#i might do a little revamp ( again )

[puppyeared]

auggie!!

[icewindandboringhorror]

I’m always paranoid of my tumblr being deleted or malfunctioning or something like that someday, so here’s other places to find me/follow me, just in case lol

~ instagram - https://www.instagram.com/lucalicatte/

~ main youtube - https://www.youtube.com/c/LucaLiCatte

~ games/sims youtube - https://www.youtube.com/@cloudycatte

~ facebook page (I rarely use this because I hate facebook but.. it at least allows text posts better than instagram does, so idk maybe I’d use it more if tumblr went away? lol) - https://www.facebook.com/cloudycatteart/

~ Other Links (stuff I don’t use often/isn’t Main enough to list here, like twitter, neopets, other tumblr sideblogs, youtube channels, etc.) are here - http://icewindandboringhorror.tumblr.com/otherlinks )

[wonryllis]

watermelon sugar | sim jaeyun.

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ぃ ────𝗶𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁?

preview. he’s the sweetest to you, one might confuse him for your boyfriend, but he’s not, he just your fuckboy of a roommate who treats you like a delicate candy, always looking out for you and never at you; or so you think.

or where, jake can't seem to get you off his mind no matter how hard he tries.

meet the cast. simp sim jaeyun(jake) with his obsession fem!reader

genre. and they were roommates trope, fuckboy soft for his girl trope, smut!!, lots of toothrooting fluff, tiny speck of angst but not proper angst, drunk confessing, only one who can control him/her trope, happy happy ending, crack/humor, domestic scenes(newly added) college fuckboy athelete roommate!jake with his candy!roommate girl. computer science & programming major!reader, exercise physiology major!jake, nonidol!au, soccer player!jake.

word count. so far 7k est around 15k MAJOR REVAMP!

warnings. sfw and nsfw to be added on full release

theme song. animals by maroon 5, into you by ariana grande

POSTED!!

“yunie, can you pass me the watermelon in the fridge? the one from yesterday,” you spare a quick glance towards the half naked boy wearing only a pair of sweatpants. his black hair all dishevelled looking even more messier due to the perm he got last week. walking out of his room, headset resting around his neck, before your eyes return to focus on the movie playing on the tv screen. “yeah sure,” he mumbles out softly, the rasp in his voice sounding probably like he stayed up all night again.

taking the half a piece of watermelon out and grabbing a spoon jake scoops out a small little portion. going up to your slouched figure on the couch and extending the bite of fruit towards your mouth,“here you go, candy,” his custom of feeding you, something he does so often, it's become a habit. after you’ve eaten it, he hands you the ball of sweetness and sits beside you to see what you’re watching.

not even a minute after and he’s fidgeting about. pulling up to sit cross-legged,“do you want to go buy a new sofa at ikea tomorrow? this one’s pretty small,” he turns to look at you, raising his brows subtly,“well first of all i didn’t plan to have a roommate and secon- i swear if it’s for your sex deeds i’m kicking you out!” it comes out in a yell, voice raising with every syllable before you throw a seed at him. which due to your bad aiming skills instead of landing on his face, falls and sticks to the skin of his chest.

keeping away the watermelon in a crackle of laughter, you pick up mei and settle her on your lap, pulling back your blanket which had slipped off,“this is a public space have some decency before you have such thoughts!”

“stop making me appear like a horndog!” he laughs along, whinning at your false accusations in giggles and a look of faux disbelief.

“well that is exactly what you are but i’ll stop if you make me some sweet soy-glazed potatoes,” you grin with your signature cutesy doe eyes and jake is a goner. he always is.

taglist. ( open ) @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @jaklvbub @kwiwin @nanabbg @jayhoonvroom @haelahoops @aaasia111 @lovingvoidgoatee @txtlyn @jakehooni @mnxnii @rikisly @notevenheretbh1 @yunjinsbbg @jyonvsn @yizhoutv @enhyven @capri-cuntz @heeseungsbabyy @aishigrey @wooziswife @citylightsdoll @yeonzzzn @istphanie @zzaneavatsu @cha0thicpisces @laurradoesloveu @bambammtori @wonsbaer

[filurig]

CONSIDERABLE LINDWURM REVAMP ... id always intended for them to be like some extant member of a very early ophidian family but they just looked like grass snake but feathers and four limbs for some reason. So now we have been made more silly. more info i couldnt fit into the sheet...

the mentioned integrated lindwurms in troll and tomte societies have now existed in them for a while - and the ones that have a longer history, actually have a slight genetic difference over solitary lindwurms, which affects them in that they have more gregarious tendencies. troll/tomte integrated lindwurms often have very different cultures than independent lindwurms, however, even they also have a more "casual" attitude towards their young, often having them be cared for by troll "serpenthandlers"

culture is sort of carried over in independent lindwurm populations through occasional interaction and the "bachelor groups". bachelor groups are actually often led by an "elder", or an elder couple of lindwurms who no longer breed. interactions are often still sparse, but elder lindwurms tend to be more open to interaction and often provide guidance and experience to them when prompted.

their spiritual beliefs often base themselves on the idea of the "mother serpent", whose eyes are always watching - the sun and the moon. it is believed that she flies across the sky during the cycle, slowly "spinning", with each full revolution being a whole day/night cycle. the sun and moon are the right/left eyes. so basically whether its day or night depends on which side of her body is facing the earth. im kind of generalising their religion here because while there are local variations this is the "base" they usually build on. tomte/troll acclimated lindwurm cultures usually integrate some of their religious figures as well, but the Mother Serpent remains the highest deity for them even then. the journey of the mother serpent also informs many lindwurms' view of raising young. kind of still figuring this out lol but essentially they believe that any personal "guiding" influence on a growing young lindwurm is going to make them veer off the "proper" path and mess up their development, most likely resulting in the young lindwurms never "evolving" from their more basal, serpentine state. again, the young lindwurms look a lot more like true snakes, scales and all (i did doodle this but it looks sketchbook crap so might doodle it some other time properly and make it its own post lol). this is why while troll/tomte acclimated lindwurms don't care about "raising" their young, they also are very particular in how trolls/tomtar raise them for them - in that they want no personal intervention and socialisation, basically just let them be little noodles in some enclosure. they do think its important for their young to encounter dangers and also take down live prey, so those are also requirements. like setting off a fox in their enclosures and only feeding live prey that the baby gets to hunt. if the baby gets hurt then that is what the forces that led the Mother Serpent to evolve wills (or somethang)

courtship among lindwurms often involve funny displays from the males with their eyes and moving their head around to show off their crest - not 100% sure how they go about it but it def looks silley as hale!!

while they dgaf about the babies generally, they are fiercely protective of their eggs.

very large as adults (basically as "tall" as an average human when "standing" like the gray one in the picture) but start out very, very small, about as big as a grass snake.

high mortality rate when young, they have relatively large clutches because of it. when the eggs hatch the couple just kinda fricks off a bit waiting for the young to leave

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Do you think the kidnapping was the last straw for age gap!reader and that’s why she decided to become a housewife??

Not quite.

When you did faint, for real instead of pretending, Clark is not surprised. Your heart had started racing again and you were trying very hard to stay composed and sweet.

He was just glad he was there to catch you and keep you from cracking your head on the pavement when the rookie cop closest to you was too busy being start struck to realize you were about to collapse. EMT's were called and you were taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital.

He only hoped Bruce had a plan. And a damn good one. Because, as he looked at the sad little cell the would be kidnapper planned to keep you in his stomach turned. If it hadn't been for the tracker to put in your sneaker, they might never have been able to find you.

__________________

"Sweetheart," Bruce said, rushing into the room, "My god, I'm so sorry! I came as soon as I got your call."

The nurse taking your vitals again glanced up and sighed internally. She'd HAVE to tell the desk to pay attention. Your Agent, some co stars, managers- jesus a parade of people had traipsed through this room. Even a particularly intrepid tabloid journalist. But- At least this was one visitor that you didn't seem to mind.

"I'm okay, I think," you tell him. "I- nothing really had time to happen. I just have some bruises and a concussion."

"Do you need anything?" he asked, crossing the floor, smiling briefly at the nurse before kissing your forehead. "Are they keeping you or-"

"The doctor is just waiting on some x-rays," the nurse told you when you looked at her questioningly. "Once we have all our tests back you should be good to go."

"Thank you, Nancy," you tell her, "Could I have some more water when you get a second?"

"Absolutely," she answered. Mollified somewhat when Bruce set himself to fussing over you in that endearing, clueless way that men had. Uselessly fluffing pillows and petting your hair.

"What were they x-raying?" Bruce asked, perching on the end of your bed. Between you and the door.

"My abdomen. I had stomach pain and they wanted to make sure I wasn't bleeding or something- I don't know if it was a knee of a foot but-"

"I should have hit him harder," Bruce growled.

"Bruce-"

"I'm taking you back to Gotham tonight," he murmured. "And Alfred is working on your security as we speak."

You blink for a second and bite your lip, "I have work and contracts-"

"Not to stay," Bruce hummed. "But I pointed out that you would need a couple days of rest to recover. And pointed out that making you work would be "a bad look" once the story broke. They agreed. And decided to shoot things you weren't in for a couple days."

You look at him confused and Bruce smiles a little, "I'm having the security revamped in your Apartment while you're with me. And being a little selfish- I missed you."

"Brucie, you don't have to do all that."

"I do though," he murmured. "It scared me, that phone call. And I don't like being scared."

_______________________

That night, in his bed. Finally feeling safe enough to let go, you let Bruce take you. It was tender and sweet- even while both of you were desperate.

Cleaving to each other for comfort. Craving the sense of belonging that you felt joined together. No secrets, no lies, only met desires and realized longings.

Bruce smudged soft kisses on every bruise and nuzzled every sore spot. Lavishing attention on your sore stomach. Careful to read your body language. If you pulled away, he would stop. But you clung onto him. Worldless pleading. Telling him. Don't leave me.

"I'm here, Princess," he breathed. "are you okay?"

You nod and lean up to kiss him, "How do you do it?"

"Do what, beautiful?" he hummed, sliding his cock along your entrance before sliding inside you.

"Make me feel so safe, all the time."

"Is that how you feel now, sweet girl?" he hummed, "Safe? Loved?"

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer to you.

He smiled and rubbed his nose against yours as he bracketed himself above you, "Marry me?" he blurted, "Let me make you feel that way forever."

"You- Bruce- I-"

"I mean it," he breathed. "Marry me? Let me keep you safe, Sweetheart. Make me the happiest I've ever been?"

"How could I say no to that?" you ask, stroking his cheek as you kissed him.

[taffywabbit]

idk if i'm way off the mark on this, but the way some people are responding to that Guillermo del Toro interview about the decline of studio animation is a bit frustrating to me. specifically the bit where he talks about "emoji animation" and how everything is over-animated and pushed too far and things are rarely allowed to not be ultra-cartoony (y'know, because animation always needs to be marketable to children who are never trusted to have attention spans, right?). like, i think he's generally correct about it! but some folks are taking the wrong message away from that.

i've seen people going off about how "soulless" and "corporate" various recent examples are, and talking about these pieces of media as though they're the result of some kind of personal failing or lack of skill/range on the part of the animators, and it's just like. do people realize that's the only animation you're usually allowed to DO in the industry, unless you get incredibly lucky and land yourself on a project/studio that's unusually cool?

when i was in college for animation it was literally drilled into us nonstop that everything had to be pushed more, that exaggeration was not a guideline or a sometimes-treat but a hard rule that always had to be applied regardless of what was going on, because the viewer couldn't be trusted to pick up on subtlety and we sure as hell couldn't be trusted to convey it. you ever wonder why there's such a specific vibe to a lot of self-directed student films, particularly ones that are focused on character acting/interaction or deep emotions and introspection (especially when there's minimal/no dialogue)? it's because for a lot of young animators, they haven't had the freedom to experiment with realism and subtlety up to that point and they're likely not going to have it again for a while (or at all, unless their career path leads to higher positions where they might have more creative direction over the things they work on. which also becomes a lot less likely if they're anything other than a cishet white dude, for what it's worth).

i would LOVE to see more nuanced, realistic, understated motion and acting in animation. i WANT more characters to be able to express what they're feeling through natural body language and facial cues and for scenes to allow me to breathe instead of spelling everything out in giant bold flashing text all the time. what del Toro wants to see changed in the animation industry sounds great, and i hope others join him in seeking to revamp what modern animation is allowed to be.

but as things currently stand, and as they've stood for a long while now, most artists doing the grunt work on the shows and movies you see are completely at the mercy of corporations and networks who have a vested interest in producing a very specific kind of marketable and cost-efficient media all the time. (and by extension that style is ALSO what's taught in most animation schools, because their job more than anything is to grind you down into a perfect little sweatshop worker who will bend over backwards to meet quotas and get your work approved and not question the higher-ups, even if you have little to no personal investment in the projects you're working on, so that the studios who employ you can maintain their good reputations or whatever)

anyways idk what my point was here, this really just sorta became a rant and my views have undoubtedly been coloured by my own personal experiences (this kinda shit is largely why i dropped out before my last year of animation school, for the record).

i guess just be kind to folks in the animation industry? they've had it fucking rough nonstop for well over a century (the majority of them are still not unionized and there's HUGE pushback against doing so in many places). i assure you they are doing their best to infuse the latest uninspired illumination flick or weird spinoff kids' show with literally any amount of soul they can. you don't have to like the stuff that gets produced by any means! be a hater! i'm certainly not gonna stop you. just remember where these creative decisions come from and why these conditions exist, and consider that when YOU watched something and thought "hmm that could've been done better", you can bet your ass someone actually working on it probably thought the same thing but couldn't do anything about it. these things WILL change as the industry itself improves, but in the meantime folks have to pay their rent, and that usually means doing what they're told and working in a way that will minimize revisions and meet quotas so they can keep their jobs. it sucks, but it is what it is.

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part forty-one] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst, alcohol consumption, smut (18+ ; mdni)

word count: 3.2k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

additional smut warnings: semi-public messing around, oral - m+f receiving

The other resorts along the shore were nice, yes, but they were also crowded to all hell. There’s no way you would have been able to relax at any of them. Not just because crowds make you anxious, but because Minho probably wouldn’t be able to show his face anywhere. He’d have to wear a hoodie to the pool or swim with a baseball cap on, and even those weren’t guaranteed to be foolproof. 

There were hardly any people occupying the outdoor spaces so late in the day so it was like you had the place to yourselves. You and Felix continued to play in the pool while Minho grilled steaks and Jisung worked upstairs. You offered to accompany Jisung while he cooked but he assured you that he was fine to do it himself. Sometimes you kept him company at home but you knew he liked to work alone as well. 

The room that you and Jisung were staying in was a standard hotel room but Nikki and Dom had a suite with a kitchenette that he could use to prepare the side dishes. 

You ate gathered around one of the fire pits as the sun sank beneath the waves in the distance. When it got too dark out, Dom lit the fire so that you could all see what you were eating. There were path lights littered around the resort but they weren’t bright enough to illuminate the adjacent sitting areas too. 

“I wish we had marshmallows,” you sighed. “We could roast them and make s’mores.”

“I think the bar sells little kits,” Jisung piped up. “I remember seeing a sign posted on their menu.”

“How convenient!” Nikki exclaimed. 

“Want me to grab some?” Minho offered, already standing from his seat. 

You had once again put yourself on the spot. Everyone was looking at you, waiting for your answer. 

“I-I’d feel bad. I’m the only one who wants them, so you don’t have to!”

“Don’t be silly, we’d all eat them,” Jisung assured you with a pat on your knee. 

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to try s’mores,” Felix agreed. 

Your mouth dropped open in shock. “Wait, you’ve never had one?”

“They’re an American thing, babe.”

“Does that mean you’re the only other one here who has had a s’more?” you asked Jisung. 

“I might have had one before,” Minho added thoughtfully. 

“Might? You don’t remember?”

“Yeah, well, when we were on the first world tour we had a lot of bonfires and shit but I was pretty drunk at all of them so there could have been s’mores there, there could not have been. I dunno.”

“Anyway,” Nikki swooped in, averting the attention away from her eldest son’s anecdotes of underage drinking. “Minho, why don’t you go grab a few kits from the bar Ji mentioned? I think your father and I would like to try a s’more too.”

“How many do you think we need?” Minho asked. 

“It depends on how many each serves. Why don’t we start with two and if we run out of supplies we can send Felix up to get more.”

Felix made a face. “What, me?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to send Minho up twice,” Dom explained.

“What about Jisung?”

“He cooked dinner.”

“I’ll be right back,” Minho interjected, cutting Felix off before he could protest any further. “Does anyone want anything to drink while I’m over there?”

    He took everyone’s order and then disappeared in the direction of the bar. 

    “Do you think he’ll need help carrying stuff?” you whispered to Jisung after he left. 

“Oh, shit, maybe.”

“Should I go help him? Would that be weird?”

Jisung looked back toward his parents to check that they weren’t paying attention before answering. “No, I don’t think so. No one suspected anything other than me. Do you want me to go with you, though?”

“No, you cooked,” you reminded him, “you should stay and relax. I’ll go help him.”

He nodded. “Okay. Oh, but kiss me before you go.”

-

Minho was still waiting when you joined him at the bar. It was almost as deserted as the rest of the pool area. Only a couple of people were occupying the stools and they seemed to be strangers to each other, drinking in silence apart from the waves crashing on the shore nearby and the occasional sound of the blender.

“Hey, stranger,” you said, grabbing Minho’s attention with an elbow to his side. 

“Hey... did someone forget to ask for something?”

“No, I came to help you. We realized it’s a lot of stuff to carry all by yourself.”

He scoffed. “You doubted me?”

The bartender placed the drinks and s’mores kit down on the counter in front of Minho right at that moment, leaving both of you to size up all there was to bring back to the fire pit. 

“You could have carried all that without spilling anything?”

“Fine, maybe it’s good that you came,” he grumbled. 

“Maybe?”

He set his jaw and took a deep breath. “It is good that you came. Thank you for helping. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

You grabbed two of the drinks while Minho took the rest, holding the plastic bags of s’mores supplies between his teeth. 

Nikki and Dom cheered when you reappeared with everything. The twins looked marginally happier. It was honestly as much as you could ask for from them. 

You spent the rest of the evening teaching the Hans how to make, what was in your opinion, the perfect s’more. There were only a few skewers to go around so everyone had to take turns, but it was nice to be able to take your time with something and relax. There hadn’t been much time to do that on this trip. Jisung had warned you of that in the beginning but you were still way more exhausted than you expected to be at this point. At least it was almost over. 

The thought of the trip ending was one that you had been pushing to the back of your mind for weeks now. Especially now that Jisung knew what had happened, you didn’t want to think about what would happen when you went back home. Would you grow apart? Would he distance himself once he was no longer in forced proximity with you? Would Minho break up with you? It wasn’t just something you could ignore now. There were only a matter of days left. 

When it was over, you would go back to Seoul with the Hans until the summer ended officially. But that would be different too. 

“You’re burning your marshmallow, love,” Nikki said softly, putting her hand on your shoulder to get your attention. 

“Oh!” you exclaimed and pulled your skewer out of the heat. You blew the flame out and transferred it onto a graham cracker. 

“Do you want a new one?” Dom asked. 

“No, that’s okay! I like them burnt, actually. I just didn’t mean to leave it in the fire for so long. It could have made a mess.”

Jisung’s dad shrugged as if to say ‘suit yourself’ before taking the rod from you and reloading it with fresh marshmallows. 

If it was woodburning, the fire would slowly start to dwindle as the kindling turned to ash. Since it wasn’t, it was still burning as brightly as it had been at the start of the evening when Dom finally turned the propane off. Nikki collected the empty cups and dirty skewers to return to the bar. 

“Good night, kids. Don’t stay up too late.”

-

Felix was the first out of the four of you to go up to his room, leaving you with your best friend and... Minho. 

The pool area was completely empty by then. 

“I’ll uh, I’ll leave you two,” Jisung said and stood to leave. 

You grabbed his hand to stop him. “Wait, no, you don’t have to go.”

“Yeah,” Minho agreed, a little less convincingly. “You should stay.”

Jisung shook his head. “No thanks, I’d rather not third-wheel.”

“Ji-”

“Take as much time as you need,” he said to you. “Just don’t get fucking caught by anyone else.”

You waited for him to leave before slumping forward and sighing into your hands. 

“I thought you said he forgave you,” Minho whispered. 

“He did. That doesn’t mean he’s okay with it,” you sighed.

Minho leaned back and stretched his arm across the back of the loveseat, inviting you to sit with him. You crossed over to his side and joined him, allowing yourself to lean into his side. He wrapped his arm around you and squeezed your shoulder. It felt nice, to do something so domestic with him, even while sitting in complete silence. Still, you worried about someone seeing you.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. 

“You.”

“What about me?”

“Just you.”

You didn’t want to give him the details and risk ruining the mood so you hoped he was content with that answer. Thankfully, he didn’t ask you to elaborate. 

You shivered suddenly, unintentionally but thankfully changing the subject. 

“Are you cold?” Minho asked. 

“A little.”

“Should I turn the fire pit back on?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s so dark out now. It’ll only draw attention to us.”

“I don’t want you to be cold, though.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Minho didn’t look convinced. “Why don’t we get in the hot tub? You still have your bathing suit on, right?”

“Are we allowed to?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

You followed Minho over to one of the many hot tubs on the property. It was tucked away behind the now-deserted tiki bar and also totally empty. Minho turned on the jets and ventured down into the water, holding his hand out for you to get in behind him. 

You let out a sigh as you sank into the bubbling water, closing your eyes and resting your head against the pool’s edge.  

“Better?”

“So much better.”

You looked over to see him smile. “Good.”

You hadn’t realized how cold you were until you were warm. The chill had seeped through your bathing suit too. You could feel it ebbing out of the fabric as well as your muscles the longer you sat in the water. 

Minho settled next to you and put his hand on your thigh. It was comforting even though his hand was still cold.  

“This is nice,” he said. 

“It is nice,” you agreed. “I like being able to do just nothing with you.”

“We don’t get a lot of time to do that, do we?”

“No, not really.”

“Guess that just means we have to enjoy it while we have it.”

You sat up to look at him, wondering if he meant something more than what was implied when he said that. He met your gaze and gave you a questioning look. 

“What?”    You shook your head and sank further into the bubbles. You were reading way too much into everything. You needed to get a grip. 

“What’s wrong?” Minho repeated. “Talk to me.”

“I’m scared to,” you finally admitted. 

It wasn’t much, but you were finally being honest with Minho instead of skirting around his questions like you usually did. You could tell your answer hurt him but you were afraid that you’d hurt yourself even more if you told him everything. You had a feeling the conversation was going there anyway, though, and there was little you could do to stop it. 

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I don’t know... what we are?” You cringed as you said it. “And I don’t want to ruin things by asking, you know, because I like what we have going on and I don’t want it to go away but I also don’t want to get my hopes up by thinking we’re something that we’re not but sometimes you do things that make me think you want something more than... whatever it is we’re already doing but- mph!”

You were cut off with a kiss, like something out of a movie. It was brief, but enough to disrupt your train of thought. You stared at him incredulously, trying to read his expression. 

His face was even but his eyes were warm. You wished you knew what he was thinking. Moonlight and the flickering flames of torches in the distance were just enough to illuminate his features. The quirk of his cupid’s bow, the flutter of his long eyelashes... 

 “What was that for?” you inquired, even though you knew what it was for. 

“You were spiraling.”

You sighed, dropping your head into your hands. “I can’t help it.”

“I know,” Minho said softly. “For what it’s worth though, I feel the same way.”

You lifted your head to look at him again, your vision slightly blurred by the water dripping down your face from your wet hands. “What?”

He hesitated. “I feel... what you said. I feel the same way.”

“I don’t even know what I said,” you laughed. 

“Me either, but I got the general vibe of it and I’m in agreement.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I... I thought I was making it kind of obvious that I wanted something serious with you.”

“You never said anything outright, though!”

“Because I didn’t know what you wanted,” he explained. “You never said anything either.”

“Well, you’re the man!”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we’re going there? The feminism just evaporates from your body the moment you’re faced with confrontation?”

“See, you get it.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you now, okay? I want you. In all the ways you’re willing to let me have you.”

You swallowed hard, eyes burning. You didn’t want to start crying and you didn’t want Minho to see you crying so you kissed him again, with more urgency this time. You couldn’t think, hell, you couldn’t breathe, until he pulled away, leaving you wishing and hoping for more.

When your lips met for the third time, he pulled you under with him, just long enough to shock your senses. You gasped for air when you surfaced, pushing your wet hair out of your eyes.

“You’re not supposed to do that!” you scolded, sputtering as you shoved him. 

He stumbled backward onto the bench, falling seated again and pulling you on top of him. 

“You believe that bullshit?” he scoffed. 

“It’s not bullshit! It’s not good for you to put your head under the water in a hot tub!”

“I know people say that but why?”

“I... I don’t know why,” you admitted, “but I know you’re not supposed to.”

“See, you don’t even know!” You gave him a look. “Will you accept an ‘I’m sorry’ kiss?”

“That depends, are you actually sorry?”

He didn’t bother answering. Instead, he kissed you anyway, cradling the back of your head as he slipped his tongue past your lips. He tasted like s’mores and whiskey and chlorine, a combination so strange you couldn’t wrap your head around it. 

One of his arms dropped to your waist, wrapping around your body and pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. You could feel him through his swim trunks, growing harder by the second. You were tempted to take him right there, but you were in public and having sex in a hot tub couldn’t be good either, right? That sounded like an infection waiting to happen.  

“Upstairs?” Minho asked breathlessly, lips only centimeters from yours. Not for the first time you wondered if he could read your mind. 

You nodded. “Yeah, upstairs.”

-

You dripped your way back to his room, shivering despite the thick towel wrapped around your shoulders. 

“Wanna hop in the shower?” Minho asked between kisses as he fumbled with the straps of your bikini. 

“Yeah, don’t want to get your bed all wet,” you replied. 

“That would happen whether or not we had just been in the pool,” he joked. 

“Hilarious.”

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he hissed. “Let’s get these off of you, they’re so cold.”

“Is that the only reason you want them off?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

You knew Minho was expecting to have sex in the shower but you kind of wanted to fuck on the bed so you sucked his dick while he washed your hair and then took turns rinsing off before moving to his bed. You put your hair up in a towel to avoid the aforementioned wetness and wrapped yourself up in one of the hotel’s robes even though you knew it’d be coming right off. 

To your surprise, Minho left your robe on. He just undid the tie around your waist and let it fall open before shouldering himself between your legs. It was kind of like putting a towel down. He was killing two birds with one stone that way: protecting the sheets and keeping you warm. 

It didn’t take long for you to cum in his mouth. Minho knew your body like the back of his hand by now. It had taken him a fraction of the time it took your past lovers to learn what made you tick and he used all of that knowledge to his advantage. 

He kept going after you came the first time, eager to pull another from you, but you pulled him up by the hair to get his attention before he could get too into it. 

“Too much?” he asked. 

“Want you to fuck me,” you urged.

Thankfully, he was receptive to this and moved up so that he could position himself on top of you. He notched himself at your entrance and kissed you as he pushed himself inside, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue before pulling away and wiping his face on your shoulder. 

“Ew!” you cried and tried to push him away. 

Minho looked offended. “What do you mean, ‘ew’? It’s you.”

“That doesn’t mean I want me all over what I’m wearing!” 

“Since when?” he joked. “Seems like it’s always all over what you’re wearing when you’re around me.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” you begged, suddenly embarrassed and grossed out at the same time. 

Minho laughed and pecked you on the cheek. “What would you rather talk about? The weather?”

You tightened around him as punishment, making him swear and bury his face in your neck. “Fucking hell, you succubus.”

You smiled politely and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Don’t people usually say that if she can talk at all, you’re doing it wrong?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I was just taking it easy on you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, this was for your benefit,” he continued. “Didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“How gracious of you.”

He clenched his jaw as he started fucking you faster, muttering sarcastically, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was boring you.”

Ironically, you couldn’t respond right away, too caught up in the feeling of how deep he was inside of you to get any words out. 

“I forgive you,” you choked out finally. 

Your hands fell to his biceps, desperate for something to hold on to. You dug your nails into his skin, making him hiss through his teeth. 

“Harder,” he urged. You squeezed harder and he gasped. “Fuck yes, keep doing that.”

“Like this?”

“Just like that, baby. That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

[wwooyology]

ᕤ 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 ᕦ

hi everyone, I come with a heavy heart today. this has been something that has been thought about multiple times now, but I have officially decided that it is time that I retire from enhablr. when I first came here, it was a fun and safe place I could escape to; however, the longer that I was here, the more toxic and not so fun it became. from everything that went down this past summer to all of the bullying to now with everyone at each other's necks because of the ai thing it's just not a place that I feel comfortable in anymore.

I love each and every one of my enha readers and moots that I have met and interacted with while I've been here. you guys have made this experience all the more bearable, but it is now my time to say goodbye.

my plans going forward are pretty simple, I don't plan on making an entirely new blog because that would be far too much work and would get exhausting trying to explain to everyone. I plan on changing my username and will be writing strictly for ateez now. I will be leaving my enha fics up because I know a lot of people enjoyed them, but going forward, I will NOT be writing for enha anymore. there might be a day that I come back, but for right now, this chapter has finally closed, and it is now to start a new one.

with all this being said, my whole page will undergo a full revamp. I will be deleting my enha perm. taglist, as well as any wips that I had posted. while I'm converting everything, my page might get a little messed up, so please bear with me. I won't change my username until I have everything else in place. then, when I do change my username, I will probably make another post.

thank you to EVERYONE who has tagged along in the journey with me. I appreciate you all so much. I hope that you all will continue to follow me on this journey, but if not, then I completely understand and wish you all the best. I love you all so much and will forever hold each and every one of you in my heart.

but for now, alvojake is signing off, and maybe one day we will meet again, until, then, farewell, and I hope you all do well now and in the future.

sincerely, - kayla (aka @/alvojake)

p.s. I will tag a few of my moots just so I know that they are aware. if anyone has any questions, please feel free to reach out. my inbox will still be open during this transition!!

tagging : @hollyoongs @yeonzzzn @enha-stars @addictedtohobi @ak4e7a @heeslomll @intromortal @dollyyun @kitten4sannie @simpjaes @minhosimthings @chlorinecake @naomiarai @ikeuverse @fakeuwus @fairyseungs

[stardust-falling]

Hi! I keep seeing ppl debating if SQQ's eyes are canonically green or black. What do you think? Somebody said SQQ's eyes are green in the cover, but if you think otherwise, why? If you've discussed about this before in your page, may I see the link?

Hey! I posted this one on my meta blog (this might be what actually stirred up the discussion), but I still need to update the post there to include the timeline and all relevant information provided by various commenters.

Anyway, I'll go ahead and give a little summary here.

SQQ has black eyes in the novel, and they're explicitly described that way (黑， 乌黑 specifically, color words meaning black and crow-black (like jet black)).

This means that a depiction of SQQ with green eyes is contrary to novel canon.

At some point, people on the wiki said his eyes were described as 青 (qing）which is turquoise green/blue. I'm not exactly sure where this came from, but one very, very loose potential for this could be a misreading of the following description: 眉清目秀 which is used to describe the appearance of a young SJ. It's possible, perhaps, that the character 清 (clear) here was accidentally misread as 青 （green/blue) but i don't think that's a particularly easy misreading, especially since in that phrase the 清 is linked to 眉 （brows) instead of 目（eyes). But anything is possible, and this is the only place in the novel I could find reference to "clear eyes" in regards to SQQ, and the only potential way this misreading could have basis in the novel. Either way, his eyes are never described as 青, so that's an incorrect assumption.

So, the only thing I really consider canon proper is the novel itself, but that's my own stance. A wider stance would be considering the novel as primary canon, while the donghua/manhua are secondary canon, and things like official art could be tertiary canon. In this framework, details included in the donghua that aren't in the novel but aren't contradicted by it would also be considered wider canon and fill in those gaps, while things that contradict the novel would be canon as well, but specifically alternate, donghua canon. The same would apply to official art-- if it doesn't contradict the donghua or novel, it fills the gap, otherwise it's another kind of alternate canon.

Under this wider system, then Shen Qingqiu's canon eye color would go this way:

Primary canon - Black eyes Secondary Canon - Grey Eyes Tertiary Canon - Black, Grey, or Green Eyes

So depending on what you consider canon, then the answer can change-- but in my opinion, the novel overrides other sources.

Okay, so let's go into the secondary and tertiary canons, then. On the post on my meta blog that I linked earlier, in the replies and reblogs, there are some references about the evolution of SQQ's character design in donghua and fanart, so I'll leave those explanations to speak for themselves.

Let me talk a bit about the official art, then.

Though the English edition has the most vivid green eyes in character design, it is NOT the only cover art with green-eyed SQQ!

Across translations, he is depicted with varying black, grey, or green eyes, as follows (using purple color for grey since tumblr doesn't have a grey color):

Taiwanese (OG) - Black Taiwanese (Revamped) - Darker green, occasionally darker grey (some variety here) Thai - Lighter grey Vietnamese - Black Burmese - Medium grey or dull green (again, some variety) Korean - Black, but may vary to grey or very dull green (resolution not high enough to tell)

And then of course the vivid green of the English edition.

So when it comes to official art, it's basically evenly split, with three black, three grey, three green (counting the ones that vary).

Green-eyed SQQ is not exclusively a western fandom thing. I mean, on some levels, it makes sense for character design-- matching his eyes to his clothing color.

Personally, I wouldn't call it canon. And I think if anyone does want to claim it's canon (via the tiered system), that it would be a good idea to preface that you're going off of alternate canon instead of novel canon, so that it's not used as an argument when the discussion is specifically centered on novel canon.

There is a level of canonicity to either green-eyed or grey-eyed SQQ, but such depictions still contradict the novel, even if supported by other mediums, since his eyes are specifically described as black there.

I guess, it depends on how you want to define canon at the end of the day. I'm not here to tell other people how to play in their own sandboxes, I just personally like to play in novel canon only so that's my stance on it.

Hope this is the sort of info you wanted!

[withonly-sweetheart]

Shades of Gray

Stylists and photographer; both such burdens but nothing can prepare you for the way Leon's arrival tips over your "shades of gray".

a/n: @chesue00 ... YOU LOVELY LITTLE MANIACAL GENUIS. I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH I CANT EVEN DESCRIBE IT HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE 😍😍😍

i was literally walking just walking you know i see that i have a notification from tumblr (if my slowass had checked the name i wouldve braced myself) but the post pops up

when i tell you i nearly hopped skipped and jumped like my friend gave me the weirdest look ever... like i cant tell you how much that art piece means to me its literally so hot im dying ahahhhhahhahhhh and i cant write smut for SHIT so future me revamp this when you learn the true smut writing ways....

tw: non explicit smut but just to be safe mdni!! also can u guess where the titles from.. heh

wc: 3.4k

“They might fire you with that attitude,” Ada muses quietly, humming to herself as she dusts off the camera lens, wiping it with such precision and care, something you couldn’t manage to do yourself.

You glare up at your superior from where you crouch at the legs of the tripod, scowling. “They can’t do that. I’m single handedly carrying this studio. How broke do you have to be to be both the one of the editors and the photographer?”

“Pretty broke,” she agrees with a small shrug.

“And it’s not even like the models are hot or anything,” you continue, exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of your nose in an attempt to shut your mouth before you say something you might regret. “I better get a promotion after this new guy.”

“Who knows?” Ada laughs, a soft, tinkling sound that seems to ease some of your tension. Between your job(s), there hasn’t been much time to relax, but the fact you storm around the studio with set shoulders, lips twisted in a frown never seems to bother her.

You suppose you should be grateful you have such a good friend. You just wish there was something worth her time here, because you sure aren’t.

<><><><>

“Room 3,” you read from the list, craning your neck to read the words scratched into the paper that’s plastered onto the wall. “Is that where she is?”

“He,” Ada corrects. “A guy, again. Isn’t that exciting?”

She means to sound eager, but you can hear how dry her tone is, and you can’t blame her. Most of the guys that show up are only here to have a quick session, earn some cash, try to get with one of the girls working on set, before rushing away, never to be seen again.

You place a tentative hand on her shoulder, rubbing the muscle there. “I’ll deal with it. You get some rest before the shoot, ‘kay?”

Her weary eyes find you, but they light up somewhat at your suggestion. Without another word, she nods and dips her head before walking off to the lounge. Ada’s overworked, you know that. The least you can do for her is this, right?

Ignoring the fact you’ve never actually done this before, you wipe your trembling, sweaty hands on your pants before sliding the door open.

The man sitting in the chair, eyes slicing to you from the mirror, face softening into a smile as you gawk in the doorway, unable to do much more than offer fragments of a sentence.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I thought you were the director.”

“Uhm. No.” You recognize him, a man you’ve only seen in stretched out movie posters that are plastered everywhere on your apartment block, a man only seen in the vivid ink on paper, on the pixels that cross your screen.

Now he’s really sitting here, in front of you, feet carrying you to stand right behind him. What the hell were you thinking? You meet his eyes in the mirror, too abashed to look directly.

"What are you doing here?" you blurt out in surprise. "You’re an actor! This isn't exactly your scene."

"Is that how you greet a guest?" With an arched brow, he gestures to the cluttered room. "And I could say the same for you. It seems like I'm not the only one who's a little lost."

"You have no idea," you mutter.

"Ah, there it is." Leon leans back, tilting his head to stare up at you, regarding you curiously. "So what’s happening? This your therapy session?"

You glance down and flash a tentative grin. Reaching around him, you quickly wet your hands, then card them through Leon's bronzed hair, working out the tangles and smoothing it into place.

His shoulders tense when your fingertips make contact with the back of his neck, eyes narrowing down at the ground.

"Your hands..." he murmurs unexpectedly. "They're so soft."

You pause, fingers stilling to look down, only to find his eyes closed, a faint smirk playing at his lips. You smile to yourself, feeling a flutter of pride in your work. It had been a long time since you’d done this for a friend, since Ada often recoils at your touch. "Well, you know, this is kinda my thing. Taking care of models, seeing they're relaxed."

“You’re pretty good at it,” he muses.

You feel heat sear your neck and gulp, reaching for some of the confidence that abandons you quickly. "Alright pretty boy, time to get you camera-ready." Spritzing some product, you sculpt his hair into what the director had requested - “tousled but not too tousled, sexy without trying too hard.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

Your hands move fast, eager with a purpose. Under your touch, Leon seems further away, lost in thoughts. When you’re close to finishing, he lifts his head again to meet your gaze.

“I’ll assume you already know my name,” he remarks. “You’ve watched my work?”

“Kinda hard not to.” You don’t mean for it to sound so condescending, but he just squints back up at you as you massage some kind of lotion into his scalp.

“You wouldn’t, by chance, know Ada, would you?” he asks quietly.

“‘Course,” you say with a soft chuckle. “She’s the only reason I have this job.”

Leon nods understandingly. "Sounds just like her. She’s got a way of reeling people in." A wry smile plays on his lips. "So what's next - you joining in on the shoot?"

"Over my dead body," you reply hastily. Leon tilts his head, the silent question molding into acceptance as you continue, "No, I'm just playing assistant for the day, making sure Ada and the girls have what they need. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

Somehow, looking at Leon's amused expression, you have a feeling you’ll be in for a lot more than that. But that must be the week-old guacamole you bought from Chipotle and ate for lunch today.

<><><><>

The shoot seems to be running smoothly, at least on the outside, when you’re finally done fussing over the minor details, checking off a mental list and trying really hard not to let your gaze dip a little lower than it should.

He doesn’t notice. Of course he doesn’t. He’s at least twenty years older than you. It only worked one way, didn’t it? Always did.

Next to the camera, you’ve taped reference pictures of other models artfully draped across ornate furniture, all courtesy of your work. You don’t exactly know what Leon’s advertising, but you caught a hint of the lavender rosemary liquid Helena was working on last week, so you assume it must be a fragrance shoot.

You spot Ada immediately, lounging on a chaise with one leg extended gracefully. Her emerald gaze flickers over as you approach.

"Well it's about time," she calls out, clapping her hands as she stands. "Hair and makeup, ten minutes ago."

Leon cracks a bemused smile. "We're here now, aren't we? Lead the way, assistant."

“How do you even know her?” you ask, slightly curious about their past, as you usher him into the couch.

“Acquaintances from our old job,” he mutters. And you quickly notice that something’s wrong. Leon looks too tense against the soft, relaxed background, too stressed as he frowns up at you, hands clasped between his spread legs.

So you do what you do best. You kneel in front of him, resting a hand on the ball of his knee. Once again, he steels at your touch, then relaxes, and you look up at him to see his jaw working, as if swallowing his words.

"What do you think you’re doing? Leon whispers, catching your wandering eyes.

“Just trying to help,” you say casually, with a shrug. It was safe to say you know what you’re doing, and even better, you can see it’s working. The corner of his mouth bunches up into a shit-eating grin, just the look you need.

<><><><>

Thirty minutes later, and not a single photo has pleased the director. He sits there like a goddamn statue, flickers of emotion passing his face only when spares a glimpse to the photos Ada calmly hands to him.

Her eyes are seething but her tone is level as she tells you in a low whisper, “I need some coffee or I will choke him.”

You know what that means. So, as if you’re programmed to do it, you swing by the cafe and pick up her coffee, two pumps of almond milk and light ice; the amount of times she’s sent you to fetch her drink is so absurd you’ve memorized it without meaning to.

You’re imagining the way her face will light up at the caffeinated drink chilling your hand, switching it to ease the strain on your fingers, when you turn the corner just as someone else does.

This someone else becomes only apparent to you after you’re done scolding them for not watching where they’re going, staring down at their faintly recognizable, designer brand, worn out shoes that currently have cappuccino dripping onto the material.

You drag your eyes up, ready to glare them down, when those blazing blue eyes meet yours and immediately you realize it’s all your fault, why weren’t you paying better attention to your surroundings?

Leon seems to be frozen, unable to move, as he stares down at his dripping shirt, and due to your perfect luck, the director also rounds the corner. He pushes Leon to the side, exposing the brown easily staining the white linen.

He presses a foot down on one of the stray ice cubes, crushing it and wiping his foot back. You grimace, paling at the idea of his wrath. Is this how you lose your job?

But Leon sighs patiently before he can say anything, inspecting the damage carefully. "Well, we had a good run. Not everything can go our way, hm?"

Your boss doesn’t seem to agree. He taps his foot rapidly on the tiles, a marching tempo, voice like sharpened steel. "You have exactly one minute before I find someone to replace you. Fix this, now."

Without another condition to his threat, he storms away to fume at the rest of the crew. They’ll be singing your praises for days, that's for sure. You wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out after him, sparking a rumbling chuckle from Leon. You roll your eyes and turn to him, jabbing him in the chest with your pointer finger.

“Why the hell does your shirt even matter when all you’re doing is smelling good?”

<><><><>

You quickly realize that the point of the shoot isn’t to showcase any scent. No, not at all.

The shoot starts like any other - adjusting lighting, discussing shots with the crew. But Ada's knowing smirk and the array of silky fabrics draped nearby piques your suspicion.

"Ada, tell me those aren't...?" you gesture weakly at the snug boxer briefs Leon now models, the only thing on his bare skin, miles of smooth, dewey skin, dimpled with years.

She laughs softly. "Don't pretend you're not enjoying the view. I can see it in your eyes.”

“But for the first shoot?” you whine.

“I don’t make the rules, hun. Now go powder his nose or something equally distracting."

You set to work on Leon's hair and makeup, desperately avoiding eye contact with his barely dressed form. But then he shifts, and the movement draws your gaze as his facade slips away, revealing a broad, scarred back, painted with the stories of his younger days, of memories lost to time.

Leon meets your hesitant eyes in the mirror, one brow cocked knowingly. "See something you like?"

You cough in response, flustered. "Just, uh, admiring my handiwork. You clean up well for a god, Ken- I meant, uh, an amateur model. Yeah. That’s what I said."

He chuckles, low and rich, echoing through your hollow eyes. "Whatever you say, assistant. Now, I believe we have some shots to take?"

He leaves you standing there, in a daze as you watch him saunter off, eyes fixed on a lower point of his back. It was going to be a long week keeping your eyes (and thoughts) professional.

The play of light and shadow dappling his skin, dipping into every crevice of his well-nurtured body and curving around his muscle is something you can’t keep your eyes off of.

He knows. You realize this with a sudden jolt as someone sighs nearby. He knows that everyone’s ogling, and he loves it. The arrogance only fuels his ego, you think, as a collective hush falls over you all.

And just like that, the cocky grin on his face is gone. You can at least admire how well Leon slides, almost effortlessly, into professional mode, shrugging at the director’s instructions to face the camera, to reveal sculpted plains of muscle and dusted chest hair.

Call someone to bring a water bucket, because watching him through the camera, your eyes to the world, the raw truth laid bare for you to witness, sparks flares of heat within you. You have a gut feeling that not even water can put it out.

You seek to capture the subtle shifts in expression on his face, the way his lips curve into a smile or his gaze lingers with a hint of longing. These small details, when frozen in time through the lens of your camera, seem to speak long tales of not only misery, but admiration.

And you catch exactly who they’re directed to.

Ada.

<><><><>

“What do you mean, nothing?” Leon scoffs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re pissy and this is the seventeenth time you’ve nearly pulled out my hair!”

“It’s not like there’s much left, anyways,” you snap back, equally as irritated as you yank at the strands, forcing them to separate, trying to clean the product. Against everything, you still feel the tiniest bit guilty when Leon winces.

“He’s not that old,” Ada calls out, swaying over to the cafe.

“Exactly,” Leon says, but he’s chuckling now, and he waves in greeting to her.

You can’t help but force a smile, trying to make your reaction seem genuine, your silent hatred unnoticeable. This isn’t healthy.

A man? Coming between you and your only friend in this wretched place? What are you, a teenager? But you can’t deny the disgusting, poison green envy that unspools in your stomach, catching onto the flames and turning them into toxic vapor everytime you notice his lingering eyes, her thoughtful smile, the small touches they think no one notices.

It’s hard for you not to, especially when you know he’s been teasing you all week, the bastard. You suppose you should be glad today is the second to last day of this collaboration, and that you’ll never see him after this. Pray that his movies never feature at the local theater again.

But why does he have to be so beautiful? You want to strangle the sculptor, the majestic mind that saw him in the block of hard set marble and brought him to life, all chiseled, lean body, marked with stories, the body you have to stare at with a stony expression as you click the camera. Yet the softest, most gentle touches you’ve ever felt come from him.

Soft like his fingers around your wrist as he glances up at you, evident concern in his azure gaze. "Hey, is everything okay? You seem down."

You shake your head dismissively. "It's fine. Just tired of playing assistant, I guess."

A frown twists his lips. "You know that's not all it was." His thumb rubbed gentle strokes on your skin, setting your nerves alight. "I didn't mean to lead you on if... Well, you seem so young, I didn't want to assume or make you uncomfortable."

Your breath hitches as he stares at you, awaiting your reply. Fortune favors the bold, right? In a rush of courage, you lean down to brush your lips against his stubbled cheek, just the faintest touch.

"Why don’t you come over tonight and try me?"

<><><><>

Leon’s always been depicted in shades of gray, through your camera, the filters of monochrome, white, gray and black sweeping him into dramatic stories. However many shades you have seen in him, more than fifty, you think absently.

When you met him, the glacier tilt of his glistening eyes.

When you shot him, iron gray, the set of his jaw in pondering poses.

The fog his breath on your bare skin, as exposed to him as he was once to you, ash in the scratch of his stubble that sets fire to every part of you it brushes, anchor to the peace bringing doves taking off against your shoulder where his eyelashes flutter, peppering your collarbone with cautious, restrained kisses.

He’s holding back. Right now, he’s the soft gray that washes over the hills in the early mornings, the gray of your tea as you stare out at the horizon.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, brushing wisps of hair that stick to his face away. Leon glances down at you, eyes contorted in pain.

“I-I can’t,” he chokes out. You’ve never seen him cry, but pearls well up in his icy, stormy eyes, clouds of emotion raining down his cheeks.

So you kiss the hurt away. You push him into the linen bed sheets, muse something about the coffee incident, which sparks a broken chuckle from his glorious, glorious mouth.

Eventually all sorts of things are sprouting from between those lips. You think most of them are profanities, but you’d prefer that over sobbing.

You realize that you never want to see him cry.

Never see the smoky pallor of his face.

<><><><>

You wake to the sounds of metal creaking and strange gushing sounds that you can’t identify. Slightly concerned, you pull on the blinds, letting the dawn sun wash over your tired expression as you peer down at the hotel parking lot.

“Is he…” You squint, rubbing your eyes and blinking before looking back.

Yeah, you were right the first time.

“Why are you- when did you- what?”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The corner of his mouth crinkles into a sappy smile, barely visible from under the gleaming, spotless body of a motorcycle. “You aren’t the only one that can multitask.”

“You know you have a shoot today, right?" You rub your eyes, further taking the scene in. He’s definitely been working on the bike for some time, if the spread of tools was any sign.

He waves off your complaint with a huff. “That’s irrelevant. Besides, she matters more to me.”

“She?” You scoff.

"I know, I know." Leon wipes his hands, sliding out from beneath the vehicle with a half-sheepish, half-proud grin. "This old girl needed a tune-up, and I couldn't help myself. You know how it is."

You crouch to his level, sighing and wanting to be annoyed with his spontaneity but finding it hard in the glow of his expression, with the passion that sparkles in his eyes. "Just try not to get too grimy before call time, Leon. Ada will have both our heads."

Leon chuckles, unconcerned as always. "No worries. A quick shower and I'll be shining for the camera again." He waves off your complaint with a huff. “Besides, she matters more to me.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. "She who?"

Leon grins, running a loving hand along the motorcycle's frame. "Why, my precious Matilda, of course."

“Isn’t that your cat's name?”

“Yes… and?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a fond smile. Only Leon would think of naming his vehicle. "Ah, now it all makes sense. I should've known no flesh and blood woman could ever compare to your one true love, your Ducati."

Leon meets your gaze with utmost sincerity, face twinged with amusement as he presses a fleeting kiss to your forehead, curling his fingers around the back of your head.

And his eyes are missing those rolling fogs.

Clear skies.

“Well, some things a man just has to do with his hands, you know?"

[hakunoknight]

the twin sisters of dream and nightmares.

been a bit since I've thought about the radiance and decided to do a little revamp of her human form. and of course could not separate her from grimm :) he used to have vitiligo like her as his face markings, i switched it to scars but might make it vitiligo again actually lol.

[sparklecarehospital]

Site revamp devlog 13

Made some progress again today!

I figured out a process that would sort of streamline the way the comic pages are generated on the site dynamically. Doing this will keep me from needing to update the image src every time I upload new pages. I just have to change a couple lines and it's set! I also implemented the search and scene select so it displays on every page now. I'm also working on getting the comments sections in place.

I also got a few more updates of volume 1 uploaded. I'm gonna try to speed along the process of uploading pages so things will be ready sooner. Once the entire comic is Fully Readable on the new site, I'll just have to finish up other areas. I'm about halfway through setting up V1 right now! I'm gonna try to get this done as soon as possible so I can do the next few volumes :3

Might work on it a little more tonight. LETS GO TEAM!!!!!!

[bellezaycafe]

sunsets and self doubt (and words left unspoken) - 1.

Main AO3 tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, 2024 Formula 1 Season

Sadie's Faceclaim: Maia Mitchell (but you can visualise her howver you want :) )

warnings: swearing, mentions of a car accident.

comments: The revamped Get Your Shit Together is here! Let me know if you enjoy the new version :)

Sadie had to force a deep breath through her system. The podium sitters were not going to like the news she had. The cooldown room’s walls felt a little like they were closing in on her. 

“Alright, listen up!” She called, feeling a bit like she was talking to a random club team. “The stewards have finalised the penalties and we have two drivers dropping down.”

There was a quiet chorus of curses from Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. Oscar Piastri, quiet from his third place chair, frowned.

“Lance Stroll was given two 5-second penalties for track limits. I’m told that he served one in a pit-stop, but the other took him down to 9th.” Sadie tried to give them all a gentle smile.

It might not have come across that way as she braced herself for the next one.

“Max Verstappen, you, and Pierre Gasly, were both given a 10-second penalty for overtaking under yellow flag conditions.” A small cry of outrage came from Charles Leclerc. “This was decided during your last lap and was not conveyed to your engineers in time for them to tell you.”

Max Verstappen’s face pulled into a glare of fury, while Charles Leclerc buried his face in his hands.

“What do you mean, 10-second penalty?”

Sadie hoped he didn’t explode at her during the next piece of news. She looked down at the iPad in her hands and read the standings.

“Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri and Charles Leclerc were all under ten seconds behind you, so you will now be P4.”

“What?! Are you serious?!” The world champion did explode. “Pierre overtook me and I was just taking it back!”

It had been a long weekend for Sadie. She had never been to an F1 race before, let alone volunteered at one; she knew she would be busy but she hadn’t expected to be thrust into learning something the hard way at 7 am. And again at 10. Again at 2. And now again at 4:28 pm.

“I understand that-“ She held up a placating hand, reining in a scathing reply.

“Obviously you don’t if you are giving me a penalty for -“

Sadie cut him off with a sharp laugh. “Who do you think I am, Verstappen? Huh?”

He stopped leaning towards her, something he hadn’t noticed himself doing.

She took advantage of his hesitation. “I am a volunteer. What power do you think I have to change this for you?” she spat.

A scowl appeared on his face as he began to lean in again. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sadie saw Piastri start forward, his papaya suit around his hips. She put a hand out to stop him.

“I know who I am talking to. You are a three time world champion who will survive the depths of P4. You are Max Verstappen the reigning Champion, not Max Verstappen the upset child! Get your shit together!”

He stopped at that. All three, no four, as Lando Norris had appeared in the doorway, of the drivers did. Piastri and Leclerc looked ready to jump forward and restrain him.

Sadie saw the anger leave his eyes and said to everyone, “if you’re all sick of the FIA imposing these penalties just before interviews, maybe you should all say something. Together, as the drivers.”

It was Charles who shrugged. “If something happens in the final laps, it is fair for it to reach us after the race.”

“Yea,” Lando agreed. “But not half an hour after the chequered flag.”

All the drivers conceded that, recalling the penalties of Jeddah two weeks prior. 

“I’m going to read out your standings and you’re going to stand in that spot. Do not“ -Sadie glared at Max- “complain to me, I cannot help you.”

And read them out she did. Leclerc had won, Piastri had come a close second and Norris an even closer third. 

A few hundred metres away, and outside of the cooldown room, Verstappen silently simmered in his P4 position. When she left the room, Fernando Alonso smiled at Sadie from P5. Lewis Hamilton, in P6, held a fist out for a fist bump.

Sadie waited for her next job as the rest of the grid lined up in their order. They went out one by one and did their interviews.

Sadie sighed once they were all gone. At least, she’d thought they were all gone. Carlos Sainz, who had crashed out in lap 4, hadn’t gone out for his interviews yet.

“We all heard that. I don’t know if it was brave or stupid.”

Sadie jumped and shook her head. “I don’t know either and to be honest, I’m too tired to care. He was angry, I understand that, but my patience has been worn very thin.”

Sainz hummed thoughtfully as he left with a soft wave, red Ferrari suit right over his tensed shoulders.

Sadie pulled in a deep breath. Another volunteer told her that she was done for the day, and she gathered her gear. She’d be back in the morning to help pack down the equipment.

Sadie Leo needed some time to contemplate how she’d just yelled at Max fucking Verstappen.

--:--$--:--

“Charles!” The reporter called him over. “This is your first race of the season! How does that feel?”

“I mean,” he chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “I found out in the cooldown room, we all did. I’m still shocked! I don’t know what happened with the penalty or the flags, I’m just happy to have another win!”

“You weren’t sure that you won?”

Charles laughed through his, “no!”

After a small pause he added, “I think a volunteer was given the standing from the stewards. She told us, and told some of us off for complaining.”

“We saw the beginning of an argument between an official and Max, but the feed was cut. What happened there?”

“Ah well, we are all pretty annoyed by the penalties; that safety car was twenty laps ago and we were only just being told. It is frustrating, we are all frustrated."

Oscar Piastri's interview was similar.

"That was very well done out there, Oscar. How does the P2 in your home race feel?"

"I'm still trying to process the fact that I scored a podium in my home race. It's an incredible feeling."

"You were standing here when Charles spoke about the late penalties. Do you agree with his sentiment?"

"Yeah," the Australian answered without hesitation. "Frustration is the right word for what we're all feeling."

With a nod and a thank you, he handed back the microphone and walked away.

Lando stepped up.

"Congratulations," the reporter began. "That is another double podium for McLaren, how does it feel?"

"I'm gonna be honest, undeserved. Don't get me wrong, I think I did well today and I'm proud of Oscar and our team, but I didn't cross that line in third. I don't know the full story about Max's penalty but it just seems undeserved, you know? He should have kept the win. I should be P4, not Max. The FIA needs to sort it out."

"Wow, that's a strong opinion. Will you get in trouble for saying that live?"

Lando shrugged and pursed his lips. "If I do, I do."

His PR manager pulled him away before he could say anything more incriminating.

Then Max stepped up, still fuming.

"Max," the reporter began.

"I know what you're going to ask," he interrupted. "Yes, I'm upset about the penalty. Gasly passed me under yellow flag conditions. I was told that I was allowed to take the position back. It is an unfair penalty."

"Charles told us that a volunteer told all the drivers off for complaining. Surely you have a right to complain?"

Max let out a surprised huff of laughter. "Charles is being Charles! That volunteer told me off. I blamed her for the penalty and she put me back in my place. Volunteers don't dictate penalties and can't change them."

Max shrugged and moved to hand the microphone back to the reporter. She held up a hand to ask one last question.

"Do you think the stewards should revoke the penalty?"

"Yes. They shouldn't have given me a penalty and they shouldn't have handed it out half an hour after the safety car. I think that all of the drivers are sick of being told what place we finished after the race."

"Thank you for your time, Max. It was still an incredible race."

He nodded his thanks and moved on.

It was the same reply over and over.

We are tired of the FIA handing out penalties well after the fact.

We are frustrated.

We are annoyed.

We. We. We.

Sadie never watched any of the interviews. She didn’t watch the footage from the cooldown room, in which her face is hidden but her voice is alarmingly clear. She didn't realise the impact she'd had on the drivers.

As she wiped a hand across her sweaty brow the next day, she wondered if they had said anything. She was about to ask her friend, Aurora, when a shadow fell over her.

She turned to see Max Verstappen.

"Hi?" She frowned.

"I'm sorry" he blurted, squeezing his eyes shut in mortification at his slip up.

"What?"

"About yesterday," he muttered, opening those blue eyes. "I shouldn't have tried to intimidate you."

Sadie laughed and put down the tent peg she'd been using to remove other tent pegs. "The key word there is tried."

Max smiled at her laughter. He chuckled a little and stared down at his feet in the dirt.

"But," Sadie continued, "thank you for apologising. I didn't take it to heart. You’re trying to break records. Yesterday, something probably slipped through your fingers and it made you angry. I know, so it's okay."

Max's eyes widened at her nonchalant statement about his motivation.

"What?" she asked impatiently. "I figured out your goal? It wasn't hard, Verstappen."

"No, it's not that."

"What, then?"

"You had already forgiven me?"

"Yes, I forgave you the moment you left the room. You were angry and that was your response to the anger."

"That doesn't make it okay," he pressed. He didn't know why he was pushing her, she’d already forgiven him.

"Which is why you will never do it again." She pointed a dangerous finger at his face.

"Okay," he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Good. Now I’ve got things to do and you probably have somewhere you have to be.” Sadie pointed at the gazebo and then the bag it belonged to.

“Right, yes. I have a flight in a few hours, so I need to get to the airport. Have a great day, yeah? It was amazing to meet you.” He stepped backwards, with a thumbs up.

“It was an honour to meet you too Max Verstappen. Never forget who you are.”

Max had to take a deep breath as he strode away.

Never forget who you are.

You are Max Verstappen the world champion, not Max Verstappen the upset child.

He made a promise to himself then, and to Sadie, that he would hold himself to a higher standard. He could be better, he should be better, he would be better.

Let me know what you think!

credits to saradika-graphics for the banner :)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | AO3 link

Taglist: @snubug @cmleitora @izzy-marvel @aquangxl @morenofilm @viennakarma @simpingcorner @leilanixx

[onnoffwrites]

I have been losing my shit over this damn panel for the past THREE DAYS (more or less) and I need to yell somewhere so it's gonna go here.

It all began when I was writing my fic (I think this was for My Immortal), and I needed to recap significant hakukai moments. And I remembered "hey, I should include this one thing saguru said during sunset manor that was stupidly super gay for no fucking reason" bc like, yea hakukai not canon, but if canon was gonna give me a whole ass confession then I might as well use it. So, like always, I head to mangadex to look for this panel... Except... It's not there... The line... The line's not there... But I remember... I remember something about "the only one to disrupt/disturb my thinking/mind"... Where... I didn't imagine that right? I mean I read a lot of google translated Chinese fanfics but... I REMEMBERED reading that line... In a manga... In English... ON mangadex...

This is where I should mentioned, that if you weren't around for the Great Collapse of Mangadex. Then... Well, so there was this period of time where mangadex just DIDNT EXIST. Bc there was some cyber?? Attack??? On the site??? I can't fully remember. But it like wiped out most of the site. The mangas r just, gone. So mangadex fixed it. It took a while bc they figured "might as well revamp our site and system". And they did. And it's great. And it looks beautiful now, even more than before.

But see. The line I remembered? Yea... Yea that was from before The Collapse. And mangadex let multiple translation groups submit their translations. So u can read diff translations of diff group, see how things are interpreted differently... And... I remembered this one, that I posted here up top, but I remembered there was another. One that had The Line.

And it was driving crazy so, like usual, I asked my cn friend. But my cn friend (why am I still saying that, it's @beingvv , that's the friend) has A Life, and isn't always online, and we love that for ppl. So. I'm still crazy. I can't trust my own damn mind and memory bc why tf do I remember something that isn't there (happened before btw, but that has nothing to do with this).

Luckily, I have a friend who knows jp. UNLUCKILY, I don't have the jp raws and it's from chapter 300 and we are in the thousands. So, I went back to losing my mind. Until I found it again, and realized. Heyyyyyyy there's a whole ass ANIME. So like the baggage my dear friend had the misfortune to be saddled with, I went to find the ep, timestamped it, yelled begged them for help.

This is where I lose my damn mind the first time in the recent weeks.

(thank you my dear piglet, u don't even go here but u tolerate my insanity)

THIS. THIS WAS THE LINE. THATS WHAT I REMEMBERED.

So, I feel a little more sane (bc my mind didn't fabricate a memory again) and also A LOT more insane bc WHY WOULD U SAY THAT, HAKUBA SAGURU 😭😭😭 WHY WOULD U SAY IT LIKE THAT 😭😭😭

In any case I feel validated. Told beingvv about my discoveries (for whenever they come back) not that they need it cn fandom already got the correct translation. And finished writing my fic.

And then Saguru's comeback was announced.

So I've been losing my shit for 3 days on twitter, looking at all my fave KR and JP accounts and the things they say.

And then someone dug up and old tweet thread that talked about this panel. Specifically, op talked about the nuance in the word choice used.

Here's the og thread if anyone wants to read or Google translate it urself.

(mkppyong my love, bless you)

Bc mkppyong talked to a jp acquaintance about ??? Uh I dunno just language I guess. POINT IS. They pointed out that gosho used specific words/phrases that really wasn't needed if all he wanted to say was "the only one who drives me crazy/mad." But he did used them. It's specifically "his thoughts/mind" that's being driven crazy. And that if he wants to just talk about Saguru's mind being disrupted/confused, then there's rly no need to use the words "go crazy"

And then they wrote out a whole symbolism about clocks and saguru and being broken down/disrupted and I lost my shit over the clock symbolism, sue me 😭😭😭

I don't think I'm making sense anymore bUT WAIT, THERES MORE, THE FINAL BLOW

THE THAI TRANSLATION

This is where I expose myself more than I ever want to, but here's a fact. I'm thai

Here's a second fact. I'm SHIT at Thai. I've been bad at this language before I got good at English. My Thais as good as an elementary student. Every time I understand difficult words I get confused bc where did I know THAT from???

In any case, point is, I saw that tweet, read the text, immediately understood it and began losing my shit all over again... And then I doubted... Bc like, I'm not good with this lang anymore... Maybe im understanding it wrong? So I look up Google.

Google: คลุ้มคลั่ง just means go crazy

So I was like, damn guess I'm wrong, read too much into this. BUT SEE BC I LIVE HERE I HAVE FRIENDS WHO ARENT A DISGRACE. And so my friend said:

SO WELCOME TO MY THIRD ROUND OF INSANITY.

HAKUBA SAGURU WHY WOULD U SAY THIS SHIT IN FRONT OF LIKE NINE OTHER PPL 😭😭😭😭😭 BOY WHY R U TELLING THEM UR OBSESSED 😭😭😭 youre driving ME crazy 😭😭😭

So. Here we are. At the end. I have no idea how tf I'm supposed to end this post. I'VE been obsessed for 3 days straight. I don't have a lot of braincell left in me (there weren't any to begin with). I don't have a statement to wrap this post up in a nice little bow. Go make ur own conclusion I dunno.

But I would not have been losing my shit over this stupid panel for a month if it wasn't for the fact that eng translation was missing a pretty crutial thing in what Saguru said. I don't know if this was a mistranslation or a misunderstanding or something, but the English translation was lacking. And I love and have always been thankful and grateful to the ppl who worked hard to translate mangas in their free time, and do it all for free, bc I haven't had any real way to rent/borrow mangas from renting shops/libraries in years. So this was one of the only ways I can read mangas. But, even as I checked the raw panel with Google lens just now, even google translate it as "the only one to make my thoughts go round." No where was there any mention of "case" and "solving." So that's just, multiple accounts of ppl who knows jp, including native jp speakers, all saying that this panel is Saguru saying "the only one to drive me crazy". And man I rly hope this doesn't make me come off as ungrateful or like shitting on the translation team, I'm rly not. But yea. Uh. The translation was wrong. And I remembered that there used to be a diff eng translation. And it led me to go to all this trouble and journey to find out what was actually said. And here we are, at the end.

The only one who could disrupt Saguru's thinking.

The only one who could disturb Saguru's mind.

The one whose sole existence drives him mad.

The only one to make his mind obsess over till he's driven to madness.

Or to use the symbolism mkppyong wrote: the only one to break down the clock, the precise and accurate mechanism, that is Hakuba Saguru.

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

More children! Sakura: She was definitely the hardest design for me to do but my gosh was it rewarding as hell. I wanted to ensure she looked strong but also cute and all. Thus, I gave her a little flower broach/pin of some sorts on her chest and a little red butterfly clip. Who knows. Maybe it's a gift that she got. Also, I did try with the muscles. I am not the best at those but I tried! Also contemplated giving her pants so she could fight better but opted for the skirt so she still has some ties to her original design. Will def draw her in a full gi sometime though. Might also give her a design with bandages on her arms too. Chihiro: I used a bit of one of Chihiro's beta designs as a base since it was giving some cute energy. Gave Chihiro some headphones too since the outfit wasn't giving the programmer energy. Not that Chihiro's base outfit gives programmer. Still though, wanted to get some of that in there. Also, I have no idea why but I'm looking at little Chihiro now and imagining them making a ton of cool as hell games on Scratch. Not cus they can't use other programs but that they're just that good. Aoi: Was both easy and hard to do for her. Her base outfit already works well for an itty bitty version and I wanted to ensure that I wasn't just drawing the characters but shrunk down. Thus, I gave Aoi longer hair. The hair at the top didn't change though since it's iconic and adds to her silhouette more. No clue how I'd reinvent that. For the colors, I will be real. I kinda just picked whatever to make it look similar but not the same as her original counter part. Thus, hoodie on the waist! Made her shoes similar though cus I felt they fit with that sorta energy of a little girl who's just throwing on some clothes before running off to do some stuff and practice her swimming. Added the acne too cus preteen. Mondo: This little biker boy. Yeah. I had the same issues I had with Aoi which was that his base design was already pretty good material for a younger revamp. However, I needed to give him more stuff to work with. Thus, purple leather coat with the sleaves ripped off! He did not do it for fashion. He probably says that he got into a really gnarly fight when he just got a bit too rowdy with a giant ass dog or something. I also gave him like, one of those twigs or like, a toothpick in his mouth. Cus why not. It looked cool and gave him more. His hair stayed the same too cus he could have gotten tips and tricks how to style it from his older brother, Daiya. Like, Mondo is kinda mirroring him in a sense cus of how much he admires him. Finally, once again with the middle schooler acne. Kiyotaka: I feel Taka has that energy of his younger selves looking like shrunk down versions of his older self. He just has that vibe to him. Thus, I just did some small adjustments for him. Have him a little star on him cus he just gives MAJOR energy of that one kid who excelled and always got like "the star of the day" or something like that. Gave him little boy shorts too cus why not! They look cute! And yes. I gave Taka the Spongebob socks. He does not know that they are the socks of the Sponge. Also, the boots stayed cus why not! Maybe he also wants to look taller cus maybe's a bit on he shorter size. Who knows! I don't! One last thing is that I gave Taka like a missing tooth/tooth gap in his bottom row. I just felt it really added to the whole design. Hope the designs are good here too! As I mentioned on Aoi's section, wanted to ensure that they weren't just a carbon copy of themselves since no one is once they get older. So, yeah. This means I will give them all some horrible fashion choses too or just stuff they could look back on and be like "ew! so tacky". Think that'd be pretty fun!

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part eight

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

hope is a dangerous thing.

a/n: it’s heeeeeeeeere. full disclosure - it might be a few days until part 9 goes up; as far as I know, tonight’s ep shows some flashbacks which means I might have to do a bit of revamping! plus I really don’t wanna burn myself out with this one, there’s still so much ground to cover!!

word count: 4.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, yearning, nightmares, mentions/allusions to sex, if I missed something let me know.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

The days bleed into months, and before you know it, the snow comes. Winter.

You haven’t left the mall. Or, haven’t been allowed to leave the mall. Every time you cross paths with Cowan, it’s the same conversation.

“Let me through the gate.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You’re nothing if not persistent, but you try your best to make yourself useful. You and Deanna have formed some kind of friendship, and you help her out as much as you can. At first, you don’t know much about treating injuries besides the bit you remember from an old first aid course, so you pay close attention to her movements, handing her supplies when she needs it, taking her orders in stride.

She was an army nurse, you learn, and lost her husband long before the outbreak. “Just as well,” she told you, a sad smile on her face. “He barely came back to me after Vietnam. I don’t think he could have survived this.”

They never had kids, but she tells you her niece and nephew may as well have been her own. “They live in Cape Cod, on the coast.” Her face went dark. “Lived.” Then she looked at you. “You remind me of my niece, you know. Fierce little thing.”

She teaches you how to dress wounds and clean them, when something needs stitches and when glue will do, how to stretch the materials you have left as far as possible. When injured soldiers show up after the first snow, she puts you to work.

Cowan’s among them, a ricochet bullet in his shoulder. Deanna hasn’t shown you anything like that yet, and you balk a little as he pulls off his gear, blood pouring down his arm. “Wait here.”

You sprint across the floor to where Deanna is literally elbow-deep in another soldier who clearly hadn’t been as lucky as Cowan. “What d’you need, kid?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, spying a pair of forceps on the table nearby and grabbing them. “Just these. I’ll come help you after—”

“You go take care of Nicky,” she orders, her voice almost stern. “You don’t leave his side until you know he’s all right, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You sprint back to Cowan, finding him hunched over, hand pressed to his arm, blood staining his knuckles. You grab a pair of scissors from the tray beside you, hooking your arm under his shoulder and getting him upright. “Fuck!” he shouts, and you grit your teeth.

“Sorry.” You cut away his t-shirt, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between his fingers, and his other hand curls into a fist on the table. “What happened?”

“Bunch of runners,” he breathes out, and you yank his hand away from the wound quickly, replacing it with a thick scrap of towel, pressing your hand into his shoulder. He winces, tipping his head back. “Came right up over the fence.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I told you that chain link wouldn’t hold forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, you should run the world.” He meets your gaze, holds it. “You ask me to let you through the gate again, and I swear to god—”

“I wasn’t going to,” you say quickly. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not a lie either. “But I want to help, if I can.”

The towel has already soaked through with his blood, and it makes your gut twist. “Help?”

“Teach me to shoot,” you say. You’re trying to distract him, and grab his hand, pressing it against the towel. “Hold this.”

“Bat’s not enough for you?”

“No, but the rifle I found in the sporting goods shop upstairs will definitely help,” you reply, grabbing the forceps and wiping them down with a bit of antiseptic. “Especially once I get out of here.”

Cowan stares at you, that hard gaze he’s become famous for. “Why d’you wanna get out of here so bad? You’re—”

“If you tell me I’m safe here, Corporal, I’m leaving that bullet in your shoulder.”

He actually laughs. “God, you are something else, you know that?” 

You freeze, for a moment. Suddenly, you’re standing in your kitchen, in Austin. Joel Miller is handing you a bouquet of daisies and telling you you’re beautiful and kissing your cheek. The memory catches you off-guard, and you only come back down to earth when Cowan squeezes your wrist, peering at you.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply instantly, shaking your head. “We need to get that bullet out.”

You hold up the forceps, bracing your hand on his collar. “This isn’t gonna feel great, is it?”

“Well, it sure as hell won’t tickle,” you admit. “Is this the first time you’ve taken a bullet?”

“No. Second.”

“Pull this away, when I say,” you instruct, tapping the back of his hand. “I gotta be quick.”

“Have you done this before?”

You lift a shoulder, a nervous little laugh falling out of your mouth. “I watched Deanna do it a couple weeks back. It was in the guy’s gut though, not his shoulder.”

“Did he live?”

You go quiet. “Move your hand.” He hesitates. “Now, Cowan.”

He moves his hand, pulling the towel away, and you push the forceps in. The air seems to go completely still as you fish for the bullet. Cowan’s face is screwed up in pain, both hands curled around the edge of the cot, white-knuckled. “Did the guy live?”

“No,” you admit finally, feeling the soft clink of metal hitting metal. Bingo. “But we found a bite on his leg after, so the internal bleeding was probably the better way to go.” You twist the forceps, and he hisses in pain. “Tell me about the first time you got shot.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?” you quip, and he actually smiles.

“It was basic training,” he starts, and you nod, focusing on his shoulder. The forceps pinch around the bullet, and you pull ever so slightly. “My buddy and I were just fucking around. He didn’t know the thing was loaded.”

“He shot you on purpose?” you ask, brows raised. You pull a little more, making sure the grip holds.

“Not on purpose,” Cowan replies, and you can feel his eyes on your face. “We were just kids, then. Just screwing around, trying to fill the time. And now…”

“He still around?” you ask, prompting him further. “Your buddy.”

“I hope so,” he replies. “He moved to California, after we finished basic. I really hope he—motherfucker!”

You pull the bullet all the way out with a flourish, dropping the forceps onto the tray and grabbing a fresh piece of gauze. He hisses again when you press the new gauze to his shoulder, and you scoff. “Baby.”

“You just pulled a bullet out of me.”

“I’m aware,” you throw back, pressing a little harder. “I still think you’re a baby.”

He gives you the signature Stare before glancing down at his shoulder, taking over the pressure you’re holding, and you step away to get an actual roll of gauze. “Meet me at the south entrance tomorrow, and I’ll teach you.” You turn back, your brows raised. “To shoot, I mean. Bring the rifle. You have ammo?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Yeah, managed to find a few boxes.”

“Good.”

You nod, unable to hide the grin that pulls your lips. “Good.”

+

They’re somewhere near Nashville. He thinks; Tommy’s been navigating, Joel’s just been following his brother. The weather has held up mostly, but now they’re holed up in some shack Tommy found in the woods, hiding from the rain. It’s been constant, nearly three days now, and Joel can’t fucking sleep.

He hasn’t slept well since they left Austin, not that he expected to. The few beds they’ve found have been heaven, but every time he closes his eyes, the dreams come, and he’s reliving that night all over again. Doesn’t matter how many days go by, and he knows it doesn’t matter at all how much time passes. He’s never gonna forget.

He took first watch, told Tommy to get some shuteye and parked himself on the front porch, watching the rain slide of the metal roof, pooling in front of the shack, running downhill like a river. There’s mud caked on his boots, and he feels dirty down to his bones. It’s been a few days since they had real shelter, though, and he revels in the silence, being away from the main roads.

But the silence lets his mind wander, and when that happens, it lands on you, more often than not. Sarah is always there, in the back of his head, the sound of her voice forcing him further, but when he gets a moment alone — a rarity now — he lets himself remember you.

Your last conversation still haunts him. The fear in your voice, the way you’d sounded so out of it when you first picked up, and he’d brought you back down, focused you. Patch yourself up. Take what you can and go. Get the hell out of Boston.

I’ll find you, baby.

Sometimes, the hope invades his heart like a disease, branching through his limbs and making his chest ache with it. He has to hope that you made it out, that you’re alive somewhere, that your paths are leading straight towards each other. Every time they come over a hill or turn a corner, he feels that tug in his gut, a quiet promise that this time, you’ll be heading straight towards him, a big smile on your face.

But Joel knows that hope is a dangerous thing to let in, to nurture. As hard as he wishes you alive, he knows the opposite is more than likely. He sees it when he does manage to get some sleep, nightmares infiltrating his brain until he wakes up panting, the phantom feeling of his daughter’s blood on his skin melting away far too slowly.

Right now, he’s forcing himself to remember the good.

That last week, before you’d left for Boston. He took you to that open field every night, almost, held you in his arms, kept you close and never let your mouth get too far from his. He’d buried his face in your neck and memorized the smell of you, the feel of you, the taste.

You pulled on his hand, led him away from the truck and into the open field. You laid down in the grass side by side, the sound of crickets and the soft wind the only thing you could hear. He’d leaned over you, cupped your cheek in his palm, rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. You kissed his fingers, giggling when he rolled himself on top of you a moment later, his mouth chasing yours.

He planted his hands either side of your head and you reached for his belt, dragging your hands down his chest. He could feel your heartbeat, when he pressed himself against you, the twitch of your knees along his ribs as you held him closer. That’s how it always was between you two, who could get the other closer, how much could you pull until the space between no longer existed?

Joel still remembers the noise you made when he pushed into you, right there in the grass. The way you’d dug your nails into his back so fucking hard it made him moan louder, the sound echoing through the night. The blissful smile on your face as the pleasure ripped through you, and Joel felt it, the tightness of your body, the way he could taste it on your tongue.

God, he loved you so goddamned much.

A clap of thunder yanks him out of his head, and he flinches hard, the gun in his lap sliding onto the wooden porch. He’s on his feet in a moment, shoving both hands through his hair, and without another thought, he steps out from under the shelter of the roof. The rain pelts him instantly, soaking through his clothes, making goosebumps rise on his arms.

It feels good. He tilts his face towards the sky, feels the water drip down his arms.

He hears your voice, in his head. What you said that night, under the stars, laid out on his chest, your eyes glassy. “I won’t ever stop thinking about you, Joel Miller. Not for a million years.”

He never should have let you leave Austin. Not in a million years.

+

Cowan stays true to his word. He teaches you to shoot, not just the rifle you’d stolen from the mall, but other guns, too. Shows you some tricks with the hunting knife you’d found in Dean’s bag, even teaches you how to build a fire. You stop asking him to let you through the gate, and he stops giving you the Stare. After a few lessons, he starts bringing you along on patrols. You carry the rifle and the bat, the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The temperature is dropping, the snow sticking consistently, and the UPS jacket you’d stolen months back comes in handy, keeping you warmer than you expect.

There’s not much conversation to be had between you two, and when you do talk, it’s light shit. You avoid the subject of families, partners and the like. You mostly talk about music, and you laugh the hardest you have in a long time when Cowan admits to you that he’s seen the Backstreet Boys in concert three separate times. You’re bent in half with laughter, tears in your eyes, and he starts laughing along with you.

The laughter stops, however, when you circle back to the mall. There are four trucks outside, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up when you see Deanna step through the doors. Everyone else who’d been inside, faces you recognize, people you’ve met, they’re all coming out of the mall. Deanna has blood on her scrubs, a strange look in her eye.

“McCoy!” Cowan calls once you’re close enough, and a soldier turns. “What’s going on?”

Both the soldiers step to the side, and you make a bee-line for Deanna, swinging your rifle onto your back. “What happened?”

The older woman looks shaken, and she grabs you once you’re close enough, her hands digging into the sleeves of your coat. “T-Tim,” she stutters, and your brow hardens. You know who she’s talking about;  Tim, his wife Marcy, their two kids. Their cots weren’t far from yours in the department store. You’d helped their youngest son, Henry, when he’d cracked his forehead on the tile, tripped on his own feet chasing his little sister, Emily, around the mall. Hell, you’d had dinner with them just the night prior, you and Tim had made the kids giggle slurping your noodles. “He just…” Deanna trails off, and fear twists your stomach in an iron vice.

“Are the kids okay?”

She nods furiously, still holding onto you tightly. “But…but Marcy, she…he just…” She looks back towards the mall, gestures for a moment before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’d never seen one up close before.”

Deanna collapses into your arms, and you hug her tightly, half worried she’s passed out, but the worry passes when you feel her hands fist in the back of your jacket. Over her shoulder, you see a soldier leading Henry and Emily outside. Henry still has a bandaid on his forehead, and Emily is clutching his hand, tear tracks on her face. Your heart aches.

“I’m gonna go with them,” Deanna tells you, pulling away after a moment, and you just nod. She jogs after the kids, and you turn back to where Cowan and McCoy are still talking. Cowan has a hard look on his face, and his jaw tightens as you approach.

“What the hell is going on?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re supposed to be safe in the mall, Corporal. That’s what you said. I could have been halfway to Texas by now. Hell, I could have been in Texas by now.”

“I know what I said,” he bites back before heaving a sigh. “We got an update, from FEDRA HQ.”

You lift a brow. “And?”

He glances at the stream of people still filing out of the mall. “The fungus, the thing that’s causing this, it’s in the food. We need to check everything that was in the mall, everything that was handed out. Production dates, expiry dates, it’ll give us an idea of what needs to be destroyed, but—”

“But there’s a chance everyone in there ate something contaminated,” you finish, swallowing back the bile that rises in your mouth. “There’s a chance we’re all already infected.”

Cowan’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“What do we do now, then?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the people filling the street outside the mall. “Where do we go? Standing around here like this, it’s just gonna attract them.”

“There are buildings that have been deemed safe,” McCoy tells you, and Cowan just nods. “The quarantine zone has been marked off. We take everyone there, separate you for now, keep an eye out for anyone changing.”

Cowan nods. “Check everyone for bites, again.” He meets your eyes for a moment before calling for two other soldiers. He starts barking orders, and you turn to McCoy.

“I thought the city was the quarantine zone.”

He shakes his head. “Too much space. FEDRA gave us the borders, showed us where to go. The walls’ll go up soon, and we’ll be that much safer.”

You balk. “More chain link bullshit?”

McCoy shakes his head again. “No, ma’am. Bricks. Guard towers, barbed wire. The whole kit and caboodle.”

You swallow hard. Shit.

+

The chain link stays up. The walls of the quarantine zone press deeper into the city, and as promised, you’re shuffled into apartment buildings. There’s still blood everywhere you look, damaged ceilings, broken windows. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but the building itself is intact, and that’s apparently good enough for FEDRA.

They put you in separate units, the number of survivors taking up less than half the building. You stay with Deanna and the kids. Emily clings to your side, her arms wrapped around your leg more often than not. She hasn’t said a word since you left the mall.

The soldiers patrol the streets and the hallways, and after a week, six more people turn. They’re put down without a second thought, their bodies carried out of the building. The food supplies are carted from the mall to a warehouse within the new zone limits, and everything that was given to you is taken back for inspection. It’s a lot of waiting, of pacing the floor of your new home, of trying to come up with ways to distract the kids from what’s happening.

Shortly after you’d been evacuated from the mall, they’d brought out Tim and Marcy’s bodies, and your hands had started to shake violently when you saw the blood on Tim’s face, the deep gouge in his wife’s throat. Bullets in both their skulls. It had all happened so fast.

And you’d been eating the same things they had.

The worry gnaws at your stomach. You’d protested, at first, when Deanna insisted you come with them. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t bear to see the pain on the older woman’s face deepen when you admitted you feared the worst. She still managed to pull it out of you, later that night, after you’d put the kids to sleep in the only bedroom, the pair of you sitting at the kitchen table.

“If it happens, it happens, kid,” she said, gripping your hand tightly. “And we deal with it. That’s all we can do.” You’d nodded, and she’d reached into her bad, producing a bottle of gin. “Something to take the edge off.” You nodded again.

A week passed, the six were put down, and you were safe. Your mind started to wander. Trucks filled with construction material arrived at the edges of the quarantine zone every day; you could see them from the apartment. More FEDRA soldiers, some venturing into the city to find usable materials. Soon enough, the wall was starting to take shape.

And if the wall went all the way up, that meant you were never getting out of Boston. Never getting the opportunity to find your family, or Joel.

But, the wall has only just begun, which means there are still holes in the boundary, and with more soldiers assigned to the quarantine zone itself, that means the chain link is left unguarded, for the most part.

They announce curfew hours and the consequences for breaking those hours, and you start planning. Collecting things, weapons and food that won’t spoil, refilling your first aid kit. You take what ammo you can find, nicking a few boxes from the FEDRA tents when no one’s paying attention. You still have the maps from the bookstore, your hastily-drawn path still marked on the pages.

You wait for nightfall, and you run.

You leave Deanna a note, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you’ll try to send a message that you’re safe, once you are. The kids are fast asleep, and you kiss their heads before you go.

Your path through the city leads you right past your apartment, and your heart nearly stops. The entire front of the building has been exploded inward, no doubt a result of the bombings. If you look hard, you can see the edge of your living room, behind the twisted rebar and broken bricks. You want to linger, but you don’t, the shout of an Infected pushing you forward, gripping the bat tightly.

The construction of the wall left a lot of tools laying around, and it was all too easy to find a pair of large wire cutters. You found a piece of chain link in an alley within the quarantine zone, and tested it out. Sure enough, a clean cut.

There are still patrols along the chain link, but they’re more sporadic. The guard posts have been dismantled, dragged further inwards, set up again along the new walls. You see a soldier pass by the spot you’re aiming for, and wait until he’s completely out of sight before bolting across the pavement to the fence, pulling out the wire cutters.

You have one foot through when you hear a familiar voice.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Cowan’s kept his distance, since you moved into the building. It bothers you and doesn’t at the same time. But in a way, you got what you wanted from him; you’re more confident that you could make it beyond the fence now. Especially with the rifle strapped to your back.

Your head drops, and you pull your leg back out, straightening and turning on your heel towards him. “You really thought I wouldn’t try it?”

“I really didn’t think you were this stupid,” he shoots back, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious. You will die out there, why don’t you get that?”

You grip the chain link, the metal rattling beneath your shaking fingers. “I can’t just sit around here for the rest of my life, Cowan.”

“So you’d rather waste it, out there?” He gestures towards the fence with his rifle, to what lays beyond. “What good will that do? You’re smart, you know there’s a good chance your family is dead.”

“But until I know—” you start, and your voice betrays you, cracking on the word. You swallow hard. “Why can’t you just let me go? What difference does it make?”

His strange dark eyes narrow at you. They’re blue, you’ve come to learn, but a dark shade that sometimes looks black. “Come with me. There’s something I want you to see.” You open your mouth to protest, and he lifts a hand. “Come with me first; if you still want to leave afterward, then I’ll take you through myself.”

You stare at him for a long moment before slinging your bag from your shoulders, pulling out a length of rope. You thread it through the split fence, yanking the metal back into place and tying it off. Once you’re done, you get back to your feet, and when Cowan turns to leave, you follow.

He takes you back to the quarantine zone. A few soldiers shoot you looks, since you’re out past curfew, but Cowan waves them all off. “She’s with me.”

You keep following him, heart hammering in your throat as he leads you into one of the buildings they’ve cleared out. Down a long hallway, a few more soldiers giving you looks, before Cowan ducks through a doorway, waving at you to follow.

“What is this?”

There are tables everywhere, cords spilling out of boxes, hooked along the walls. On the walls, all sorts of maps and notices, FEDRA orders staring back at you. A soldier sits in the middle of it all, headphones hooked over her ears, twisting the knobs on a gigantic radio, adjusting the antenna. When she sees you and Cowan standing there, she pulls off the headphones, a grin on her face. “Hey, Nick.”

“Melissa,” he nods, and juts his thumb towards you. “Can you set it for the Austin base? And give us a sec?”

She just nods, her face falling slightly, and twists more of the knobs. Her brow furrows a bit until she gets the right frequency, and then she gets up out of her chair, holds the headphones towards you. “Hit the red button to talk, and let go once you’re done, or else they can’t talk back.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the headset from her. You look at Cowan. “What is…?”

“It’ll connect you with the FEDRA base in Austin. You can give them the names, of the people you’re looking for. They’ll be able to tell you if they’re in the shelters there. If they’re not there, there’s no telling if they’re alive or dead, but at least you’ll know if they’re safe or not.”

Your brow furrows. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“I can’t reassure you,” Cowan says bluntly, and as you sink into the chair, he perches on the desk beside you. “No one can. The world is a fucking minefield, and while yes, I’ll admit you’re a good shot and you clearly know what you’re doing with that bat, you will die out there. If your family isn’t still in Austin, I can almost guarantee you, they are dead.”

You rip your eyes from his face, turning your gaze to the radio, the little flashing lights and the knobs. “You don’t know that.”

There’s a hand under your chin a second later, and Cowan turns your face towards him again, drags your eyes back to his. “I meant what I said. If you still want to leave, I will take you through the gate myself, no more bullshit. But talk to the base first. Find out if they’re still there before you throw your life away on hope.”

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