going on to make us think that maybe, just maybe, those two kind of showered together.

Idk, am I being clear enough?

So, let's talk about that shower for a second.

We see JK going into the bathroom, JM nowhere to be seen.

Obviously he's not showering upstairs with Tae asleep there and both of their suitcases spread out open in front of the downstairs bathroom.

Next we see JM outside of the bathroom brushing his hair dressed after the shower and JK is in the bathroom partially dressed after that shower.

JM walking in behind JK, and yes, it looks like he's lifting his arms to fix his hair, but that cut there again.... I am choosing to believe that he also went in for a hug there. Hill meet Kanmom.

Oh, and hunger issue solved at this point.

Ppeuriri.

So if you're ready (so if you're ready) And if you'll let me (and if you'll let me) I wanna see it in motion, in 3D (uh-uh) You won't regret me (you won't regret me) Champagne confetti (champagne confetti) I wanna see it in motion, in 3D

They said it, not me!!!

Who needs to eat anything when you can get some 3D action instead?

Are you sure Sapporo

JM goes to have a shower, JK following in suit a few minutes later, walking into the bathroom (after that morning wood subsides if only a little, I may add).

JK going to shower with JM or not, they clearly have zero problem with being naked in front of each other, JK not even hesitating to walk in on a showering JM. Friends or not, living together years ago or not, there is this thing called privacy and respecting each other's privacy, oh and boundaries between 2 grown people.

You know who has zero issues with that? Couples!!!

So yeah, we got these hints and crumbs over the years.

But then JK goes and drops this, with that cute ass smirk on his face...

Like it's nothing.

Like there is nothing to it.

Like this won't break the internet, blow our minds to smithereens and break TKKs and solos and haters.

Like not only confirming they shower together (huge within itself), this confirmed what so many were trying to disprove for the past 12 months since they enlisted, and that is that the two are together by choice, have been ever since they enlisted, and choose to spend their spare time together as well. Including in the shower.

But then again...

This REALLY shouldn't have come as such a surprise seeing that JM most definitley had zero problem doing this:

With the gymnastics that it took to perfect writing his name on that chest that clearly belongs to him.

As he's made it clear!!!

And as so proudly JK is showcasing it as well.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Miss Raven, may I ask for a list of the flaws in Leona’s plan from 2nd book? I knew of a couple myself at some point but i forgot what they were 😅 I was hoping you could list off as many flaws in the plan as you could find. 🤔

Please note: This post ONLY addresses the issues with Leona's book 2 plans to get Malleus out of the picture as per the asker's question. Book 2 has several other issues with its narrative (such as Leona's lack of screen presence/interaction with Yuu and co.), but I will not be counting them here.

The problems with Leona's plan are, as I could identify them:

NO Savanaclaw students were among the injured. Does this not automatically make them look really shady????

Savanaclaw students form a wall around Ruggie to shield him from sight when he uses his UM. This, too, is hella suspicious... You're telling me that there's an oddly high number of Savanaclaw students at the scenes of the crimes and yet not one of them got injured??? IT MAKES THEM LOOK EVEN SHADIER THAN BEFORE, ESPECIALLY SINCE THEY HAVE A REALLY OBVIOUS MOTIVE.

Leona openly talks about his evil scheme in his own dorm. A dorm with seemingly no sturdy doors that open and shut. A dorm that just brought in a bunch of freshmen that he doesn't know well and may not be on board with what he's doing. A dorm with a lot of beastmen... that have sensitive ears... and can probably hear you monologuing from quite a distance away...

Ruggie is sloppy and Leona just does not care about it when he really, REALLY should care; he is overly reliant on a "lack of evidence" to exonerate them. Ruggie blatantly shows off his UM and reports this to Leona. Why does Leona show like ZERO concern about this?? Why does he believe the school cannot do anything without proof? Literally nothing is stopping Crowley from detaining him under suspicion of guilt, or at least having someone watch him like a hawk if they suspect something... which will just make it that much harder to execute his plan.

Leona doesn't seem to care either when Jack overhears his plan; he just... expects Jack to feel pressured by his dorm members + the hierarchy to not squeal???? Same issue as the previous bullet point; Leona should be caring a lot more about concealing their identities than this.

Leona assumes a regular ass stampede will be enough to kill/injure Malleus. The reason provided is that Malleus wouldn't dare to use his magic to get away when it might "harm" innocent bystanders. OKAY, what's stopping Malleus from poofing out of danger? This is an even stupider point because we literally see Malleus VANISH IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE when Yuu meets him for the first time in this very same book.

The potential political fallout. I doubt Twst intended to go into the consequences of what would have happened if Leona's dumb plan had succeeded, but surely if he was caught in the act or even suspected to have had a hand in it, it would impact the relationship between their countries since Leona and Malleus are both princes??? And that sounds like it would be a massive shitshow 💀

I've done my own book 2 rewrite, which attempts to address most of these issues with Leona's plan. There is also this follow-up post, which expands on some of the ideas I proposed in my initial rewrite. Tons of other people have book 2 rewrites as well! And you can write your own book 2 rewrite! Literally almost anything is better than the canon book 2--

[biblical-chronicles]

Branded

__________________________________________

where Liam gets an interesting t-shirt from fans.

__________________________________________

When Liam got back from the gig, it was late—stupidly late—but you were still awake, curled up on the couch, waiting for him. The second the door shut behind him, you stood, stretching slightly before making your way over to him. He barely had time to drop his bag before you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing into the warmth of him.

He let out a low chuckle, his arms settling comfortably around your waist. “That desperate for a cuddle, are ya?”

You hummed. “Just bein’ polite, welcoming you home.”

Liam pressed a lazy kiss to your temple, swaying you both slightly, content. Then you pulled back just enough to look at him properly—and immediately squinted.

“What’s this, then?”

His brows pulled together. “What’s what?”

You pinched the fabric of his shirt, tugging it slightly. “The shirt, Liam.”

Liam smirked. “Oh. This.”

You finally took in the bold lettering across his chest.

Y/N’s Boyfriend.

Your lips twitched. “Right. And where exactly did you acquire this?”

“Some fan lobbed it on stage,” he said, tone nonchalant. “Thought it was funny, so I put it on.”

You let go of the fabric and folded your arms. “Yeah? Just thought it was funny?”

Liam shrugged, smirking like he knew exactly what you were getting at but wasn’t about to say it. “Aye.”

You shook your head, amused, eyes flicking back to the shirt. “It’s a good look on you, I’ll give ‘em that.”

His smirk deepened. “Knew you’d say that.”

You hummed, poking his side. “Might have to start dressin’ you meself if you’re just gonna let the crowd do it.”

He scoffed, nudging your hand away before pulling you back into him. “You’d love that.”

You just smiled, resting your head against his shoulder.

You always knew Liam talked about you a lot in interviews. He wasn’t exactly subtle—never had been. Any time your name came up, he’d go off on one, grinning like a fool and saying something daft but sweet, completely unaware of how obvious he was being. And, yeah, people liked you together. You’d seen the comments, heard the jokes.

But you hadn’t realised it was bad enough for fans to start printing t-shirts about it.

The next morning, you woke up alone—only to hear some very distinct rummaging noises coming from down the hall.

Frowning, you pushed back the covers and got up, following the sounds until you reached the doorway of the laundry room.

And there, in all his glory, was Liam. Crouched in front of the laundry basket, digging through it like he’d lost something vital to his survival.

You blinked. “Are you seriously going through the dirty washing?”

Liam barely spared you a glance, still rummaging. “Where’s me top?”

Your brows lifted. “What?”

“The one from last night,” he muttered, growing increasingly impatient. “Where is it?”

You just stared at him for a second before it clicked. Then a slow, knowing smile spread across your face.

“Oh, wow.” You leaned against the doorframe. “You really liked it, didn’t you?”

Liam scoffed, standing up. “Did I?”

You snorted. “You’re ransacking the laundry for it, Liam.”

“I was just—” He waved a hand vaguely. “Didn’t want it goin’ missin’.”

You grinned, stepping forward to pat his cheek. “Well, relax. I washed it.”

Liam exhaled. “Right. So where is it, then?”

“Drying, you absolute lunatic.” You folded your arms, shaking your head. “Couldn’t even wait a full day, could you?”

He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a decent top, that’s all.”

You let out a quiet laugh, stepping closer to him, your arms resting loosely around his waist. “Right. Just a decent top. Definitely not your new favourite or owt.”

Liam rolled his eyes, but his hands slid up to hold your face anyway, thumbs brushing lightly against your skin. “You’re enjoyin’ this, aren’t ya?”

You hummed. “A little.”

Later that night, when he stepped out of the bedroom wearing that shirt again, you just shook your head.

“Obsessed.”

Liam shot you a grin as he grabbed his jacket. “Shut it.”

It didn’t take long for 'The Shirt' to take on a life of its own.

What started as a cheeky little thing between you and Liam quickly became an inside joke among the fans, the media—even people who had no business knowing about it. Anytime Liam was spotted in public, someone would shout about it. Anytime you posted a picture of him—Where’s the shirt, Liam? Anytime he did an interview—You still wearing that thing, mate?

And, because he was Liam, he just leaned into it.

He liked it and so he wore it to rehearsals, to the pub, to Tesco.

The shirt had somehow become an extension of Liam’s whole head over heels, can’t shut up about you if he tried persona, and he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it. If anything, he leaned into it harder.

So, naturally, someone had to go and suggest he release it as merch.

Liam had scoffed at the very idea. “Nah, that’d be proper misinformation mate.”

The interviewer had blinked, clearly confused. “what do you mean?”

Liam leaned forward like it was obvious. “I am her boyfriend. You lot are not fuckin’ me, are ya? You could get 'Fan of Y/N’s Boyfriend' at a push.”

Eventually, though, the joke ran its course. Or at least, that version of it did. Because a year or so later, Liam had found a way to one-up himself.

Mid-gig, he stepped back from the mic, rolling his shoulders like he was getting ready to say something important. The band kept idly playing in the background, keeping the energy up, but the crowd could tell something was coming.

He glanced out over the sea of faces, smirking. “Right, you lot know about me favourite shirt, yeah?”

“Yeah, well… thing is, can’t be runnin’ round in that one anymore.” He started unzipping his jacket, taking his time just to wind them up, and then—he pulled it open.

The place erupted.

The same bold lettering, but a slight edit. "Y/N’s fiancée"

Liam just stood there, letting the reaction wash over him, chin tilted up, clearly proud of his little performance. A few of the lads in the band laughed, shaking their heads, but kept playing.

Backstage, you just shook your head, laughing as you leaned against the wall, already foreseeing the buzz this is going to cause.

At some point he glanced over mid-song, caught your eye, and gave you a look—just a slight quirk of his brow, a half-smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop smiling.

__________________________________________

another cute short story but I promise I have summat longer lined up for tomorrow you lot xx

per usual big thanks to @shes-thunderstormssss for the biblical idea 🙏

[akindaflora]

How SKZ would react to you calling them your boyfriend on travels!

Full word count: 2,002

details: Basically I'm going on solo trip abroad for my birthday soon and as a safety precaution I've decided to use low key photos of SKZ members and telling weirdos that they're my boyfriend and I kept thinking about what if I accidentally ran into one of the boys not knowing its them and then to show a photo of themselves saying that they were my boyfriend. I doubt the boys would ever make someone uncomfortable intentionally but I'm extremely jumpy with strangers especially men haha so I could definitely see this happening! Anyway hope you enjoy:)

Warning: One curse word was said! Mentions of stalking and harassment but no actual harassment unless you count Lee Know being slightly mischievous. Also if you do workout please be sure to have a spotter when lifting heavy weights ^_−☆

Thanks again for the support on Lip Mask while that was the first story I posted. This scenario was in the works well way before Lip Mask was even written but due to the support of SKZ Tumblr community, I felt wayyy more confident and comfortable with sharing this idea with you all! Hope you enjoy ❤️

Hyung / Maknae / Masterlist

Bangchan (616 words)

It was the first day of your trip after a long flight and only arriving at 3 in the afternoon you realized your fight against jet lag might be stronger than you thought. The subtle feeling of sleep as you took a shower in the hotel not doing much aid. But with a few light slaps to your face you made your trek outdoors to explore the city hoping the walking and maybe some sugar would keep you up till nightfall. With that thought you grabbed your bag and threw on a scarf to keep the chill away.

So far after walking around for a bit, your shoulders started to tense. There were a lot of people and while crowded spaces aren't that scary there was the possibility that anything could happen. What if someone tried to steal your phone? You did your best to grip your phone in your pocket. What if someone tries to kidnap you? With that thought you began looking around your shoulder hoping to only feel at ease as the city rushed past you but instead, you could see a steady black-clothed figure hurriedly following you.

Panic began to strike. You knew in your research of the city that there had been some issues with men harassing women for dates going so far as to follow them for blocks on end. You knew you couldn't go back to the hotel not wanting the newfound stalker to stalk you even more and worse you didn't even know where you were, the buildings all looked the same.

Taking a deep breath you tried your best to high-tail it out of there only to feel your heart in your chest sink to your stomach when you realized the corner you turned on was mostly a quiet street nothing compared to the bustling city a few streets over.

With a deep breath, you pulled out your phone and swiped to the image of your bias Bang Chan hoping the stranger wasn't into K Pop and would accept the fact that you having a boyfriend was enough to back off.

"I have a boyfriend and this is him, I'm on my way to meeting him right now so can you stop following me," You said eyes slightly closed and phone outreach stopped the man at his pace. After a few moments of awkward silence, you began to talk, "Look he boxes for fun, I’d turn around if I were you," when you got no response but the quiet sounds of a chuckle you opened your eyes to see a very similar bright red scarf. So similar it even has your initials sewn in on the bottom just like the one you're wearing. Without thinking you reached for your scarf in your other hand.

Blood rushed to your cheeks as it began to click. This man wasn't stalking you but out of some weird concern trying to hand you your scarf back. You quickly looked up at the guy ready to apologize only to feel the blood on your face rise even more. God if you were to compare a cherry red tomato to your face it probably be hard to tell the difference at this moment.

"When I said I would protect you all this didn't really come to mind" He giggled a bit more. You slowly put your phone away wondering if by chance there was a pothole you could bury yourself in.

He moved to put the scarf around your neck, “Jagi you should really stay warm come on, you hungry? I wanna get to know my girlfriend a bit better yeah,” he said nodding his head in a direction up the street.

Lee Know (499 words)

Your stomach growled at you as you rounded the 10th corner of the day. None of the restaurants nearby were speaking to you. Deciding that you were far too hungry to look for a decent spot you wandered into the nearest convenience store.

Quickly deciding a particular appealing hot meal you wandered to the snack aisle, hoping to find a dessert that might even out your salty meal. After contemplating a few candy bars your stomach growled again. As hungry as you were you knew the dessert would either make or break your meal and luckily the store wasn't too filled so you knew checkout wouldn't take long nor finding a decent seat. Weighing your options you decided to go back to the cold section.

Not feeling ice cream as it was already extremely cold you didn't need your teeth shaking too, you decided to look over the choices of pudding. But as you looked you couldn’t decided between Carmel or the Coffee jelly. Both were appetizing but what would bring you the most joy?

In your thought of pondering you heard a deep sigh from your left. Not thinking much of it you decided to move over slightly in hopes whoever needed the pudding would still be able to grab whatever they wanted. But as you continued to decided the sigh moved to your right. So you moved to the right slightly at one point you and the heavy sigher moved left to right back and forth that it seemed to be a game this stranger was playing with you.

With your own heavy sigh you put the caramel pudding back deciding the sweet treat would taste bitter from this unnecessary transaction. Quickly holding your head high without looking at the stranger you moved to decide on a drink.

But before you could grab the tea of your choice the sigh came back. Quickly you threw the drink in your basket and then grabbed your phone. Hoping that the photo of Lee Know would cause the sigher to get lost.

“Look i don’t know what game your playing at but this is my boyfriend he’s just around the corner,” you warned showing the lockscreen in the stranger direction.

A loud laugh was pulled that peak your interest, he sounded familiar quickly looking up you nearly dropped the basket in your hands to which he grabbed to help support you.

“Oh but jagi I’m already here! You should be careful you could have broken the jelly” He began to chastise you still laughing with no concern. A quick heat of a blush went to your cheeks as you tried to process this all. Forgetting your hungry stomach as it decided now was the perfect time to growl. The blushing deepens with each giggle. He raised his brow with another quick laugh.

“Come on i’ll pay and then we can go on that date we supposedly planned,” he said motioning you to follow after taking your basket from your hand.

Changbin (374 words)

With the start of the New Year you had grown dedicated to going to the gym. Even going as far to go while on vacation. Ever since you began your workout journey you've had the displeasure of many unwelcome interactions from the male population. Going so far as having to use your bias Changbin as your lock screen. It had worked so far most giving up when they realized how built the man in the photo is and leaving you alone.

Normally you try the buddy system but this being a solo trip you had no one else but yourself and Changbin's photo to protect you. Deciding to start with the treadmill to warm up, you felt the familiar eyes of men as they watched you move. With steady breath, you turned up your music and focused on the TV in front of you.

After 30 minutes you decided to move to the bench press. Deciding that while you didn't have a spotter, it should be fine if you used extremely light weights. You noticed a peculiar muscular guy watching you intently.

You tried to shake his eyes off you got into position but before you could even start the same guy came running over lifting the weight off completely. Unable to hear him you turned your music down after he finished talking and only opened your phone to show him the picture of your saver.

"Look dude this is my boyfriend and he's almost here so I'd step back if I were you," You said not even looking at him reaching for your bottled water. Hearing a big huff of air leaving his lips you finally slowly turn to look ready to set a glare on him. Only to see a somewhat concerned Changbin looking at you as he smirked. A blush creeps up to your cheeks eyes going wide.

"Well seems like your boyfriend already here and wouldn't recommend you dead lifting without a spotter. Why don't you let me help Jagi" He said smoothly. You on the other hand clutching your heart at not only making a fool in front of your bias and the fact he called you jagi.

Definitely proud of yourself for keeping up this gym routine now.

Hyunjin (513 words)

Today had been a tad bit rough on your vacation. Your phone dying so you had no idea how to get back to your hotel that and your favorite shoes had a hole in them the only good thing being that you bought a new pair. And well that you did fine a decent book burning away in your bag asking you to read its text. Quickly trying to figure out your safe haven and hopefully an outlet.

With it being extremely late you stumble upon a bar filled with books and laughter as different types of people filled it. It was a book bar, one of the many to do things on your list, maybe your luck was changing. The bar wasn't too crowded but it definitely wasn't easy finding a spot next to an outlet. Tucked away in a corner you pull out your charger and the book in your bag sipping away on the bubbling beer.

After walking for hours and shivering in the cold the warm bar and the soft chitter chatter of others around you warmed you as the author's words pulled you in. The only problem is that the person next to you kept bumping into your left shoulder. You tried shaking them off which didn't work and after a glance at your still-dead phone, you sighed taking another sip. If only it were on you'd show the stranger your lock screen of your bias Hyunjin maybe his piercing eyes and oozing confidence would scare them away. With your luck, the guy left and you let out a breath you didn't realize you had been holding in, finally able to get back to your book.

But just as if the universe was testing your patience the same guy, you assumed, came back and began to softly poke you. Luckily as he did your phone turned on.

Without even looking you unplugged your phone showing the strange man your screen, "See this guy he's my boyfriend, and he's supposed to meet me here so if I were you I'd stop touching me, he can be the jealous type and you wouldn't like to see him that way," You said setting your phone down and turning the page of your book.

But the poker was relentless and poked you again with a little laugh. You quickly closed your book marking your finger in the pages as a steady glare brought you to the source of your annoyance.

Though everything went silent or rather your heart stopped as you realized it was the same man on your home screen that went out of his way to poke you. Fuck you thought.

"Well I was gonna ask if you let me plug my phone up too. Didn't know I came off as the jealous type," he said looking down as if lost in thought. Talk about strange luck.

“Hmmm Jagi put the book away seems we need to talk about the boundaries of our relationship,” he said plugging his phone into your charger. Yeah, maybe you should get lost more often.

After writing author notes: I wanted these to end on a goodish note and leave with the boys being somewhat interested but i hope i didn’t feed your delusions too much as this did with mine. Also sorry for the various word counts but some scenarios were easier to write more for than others but I enjoy all the boys equally so I didn't want to write more for the sake of more but just the context needed for each scene! Might be a bit till i can figure out the maknaes i really want the scenarios to be somewhat unrealistic but realistic to the boys interest and things they'd probably be doing on vacations days. If you want to speed up the process I'm open to ideas for the rest until then I believe some more fluff for the other boys are in the works.

Take care eat well and don't forget to touch grass every once and a while ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

[witchyliterature]

GOOD AND PLENTY: K.B

witchy tip

➤ eating pomegranate with strong magical intentions in mind can help manifest what you want

18. difficile ad amorem

m.list

breakfast has been set and katsuki did not come to play. your dad assumed by his rush to do the breakfast that he was definitely good - but as soon as he took the first bite, he rushed to finish it.

hell, katsuki surely was husband material, he might keep this love spell just to allow himself to get some good food.

you yourself was no better, the sounds of you gobbling up the food was the only thing heard from you. your eyes had a narrow focus, which was the breakfast in front of you and only that.

“katsuki bakugou, please marry my daughter if you would like!” your dad’s muffled voice was barely registrable.

“what?! don’t go making statements like that!” you exclaimed, your voice equally as muffled as you both stuffed your mouthy to the fullest capacity.

“that’s the plan, sir” katsuki smirked, outting his hand in his sweatpant pockets.

you instantly looked at him shocked. with how awkward the morning was, you assumed that he wouldn’t even look at you as your dad made that comment. clearly, the love spell is still at work.

“anyways, let me get started on your situationship, then i can continue to eat well!” your dad chuckled as you groaned in embarrassment, your dad and you only met yet he was already as cringe as a dad could be.

“alright, sit down in front of my katsuki.” your dad asked softly, to which katsuki confusingly followed.

your dad looked into his eyes, it was a whirlpool between pink and red. his eyes flickered, would then return to normal, only to flicker again in a quick repetition.

“right, i’m going to do something first to check what the hells going on with his eyes.” your dad muttered, to which you nodded vigorously.

your dad put his hands on katsuki’s head, muttering things in latin and before you knew it, katsuki passed out with a projection of his soul coming out of his body, his resting face was a scowl so you knew this was the orginal katsuki.

“y/n l/n, i am going to fucking murder you when i get back. i swear, ill make you suffer.” katsuki’s soul seethed as he turned to face you.

“shit, katsuki, im so sorry! i really-“

“you fucking embarrassed me for weeks! everyone sees me as this stupid lover boy that’s obsessed over you.” katsuki’s seethed yelled back, his voice having a slight echo.

“oh get over yourself katsuki’s, is being seen in love with me that torturous for you?” you rolled your eyes.

“that’s not the fucking issue and you know it.” katsuki’s angrily replied.

you looked at him skeptically, was that a confession? or did he simply mean he doesn’t care that much about what other people think about you two? either way sounds to have romantic connotations.

“then what is?” you asked.

“the fact- you know what, fuck this. get me out and lemme talk to her fact to face, old man.” katsuki looked at your dad as he responded.

“old man is crazy considering im your crushes father but whatever.” you father muttered immaturely.

katsuki looked slightly flustered as he said that, turning to face you and see your reaction only to still look skeptical.

your father then sent his soul into his body and started the ritual through putting a glass charm of a heart onto katsuki’s chest and hovering his hands while a soft glow emmitted from it.

“this doesn’t usually happen you know, once you do a love spell, that’s it, it cannot be broken unless powerful mages or the person itself have the power to stop it.” your dad explained.

“then why does-“

“because, for some reason, his soul and body rejected it. i don’t know how it worked, he clearly already had feelings for you, otherwise the spell wouldn’t have worked so quickly and so powerfully, but his soul was constantly fighting the spell. his spirit was simply too strong compared to the dosage you gave him, and trust me, i can sense that it was a lot.” you dad further explained.

you looked at him and started to understand. katsuki has always been a fighter, it makes sense that his spirit too also wanted to fight.

but, this whole thing about feelings. you knew he had them for you beforehand. you’re just so confused why he never told you? why he flirted with that second year that practically started it all? why he always seemed to make you a second choice?

the sound of a crack broke you out of your thoughts, you looked and saw that heart chart was broken - indicating that the love spell was broken.

katsuki’s eyes fluttered awake, he started to wake up as small groans escaped his lips. with his true soul being dormant for a while, it felt weird finally seeing things with his own eyes rather than was felt like to be a glass mirror.

“katsuki..” you said softly, getting up to walk up to him.

“fuck, i- i need to go for a drive.” katsuki suddenly spoke, his nerves for some reason shot through the roof, and so he sped to the hallway, grabbed his keys and immediately left.

you called out for him, but he has no response, marching his way to his car and driving off quickly.

“leave him, he will come back, don’t worry.” you father advised you.

you sighed, you knew he would, katsuki never left forever. but it sucked that the first time in a while you were seeing him again, he did what he always did and ran from his emotions.

you just hoped that when he came back, a different song would play for you two.

[sirenedeslily]

── 𝓢weetest 𝓣orture ( jackie taylor ) ּ 𓂅 ⋆

・❥・─── 𝓢𝗬𝗡. a sugar-coated ache, golden and cruel, where longing is worship and desire feels like ruin.

( pairing ) — jackie taylor x female!reader 𝜗𝒞 ; angst & fluff ℳ. this is based off of the song lacy by liv !! 𓂃 ( 2.8k )

there's something about jackie taylor that makes the air feel thick with divinity. not a girl, not yet a woman, but something celestial—a creature so exquisite that the gods themselves must weep with envy. her skin glows like sunlight spilling over pale morning clouds, soft and warm, with a delicate fragility that reminds me of pastry crumbling beneath careful hands. she moves through spaces like she's dancing through starlight, and i'm left breathless in her wake, collecting the stardust that falls from her shoulders.

and i, a mere mortal, am cursed to know her. to see her and want her and burn under the weight of my own longing until every breath feels like inhaling fire. some days, i think i might combust from the sheer intensity of it all.

we're not supposed to feel this way about other people, are we? this kind of worship, this feverish ache that wraps itself around my ribs and refuses to let go. i am caught, tangled in her web, and every attempt to free myself only draws me closer to her light. it's a magnetic pull that defies physics, defies reason, defies every attempt i make to break free.

i remember the first day i saw her on campus. august heat made the air shimmer, and there she was, golden hair catching the sunlight like a crown. my heart stopped, then started again with a different rhythm—a rhythm that spelled out her name with every beat. jackie. jackie. jackie.

she was helping her parents unload boxes from their car, laughing at something her father said. the sound carried across the parking lot like wind chimes in a summer breeze, and i nearly dropped my own box of belongings. of all the colleges in all the world, she had to choose this one. my fresh start was over before it began.

she doesn't know. how could she? jackie moves through the world like it was made for her—head held high, eyes bright as morning dew, wearing a smile that could cut down armies and heal wounds in the same breath. she is a starlet reborn, a modern brigitte bardot, all charm and grace and effortless beauty. the kind of person who doesn't have to try to be remarkable. and she doesn't.

that's the cruelest part of all.

college was supposed to be my fresh start. after years of being tethered to my past—my mistakes, my insecurities, my endless jealousy—it was supposed to be my chance to let go, to become someone new. someone who didn't spend their nights writing poetry about unrequited love, someone who didn't feel like their skin was too tight for their body, someone who could breathe without feeling like they were drowning in want.

but then jackie chose the same school, and my carefully constructed plans unraveled like a sweater caught on a nail, leaving me exposed and raw.

she is everywhere.

in the dorm hallways, her laughter echoing off the walls like a siren's call. i've memorized the sound of her footsteps, the way they fall light and quick against the linoleum. sometimes i wait in my room, ear pressed against the door, just to hear her pass by. it's pathetic, i know, but i can't help myself. i'm addicted to even the smallest pieces of her.

in the library, she's a vision of concentrated beauty. head bent over textbooks, bottom lip caught between her teeth, the curve of her neck so perfect it makes my stomach churn with want. she twirls a strand of hair around her finger when she's deep in thought, and i've filled entire pages of my notebook just describing that simple gesture. the way the gold catches the fluorescent lights, the graceful movement of her fingers, the slight furrow in her brow as she reads.

at parties, she's ethereal. spinning under string lights in the cramped living rooms of off-campus houses, her golden hair catching the glow like it was spun from sunbeams. she dances like nobody's watching, but everyone is. how could they not? she's magnetic, drawing every eye in the room without even trying. i watch her from corners, from doorways, from behind red solo cups that i pretend to sip from. i watch her, and i burn.

and in my literature class. of all the small mercies the universe could have granted me, it denied me this one. jackie taylor sits a row ahead of me, her notebook open to pages of perfect handwriting, her pen tapping softly against her desk in a rhythm that matches my heartbeat. sometimes she wears her hair up, exposing the delicate nape of her neck, and i have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from reaching out to touch it.

she has no idea how much i hate her for it.

but hate is the wrong word.

hate implies anger, bitterness, something sharp and biting. this is different. this is the kind of loathing that curls inward, burrows into your chest, and eats you alive from the inside out. it's jealousy, yes, but more than that. it's admiration so intense it feels like a wound that refuses to heal, a constant ache that throbs with every glimpse of her.

i've started cataloging her outfits in my mind, creating a digital archive of every sweater, every skirt, every perfectly coordinated accessory. today it's a cream-colored cardigan that makes her look like she stepped out of a vintage photograph. the soft wool catches the light when she moves, creating halos around her shoulders. her hair is loose today, falling in gentle waves that make my fingers itch to run through them.

jackie is too kind, too sweet, too thoughtful in ways that make me feel like i'm unraveling thread by thread. she compliments me sometimes—offhandedly, casually, like she's not dropping bombs that explode in slow motion beneath my skin.

last week, she stopped me after class. "that point you made about symbolism in plath's work was brilliant," she said, and i nearly choked on my own tongue. she remembered something i said. she thought about it. she thought about me.

"your hair looks nice today," she'll say as we pass in the hallway, her voice carrying the warmth of summer afternoons.

and i'll nod, choking out a quick "thanks," while my pulse thrums in my throat and my stomach twists itself into elaborate nautical knots. her words shouldn't matter. they shouldn't burrow under my skin like splinters, shouldn't stay with me for hours, days, weeks. but they do. and it makes me hate her. it makes me hate myself even more.

at night, i lie awake and replay every interaction, every glimpse, every moment she's existed in my proximity. i imagine different scenarios, different endings. in some, i'm brave enough to tell her how i feel. in others, she confesses first. In most, i just watch her from afar, burning and burning and burning.

i write about her constantly. my notebooks are filled with half-finished poems and prose pieces that try to capture the essence of her. how do you describe someone who seems made of light? how do you put into words the way your chest aches when they smile? how do you explain that you're drowning in the ocean of your own wanting?

"write about longing," our professor says, her voice cutting through the comfortable silence of the classroom like a knife through butter.

the class groans collectively, a few students laughing nervously at the vulnerability the assignment demands. i barely hear them. my heart is already pounding against my ribcage like it's trying to escape, my palms slick with sweat. finally, an excuse to put this ache on a paper other than mine.

"desire," she continues, her eyes scanning the room. "the kind of want that keeps you up at night. the ache you can't ignore, even when you wish you could."

i glance at jackie before i can stop myself, a moth drawn to its inevitable destruction. she's sitting straight, her face calm, unbothered. of course she is. jackie taylor has never wanted for anything in her life. she's never had to learn to live with the kind of hunger that gnaws at your insides, that makes you forget what it feels like to be full.

but me? my longing has become a second skin, an ever-present ghost that wraps itself around my throat and pulls tight until breathing becomes an act of defiance.

the poem consumes me like wildfire.

i write it over three sleepless nights, the words pouring out of me like blood from a wound. my roommate finds me at 3 am, hunched over my desk, tears streaming down my face as i write. she asks if i’m okay. i lie and say it's just stress about midterms.

how do you explain that you're writing about the way someone's existence has become both your salvation and your destruction? how do you tell someone that you're crafting a confession that will either set you free or burn you alive?

i don't name her in the poem. i don't need to. instead, i write about angels. about cathedrals and sunlight and the soft cruelty of someone who doesn't know the damage they're causing. i write about jealousy, about the way it festers and rots and turns love into something ugly yet still beautiful in its devastation. i write about longing so deep it feels like drowning, and about the sweetness of surrendering to it anyway.

when i'm done, i sit back, my chest heaving, my eyes burning with unshed tears that refuse to fall. it's her. it's always been her. every word, every metaphor, every carefully crafted line is a love letter i never intended to send.

the day of the reading arrives, and i feel like i'm walking to my own execution, each step bringing me closer to a beautiful destruction of my own making.

our professor insists that poetry must be spoken aloud to be truly felt. i disagree. some feelings are too raw, too personal to be shared. some words are meant to stay hidden, buried in journals and password-protected files. but here i am, about to lay my soul bare in front of twenty pairs of eyes, including hers.

jackie sits in her usual seat, a row ahead of me. today, her golden hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail that catches the fluorescent lights like a halo. she's wearing that cream cardigan again, the one that makes her look like she belongs in a classical painting. she looks calm, relaxed, her notebook open in front of her like this is just another day, just another class.

my hands tremble as the professor calls my name.

i stand, clutching my notebook so tightly the pages crinkling under my fingers, and walk to the front of the room. my heart is racing, my stomach in knots, and i can't seem to catch my breath. but then i see her, and something shifts inside me. if this is my confession, my moment of truth, then let it be beautiful. let it be worthy of her.

the words pour out of me like a prayer,

the room is silent when i finish, the kind of silence that feels like holding your breath underwater. i keep my eyes fixed on the page, too afraid to look up, too afraid to see the faces of my classmates—or worse, jackie's. my hands are shaking so badly i can barely read the words anymore.

there's a polite smattering of applause, soft and distant, like i'm hearing it from underwater. i force myself to walk back to my seat, each step feeling like i'm moving through molasses. i sit down, my chest tight, my head spinning with the weight of what i've just done.

and then i feel it.

jackie's eyes on me, heavy as a physical touch.

i glance up, and she's turned completely around in her seat, staring at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. her lips are parted slightly, and there's something in her expression i've never seen before. recognition? understanding? horror? i can't tell, and before i can analyze it further, the professor calls the next name, and the moment shatters like glass.

the rest of class passes in a blur. i don't hear a single word anyone else reads. all i can focus on is the weight of jackie's presence in front of me, the way she keeps shifting in her seat, the way her hand trembles slightly as she writes in her notebook.

when class ends, i shove my things into my bag as quickly as possible, ready to flee, to hide, to pretend this never happened. but as i step into the hallway, i hear her voice.

"wait."

i freeze, my pulse racing, my breath catching in my throat like a butterfly in a net. slowly, i turn around.

jackie stands there, bathed in the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway, yet somehow still looking ethereal. her cheeks are flushed pink, and she's clutching her notebook to her chest like a shield.

"that was..." she trails off, searching for the right words, her eyes never leaving mine. "beautiful."

i don't know what to say. my throat is dry, my hands trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. years of longing and watching and wanting press against my ribcage, threatening to spill out.

jackie takes a step closer, then another, until she's close enough that i can smell her perfume—something light and floral that makes my head spin. her gaze is locked on mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.

"was it..." she pauses, licks her lips nervously. "was it about someone you know?"

my heart stutters, trips, falls. for a moment, i think about lying, about brushing it off, about running until my lungs burn and my legs give out. but then i meet her eyes—those eyes that have haunted my dreams and nightmares alike—and something in me breaks wide open.

"yes," i whisper, the word falling from my lips like a prayer.

her breath hitches, a small sound that echoes in the space between us like thunder. and then, before i can think, before i can stop her, before i can do anything but exist in this moment, she steps forward and kisses me.

it’s soft at first, tentative, a question more than an answer. but then i make a small, desperate sound in the back of my throat, and something in her shifts. her hands come up to cup my face, gentle but sure, and she kisses me like she's been thinking about it as long as i have. like she's been burning too.

she tastes like cherry chapstick and possibility, and i feel myself melting into her touch like snow in spring. my hands find her waist, pulling her closer, needing to feel the solid reality of her against me. this can't be real. this has to be real.

when we finally break apart, we're both breathing heavily. jackie rests her forehead against mine, her thumbs stroking softly over my cheekbones. when i open my eyes, she's already looking at me, and what i see in her gaze makes my heart stutter.

there's wonder there, and vulnerability, and something that looks remarkably like the longing I've been carrying around all this time. she's looking at me like i'm something precious, something worth wanting, something worth burning for.

"i didn't know," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "i didn't know you felt it too."

and in that moment, i realize that maybe we've both been haunted all along. maybe we've both been burning, both been yearning, both been writing poems in the dark about the agony of wanting something we thought we couldn't have.

i reach up and touch her face, tracing my fingers along her jaw like i've imagined doing a thousand times. she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed, and my heart feels too big for my chest.

"jackie," i breathe, and her name tastes like salvation on my tongue.

she smiles then, bright and beautiful and real, and kisses me again. and again. and again. until the fluorescent lights dim and the hallway empties and the world narrows down to just this: her lips on mine, her hands in my hair, her heart beating against my chest.

the sweetest torture has become the sweetest relief, and i surrender to it completely.

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @waitforyrlove @elizabebabe @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @maggot3647 @ifwdominicfike @sweetestpoetic @ch6rm

[gnohomotho-blog]

Just a game (part 2) 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

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Pairing: Hwang In-ho / The Frontman x fem!reader

Summary: We're getting there, folks. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜) Mostly fluff, need, imagination, fantasy, slow burn. Focus on the f!reader, because you deserve nice things. She's home, receiving odd gifts, some sweet, some...quite the not sweet, the game and plot and trouser legs thicken (I'm so sorry, it's literally 2 a.m. here). In-ho definitely isn't obsessing over you, hatching elaborate plans, thinking of you so hard he'll break another turtleneck. Not saying the f!reader has any specific issues, but if you recognize any, I hope to be nothing but respectful. ♥ Oh, and we have a dream sequence, Freud would be proud.

(This was mainly meant as a "put your feet up and be cozy, read about yourself and feel good" read, the action will come later. Among other things. I'm so sorry, my thesis is driving me mad.)

Warnings: It's the god damn Front Man The usual Squid Game warnings, mdni, stalking, spying, voyeurism, touching, self-touching, sexual themes, sexual almost-intercourse, descriptions of anatomy and body parts, blood, yearning, some terrible references and Slavic folklore. Privacy? In my fic? It's less likely than you think.

Word count: 4.2k

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A cup of tea. A cup. You were watching the cup. Steam rises from it and folds into nothing. Your stomach is churning. Is it stress? You ponder. Seeing the liquid close in on itself as you stir it. Again and again.

"It'll get cold." You say, to no one. You try to breathe. Heart pounding. Head a bit spinny. You look around your room. Dimly lit, warm orange light from a salt lamp. You check your blinds - still closed, still safe. Noise from other people you try to filter out. Why do you jump at every single sound? Why does white noise blaring its head off make for the only atmosphere you can stand? You wonder. You get up. The world spins. The phone lies on your bed. As it has for the last three hours. Unchecked. Your sound is off. It always is. You turned off everything this time. It's just black. You try to think, ground yourself, poems float through your pounding head. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the tall mirrors of your wardrobe. An oddly shaped form stares back at you.

"Jesus Christ…I look…like shit." The mirrored lips curl around your words - but it might as well have been a stranger speaking back at you. You don't recognize yourself, and what you do, you dislike. Like a funhouse mirror. Without the fun. Your long hair falls across your shoulders, curling towards the ends. Your exposed skin is cold and giving a nice exposé of every vein under your neck, driving rivers of blue across your collarbones, your shoulders, your chest. You won't look further. They seem to be drawn to your middle, pooling across your skin. People often referred to you as pale, no matter your actual skin tone. When things got a tad too heavy, you became transparent. It was calming, sometimes. Calming that so much was trying to keep you alive to the point of exhausting itself and sending highways of signals through every vein to keep at it. Your head spins again. More poems. Try to drink the tea.

"Light your candle, one, two, there's a moth…" You know the rest. But the lips fail to speak. You pick up the phone. And almost knock over your tea. Then proceed to fight an urge to fling it into a wall and watch the stains roll down like fresh blood.

Seventeen missed calls from a blocked number - your now ex-companion. A worried message from your friend, no doubt spurred by said ex-companion with an entirely different story to reality. Frowning, you adjust your dressing gown and tie it down to hold everything in and hold you together.

"Hey, Y/N…I know you probably don't want to talk, but I'm sorry things went so badly. I'm here."

You hate yourself a little more. Clara has always been a darling, you…cared for her. A lot. You wish to say "loved", you squint your eyes and wish to say you love her. People are kind. People are always so very kind. And you can't drink a cup of tea. Nor reply. There's also an email. From a set of numbers, no name. You open it, against your better judgement. No subject, only a photograph. Of your door. Your door inside your flat. Which is locked. You didn't ring anyone in. You, of all people, didn't hear any steps on the stairs. You live at the very top floor. And still?! What is wrong with you lately, now of all times?

And still, there is a photograph of your door. With…things? Your shoes were gently placed beside your mat.

"Um…" You knock on your housemate's door - how grateful you are for the economic situation which doesn't permit you to live alone now, you think bitterly as his steps approach.

"Oh, Y/N, how are you? What can I do you for?" Ever the cheerful voice and visage stands before you, half dressed, always flooded with work and hobbies. The room behind him is full of papers and candles, manuals and scripts, and information that probably shouldn't be lying around covered in bird photography snaps. It calms you a tad. You breathe out and uncross your arms. In the back of your mind, you wonder what he's always so entranced with.

"I'm getting there, thank you, Lubo." Your chest falls a tad, you really do feel a bit better, but very on edge. You fidget with your fingers as you speak. "Would it be alright to ask if you could open the main door with me? Something is there and I've been listening to too many IRA anthems to trust it." Because making a joke out of a very serious situation never failed you yet.

"Sure!"

You notice one of the birds on the ground behind him. Gazing at one photograph a little longer, you smile at the birdie and its soft grey feathers, little black dash across its little eyes...you realise you're looking at a shrike. The universe really is sending her best.

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You open the door as Lubo endeavours to rummage through the things on your doorstep. It seems to be a very neatly wrapped black box with a pink bow. With a little token of a crow embossed on its side. Heavy, by the looks of it. You half expect your ex-companion's limbs to be soaking its insides.

"I'll take it indoors and disinfect it, ok? Just so it doesn't feel like you've contaminated the flat." You nod, thank him over and over, and feel very grateful for him remembering your slight fights with obsessive cleanliness and parasites. But this looks…clean. You take a knife from your room, the knife that's been under your pillow for good reason. Kneeling, you gently unwrap the box altogether and distance yourself from the thing for a little bit. Breathe. It's just a box. Those never go wrong.

It's…full of…gifts?

Your…favourite flowers, perfectly preserved. No one knows your favourite flowers that well. Under them, resting under jewels of crimson poppies, lies a book of poems, the ones you use to calm yourself down; the ones that make you feel less alone. In the correct languge, even. Next to the poppies, hot water bottles, wrapped, fluffy, still warm. Under them yet, medication you couldn't get from your doctor for the entire month due to disagreements and never being heard, half of them aren't even sold in the country. Bath salts, dark chocolate, tea…there seems to be so much. Your face is caught in a mixture of attempting to frown, being swept off your feet, and deeply uncomfortable with what is basically an encyclopedia of you in a box. You carefully lay the items to the side and begin to notice things you truly need your housemate to not see. You lose your breath for a moment and blush so hard you almost forget both the kindness and terror of the rest of the package. It seems to be divided into care for you and…some other forms of urges. As if. As fucking if.

"Google, remind me to photograph this tomorrow in good light," you say to nothing, "to use as evidence either after this person manages to kill me or before, if the courts move faster than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping."

Against your better judgement, you carry the box to your room and watch it for a while, as you do other things, but can never quite relax. Surely he can't be serious. Your name isn't Shirley.

There was also a note you now keep flinging on your table and crunching in your hands, neatly written, with no name.

"Dear Y/N,

should you wish to meet someone qualified to help with the attached records, it has been arranged. Be at the coordinates listed between the red and white gift and you will be taken care of. No harm will come to you. You are safe. As right as rain."

Right as rain…that's a part of a poem, that absolute…dear God, fuck, the thoughts in your head are tumbling down at you and you collapse onto the bed, staring at your knees. It's a good thing he somehow didn't include your most loved flowers, since they're all poisonous. One of them you like specifically because it is elegant, sharp, snowy, and beautiful - and all of her body, leaves, and seed pouches scream "don't fucking touch me, if you do, you will die and wish for death the entire time you are doing so". You would very much like to be the flower now. Make someone else hallucinate.

You search the box again and find the beautiful gown, in red, and the gentle white lace undergarments - as kind and gentle and revealing as they are elegant. A little QR code is nestled between the lace.

"Nope. Nope nope NOPE. Absolutely not," you say out loud. Fighting the fact that the nightgown under the two other garments is cozy and light and so very beautiful. And it smells…oddly familiar. With a hint of something else. As if someone knew you loved scents of sweetness, vanilla, caramel, honey, and skin combined with darker, heavier tones that don't usually mix with feminine perfumes. Something lovely and gentle to draw you in, with something far more potent, enveloping, and enthralling to drag you down the lake to drown. And yet. Still. Something else. Something more. You decide to put on the gown and stare into a little crow's eyes. Such a pretty little statue, you don't even remember where you got it from.

"I'm going to be alright. Water is fine. This is just water. We've been here, we've been in the mud up to our noses." You are whispering to yourself, trying to sooth your mind. Metaphores, poems, sooth sooth sooth. You close your eyes, think of beautiful women, barefoot, in the dark of a forest. Glistening lights in their long hair, lights in their gorgeous eyes. Light on their feet, as they dance upon the water and through the marsh. You cannot drown a forest spirit of a woman scorned. They will mesmerize you, dance you, dance you to the end of your love and tether, and pull you into the depths. Then kiss you as you gasp for air.

You undress, eyes still closed, holding the long white gown. You slowly slide into the fabric, which clings to your skin as a lover's touch at the first sign of morning light. Still trying to be as unbothered and confident as a forest Rusalka. You aren't. But the gown smells nice. And it's quite light. Long sleeves, fabric that reveals but doesn't scream. Lace around your chest and stomach, falling down your hips and thighs.

…Kiss you as you gasp for air.

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In-ho was pleased with his gift. Not only the gift, but the message. Upon message. Upon message. He wondered, quite hopeful - yet reserved - if you understood them all. No matter.

You will. Oh, you will. Every word. Even if he has to cling them to your skin, one by one, with his own lips.

To the surprise of absolutely no one except you, perhaps, the small bird brought him all the feedback he could desire. Rather low quality feedback, he thought, as he watched you ponder, watched you crunch up the note, and watched you dress. Instinctively, he looked away as you began to slide your own clothes down. He glimpsed perhaps a strap, perhaps more skin than he first saw…light reflecting off you, sliding down, further down, caressing your tenderness…yet he looked away, calmly resolute to not look back. His gaze remained firmly in the corner of the room, he certainly wasn't fighting - or imagining himself being the photons of light resting on your supple skin. No. It would be unbecoming to watch a lady undress, so vulnerable, so unknowing. Never mind the rest. If you looked up the word "hypocrite" in the dictionary, In-ho's face wouldn't be next to it. It would be on the next page, because he would never be caught. As he looked back, you were dressed, not looking at yourself.

In-ho frowns for a moment, before he sees the rest of you. Even though it's just a phone screen and the picture quality truly isn't doing you justice, his breath is caught. He shifts and looks around instinctively, only a flicker of the eyes and a small movement of the neck. But he's nervous, nervous to be so exposed. He chuckles to himself just as unnoticeably - he's spying on you yet he's the one feeling exposed..was the chuckle to ease tension? This is just a game to him and you are nothing, after all. No one. He shifts once more and uncrosses his legs, one hand slowly combing his hair firmly away from of his forehead. Nothing. Just as it is nothing that is making the jacket around his neck feel tight. He sees you stand, further away now. He sees your entirety in the white flowing fabric, the lace, the…entirety…of you. His coat needs to come off, and is discarded to the side in haste. The remaining turtleneck isn't much help, but he goes in, now fully enthralled. Positioning himself, he endeavours to enjoy you. Slowly. From the tip of your head to the soles of your feet, remaining fully in control, admiring, never taking, never grabbing. Never…needing. But as he moves down your face, your cheeks, your chin, along your neck all the way to your hair resting on your now exposed shoulders, back to your mouth and lips - he leans into the screen - those supple yet reserved, tender lips whispering gently and curling around words as if speaking to a sleeping lover in the night who is caught in a bad dream, the eyes - damn the picture quality - the eyes that glint, yet resemble dark pools amid features that are…that mean…his heart is fast. His eyes pools of reckless abandon. They flicker to the movement of your hips and tick fast, fast back up top, stopping at the almond curve the nightgown begets your breasts - In-ho's hands twitch as his fingers yearn with a mind of their own, to hear you gasp and squirm and melt under their touch as he teases, cups, and caresses in the gown's place. Tender flowers, waiting to be kissed. As you move, for him, for his eyes only, his mind floods through its inhibitions and begins racing on instinct - yet does so wrapped in cotton; barely subdued. Algorithms, scenarios, plans - ten a second - gather in his mind - resting on nothing but your features, spurred into existence by you, your lips, your form, your movement. He's watching the last flame dance before him in a sea of suffocating darkness, and it is his. Tension grips The Frontman's trousers as he digs his fingers in to feel something, anything, as if to drag himself back, painfully if need be - all this…for a low quality moving picture of you.

You. Your self before him. No adjective does it justice to In-ho, no painter could stroke its surface, nobody could own this moment. Nobody but him. And he cannot reach, reach through the screen, for you, for you mean…you in your entirety, before him, vulnerable, bare, unknowing, both a deity to be worshipped and a form to be devoured and left pleading, barely breathing under him, his grasp, his hot breath, you, you mean…

…nothing to him. In-ho leans back again. He breathes a bit faster, containing himself. As his breath slows and features fall back into place, he straightens the trouser leg and exhales. Your name is on his lips as he does so; he whispers it to himself. A name that doesn't seem to leave his tongue, no matter how many times it wraps around every syllable.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…you are nothing."

He turns off the screen with one click. "Nothing." He gets up, leaving the phone behind. He is back to his true self - unbothered, cold, empty. A statue of stone. It was fun while it lasted, but the shell he wears gets tired of the falsity imbued in it during these little sidesteps. Little adventures to ease the monotony. Your records lie on the table, next to his glass of dark liquer. He walks over slowly, cradles it, sipping with restraint, and puts it down just as slowly in the exact same place. He goes on with his evening, thinking, it must be said, of nothing. He continues his work, thinking of nothing. Nothing replaces the drabble of his underlings as they update him on the latest games. Nothing is on his mind as he showers, nothing is in the water that glides down his own body. Nothing is in the warmth that he doesn't imagine being replaced nor coming from a different source. The voice of nothing is in the hiss and humm of the shower, nothing sings to him sweetly as it envelops his form. Nothing is woven into his satin sheets, nothing still smells of the perfume he picked for you, nothing is in his bed and pillows and nothing is slowly, invariably, fatally invading his mind. The cologne he uses, the same cologne he rubbed upon certain parts of the gown you now rest in, isn't combining and wildly interweaving with your gentle, warm, sweet, yet heavy scent. Nothing is everywhere and nothing is driving him absolutely stark, staring mad as he lays there - naked, exposed, amid satin sheets, it is nothing that invades his dreams and wraps him in sensations he can still only dream of.

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Barren lands and dusk. No flowers. No life. In-ho is alone. As far as the eye can see lies nothing. He cannot feel his mask. A shape is in front of him, laying there, incredulous. Unfitting its surroundings. As if guided by an unseen hand, he walks up to her slowly and kneels beside her. She is dressed in white fabric, falling across her skin, exposing more than is becoming of such a form. Her hand is resting next to her head, her other at her side. She is peacefully asleep. A gentle humm escapes her lips - she must be dreaming. In-ho glides the back of his hand everso carefully across her cheek, guiding it down her neck and stopping at her collarbones. Her chest lifts in a slow rhythm as her skin touches his. She is his. Is she not? He could...open his hand, and his hand opens. He could place it around her neck, and he does. As he feels her warmth and blood pumping into his hand, he thinks he could squeeze and hold down. He doesn't. The form reacts to his intentions, seemingly, her face frowning in the most unnoticeable way, lips falling from their previous peaceful expression to a worried frown. As if caught in a bad dream.

No, no, no.

In-ho releases the pressure and merely rests his hand on her neck, pushing errant strands of hair away from her skin. They fall around her shoulders and between the fingers of his other hand, which lifts instinctively to cradle her head. Her expression relaxes, and he smiles almost on instinct. Suddenly, her eyes flutter open and gaze into his own, almost unblinking and holding his gaze. The pools of comforting darkness set in an innocent visage drive electrical current through his entire body and In-ho almost has to steady himself against the ground where his hand is holding her head, still. She isn't scared, she only gazes and studies, lays, and rests in his own dark eyes. Her smile mirrors his. As if the two of them were already familiar, already far beyond anything novel. She whispers to him.

"Darling, this isn't your place."

In-ho doesn't think, he knows the voice. The gentle, slow, melodic whisper that he wishes to hear before he goes to sleep himself. Putting more strength into his grip, he places his dominant palm in hers as it still lays beside her head. He squeezes her down. Without thought, his body shifts to move above hers, holding her gaze, now directly on top of her, without touching her body with his. His hands no longer gentle, but firmly holding down. His thumb caresses her cheek as his other hand pushes her palm into the ground.

"It doesn't need to be."

As the sentence barely left his lips, he connects them with her neck, firmly kissing the skin and pulling her into his bite. The taste is intoxicating, and beckons for more. Sweet, tender, pure, intoxicating. Down her neck he plants kisses and barely restrained bites, gliding his touch, gripping her hand and moving his other to her neck once more. He hears gasps and timid moans, and he moves down, lips brushing against her chest and resting upon it. He lets go of her hand and finally grips her, under the small of her back, caressing and squeezing her waist, lifting her body into his. Now he feels her. Now he feels her being react and pressure and squirm, now he feels the pulse of her body directly under his and melting into him. Every movement, every gasp, every beat of her heart - in his control, under him, sinking into him. Her waist lifts against his and he eagerly helps it up, feeling his need against her body, finally, all he needs to do is tear off the gown, take her, make her fully his and hear her cries and moans as he takes what is his. Still in control of himself, he fully recognizes his itch, his need, his voracious hunger. He recognizes it and fully gives into it.

But the dream does not let him.

Something is wrong. The body is colder now, her breathing is slow, her voice no longer caressing him, her being no longer reacting to his touch. The current fizzled out. Pulling away, he sees the damage done - even as her eyes are wistful and her smile still there, it is sorrowful and soft, gazing down at him although broken under him. He sees her neck and chest, her breasts exposed, her skin red with bite marks, red with his signatures. Lines where his grip failed to falter rest on her tender flesh, her pallor a canvas for his need and depravity. For his destruction. He does not want this, he does not want her like this, his mind races and tries to get back in control but cannot. The canvas before him begins to soak through in crimson, blood pools into the white fabric where he lay and pushed and tried to take her. As he watches the gown cling to her stomach with blood, fear drives cold daggers through his back. He is no longer the Front Man, he is himself. Himself before a Front Man ever was. And he is...scared. Still her voice reaches him, doing nothing to alleviate his state, doing nothing to destroy the damn invisible barrier that keeps him from holding her close, holding her together, holding him together.

"Not like this darling, not like this again."

How is she still smiling? How does she seem so cold yet encompassing an utter lack of proximity? Holding her now seems like the most sacriligeous, repugnant thing he could do. His hands shiver lightly, how is he afraid to touch her now? After all that? She is his, his, this is all so incredibly wrong! He doesn't care, he doesn't have feelings for such frivolities, she is a dime a dozen, she is worth nothing, and she is nothing to him; nothing.

And she's still smiling, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she can hear his inner turmoil and has seen it thrice before.

"Taking what you want, never what you need."

In-ho looks down at his own body, which begins to feel cold and wrong. As if missing something vital. He smells copper, his hand feels hot as he touches his chest yet his body grows colder. The last thing he remembers before waking up in a freezing sweat is looking down at his own body, now filled with open chasms wherever it touched hers - gaping empty holes that can be filled with nothing, bleeding him into the ground as she watches on.

In-ho gasps, springs up into a seated position and touches his chest, his stomach - and breathes in relief. As he is composing himself, a new manner of play begins to form in his mind. Between hurried breaths and elevated pulse beats, he plans a new way to play this game and win.

[putschki1969]

The "rito" Situation

Following my post about Hitoshi Konno, I thought it would only be fitting, to round up some info on rito as well, especially after the most recent announcement. When the detailed lineup for YKL Vol#21 was released, many people were not only shocked by Keiko's absence, they were also wondering why rito was not included. I received as many questions about her as I did for Hitoshi Konno but I didn't really feel qualified to talk about her (I still don't really but now we have a bit more information to work with). There's not much to say here and also, her connection to Kalafina (and Keiko's situation) is peripheral at best so I will keep this short.

Today, on January 31 2025, rito announced her departue from Highway Star. Her contract will officially end on March 31 and it seems like no attempts have been made by either rito or the agency to extend said contract. It sounds like it was mostly rito's own decision to distance herself from her current situation so that would also explain why she's no longer participing in YK events as regular member. Judging from her personal comment and Yuki's tweets on the matter (she has nothing but kind things to say about her), this is most likely a standard case of moving on due to a lack of creative opportunities. Perhaps she didn't find what she was looking for or she simply exhausted all possible avenues at Highway Star or maybe she had hoped to gain more from her collaboration with Yuki, who knows. Obviously, these have been some valuable experiences for her but now she is seeking new paths.

Even to a casual onlooker like myself it does feel like she kinda fell along the wayside during these past few years and not much was invested in her. As far as I know, she did have a couple of solo releases and a dedicated song from Yuki on the PARADE album but other than that, nothing much to write home about. Her appearances at lives and events were a great bonus of course but despite frequently being referred to as "regular member", both her and Lino Leia didn't have a lot to do. Maybe that's changing now with all the restructering taking place but sadly, rito will mostly likely not benefit from that. Yuki did include her in one of her "top secret" recordings from last year so we'll see if that will lead to anything at least. It's a shame she wasn't used more, I like her voice a lot more than Lino's tbh and it fits better with Yuki's style of music if you ask me...but one has to admit that Lino is the more seasoned singer among them with what appears to be a lot more experience handling her own solo stuff so my best guess is that she's quite happy with the current arrangement since she can effectively juggle all of her activities. In contrast, rito seems to have been a newbie with no established solo career. Also not sure about their exact age but I'd assume that rito is probably a bit younger than a lot of Yuki's other vocalists (could be completely off on that though, I've honestly no idea how old any of them are but rito just comes across as quite young).

Circling back to Kalafina for a little bit here. Just the other day I was having some discussions in the reply section of one of my posts and among other things, I was talking about why Hikaru (and even Keiko) would have never considered signing up with Highway Star during all these years. After all, Keiko could have just as well joined Highway Star instead of Tristone back in 2020 when she made her solo debut. And Hikaru has been a struggling freelancer for quite some time now so a contract with a seemingly decent agency (with the added bonus of an official Yuki Kajiura affiliation) would have sounded like a good idea to me. We don't know of course if it was entirely their choice or if Highway Star (and Yuki) were not willing to negotiate something with them. Whatever the reason might have been, now I am thinking it was maybe for the best that they never joined. Their management of rito was certainly not great.

[raina16]

Yeah it's old but it gave me thoughts.

No it isn't. Because his intent was to steal the ships, not to kinslay. That was presented as a situation that got out of hand, not premeditated. I don't think the burning thing works that way. He threatens but doesn't actually hurt someone who was after all actually doing what Feanor said, trying to usurp him(we know this didn't cause him to get burnt because he had the Silmarils for 5 years after). He gets in a situation that gets out of hand and inadvertently leads to many deaths. He leaves behind a bunch of people who have been complaining about him non stop for two years because they refuse to take responsibility for their choices, with their preferred choice for king in a land that's safer than where he's going to, with the full belief they'll turn back, and who would mostly be free to go back and get probably a slap in the wrist from the Valar at worst and who choose of their own free will to cross the ice they'd already decided was too dangerous (and guess what it was and lots of people died but that's on them not Feanor). And he burns the ships. That's probably actually the worst thing he purposely chooses to do. Frankly I don't think anything Feanor does would meet the requirements of getting burned by his own Silmarils (plus I have doubts as to whether his own creations would hurt him, the Valar can hallow them all they want but THEY didn't create them and they cannot create them or unmake them,only he can).

In fact aside from deciding to to give the order to steal the ships, Feanor I don't believe is mentioned again in regards to it. Hell for all we know he didn't kill anyone personally in that battle, he might have just knocked people out(unlikely obviously but just saying, after giving the order to steal, he's not personally implicated again). Heck iirc Fingon is more personally implicated in the actual slaying of kin than Feanor or his sons at Alqualonde.

As for the Teleri, they refused to give the ships, lend the ships or even teach them to build their own ships. The Teleri wouldn't even ferry them themselves. That's extreme and kind of selfish if you ask me considering all the Noldor and specifically murdered Finwe had done for them. Gift giving is a symbol of friendship yes, but that means there is some reciprocity otherwise it's not friendship, if one side does most of the giving, you're being used, friend. It's not about the houses they built for them or the jewels they gave them in abundance, but those were symbols of friendship and friends do stuff for each other. Feanor expected at least some help getting across the sea in vessels actually made for the purpose of sailing the sea and they cared more about the Valar's opinion than about the murder of the guy largely responsible for most of the Teleri people being there.

None of which means they deserved it but again the plan wasn't "murder the Teleri" it was "steal the ships". Kind of funny everyone telling him it's a-okay for someone to steal from you(and murder your most beloved father), you shouldn't do anything about it, immediately start drowning people when they are the ones being stolen from.

As for the Silmarils Feanor started keeping them hidden mostly because he believed (not without reason) that the Valar wanted them(they did) and that Melkor was after them(he was). Is it really paranoia if it's true?

In his speech he speaks of them as essentially being central to creation of a new Noldor kingdom in Middle Earth. That suggests to me that they would not in fact be hidden away. It seems to me that Feanor sees them as the way to free his people from what he feels is their stolen birthright, a life in Middle Earth, to be kept essentially as what he feels are pets in Valinor.

It sounds like it would basically be like what we know as but Feanor didn't at the time, Doriath but by the Noldor and without being dependent on any Ainur for safety. And if it's Ok for Doriath to exist why would it be wrong for the Noldor to have their own special protected kingdom? Why is it OK for Thingol and later for Finrod and for Turgon but somehow it would be wrong for Feanor to have a kingdom of light for his people? Why was it ok for the Valar to decide only their special friends could have light but somehow it's wrong for Feanor?

Hmmm...You know...it's kind of protestant maybe that's why Catholic Tolkien was against it. One of the early ideas of many protestant branches was having a direct relationship with God - no need for saints or virgins to intercede(or priests to grant you "absolution"). Feanor twice puts forth the idea of a direct relationship to Eru without the intercession or need for the saints/Ainur.

And Varda hallowed the Silmarils, so that thereafter no mortal flesh, nor hands unclean, nor anything of evil will might touch them, but it was scorched and withered… 

-Of The Silmarils And The Unrest of the Noldor

I’ve seen people wonder if the Silmarils would have burned Fëanor had he regained them after Alqualondë. Out of curiosity, what is the line of thinking behind the argument that they wouldn’t? He committed felony murder before he left Aman. Even if he personally didn’t physically get blood on his sword, it was at his behest, in a situation of his making. He may not qualify as evil, but his hands are definitely unclean.

[kp-alice]

How bend-over-able are the Ateez members? | MTL

...and how would they react to seeing themselves in the mirror during it?

Desc.: what it says on the tin, 1 762 words, sub!ateez x dom!reader smut, implied pegging if you're afab (tbh some of these don't even have to be about penetration), assumed established relationship, mostly suggestive, slightly fluffy if you squint

1. Hongjoong - Loves it loves it loves it. Did I mention he loves it? It makes him feel so slutty and attractive, like you just can't help yourself and need him right then and there. Be it over the kitchen counter, your desk, or the couch, just take him anywhere and everywhere. Over time, the two of you might even make it a game of sorts - whenever Joong wears that pretty green bracelet on his wrist, you already know he's prepped himself that morning and is keeping himself ready with a plug for when you'll inevitably pounce on him. He loves the thrill and surprise of it, you love how he plans in advance to accommodate your every desire. It's a win-win, really.

As for seeing himself during the act, he's a bit confusing. Mirrors are too clear and distracting for him, but seeing your joint reflection in something more matte or colorful really gets him going. He likes both feeling and seeing as you drive into him, making him really hold onto the couch cushions as he watches you two in the dark TV screen.

2. Seonghwa - While Seonghwa definitely likes it when you bend him over, what really gets him is when he bends over for you. He loves the immediate attention it gets him as your eyes trace his every line and curve, whatever you were about to say disappearing from your lips. The way such a simple motion can completely entrance you, drawing you to him like the strongest magnet known to man, riles him up like nothing else. After a few seconds of pure tension, when you finally reach him, he lets you take the lead, lets you get lost in the feeling of, well, him. And while he may be the one who's about to be taken, it's only because you couldn't resist his purposeful charms and movements. Make him feel worshipped, lavished, and powerful, like you've never experienced anything as wonderful as him.

Doesn't really enjoy mirrors, preferring to instead use his imagination to think about how debauched he must look right now. It feels like a dirty little secret he keeps in his mind while you claim him from behind.

3. Wooyoung - This one loves it, end of story. He loves teasing you with it like Seonghwa, loves being surprised by it like Hongjoong, and anything in between. It makes him feel both desired and a little bit more in control than usual since he's still mostly standing and able to move around more while you're inside him. He likes how natural it feels for either of you to initiate this way, and how effective it is in turning the other on. He loves teasing you with it as well, bending over right in front of you to present his best assets, only to scamper away into the bedroom, laughing giddily as you run after him. It's not like either of you mind the chase, though, since it just makes you go that much harder on him once you finally get him under you. Another big plus is how convenient it is whenever there's no bed around or when you're near other people. Your hand clamps down over his mouth, silencing most of his sounds while you drive him up the bathroom counter.

And don't even get me started if there's a mirror in front of him, god. He'd love to look at himself as you're ruining him, only to then cheekily meet your eyes in the reflection. You can't see his smile under your hand, but you can tell it's there from the way his eyes turn into playful, twinkling crescents. He feels so sexy like this, and judging by your intense, laser-focused expression, he knows you agree.

4. Yeosang - Now, contrary to his reserved personality, Yeosang is down for a lot more than most people might think. Similar to Hongjoong, he loves the spontaneity of it and how much it shows your genuine want for him, along with how powerless he gets to feel when you just bend him over to your will whenever you so desire. The only downside is that once you really get into it and are stimulating his g-spot, it's so hard for him to stay in position. Your touch from the inside makes him incredibly squirmy, and if it wasn't for your other hand holding him up by the waist, his knees would have given out long ago. When he does cum eventually, you need to be quick to catch him or he'll literally fall to the ground. Hold him as you slowly slide down with him and make him feel safe in your arms while he comes down from his high. The more secure he feels with you, the more eager he is to do this again in the future <3

As for mirrors, they scare him for most of your session... until he's feeling so submissive and desperate for release that most of his inhibitions disappear. By that point, seeing himself only feeds that craving for powerlessness even more and gets him that much closer to the edge. In other words, if timed right, you'll get him to cum almost immediately; if not, you'll have to reassure him and start all over again. High risk, high reward.

5. San - Being an ass-man himself, he definitely understands the appeal of this position for you and is happy to indulge you often as long as you make him feel good in return. He also enjoys the slightly primal feel of it, much like when you get him on all fours on the bed. He likes feeling conquered, pushed into submission, but only because you wanted him so much you just had to have him. He feels pursued and admired, in a way. Sexy. However, like I said, all of those feelings can be evoked in the comfort of your bed too, and most of the time, San would prefer that over the table or the counter. If that isn't available, though, you can definitely count on him to hold steady and eagerly push back against you as you claim what's yours.

Sometimes, seeing himself in the mirror turns him on further, other times it's too distracting. With San, it all depends on the mood and how adventurous he's feeling that day, really.

6. Jongho - While he definitely enjoys being manhandled by you at unexpected times, Jongho has to be in a very specific type of mood to really enjoy himself like this. That being when he wants you to dom him without any mercy, moving inside him rough and fast. In those moments, he's more than ready to be ravished by you, wanting to feel weak and small. Unlike your usual switchy or soft-dom times, he just wants to let go, to turn off his brain completely while you do whatever you want to him and make your authority physically known. Don't go easy on him, really press him down into that kitchen counter, lean over his back and bite his shoulder while you use him as you please. You both know the safeword, and until then, everything's fair game.

The only permanent "no" from Jongho are mirrors or reflections of any kind, since it distracts him too much and he can't properly get into the headspace he craves so much.

7. Yunho - This one's a bit conflicted. On one hand, bending over means no direct eye contact, which usually makes him really shy and, in turn, more tense than either of you would like. On the other hand, letting you push him down and fuck him from behind makes him feel a little too exposed and slutty, which leads to him blushing and clamping down even more than normal. So, unless you're willing to put in additional time just to get him to relax and come out of his shell, you're probably better off just facing him on the bed and loosening him up until he's properly ready for you. If you do have the time and will, though, he's happy to try and let go for you. In addition, if the two of you succeed, it makes him feel really relaxed and proud of himself afterwards. To put it simply, more time and effort will bear bigger rewards, but it may not be the most convenient or comfortable option for either of you.

Due to the reasons stated above, definitely do not bring a mirror into the equation, since it would just combine the worst of both worlds and he's stuttering his safeword in two minutes tops.

8. Mingi - Despite loving it when you get rough and impatient with him, Mingi is also really big on intimacy when submissive. He loves to look into your eyes as you take him, make sure you can see just how good you're making him feel while he gets to feel small and safe in return. Sometimes he does like to indulge in you fucking him on all fours, sure, but that's because he can still feel your touch on most of his body and loves it when you drape yourself over his back as if you're shielding him from the world. When you bend him over, though, he doesn't really get either. Even if he turns around to look at you while you do it, it just doesn't feel the same and it strains his back and neck after a while. And, well, given his size, it's hard to really lay over him in this position when he can't arch his back and press his chest into the desk properly. So, no matter how many times you've tried this, eventually, it always ends with either Mingi pausing to turn around, or just moving to the bedroom altogether to lie down and face you comfortably. As hot as he'd look bent over for you, it never lasts long, if it even gets to that in the first place, sorry.

Not even a mirror can fix his issue since he wants to see you, not himself. So when he's facing it so closely and directly, his eyes keep flitting to himself until he gets too self-conscious and shy to continue.

[tactical-jellyfish]

The Mistakes That Have Been Made

Part 2.5 (bonus for the people. I think you guys need some good soup, from moi <3)

Warnings!: Angst, angst, and more angst. Reader will be MAD sad for most of this. Poorly-practiced, unhealthy polyamory. Reader will experience a LOT of gender and body dysphoria over the course of this (though I will do my best to keep it gender-neutral throughout, bear with me), but there WILL be comfort over that.

The team dynamics of the 141 have always been messy, ugly things, but this is ugly. You wouldn't wish it on anyone, really.

When you'd walked back to your own room, you'd heard Soap railing the daylights out of Gaz, cussing your name beneath his breath as the other sergeant groaned, high and throaty.

As awful as this feels, at least he's not doing that to you.

Johnny's always been a bit of a... rough bed partner, you know that, he's so eager to get into the heat of it that he never gives himself the time to warm up or cool down. Tends to be so enthusiastic that he doesn't offer much aftercare before he falls asleep, either.

Still, walking past Gaz's room brings back memories of that nasty, sick feeling that follows every intimate experience you've ever had.

It's the feeling that your body is somehow wrong, too tight in some parts and too loose in others, like the very existence of your form is a contradiction that just can't stand a second longer.

The way you hold your laptop shifts, pressing the metal into your chest to somehow remedy this ill. How? You're not sure. It doesn't work very well.

You try to shake it off as you open your door and sit on your bed, but the moans still breach your walls.

God, since when did Gaz sound like that? It feels like it's choking the air out of the room.

You put your best effort toward minding your own business, but you felt like you were losing your mind a half-hour into that endeavor, and instead thumped your fist on the wall, loud enough to send the message. Learning how to sign and trying to ignore... that was simply not a feasible task.

The moaning and creaking stops shortly after, and the sigh you heave is like no others, though you know damn well those two will definitely be pissy with you tomorrow.

Finally.

Plastic buzzing against the "wood" of your nightstand (shitty plywood painted white, as is standard issue) draws your focus away from that, if only for a second.

Heyhey! Do u wanna train together tmrw?? I think you'd do good if you took it easy w/me 😊 <33

The rubber and plastic of your case isn't all that comfortable in your hands, but you hold the magical little glass box in your hands anyway, peering down at the screen before chuckling to yourself.

Why should I?

Is your reply. It doesn't strike you that it might have been a bit on the nose, or that Gary might have read it differently, until the text bubble appears and disappears several times in a row, and you re-read it.

Oh no, you sound like an absolute asshole.

Sorry. I do want to, I just wanted to tease.

He's typing for another few seconds, before the bubble disappears one more time, and it starts to make you panic. More than you want to be panicking over him.

Don't be mad please, I'm sorry. I want to train with you.

How the mighty have fallen.

Look at you, desperately prostrating yourself before a rookie because you're absolutely moronic, praying that he'll offer you a reply. Whatever happened to four times the love?

Fuck. Don't think about that.

im not mad, ur fine just thought you might be a little grouchy from the meds or smth, wasnt sure if i should ask

You breathe a real sigh of relief at the returned messages, already more than tired by the day, but slightly soothed as you look down at the blue light of the screen, and send your last message of the day.

I'll see you at 0630. Goodnight.

A little red heart appears over your message, in the top left corner of the rounded bubble.

You plug in your phone and try to ignore how something in your chest squeezes at being deemed worthy of making plans more than two hours in advance.

It's a shockingly new thing, but goodness does it feel good, even if it brings on a sting of a more somber feeling.

Gaz and Soap sure as fuck didn't do this. Ghost either. You never expected Price to do that for you in the first place. Did they just... not think you were enough to make plans for? Was this pity?

You try to shake off the feeling as you bunch your blankets around your body, allowing your tired form to sink into the mattress and rest. The morning will clear your thoughts.

First | Previous | Next

[chdarling]

Hi CH Darling!

I just wanted to take a moment to tell you how much your books have meant to me. Over the years since you started publishing TLE1 and TLE2, I’ve gone through some really difficult times, losing both my parents after a long illness. It might sound silly, but reading about James’s grief over his father’s illness and Lily’s loss after the accident resonated with me deeply. I felt seen in a way I didn’t expect, and your books made the grieving process so much more bearable.

I want you to know that I’m doing really well now, but I have to admit—I cried and cried when you dropped that TLE3 spoiler about James and Lily talking about death. That one hit hard!

I absolutely adore you, and I’m beyond excited for the third book. I just know it’s going to be spectacular. I also wanted you to know that I don’t think you realize just how much happiness you’ve brought to so many people—including me.

Sending you all my love ❤️

I had to sit with this ask for a little while before responding because it elicited such a strong emotional response in me (in a nice way!). The first time I read it, I sat down on my couch and just sobbed (again, in a nice way!). I am still in a mental place these days where I feel like I struggle to effectively wrangle my words around the thoughts I want to convey, but please bear with me as I try.

First of all, I am so, so sorry about your parents. That is such a heavy loss to bear. It doesn’t sound silly to me at all to turn to stories in times of suffering (this is why TLE exists in the first place, to be honest), and I am so profoundly honored to have been able in a small way to sit with you through this grief.

I have been feeling very useless and alone lately in the face of everything happening in my country and the world. I won’t go deeply into that, but I’ve spent a lot of time unhealthily and somewhat brutally interrogating myself over what can I even do to combat all of this, when the only thing I know HOW to do is write my stupid little stories? And what good does that do anyone, really? In the face of a fascist takeover, a burning planet, a lingering (and looming) pandemic, an intolerable onslaught of grief and loss, what is the point or value of my fuckin’ Harry Potter fanfiction? Of art at all? Of me?

This message — and all the messages people have been sending me lately — really helped to remind me what the point is. It’s connection. It’s communion.

Grief is an uneven road — it bends and forks and often loops back upon itself — but it is a road that all of us will one day walk. The point of art, I think — be it poetry or novels or a fuckin’ HP fanfiction — is to make sure that we do not have to walk it alone. Thank you for letting me walk with you, and thank you for telling me about it. It made me feel less useless and alone.

I cannot thank you enough for that. ❤️

Annnnnd I’m crying again. (In a nice way!!!!!!)

[sequinsmile-x]

Alone Together

“My name is Emily Prentiss. I…live with Jack.”  

The nurse furrows her brows, “Are you his mother?” 

She clenches her jaw, cursing herself for correcting the other woman in the first place, for letting her worry fluster her to the point where she didn’t even think about letting the half-lie slip by her. She can see where this is going already, and it makes her tense, her shoulders so tight she thinks she might snap in half.

AKA - the one where Jack is in the hospital, but Emily isn't allowed to see him.

-x-

Hi besties,

Hope you are all okay <3

We are finally out of the longest January on record and at the end of another week! Here is some family hurt/comfort with our two idiots and Jack for you <3 I know a lot of you love Jack/Emily content so this is for you - you know who you are <3

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3,6k

Warnings: none!

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily doesn’t remember a single moment of the drive from the office to the hospital. She’d been on autopilot the entire time, her hands so tight around the steering wheel her knuckles were stark white, her skin so taut over bone she was surprised it didn’t split open as she desperately tried to think back to first thing that morning, to go over her interactions with Jack again and again to see if there was anything she could have missed. 

It had been a busy morning, like most mornings were in their house, and Jack had seemed fine. He’d been a little slower than he usually was in the morning, more tired, but when she and Aaron had both asked if he was okay he’d nodded. She wished she’d pushed, that she’d asked again, but her phone had rung, and so had Aaron’s and the day started in a hurry as work pulled them in different directions. She’d left the FBI shortly after she and Aaron got together, had grabbed the opportunity that Clyde offered her of going back to Interpol with both hands, any doubt she had about it gone as soon as he told her she didn’t need to leave DC for the offer to stand. She hadn’t regretted it for a moment, had always known it was the right thing for her and her relationships with the people she loved, but right now she wished she still worked with her fiance so she knew where the hell he was. 

The school had called her because they couldn’t get hold of Aaron. It was only after she was in her car and had got hold of Dave after leaving Aaron two voicemails, that she remembered he said he was going to a prison to conduct some interviews. He wouldn’t have his phone for hours, which meant she was all Jack had for now. Dave had promised her that he’d do his best to get hold of Aaron, even if it meant going to the prison and dragging him out of the interview room himself, and it had helped calm her down a little. 

She just about remembers to lock her car behind her as she marches into the hospital, still every part of the Interpol agent that she had been when she left the office, her gun and badge still on her hip, but with an undeniable air of a concerned parent too. She walks up to the nurse's desk and clears her throat, barely waiting for the nurse to look at her before she starts speaking. 

“I got a call about Jack Hotchner,” she says, sounding less anxious than she feels, “The school nurse called to say that he has suspected appendicitis. He was fine this morning, I don’t-”

“Mrs Hotchner,” the nurse replies, her smile annoyingly kind as she cuts over her, “These things can come on very quickly in children. Your son is currently being looked over by the doctor.”

“I’m not…” she clears her throat, stopping herself before she says too much that might get her nowhere fast, “My name is Emily Prentiss. I…live with Jack.”  

The nurse furrows her brows, “Are you his mother?” 

She clenches her jaw, cursing herself for correcting the other woman in the first place, for letting her worry fluster her to the point where she didn’t even think about letting the half-lie slip by her. She can see where this is going already, and it makes her tense, her shoulders so tight she thinks she might snap in half.

“I’m engaged to his father,” she says, digging out her wallet from her purse, slamming her driving license on the counter with more force than necessary, “Look, we have the same address.”

“Be that as it may, Miss Prentiss-”

“Agent Prentiss,” she corrects, again with more force than she means to, her desire to see Jack, to see the little boy she knows she couldn’t love more if he was hers, overriding her need to be polite. She sighs and looks at the nurse's name badge, “Look, Sophie, I poured his cereal this morning. It’s me he wants when he’s sick. Can you please just let me through?” 

Sophie smiles politely, clearly sorry that her hands are tied, “I’m sorry Agent Prentiss, but we can only let a parent or a legal guardian see him.”

She thinks of the paperwork they’d filled out, the paperwork to make her his legal guardian that was currently with the courts, and she curses herself for not doing it sooner. They’d waited until the purchase of the house had been finalised, until both her and Aaron’s names were on the deeds, to organise it. Their lawyers had told them it was better if their lives were more obviously intertwined, that family court would look on the addition to her in Jack’s life in a legal aspect more favourably if they were living together permanently. 

“His dad is at work,” she says, “I’ve tried to get hold of him.” 

“And his mother?” 

“His mother is dead,” Emily replies, half shouting it, and she sighs at herself, pinching the bridge of her nose when she realises she’s drawn the attention of more people around her. “Sorry,” she chokes out, blowing out a slow breath, “Is there really no way? He’s back there by himself.” 

Sophie shakes her head, “Not until his father gets here. But a nurse is with him, he isn’t alone I promise.” 

Emily considers pulling her badge from her belt, the weight of it almost pulling her down, and waving it around until someone lets her through. She considers doing what her family had always done - throwing money around, offering to buy the hospital a new wing until she was told she could see her little boy, but she knows it won’t help her. That it won’t help Jack. So she nods and heads towards the waiting area, swallowing back the emotions she won’t set free here, letting them sink into the lowest parts of her chest as she settles into an uncomfortable plastic chair. She twists her engagement ring around her finger and sucks in a breath. It’s bitter when she blows it back out, makes her feel nauseous as she thinks of Jack in a room just out of her reach with only strangers for company. 

“Damn it,” she says, wiping away a single stray tear from her cheek, determined it will be the only one she lets slip free before she goes home. She pulls her phone from her purse and groans when she has no missed calls from Aaron, “Where the hell are you?” 

___

Sophie takes pity on her about 30 minutes after she arrives and comes to tell her that Jack needs surgery. She still can’t let her see him, something is even harder to swallow now she knows the little boy needs an operation, but Sophie says she’ll tell Jack that Emily loves him and that she’ll see him later. 

Emily watches the clock, each minute a lifetime until she gets a call from Aaron. She has to be the calm one, has to tell him everything is okay, that Jack needs his appendix taken out but that he will be fine. He says he’ll meet her at the hospital and she makes him promise that he’ll drive safely, wryly jokes that she can’t deal with both of her Hotchner boys in hospital at the same time if he gets himself into an accident. 

At least, she thinks sadly to herself, if Aaron was in hospital she’d be able to see him. 

Almost two hours after she arrived, two hours of sitting in a hard, uncomfortable chair, the ache in her back nothing in comparison to the ache in her chest, Aaron finally arrives. She hears him before she sees him, his voice calling out for her the second he spots her. 

“Emily?” 

She stands up, her purse slipping from her lap to the ground, but she doesn’t pay it any attention. Instead, she lets Aaron pull her into a fierce hug, and she hugs him back just as tightly, her hand running soothing circles on his back. 

“He’s in surgery,” she says, cupping the back of his head as she pulls back, hoping that her smile is comforting, “He should be done soon.” 

He nods, and he looks older than he usually does. Anguish and fear pressed into the lines on his face, making them and the bags under his eyes deeper, “Why are you out here? Is something wrong-”

“No, honey,” she says, cupping his cheek, making him look at her as his eyes dart around the room, “They…” she clears her throat, tries to make sure her voice is even and doesn’t give way to her sadness and stress. He was the one she had to focus on for now, him and Jack. She could fall apart later when they were both okay, “I’m not his mom. Or his legal guardian yet,” she says, pressing her lips together to stop them from shaking, “They wouldn’t let me see him.” 

His eyebrows furrow, the line between them so deep she can’t stop herself from pressing her thumb into it, trying to soothe the anger she can see building there, “What?” He says, his voice low and stern as he looks around as if trying to find someone, anyone, to tell them exactly what he thought of that, “They wouldn’t let you see him? He was alone-”

“Aaron, baby, look at me,” she says, grasping his chin, “It’s okay,” she says, even though they both know it isn’t, even though she knows he can see how much it’s upset her too, “Jack is the most important thing right now, okay?” 

He nods sharply, his breath stuttering across her face as he presses his forehead against hers, desperately trying to seek out her strength and comfort. It’s enough to let her know just how stressed he is. Their displays of affection, their need for each other, were usually kept just for the safety of their home. The walls that surrounded them were the sanctuary neither one of them had had in years, or, in her case, ever. They sought each other out constantly, always pressed up against each other in one way or another whilst they were at home, as if they were storing up the love they had for each other for when they were apart. It felt like theirs, so it was rare for them to seek it from each other in public, to let other people - especially strangers - in on what felt so precious. 

She cups the back of his head to keep him close, gives him what he needs with her forehead pressed against his. She’d let him take all her strength if he needed it, would let it leech from her skin into his, because she knew when it was her turn, when she needed his strength, he’d give it to her in return. It was a give and take that they’d had since they simply friends, a cornerstone of their relationship that she knew made them as strong, that she knew allowed them to weather whatever storm life threw at them. 

“Come on,” she says, stamping her lips against his and smiling softly as she pulls back just enough to grab her purse from the floor before she sinks into his side again, her hand tight around his, “Now you’re here, they’ll tell us more.” 

They are shown through to the pediatric ward so quickly it feels absurd. Jack is already back from surgery and in a room, and the doctor tells them that he’ll be awake soon. It’s a relief, a weight off of both of their shoulders, when they see him. He looks smaller than usual, drowning in the starched sheets in a bed made for an adult, but other than that he looks like he’s sleeping. Aaron sits in the chair closest to the bed, and Emily sits next to him, their hands still linked together as they look at the little boy.  

“We’re going to have to fill the freezer with ice cream,” Emily says, resting her cheek against Aaron’s shoulder, “We both know he’ll ask.” 

Aaron chuckles dryly and turns his head to kiss her temple, “We both know you’ll give him anything he asks for.”

She gasps in fake outrage and pulls back to look at him, “Like you’re any better at saying no.” 

He hums and leans forward to kiss her, “We’ve got to get better at it before we have any more kids,” he quips, “Otherwise they’ll run rings around us.” 

The thought of it makes her smile, just like it always did. A baby that was half her and half him, physical proof of their love for each other out in the world for everyone else to see. The happiness doesn’t linger like usual, it fades as she looks at a sleeping Jack, as she rests her hand on his leg, because she wonders if, even when she is legally his guardian, the wider world would view him any less her son than any other children they may have. 

Jack groans, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she and Aaron both turn to look at him. 

“Jack, buddy,” Aaron says, standing up so he can sit on the edge of his bed. Emily stands up too, her hands on Aaron’s shoulders as she smiles down at the little boy, “How do you feel?” 

“My tummy hurts.” 

“You had to have an operation,” Emily says, breaking away from Aaron to sit on the edge of the other side of Jack’s bed, her hand reaching out for his, smiling when he holds her hand as tightly as he can, “Your tummy will feel sore for a few days but then you’ll feel better.”

He nods, “The nurse told me that you were here but you didn’t come to see me.” 

It’s like a knife to the heart, his innocence, the lack of understanding shining in his eyes, each a fresh wound that makes her want to take back her decision to sit peacefully in the waiting room. 

“I know, sweet boy,” she says, leaning in to kiss his forehead, “I’m sorry. I would have been here if I could. But she told me that she’d let you know that I love you.” 

He leans into her hand as she strokes his cheek, “I always know you love me,” he says, and he looks between her and Aaron, “Can we go home now?” 

“You have to stay here tonight,” Aaron says, running his fingers through Jack’s hair, “But if you’re feeling better tomorrow, the doctor said you might be able to go home. I’ll stay here with you tonight so you’re not by yourself.” 

Jack looks at Emily, “Are you staying too?” 

She shakes her head, and feels Aaron’s gaze burning into her cheek, “I can’t, honey. Only one of us has to stay and it has to be Daddy.” 

It was something else the doctor told them, that one parent or guardian could stay overnight, and it had been another kick in the gut. 

Jack furrows his brows, “But then you’ll be alone at home.” 

She sucks in a breath, covering it with a smile as she looks up at Aaron for a moment before she looks back at Jack, “I’ll be okay,” she says, not sure which one of them needs to hear it the most, “And I’ll come back tomorrow with some clothes for you and Daddy.” 

“And you’ll bring Rupert?”

“And of course, I’ll bring Rupert.” She smiles as she thinks of his favourite toy, a stuffed rabbit that Aaron told her had once been bigger than Jack, and she nods, Aaron reaches over Jack for her, seeking out the hand that wasn’t in Jack’s, and she takes it, squeezing his palm against hers in an attempt to comfort them both. “I’ll be okay.” 

This time, when she says it, she thinks she might be trying to convince herself. 

___

She gets takeout on the way home. 

She eats it in the kitchen, the house unbearably quiet around her, and as soon as she puts food down for Sergio, she heads upstairs. She showers quickly, the rush of the water a welcome distraction from the emptiness of her home, and then changes into a pair of Aaron’s sweatpants and one of his swearers - cuffing the pant legs so she can walk without tripping over - settling for trying to seek comfort in the clothes of the man she loves since she can’t be in his arms. 

Before she gets into bed, she goes into Jack’s room. She picks up Rupert from his bed, buries her face in his worn fur and breathes in. She takes him with her to the master bedroom, and she sneaks under the covers, the vastness of their bed bigger than ever without Aaron next to her. She was used to sleeping without him when he was on cases, but having to do it when he was just across town felt different - especially because Jack wasn’t here to sneak into bed with her. She sighs as she pulls the covers around her, smiling sadly when Sergio jumps onto the bed with a muted thump, his meow loud in the otherwise quiet room, she reaches out to scratch between his ears.

“It’s just the two of us tonight, Serg,” she says, sighing sadly, “Just like it used to be,” he meows again, “I know, buddy. I don’t like it anymore either.” 

She jumps when her phone rings, and she sits up, scrambling for her phone, panic she’d pushed down earlier making a quick return the second she sees Aaron’s name on the screen. She answers quickly, her hold on Rupert against her chest tight. 

“Aaron? Is everything okay? Did something-”

“Em, he’s okay,” he assures her, his voice low and quiet as he cuts her off before she can spiral any further, “He’s asleep. I thought I’d call to check on you.”

She chokes on a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and she shakes her head at herself as the tears she’d been suppressing all afternoon spill down her cheeks, “I’m okay.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’m not okay. Today was a lot. It’s okay if you’re not okay too.” 

She hums, almost mad at him for how well he knew her, and she wipes her cheek before she rests it against the top of Rupert’s head, her tears dampening his fur, “I just…I forget sometimes.” 

“You forget what, baby?” 

“That I’m not his mom,” she says, unable to stop the sob that tears from her throat, the sound turning into a wet laugh as Sergio nudges at her hand, his head tilted to the side as if he’s trying to work out what’s wrong, “God, I’m sorry,” she says, sniffing, “Your son’s in the hospital and I’m the one crying.” 

“He’s our son, Emily,” he says, his voice firm and loving, “He’s yours just as much as he is mine and Haleys,” he laughs wryly, “I think we both know if given a choice, he would have wanted you to stay with him.” 

“That’s not true,” she replies automatically, “You’re the centre of his world and you know it.” 

“And you’re the sun,” he says, and she scoffs, shaking her head even though he can’t see her, “It’s true. We Hotchner men are unable to stop being drawn to you.” 

She chuckles and wipes her cheek, “If Reid were listening in, he’d remind you that the planets orbit the sun because its mass is bigger, and therefore it creates a gravitational pull,” she scrunches her nose up, “If I didn’t know better, or if you were my mother, I’d think this was a very creative way of telling me I’ve put on weight.” 

“Never, Em. You know that.” He laughs at her joke, the sound music to her ears, a far cry from the strain in his voice earlier when he’d shown up at the hospital, “Sometimes I forget I’m marrying a nerd.” 

“You love it, and you know it.” 

“I love you,” he says, and he sighs, “We’ll get the paperwork fast-tracked, Em. I know a guy who can help. This won’t happen again.” 

She hums, “Well, his appendix can’t get inflamed for a second time anyway.” 

“You know what I mean, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing thickly as she wipes a tear from her cheek, “I know. I love you too, by the way,” she looks over at his empty side of the bed, “Our bed is cold without you.” 

“We’ll be home tomorrow night, Jack seems to be doing well.” 

“And until then, I have Sergio and Rupert for company.” She says, and she can practically hear his smile down the phone and it’s a comfort she hadn’t known she’d needed. She sinks into the bed, pulling the covers around herself again, and she sighs contentedly. 

“Want me to stay on the line until you fall asleep?” He asks, and she almost tells him no, almost shakes off the offer and tells him she’ll be fine, but she wants this. Wants him. And until she can have him and Jack back with her, she’ll make do with what little bits of him she can have. 

“Yeah,” she says, tucking Rupert against her chest, “I’d like that.” 

She falls asleep as he tells her about his day at work, about the interview she never got to ask him about, and she knows that whilst tonight she might be alone, she certainly wasn’t lonely. 

[livmightlive]

Aurora Headcanon/Lore

Like my Dawn headcanon but reverse, I think Aurora would also be like a sister to Hyrule, but younger. When Hyrule wakes her up, I think she would be right around 13 years old.

I personally don’t ship Hyrule and Aurora. I really want to make it clear that I don’t judge people who do, like at all. Tbh I try really hard not to judge any shipping bc unless I see my name in there or if it’s like, really morally vile, it really doesn’t affect my irl life whatsoever so why should I genuinely care yknow?😭 I wanted to mention my lack of judgement though because what I’m gonna say next might sound a bit ranty? Preachy? And that’s not my intention, I’m just trying to say my piece (I hope this makes sense 😭)

I don’t ship Aurora and Hyrule bc it doesn’t really line up logically for me. I’m pretty sure anybody who does ship them makes their own lore to make it work though because I’m ngl, a concealed kiss at the end of a gruelingly difficult game doesn’t give us much to go off of. The rest I think will come together and make more sense?? 

Anywho- I think waking up hundred of years in a post apocalyptic world would be really scary. Aurora is a very smart girl, blessed with wisdom by the goddess, but in my headcanon she’s also only 13. I think she would recognize that she’s ill equipped to survive in this world. As she and Hyrule make the trek back to the castle she tries firmly to attach herself to him and to win his affections in return. She’d first do this by trying to make him her boyfriend, which is probably really awkward for Hyrule. He definitely thinks he’s too old for her and treats it like a childish crush she has. He doesn’t realize that the poor girl is TERRIFIED. No family, a lack of survival skills, she’s on her own. She has a deep gratitude for her hero but the romantic affection is greatly fabricated. She thinks that if she can make him her boyfriend, she won’t be alone.

Hyrule takes her to the castle where he stays to be a familiar presence for her. There she meets Dawn, a Queen now, who takes her under her wing as she did for Hyrule. Slowly, Aurora learns that she has two people who care for her without strings attached. Slowly, they form a little family and now Hyrule has a big sister and a little sister. 

After Aurora adjusts, I think she would LOVE this new era. In her time, I think she had a hard time. From birth she was chosen to protect the Triforce which led to people trying to control and manipulate her entire life. Namely her brother who would eventually cause her demise. In this era the triforce is no longer her responsibility. She’s free. She can finally learn new hobbies, explore some, and focus on her people. Her knowledge of the past provides greatly helpful and her historical knowledge also fills a lot of gaps left in the annuls of time. 

She’s surprised but very pleased when Dawn and Hyrule shyly ask her if she knows any stories of the Hero of Legend. She’s very proud to say that’s she’s MET the man because he was her great great great uncle. (I have a separate headcanon that Legend lives a very long time. He dies at age 121) She loves her Grunkie Link <3 her stories of him are wildly inaccurate because by the time she was born, Legend was already over 100 years old. He didn’t have the best of memories and enjoyed lying for fun at that point. Dawn and Hyrule eat it up. 

I think I still have more but that’s about it for now. I really just like the idea of Hyrule having a family to return to and that Aurora can have a good safe space after waking up.