#i stopped everything i was doing in the middle of class to post this

[overadores]

･ ⟢ ⋮ last look ゛༝. ✦ daniela avanzini

"And then some days you wake up

pairing.ᐟ daniela avanzini x reader.

about.ᐟ Daniela never meant to let Y/N in, but from the moment they met, there was no stopping it. Their bond was fast, messy, and unbreakable—until one tragic night shattered everything. Now, drowning in loss and memories, Daniela must find a way to move forward, even when it feels impossible.

genre.ᐟ heavy angst. hurt no comfort.

cw.ᐟ established relationship, major character death, car accident, language.

wc.ᐟ 1159 words

a/n.ᐟ this is for anon who requested angst before valentines :D and i highly recommend to listen to the song while reading 'cause it'll hurt so good. Don't worry guys, I'll post fluff for after this (maybe)

and everything's perfect."

Daniela met Y/N.

It started at a college party, the kind neither of them wanted to be at. Daniela was nursing a drink, staring blankly at the crowd, and then Y/N was just there, somehow weaving herself into Daniela’s life with an ease that was both infuriating and magnetic. They became friends quickly, laughing too loudly in coffee shops, sneaking out of boring classes just to sit in the library together, talking about everything and nothing.

They had their ups and downs—fights that ended in slammed doors, silent treatments that stretched too long, reconciliations over shared cigarettes on apartment balconies, but through everything, they stayed.

They always stayed.

Tonight, Y/N had called her just minutes before, voice laced with urgency as she reassured Daniela that she had picked up the anniversary gift. Their car had broken down earlier that week, leaving Y/N no choice but to take the motorbike. Daniela had laughed, telling her to be careful, that they had all the time in the world.

“You should’ve just taken a cab,” Daniela muttered, gripping the umbrella tighter as she stood under it.

“I would have, but someone forgot her keys inside the apartment,” Y/N shot back, teasing. “It’s fine, Dani. Just a little rain.”

Daniela sighed, shaking her head even though Y/N couldn’t see it. “You always say that. Just get home, okay?”

“I’m almost there,” Y/N promised.

Then a sound—a sickening screech of tires against wet pavement, the sharp impact of metal against flesh and bone. The phone clattered to the ground, and Daniela’s heart dropped.

“Hello? Y/N?” Her voice was tight, frantic. “What happened? Why is there someone screaming?”

Silence.

“HELLO?”

Then the call disconnected.

The world didn’t shatter in an instant. It crumbled slowly, piece by piece, as Daniela stood frozen in the middle of their apartment, her fingers gripping the phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She redialed, over and over, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. The minutes stretched, heavy and suffocating, until the call that ended her life came.

Y/N was gone.

In the days that followed, Daniela didn’t remember much of the funeral. Just hands on her back, voices murmuring words that meant nothing, and the crushing weight of absence. Everyone told her they were sorry, but sorry didn’t bring Y/N back.

Sorry didn’t make it hurt any less.

She couldn’t stay in the apartment anymore. Their home—once filled with laughter, warmth, and half-finished books—now felt like a mausoleum of memories she couldn’t escape. Every corner held a ghost, every room a whisper of Y/N’s laughter.

She moved out. She had to. Their apartment—no, her apartment now—was too much, too empty. Instead, she bought the house they had been saving for, the one Y/N had been so excited about. It felt like an insult to do it without her, to step into a dream they had built together alone, but she did it anyway.

Packing was the hardest part.

She wandered into Y/N’s office, surrounded by shelves coated in dust, boxes filled with remnants of a life they had planned. Her fingers traced the spines of books Y/N had promised to read, their framed pictures still clinging to the walls, the office chair still tucked neatly under the desk as if Y/N would come back at any moment and sit down.

She slid down the wall, a drink in hand, staring at nothing. The apartment was silent now, unbearably so.

Then, a voice.

“You know you can just get rid of it, right?”

She turned, and there she was. Y/N, sitting beside her, the same lopsided smile, the same teasing glint in her eyes. She wasn’t real—couldn’t be, but Daniela didn’t care. She just looked at her, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“You know I can’t do that,” she murmured.

Y/N smiled softly. “But keep our photos, though. We looked happy there, and you looked too good in your twenties.”

Daniela let out a broken laugh, her chest tightening. “I know. You always tell me that.”

Y/N just gave her a soft smile. “It won’t always be like this.”

Daniela shook her head. “And why wouldn’t it? What’s going to change it?”

“Time.”

Y/N leaned her head on Daniela’s shoulder, her presence warm and familiar. “It wasn’t your fault, Dani,” she whispered.

“But why does it feel like it is? Why does it feel like I’m being eaten alive by this guilt?”

Y/N wiped away the tears that spilled down Daniela’s cheeks. “It’ll go on like that until it doesn’t.” She held Daniela’s face in her hands, pressing their foreheads together. Daniela broke, her sobs raw and unrestrained. Her mind kept replaying the doctor’s voice, the moment the world shattered around her.

“It was the drunk driver who was at fault, my love.” Y/N continued, her voice calm, even as tears traced silent paths down Daniela’s cheeks. “You’ll feel guilty and hungover and just... shit.”

Daniela choked on a sob. “I should’ve been there.”

Daniela shook her head violently. “How do I move on from this? What if I don’t want to? What if I just want you here, because I can’t—I can’t let you go?”

Y/N smiled sadly. “My love, you’ll just hurt yourself more if you do that. There are things that need to be let go.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to Daniela’s forehead, the ghost of a touch, the whisper of something slipping through her fingers. The two sat in silence, Y/N fading into the dim light of the room, until Daniela was alone again.

And she knew—truly knew—that she wasn’t coming back.

The house felt hollow.

The walls echoed with silence.

The bed was too big.

The books stayed unread.

Daniela tried. She really did. She went through the motions, unpacked, made coffee in the mornings, and went for walks, but there were still nights where she reached for her phone, muscle memory dialing Y/N’s number before she remembered. There were still days where she set out two plates instead of one, still moments where she turned to share a joke, only to be met with nothing but empty air.

She had known love. Had lived it. Had lost it.

And now, she had to figure out how to keep going without it.

It wasn’t a grand moment of healing. It was small things. Breathing. Moving. Letting time pass. It was placing a book on Y/N’s shelf instead of leaving it empty. It was standing in the kitchen without breaking down. It existed. Surviving. And sometimes, that had to be enough.

One day, it wouldn’t feel like this. One day, it wouldn’t hurt so much. One day, maybe—just maybe—she’d wake up, and it wouldn’t feel like the world had ended.

But not today.

'Cause Y/N was not just a chapter in her story. She was the whole damn book.

[cogmented]

hi cogmented! love the art. do you have any tips for beginners? thanks and have a good day

HI YES YOU TOO i think most of these are applicable to beginners and non-beginners

i learned these tips from two low level art classes based on charcoal so i find some of these a lot easier through traditional means, but the skills learned from them should be transferable through any medium

i wont be touching on color or perspective too much, here's a past post i did on colors.. more so values, but it didnt go in-depth as i would have liked

shape and form are fundamentals for visual art. you need to think of form to get your shapes around it

mass and additive are kind of the same thing, just the filling of the shape, no lines involved. gesture is more so for the feeling of the same, and line gets further definition

here are some of my digital examples:

mass, gesture, line

subtractive

the top left drawing started as mass, where i formed the two people's positions into one blob and then colored over it

once you start getting those down, you can start applying it. but, you may want to look at what other artists are doing too

tracing, doing master copies, and using references are all fair methods of learning off of another, just dont pass off traced or copied art as your own

tracing tends to make your lines appear stiff, especially if you are tracing a more gestural drawing. you don't get the same motion as when you are simply referencing

mastercopies are replicas of the art work, made to look exactly like it in an attempt to emulate the same techniques the original artist might have used. i find this personally the most tedious, but beneficial method, but it may not be the easiest thing to do as a beginner who is not used to quick hand motions or confident lines.

this mastercopy sucks because mimicking traditional on digital is not the easiest thing in the world, and i on god just fucked it up, but you can see how that form and shading is much more similar than the other two

using an image as a reference is the most widely known method, but it may not look exactly how you want it to at the start! you might simply not know how line weight, textures, or line methods work yet, which is something figured out through practice and observation

and speaking of observation,

this looks okay, doesnt it?

but there is something much more structured to this, right?

it is hard to not assume you know how things look. you see things every day! your reference is right there! but really think about what you're drawing, and what it looks like.

references are always helpful, be sure to glance back frequently and really look at the distance between things, how things are rotated, how things curve around each other, and where shadows add definition

and even the bottom drawing does not capture everything correctly (the top left is not pointed enough, the middle is too high, the bottom right back fabric is too low, the bottom left is missing a fold, etc etc) i gave myself 5 minutes max for these, but it certainly looks more correct and it is not just more well developed shading

(the box is something i do often to get the size of shapes down, or to see how much space something will take on the canvas)

and always always always experiment

you do not have to draw every line, you do not have to put every detail in its right place, you are only trying to get visual information across in a manner that you enjoy

if you have an idea, but dont think you can do it, the most important thing is that you try it anyway. if it looks like shit and you dont like it, try again another day, just dont stop drawing because one day you will be able to do it

dont be afraid to erase things, to start over if you dont like it, even if you spent time on it, because you can always redo it better the next time and each time it is another thing learned or whatever. or keep it cause it looks funny or interesting who cares, as long as youre doing something

[werewolf-gimmickk]

Headcanon that Bradley Depalma also has an imaginary friend like Kevin does but instead of a magic goose its a magic swan

[weed-cat]

.

[medicinemane]

Also I'm just gonna say that being in the head of that person... especially when it's something more like depression, insomnia, social anxiety, stuff like that... I can't even tell you if it's can't or won't with me

I own my own house and I pay for it by basically managing money in the family and by helping get rid of stuff that costs money

Got rid of my mom's multiple huge storage units, about $500. Got rid of my mom's trailer, which was at least $700 in lot rent, but my grandma would tell my mom regularly she was giving like $2000 a month (see, my grandma is very solidly uppermiddle class and... my mom kinda... pissed that all away so... there's always been insulation against being evicted, but... I don't know)

There was my apartment I had because... if you've seen pictures of my mom's trailer you'll get why I couldn't live there, but that was like $1,200 a month by the time I moved out. The I paid off my mom's $10k car loan with last of my money I scrounged, that got rid of $400 a month

...but I don't work and it makes me feel like a bum. I've had a couple jobs volunteering places for periods of time (insomnia is usually what killed that), and... actually often forget I was a licensed pharmacy tech for a while except I realized I hated retail pharmacy during clinicals so I never got paid

I have some ideas about making hypoallergenic soap, or about trying to find a way to make money with my carving or woodburning, but... can I be honest... I hate asking for money for things I make

(Actually have a commission, very large commission, about 4'x2'; and it's been done for a while and the client and I just have both been busy and so I haven't gotten it out, but... point is... I liked doing it, I learned a lot... really want them to have it, I'm gonna get it to them and then tell them to pay what they want... I hate, like really hate asking for money for my work)

So... you say there's a difference between can't and won't... am I can't or won't? Like I'm asking, I can't tell you... I... I assume I'm can't honestly. No physical disabilities in my way

And I'm literally saying that I never plan to work a job or to learn how to drive cause I hate they system and I hate driving... hell... had to let both my parents move in with me cause it was too much to let them roam free blowing through money and... like I said... I get by managing money and cutting back on fluff expenses so it can go to bills and food

I have trouble getting myself to work on stuff, even stuff I really want to get to. My parents live with me, but lets be honest everyone sees that as me living with my parents

So am I can't or won't? Is there a difference cause I can't, or am I just lazy cause I won't?

interaction i have with shocking regularity is when someone’s complaining abt someone they know and theyre like “ughh they’re 21 and dont have a job and refuse to learn to drive” and then they remember who they’re talking to (me. 21 cant work cant drive) and go like

[itsalwaysdark]

having a midlife crisis atm i think i might start reading [redacted] this is rly scary for me keep me in your thoughts

[sugarushwriting]

cherry popper —

sunghoon x reader

getting your cherry popped by your enemy

mature content featured, read at your own discretion

note: i know i know i said a writing schedule but this is my issue — i just want you all to read what i have planned so bad! i’ll start the schedule soon, ignore my last updated post

“you are infuriating!” you screeched, stomping your foot to the ground like a child.

“no, you are!”

“for goodness sake, you both are infuriating!” your professor interrupted your arguing with park sunghoon.

your worst enemy since middle school. now both ready to graduate university soon, nothing has changed.

you and sunghoon turned to your professor with looks of disgust towards one another. your professor has had you both in her classes for 3 semesters as you both shared a major.

“i’ve dealt with you two for too long! always arguing before, after, and during my lectures! you two can’t even stop bickering long enough to enjoy this nice class trip!” the professor rambled.

“professor, i really was trying to enjoy this trip—,” the professor cut you off

“no you haven’t! any given moment you started an argument with mr. park, knowing he will argue back. you two leave me no choice, you are to stay here in your rooms at the hotel, my assistant will be staying on the floor if you two need anything. he’ll most likely try to find a bonding exercise for you two.”

“if we stay here, that means we miss the exhibits!” sunghoon exclaimed, dark bushy eyebrows furrowed in confusion, hurt, and anger towards you.

the professor shrugged. “hopefully it’ll teach you a lesson like i teach my children.” she scolded, waving her finger at both of you.

you and sunghoon stood in the hallway of the hotel dumbfounded that you would be missing the exhibit you both were so excited to view. three months you’ve been waiting for this trip!

you groaned in annoyance, “you just have to ruin everything, huh?”

sunghoon turned to you wide eyed, “me? you’re the one always starting shit between us two!”

“you could just ignore me.” you shrugged trying to place the blame all on him.

“ignore you? i’ve tried, and you never let it go. you keep pestering like an annoying little bug until i reply to you.”

your lip turned up, “listen here you little—,”

“finish that sentence and i’ll ask the hotel to make you clean toilets.” your professors graduate assistant snapped.

you and sunghoon turned around to face the young guy who couldn’t be more than 3 years older than you.

“faked being ill because my girlfriend happened to come down to the city to see me. haven’t seen her in four months as we live apart,” the assistant began explaining, “but now i have to babysit two annoying little young adults who can’t get along for nothing!”

“man, you don’t have to babysit us. we can care for ourselves.” sunghoon stated.

“and risk you two sneaking off?” the assistant shook his head.

you crossed your arms, “so what do you want us to do?”

“the hotel is low on staff in the kitchen. they just need help with dishwashing and putting together cutlery.”

“no way! i don’t want my fingers to turn into raisins!”

“that’s why gloves were invented, cherry.”

you narrowed your eyes, ready to stab sunghoon if you could, especially at the nickname he’s given you for the past year.

“you two, kitchen, now. you can go to your separate rooms afterwards. don’t snitch on me, help the kitchen out, and i’ll tell the professor you two got along well enough to be able to join in on the activities tomorrow.”

“deal.” both you and sunghoon agreed.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

it was all going well—decently well for you and sunghoon until you dropped a plate in the sink, causing the water to splash both you and him.

he splashed water back, so now you and him were banned from dishwashing and instead wrapping cutlery for future hotel guests.

about an hour later, you both were only half way done through the giant bucket of clean dishes.

“this is exhausting!” you sighed. “my neck is starting to hurt.”

“stop whining and just keep going.” sunghoon replied quietly.

“what’s got your panties in a twist?”

sunghoon dropped the fork and spoon he was holding. “mhm, i don’t know, maybe you? always starting arguments with me.”

“you’re the one who started it, park sunghoon.”

“when did i ever start? you are the one who started it back in middle school.”

“middle school? sunghoon, i never even talked to you in middle school until that day you said my hair bow was ugly.” you reminded him.

that’s when sunghoon became your enemy. maybe for a stupid reason, but as a young girl, you had tried a new hair style with a hair bow after your mom made you get a hair cut, that the salon butchered.

you were insecure about it for a while, but it only really unsettled you when sunghoon came up to you one day during lunch telling you that your ‘hair bow was ugly, and nothing can make your hair look pretty again.’

since then, you’ve always sought out to ruin park sunghoon. whether it was getting better grades, to become top of the class. becoming class president so he’d be class vice president.

or even childish things like a whoopie cushion, taking a picture of him picking his nose in private, and even starting arguments over small things.

but the biggest would have to be when you started dating his friend second to last year in high school, you two only ending the relationship a little over a year ago.

kang taehyun.

it was a sneaky move to date your enemy’s friend. but it worked in your favor as just your presence annoyed sunghoon. he started to dislike you even more then.

but it wasn’t like sunghoon and taehyun were best friends, they just happened to be in the same friend group.

sunghoon remembered the day he called your hair bow ugly. he actually didn’t think it was ugly, but he was upset about what he overheard you and your friends at the time saying about him.

then when sunghoon found out you were actually dating taehyun, he couldn’t believe it. he would tease you and only bring it up to taehyun the reasoning for you to date his friend was to annoy him.

sunghoon used to hate seeing you around all the time when he just wanted to be with his friends. he especially disliked whenever taehyun would be too handsy with you.

“i only called your hair bow ugly because you and your friends made fun of me.” sunghoon sighed deeply. his lips went into a thin straight line as he went back to his deep thinking, focused on wrapping the silverware.

you looked at him surprised and confused. “sunghoon, when did my friends and i ever make fun of you?”

sunghoon sighed once more, wanting to forget the whole incident, but knew now was probably a good, but very late time to confront you about it.

“i overheard you all laughing at the fact i was a figure skater at the time, and said something about me being feminine.”

you stood there, too much in shock. your brain racked old memories and conversations, trying to remember that exact time. as you stood and stared, sunghoon continue on with the kitchen chore.

then it hit you, and you slightly chuckled. “sunghoon, we weren’t laughing at you. we were admiring you. the fact you was a boy doing figure skating? we were so impressed! and the feminine thing was a compliment, i promise! i swear as young girls we were jealous because you had a nice body we were jealous of at the time.”

sunghoon snapped his head toward you, observing you for any chance of a lie. he saw none as you stood there and smirked.

“you really called my hair bow ugly, to upset me, because you misheard my conversation with my friends?”

sunghoon scoffed, “well i mean, as a young boy, it was hard enough being a figure skater. i was just, don’t know, very introverted and shy.”

which he still was most times.

“you aren’t introverted or shy around me, sunghoon.”

“because i can’t be. you drive me up the wall on my nerves.”

you laughed. sunghoon liked the sound. he always did.

then he asked, “did i really hurt your feelings by saying your bow was ugly?”

you nodded. “yes you did. that started a war.”

“a war between us that i think we can now end?”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

after another hour, you all were close to finished when the kitchen staff let you go. rubbing your neck, you complained, excited to shower and just lay around for the rest of the night.

it was only 6 in the evening, and the exhibit went on until 9 pm, and you both were sure the professor and classmates would be off doing their own thing for the rest of the night as curfew wasn’t until 1 am.

“wanna watch a movie?” sunghoon asked, startling you. “i mean, there’s nothing else going on for us, and we could, maybe, keep each other entertained?”

you shrugged. “sure. just let me shower first. my room or yours?”

“mine. my friend and roommate, heeseung, snuck in some beer.”

you smiled. “perfect.”

half an hour later, you both were showered, in comfy clothes, and in sunghoon’s hotel room, sitting on the couch at the end of the beds watching a movie.

two drinks in, sunghoon was feeling bold. “why did you date taehyun?”

being caught off guard, you slowly turned your head, then tilted. “uh, why?”

“did you only date him because of me? to make me mad or jealous?”

“more to make you mad.” you teased with a wink.

“well congrats, you made me both mad and jealous by dating my friend.” sunghoon snickered, sipping his bottle of beer. he was no where near drunk or even tipsy. just a bit of extra courage running through his veins.

it was him watching you out of the side of his eye that got him this way. your laugh, your smile, the smell of you, so intoxicating.

you were more shocked and confused than ever. “sunghoon, what?”

sunghoon leaned down to look at your face, “taehyun used to bitch and moan that he could never get in your pants. that you would tease him, only willing to dry hump with him.”

you swallowed but rolled your eyes as well. taehyun always did complain that you never let him have sex with you. it never really bothered you.

taehyun knew you were a virgin. what he didn’t know was that whenever you thought about finally being intimate with him, all you thought about what sunghoon. all you could see was sunghoon. your thoughts were consumed of sunghoon whenever you thought anything sexual.

“why wouldn’t you have sex with your boyfriend, cherry?”

“why do you call me cherry?”

“answer me first.” sunghoon placed the bottle on the floor bedside him so he could turn his body to face you once more.

“uh, well i just didn’t want to have sex with him.” you shrugged one shoulder.

“why not?”

“eh eh, i answered you, your turn.” you tsked.

sunghoon bit his lower lip, staring at your lips as he replied, “because of that cherry lip gloss you always wear.”

you were wearing it now. not only did it look good against your skin, it tasted good too, whenever you got your nervous antics and chewed on your lip.

sunghoon always observed you putting that cherry lip gloss on your lips. it started with the cherry chapstick in high school, but just a little over a year ago you started wearing the cherry lip gloss.

“now answer me.” sunghoon demanded.

you took in a deep breath wondering how much or little to tell him. “well,”

“—was it because he wasn’t me?” sunghoon interrupted, your eyes going wide.

“sunghoon, no, what would give you that idea?”

“he told me he heard you calling out another guy’s name while playing with a toy of yours. he looked at me with anger and disbelief as if i had something to do with it.”

your eyes still wide, mouth shaped into an ‘o.’ you laughed nervously waving sunghoon off, “ah, he probably misheard me, that’s all.”

“i don’t believe you cherry.” sunghoon stated, standing up from the couch only to stand directly in front of you. eye level now with his crotch, you looked at him with innocent and confused eyes.

“sunghoon—,”

sunghoon stopped you mid sentence just by his thumbs hooking to the hem of his sweats, only pulling them down a little, teasing to pull out his cock.

“have you only kissed and dry humped him? what else have you done with him while thinking of me?” sunghoon clicked his tongue.

you shook your head. “sunghoon you’re mistaken!”

“sucked taehyun’s dick while thinking of me? mhm, even dry hump him thinking and wishing it was my lap you were rocking against?”

each sentence, sunghoon leaned in closer, mouth inches from yours. he could smell the cherry lip gloss of yours. excited to taste it finally.

you closed your eyes because—it was the truth. all of it. you blurted, “i never had sex with him because i’m a virgin!”

sunghoon chuckled, raising to his full height again. with a smirk, “mhm so my cherry was waiting to get her cherry popped by her enemy.”

you tightened your legs closer together for friction, but also to prevent yourself from becoming any wetter at just his words.

your movement didn’t go unnoticed from sunghoon. he got down on his knees in front of you. “has my cherry thought about getting ate out from her enemy? have you imagined it was me instead of taehyun going down on you?”

you shook your head, wanting to not believe this was happening. it wasn’t until you felt sunghoon’s teeth bite your thigh through your own bottoms, you snapped your eyes open.

“what was that for!”

sunghoon laughed, “be honest baby.” then, you nodded. “guess i’ll have to make your imagination become reality, huh?”

quick and easy, he got your bottoms off of your legs, and used his thumb to tease your clit through your underwear. a wet spot already beginning to form.

sunghoon’s eyes sparkled with neediness and excitement. he got up from his knees, you internally protesting, until his lips captures yours into a searing kiss.

he whispered against your lips, “so tasty, cherry,” as he continued to intensely work his lips against yours, loving the cherry lip gloss against his own lips.

he soon fell back to his knees, kissing up your right thigh before he moved your underwear to the side, poking his index finger to your cunt. he was met with tightness and some resistance, but only because it was a new feeling, new fingers for you. long, fingers to be exact.

sunghoon poked his index finger in your hole, followed by his middle finger, your legs opening wider for him, head rolling to the back of the couch with a groan. your hands gripped the couch, fingers digging into the cushions.

sunghoon then added a third finger, his ring finger, and your right leg went to hook over his shoulder, him holding your left wide open for him.

it was so much you wanted to snap your legs closed. sunghoon rocked his fingers in and out a few times, until your wetness covered his fingers, and he pulled out, quickly undressing you of your underwear. but just as quickly as his fingers were gone, it was replaced with his tongue and lips.

“sung—hoon!” you sang into a moan, left hand gripping his locks.

he moaned into your cunt, lapping up the juices you had to offer to him, occasionally using his k-9 teeth to nibble on your folds and clit. when his lips found home onto your clit, using his tongue to swirl, teeth to nibble, three of his fingers entered back into your cunt, no warning or teasing. he began rocking his fingers in and out in a medium pace, his tongue flicking your bud.

your chest and stomach began to tighten, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, head rolling onto the back of the couch from left to right. he removed his lips, fingers still, only to spit on your cunt, and got right back to work as if he didn’t pause to begin with.

this orgasm was about to be intense. taehyun never gave you mind blowing head like this. he was always decent, though. but sunghoon’s tongue was magic and had you coming way too soon.

“hoon!” you moaned loudly, hoping no one outside the door could hear you. “i’m—hoon, i—come—my goodness!” you babbled.

sunghoon used only his tongue while you came down from your first orgasm of the night.

your body jerked from the overstimulation, you pushing sunghoon’s head away.

“taste so good, cherry. better than i imagined.” he whispered once again, against your lips, before kissing you, his tongue poking through to find yours.

while kissing him, sunghoon grabbed you by your thighs so he picked you up and held you, turning around so he sat on the couch with you straddling him.

your wetness immediately started to stain his sweats, but he didn’t care. “hump me, cherry.”

“like this?” you asked. he wanted you to hump him? you bare below, him with his sweats?

you squealed when a palm of his came down to your bare ass. “it wasn’t an option, cherry.”

you nodded, biting your lip, as you began to rock your hips back and forth and in circles around his cock which was imprinting through his sweats. your cunt could feel the outline of him, getting wetter with each movement.

soon, you were on your way to your second orgasm. sunghoon’s hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements as you became more sloppy, only worried about reaching your second orgasm.

“that’s it cherry, use me like you’ve always wanted.” fuck sunghoon’s words were not (but was) helping.

your hands gripped his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as your movements increased as your orgasm was approaching.

your thighs started to become wet from your own juices, a big spot covering sungoon’s outline.

sunghoon pulled you closer as you came, he began sucking and kissing your neck, sending you over the edge even more.

your movements slowed down, as his hands stayed glued to your hips. your breathing became heavy against his collarbone, you giving it a peck, leaving a lip mark.

you’ve had two orgasms, sunghoon none. you leaned back to look sunghoon in the eyes. “what about you coming?”

sunghoon’s lips perked up, “cherry, i’ll come, don’t you worry.”

sunghoon from underneath, pulled down his sweat pants, your thighs and cunt somewhat hovering over him. you felt his tip brush against your folds, your body shivering with excitement.

you only hoped your toys prepared you enough for this moment. sunghoon pushed his sweats off as far as he could, down to his ankles. his shirt came off next, along with yours, leaving you both completely naked.

“cherry, i hope you used a dildo big enough.” he stated as he pulled a condom out from between the couch cushions. you were to entranced to even comment on that.

you bit your lip, “i hope so too, hoon.” you sighed against his lips, kissing him, as he helped you ease down on his hard cock after he put on the condom.

you bit down on his lip when he fully pushed you down on his length, a loud moan coming from you both.

“fuck, so tight cherry.” sunghoon groaned, head leaning back against the couch. “those toys did nothing to prepare you for me.”

you stayed still, both in a comfortable position. “i’m scared to move.”

“just go slow, okay?” sunghoon’s fingertips ran up and down your spine to comfort you. with a sigh of pleasure, you lifted your hips to the tip only, to slowly push back down.

you were sure you felt him in your stomach. slowly, you kept a rhythm of up and down on his length, occasionally rocking your clit forward for friction.

soon your thighs were starting to tense and become tired. “hoon, can—can you take over please?” you sighed against his cheek, nose resting in his neck.

without even removing himself from in you, sunghoon stood up from the couch, your wetness dripping in between the both of you. he carried you over to his bed, your legs wrapped around him.

he laid you on the bed, again, never slipping from inside you. his hand found one of your hips, the other resting against your cheek.

“let me know if it’s too much.” sunghoon stated before he pulled out completely only to push back with such force, your cunt squelched, your eyes shutting, a loud moan leaving your lips.

“fuck! sunghoon!”

you wasn’t expecting that. but honestly, you wasn’t expecting or even wanting him to be gentle.

for the next however long, which felt like hours, sunghoon rutted his cock in and out of your cunt with ease, your wetness spilling out on your thighs and his.

his thumb came down to your clit, rubbing left, right, up, and down, stimulating you just right to bring you to your third orgasm of the night.

“that’s it cherry, baby come on my cock. come on your first cock. fuck!” sunghoon moaned. “such a dirty slut thinking about your enemy while with that ex of yours.”

“hoon—sorry,” you apologized for no reason at all. why was you apologizing?

“wanted me to be the one to pop your cherry? got your wish.” sunghoon sighed, his pace of thrusts speeding up and becoming sloppy as he was chasing his first orgasm. “fucking whore thinking of me while playing with your toys. imagining it was me eating you out. kissing you. all while with—,”

with a loud, explosive moan, you cut sunghoon off as you came for the third time. no squirting involved, but you did have so much wetness dripping out of you, anyone could be mistaken.

sunghoon released into the condom with a low, throaty, growl-like moan, collapsing on top of you before rolling off.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

sometime in the middle of the night, you heard hush whispers. you didn’t move an inch, only somewhat, subconsciously listening.

“sorry man, i can ask her to leave?”

“absolutely not! i’ll go bunk with her roommate for this trip. once i tell her why i need somewhere to sleep she will be more than thrilled.”

it was heeseung, coming in after 3 am. once he saw you and sunghoon in the same bed, he didn’t even ask questions, only smiled.

about damn time you two fucked the anger out of one another.

sunghoon crawled back in bed next to you, your body only covered by a shirt of his. sunghoon stared at your sleeping figure with a smile.

you were finally his.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 4

I may have girl bossed a bit too close to the sun and finished Chapter 5 and 6 too- I'm not quite happy with those so I'll go through them again before posting Ch5 😅

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 4 >>next

Well, we all knew they would never have time for you. They never do until it’s too late. That’s why funerals are for the living to say goodbye, to mourn, to let go of the guilt. It still hurt… It hurt so much to be brushed off by Alfred, to be ignored by Bruce, to be yelled at by Dick. You couldn’t even think of Jason without tearing up, and Tim was just straight-up mean. But at least he was honest. Cassandra and Barbara’s avoidance hurt the most since they were your only female interaction in years.

Everything you tried to do to prove yourself was, at best, ignored, at worst, compared to someone else and diminished. You had nothing in common with Richard besides knowing a few of the same bands. But that wasn’t enough to raise his interest in interacting with you. Every time he looked at you it was like he was angry and sad at the same time.

Jason and you were so similar. Finally, someone you could relate to, who knew how life on the streets was, how terrifying the big space of the Wayne residence was compared to the lives you once had. And yet he was more interested in Dick, no matter how rude the oldest boy was. You couldn’t blame him, you also wanted Richard’s attention. Your heart felt like it was rolled through needles and lemon juice when Jason got everything you wanted just for you to watch him get buried. Dick was angry when Jason first showed up, jealous, but by the time Jason grew up he was just as angry. You hoped that wouldn’t happen to you.

You were a great student, thriving in your classes and finishing middle school earlier than others, what else were you supposed to do when you had no friends? Of course, that was nothing to Tim’s brilliance. And every time you tried to bond with him on that or show him your achievements it would be a tired “I don’t have time for you.” or an uninterested “I achieved that when I was younger than you.”

Barbara is everything you wanted to be when older, smart, beautiful, had friends and the family's attention. It hurt so much to see her get along with Cassandra but not you, never you. And Cassandra… You tried. You tried to befriend her without overwhelming her, but since the first introduction, she had started ignoring you too, downright leaving the room if you entered it. Bruce went to all her recitals, but he never had time for your galleries or competitions. You stopped asking everyone to come when you found the invites and pamphlets balled up and thrown in the trash bins.

By the time Duke and Stephanie came around you had given up, what use was it? It’ll be another rejection, so you just took care of the garden and did more art, your room overflowing with it. You spent at least half of the monthly allowance Bruce gave, and yet you could still be a millionaire.

You gave up on the Waynes, only speaking to them if they spoke to you. You were done with them, with their secrets, with how they would talk between each other in whispers and then get quiet when you stepped into the room. They’d always look at you like you were a stranger, an enemy. And perhaps you were. So, fuck them. Fuck the boys, fuck the girls, and fuck Bruce and Alfred too.

Sneaking out was the best thing you have done for yourself- sure it was a long way from the Manor to the city and back, but it was all worth it. It was worth it to see the other street kids, to hear their stories, to hang out with the homeless and the girls on their smoke break, it was worth everything when you found your mom’s grave. It was nice, it felt like home.

Was it dangerous? Yes. But as long as you stuck to Red Hood’s territory you were fine, his rule of keeping kids safe seemed to also apply to you. He was nice, even if he never spoke around you beyond hums and grunts, but you enjoyed how gentle he was with the other kid, how he ruffled your hair, and how he helped you clean your mom’s grave. He was nice, and surprisingly so were most other rogues.

Ivy enjoyed helping you with tips for the garden, some of the flowers you grew there on every 13th of the month were made into bouquets for her, your mom’s grave, and Jason’s too. Two-face was surprisingly nice about your inquiry of the law and Penguin enjoyed helping you with your business classes. The Riddler made you want to smash your head against a wall most of the time, but boy was he good with philosophy.

You avoided the Joker like the plague. You couldn’t find it in you to care for him when Harley reminded you so much of your mom when she came with a black eye or busted lip asking if you could take care of Bud and Lou for a jiffy. You could never say no to her.

If Red Hood wasn’t keeping an eye on you, it was Bane or Killer Croc, both men letting you climb and swing from them like a spider. They enjoyed seeing a kid not tremble in fear at the sight of them, despite whatever they may tell you. Mr. Freeze was nice too, lonely like you. Sad you simply couldn’t take the cold for long no matter how many layers you put on.

You loved them all to a degree, but Catwoman always made you feel like her kid, not just a kid. Sometimes you felt guilty for wanting to call her mom, you had a mom. But she made you feel all soft and mushy, calling you her kit, crying with you when you first heard her call you that. She thought she had hurt you, oh, how panicked she was. But her hug was so warm, so loving once she found out that no one had called you their kid in so long.  You wish she would steal you away, she does too, but she made a deal with Red Hood. Selina wishes she had just taken you and moved across the country, everyone be damned.

Unknowingly, you had created the garden to hold flowers that reminded you of all of them, even the Waynes. You couldn’t bring yourself to kill their flowers, to make bouquets of them or sell them- you just didn’t have it in you. So, you just kept on growing them, talking to them, and telling those flowers what your alleged family would never listen to. And then Bruce ruined it all.

He wasn’t sure why he did it, exhaustion or paranoia, maybe both? But all Bruce knew he was seeing is his mom’s garden flourishing after years of it being neglected, of Alfred overlooking it at Bruce’s request to focus on what rooms were being used inside the manor instead. He didn’t think twice about grabbing the pesticide designed for Poison Ivy, didn’t think about asking Alfred, about asking the kids, he just reacted.

Bruce was drinking his guilt away in his office, forehead pressed against his desk as one hand held a whiskey glass and the other gripped at his hair. He had never seen his youngest that angry, crying so much-… He wasn’t sure when the last time he saw her smile or hang around the family was.

“What have you done?!” He remembers how pained and angry you sounded as he killed the last flower, his flower. He remembers how he acted, how annoyance rose in him as he explained, and he remembers how his heart fell out of his ass when you said that you took care of the garden and that you spent years building it.

His face remained unmoving as his hands shook, as his jaw clenched, as he could feel the sky crash on his head in tempo with your tears falling down your cheeks. He tried to justify himself, come up with a lie, something that would make him feel less guilty, but- “Yeah?! Well, maybe you would have known if you actually spared a glance in my direction from time to time- You should have left me in an orphanage, no- it should have been you instead of mom!”

You were hurt, you didn’t mean it, he was sure. Even after you went into the manor, crying your heart out, Bruce still sat there. He wasn’t sure what he could do, the pesticide ruined the soil, he didn’t even remember what flowers he saw. The man just went into his daytime office, grabbed his father's liquor, and drank. Bruce knew he should go and apologize and try to talk to you. He poured himself another full glass, instead. Tonight, Batman will be sleeping, and tomorrow Bruce will raise your allowance. If he remembers.

You knew to some degree Bruce didn’t like you, but for him to not even notice that you poured your blood and sweat into that garden when Alfred and even Cassandra did felt like a punch to the gut. You were a good kid, you tried your best to be, so why was this the hand you were dealt? Did he honestly think the flowers in the manor were bought by Alfred? The old man was so busy the last thing on his mind was to buy flowers for the house.

You couldn’t believe him, you could only cry for the lost plants, for one of the three things that brought you happiness. You curled into a ball under the warm duvet, crying into your knees until you could not anymore. The shadows did their best to soothe you, lulling you to sleep as the exhaustion of crying helped them.

Dreams didn’t come easy to you, sure, you had the usual nightmare, but calm dreams were a rare occasion. And this one felt so nice as you drifted in the endless dark space, two figures you couldn’t quite make out helping you stay afloat as they talked… chanted? You weren’t sure. It sounded like Latin, but it also didn’t. No matter, it was soothing, warm, it was what you needed.

You felt light as a feather. You felt free and- you hit your head… The pain not only confuses you but also wakes you up, the throbbing on the side of your head making you groan. Your tired eyes looked around trying to figure out what you hit as your hand rubbed the sore spot.

Maybe you were still dreaming. You must still be dreaming. Panic set into your veins- there was no way this was actually happening, it couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be a meta- Batman hated metas and he worked for your- he worked for Bruce- You were fucked.

It didn’t matter that as soon as it happened and you panicked your body hit the floor so hard it rattled your nightstand, making a framed picture fall and break, it didn’t matter that you didn’t register the pain, or notice that you broke the floorboard where you hid all your diaries and drawings you made for the family- all your brain knew is that you should leave before Batman throws you in Arkham or GSP.

So that’s what you did. You grabbed your sports bag that you used for art supplies, stuffed it with some clothes, your laptop, phone, the chargers, took a few sketchbooks and pens, and the card with Bruce’s money. Not like he’ll notice, he didn’t notice that you spent thousands every other week at a fast-food joint for the homeless and street kids, didn’t notice that you spent millions every other year at retail stores for the same people, he didn’t notice the donations. He was as blind as a bat.

“Leap of faith” is what Superman once said in an interview about how others with the power could learn to take off. “It’s just a leap of faith.” He was right- you almost pissed yourself, but he was right. You understood why he always was floating above the ground; it felt so freeing to fly, circling the manor to the top, feeling the air around you. It was so nice. You should move, fly away, and yet your eyes can’t leave the destroyed garden. You should make a few stops before fully leaving… just a few.

When each of the rogues found one singular flower in their favorite seat, their window sill, on the weapons and cars they owned, all withered and falling apart, they knew what it meant.

Ivy was the first, she knew the second the plants died. After all, she helped keep the plants alive, nothing could thrive on the Wayne land anymore, almost like it was cursed, as if Death herself lived on the grounds. But seeing the burned and greying orange trumpet vine told her everything she needed to know, that it wasn’t you who destroyed them. Bruce Wayne and the Bats didn’t know what was about to come their way.

You’ll miss your friends, the kids, the rogues. You’ll miss Catwoman, but she always told you to be a bit more selfish. This was the moment for that. Doubt settled in at some point, but you had nothing holding you attached to the Waynes, Catwoman couldn’t or just wouldn’t take care of you, it was time to let go and abuse Bruce’s ignorance, make a new life for you where you don’t need to hide in the night for some social interaction.

New York City should be the perfect place for it.

Tag List: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry

[solarmorrigan]

I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

-

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

[olderthannetfic]

You ever get a comment that makes you just sit back, cast your eyes upwards, and gaze at the ceiling as if awaiting answers? I got a comment on a fic I'm writing that has a (canonically) punk character and was informed that "real punks don't do arts and crafts", referring to the idea of 1. making your own patches 2. sewing them on 3. sewing clothes in general and 4. making signs in protest of/support of something. And I. I just.

My dad was in a punk band in the 90's, in the post-Soviet era of Central Asian punks when nobody had any money and were screaming into a microphone to work through the trauma the USSR put them through. Sometimes there wasn't even a microphone. Sometimes there was just a stage at a bar and decent acoustics and vodka. I promise you that they made things. I promise you they didn't just buy everything off of Poshmark that was marked Tripp NYC or put an order in on Temu for 5 yards of grommet trim. There was no internet access but more importantly there was no money. You know what there WAS? Anger. So. Much. Anger. Anger gets clothing torn and signs made and my dad onstage in a country where being queer is illegal to this day going, "We're the Maddest Faggots and this is our new song, 'Fuck Me Like Your Daughter'!"

They did "arts and crafts". They did so, so many arts and crafts. Shows don't advertise themselves. Someone has to draw and then photocopy a cartoon of the mayor sucking himself off and tape it up to every bus stop in Tashkent after the election. Drenching yourself in red paint and marching in protest of police brutality rarely works without paint.

I guess, in the grand tradition of punk, the counterargument is that no REAL punk would do arts and crafts, therefore, my dad was not remotely punk and neither were his associates. But if punk is so fragile that liking all the right music and being anti-authority and protesting inequality all counts for nothing if you so much as put one toe over the line into girliness... is anyone or anything punk? And is that a version of punk worth preserving?

It reminds me of people going, "Real punks don't have anything political on their vests/jackets!" and "No true punk would have that slogan on them, that's just stupid pinterest shit!" and "wow plaid lol. lmao, even. what a poser! go back to tiktok fr fr", etc. I get that these are all basically 'if I don't like it, it's not part of punk'. But diy is baked into punk. It had to be. That's what happens when your subculture involves a lot of poor people.

I am only 25 and I feel like an ancient being from the bygone days of yesteryear having kids interrupt me to say nuh-uh, that's totally not how things work.

--

People are incredibly embarrassing about punk in a very suburban US middle class way.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 2: Caught on Camera

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Fandom: Women's basketball

Paring: Paige Bueckers x ! Photographer fem reader

Summary: is this thing still on?... I hope not....

Welcome to chapter 2 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸... if you wanna be added to the tag list let me know!

Avoidance was becoming a bad habit of mine. After the incident with Paige and my shattered camera turned into an internet meme, I couldn’t bring myself to face her—or the team, for that matter. Every social media platform I opened featured the clip: Paige’s epic block, the ball ricocheting, and the destruction of my beloved camera. People had even started adding exaggerated sound effects and captions like, "When life hits you hard…literally."

To make matters worse, Paige addressed the incident during a post-game interview, her sheepish smile making me squirm every time I replayed it in my mind.

“It was an accident,” she had said, laughing softly. “I feel really bad about it. Y/N’s an amazing photographer, and I hope I haven’t scared her off for good.”

Her words made my chest ache, but I still avoided the team practices. I stuck to photographing games with my new camera, keeping my distance from the players—especially Paige.

That’s where KK came in.

“Y/N, you can’t avoid us forever,” KK said, sliding into the seat beside me in class one afternoon. Her tone was light, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes that I didn’t trust.

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” I replied defensively, keeping my gaze on my notes.

“Right,” KK said with a smirk. “That’s why you haven’t shown up to practice all week.”

I sighed, slumping in my chair. “It’s just… easier this way.”

KK rolled her eyes. “You know Paige feels terrible, right? She keeps asking about you.”

My stomach flipped, but I quickly pushed the thought aside. “I’m fine. She doesn’t have to worry about me.”

KK didn’t say anything for a moment, and I thought I’d won the argument—until she spoke again, her voice casual.

“Hey, can you stop by the gym tonight? Coach wants to see some of the practice shots you’ve taken for the project.”

I frowned, suspicious. “Coach? Why would he need to see them now?”

KK shrugged, her expression unreadable. “I don’t make the rules. Just swing by, okay?”

That’s how I found myself at the gym later that evening, camera in hand. The space was eerily quiet, the faint hum of the overhead lights the only sound as I stepped inside.

“Coach?” I called out, my voice echoing.

Instead of Coach, Paige emerged from the shadows, her expression a mix of surprise and apprehension.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice soft.

I froze, my grip tightening on my camera. “Paige? What are you doing here?”

Before she could answer, the gym doors slammed shut behind me, and I turned to see KK waving through the glass window with a wide grin.

“You two need to talk,” KK shouted, her voice muffled by the door. “I’ll let you out in the morning!”

“KK!” I yelled, rushing to the door, but it was locked tight.

Paige let out a small laugh, drawing my attention back to her. “Well, I guess we’re stuck together.”

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I excused myself to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. When I returned, Paige was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the court, my camera in her hands.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Paige glanced up at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I figured I’d record something for you. An apology, I guess.”

Before I could respond, she pressed a button, and the red recording light blinked off—at least, I thought it did.

“Can we talk?” Paige asked, setting the camera aside.

I hesitated before nodding, taking a seat across from her.

“I’m sorry,” she began, her voice sincere. “About your camera, about everything. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“I know,” I said quietly, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “It’s just… hard. That camera meant a lot to me, and now everyone’s laughing about it like it’s some big joke.”

Paige’s expression softened, and she scooted closer, her knee brushing against mine. “I get it. I’d hate being the center of a meme, too. But you’re more than that clip, Y/N. Your work is incredible, and I’ve seen the way you capture the game—like you see things the rest of us miss.”

Her words made my chest tighten, and I looked away, feeling vulnerable under her gaze.

“Thanks,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.

Paige reached out, her hand resting lightly on mine. “I mean it. You’re amazing.”

I glanced up, meeting her eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed

to fade away. Her gaze was steady and warm, filled with an honesty that made my heart stutter.

“Paige…” I started, but my voice faltered.

She gave me a small, lopsided smile, her fingers brushing over mine. “I know I messed up, but I want to make it right. Not just with the camera—but with you. Can we… start over?”

I hesitated, the weight of everything between us making it hard to breathe. But then I saw the earnestness in her expression, the vulnerability she rarely let show.

“Okay,” I said softly, nodding. “We can start over.”

A small laugh escaped her, almost a sigh of relief. “Good. Because I really don’t want you avoiding me anymore.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I lied, though we both knew the truth.

She smirked, leaning back slightly. “Right. You just conveniently disappeared every time I was around?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Fine, maybe I was avoiding you. But only because I didn’t know how to face you after everything.”

“Well,” Paige said, tilting her head, “now you’re stuck with me until KK decides to let us out. So, no more avoiding.”

I chuckled, the tension between us easing slightly. “Guess I don’t have a choice.”

We spent the next few hours talking—about basketball, photography, school, and everything in between. Paige was easy to talk to, her laugh infectious and her stories captivating. For the first time in weeks, I felt at ease.

At some point, exhaustion caught up to us, and we ended up lying on the court, our heads close together as we stared up at the ceiling.

“Do you ever think about what’s next?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Paige turned her head to look at me, her expression thoughtful. “All the time. The WNBA feels so close, but at the same time, I’m scared of what it means to leave everything here behind.”

I nodded, understanding her fear. “Change is scary. But you’ll do amazing—you always do.”

Her gaze lingered on me, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” I replied, my words steady.

We fell into a comfortable silence, and before I knew it, I drifted off, the warmth of Paige’s presence lulling me to sleep.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of muffled laughter. Blinking against the light, I realized Paige and I were still lying on the court, her arm draped over me in a way that felt impossibly natural.

“What do we have here?” KK’s voice rang out, teasing and triumphant.

I sat up quickly, my face burning as I saw KK and Azzi standing near the gym doors, their grins wide and mischievous.

“Did you two have a good night?” Azzi asked, raising an eyebrow.

Paige groaned, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. “Seriously, KK? Was this really necessary?”

KK shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Hey, you two needed to work things out. Mission accomplished, right?”

I glanced at Paige, my embarrassment fading slightly as she gave me a small, knowing smile.

“Yeah,” she said, her tone light but sincere. “Mission accomplished.”

As we stood to leave, I grabbed my camera from where it had been resting on the sidelines. A sinking feeling hit me when I noticed the recording light still blinking.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, quickly stopping the recording.

Paige looked over, her eyes widening as realization dawned. “Wait… was that on the whole time?”

I nodded, mortified.

KK burst out laughing. “Guess we’re gonna have some very interesting footage to review!”

Paige and I exchanged a look, equal parts embarrassed and amused. Maybe this wasn’t the worst way to start over after all.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza .... (more to be added)

[neominthe]

SPOILERS FOR SCTIR FOR +CH 200

CW: (possibly) Eating disorder ED, depression

Something that keeps me awake at night: at the beggining of the story, Yoohyun's death isn't so painful for the viewers, because we only see what is on the surface of the Han brothers' life. It's through memories and flashbacks that we get to learn 3 facts: Yoojin dedicated his entire life to Yoohyun, they parted ways and in the end they reunited, only for one of them die. That's the introduction of SCTIR for us. Moreover, Yoojin is desesperate to leave the past behind, so he doesn't linger on his traumatic memories for too long, hence why the pain of reading SCTIR isn't instant.

It is gradual.

Yoojin and we learn that the past was never erased. It still happened, and exists in the form of Yoohyun's body out in the cold. Gradually, it becomes more apparent how Yoojin is still so affected by his previous life, despite his fear resistance skill. It starts with small things like him avoiding eating unless someone tells him to do so, always occupying himself with tasks that could be handled by someone else, negative thoughts about himself for every single action he takes and so on. I love, with all my heart, the manhwa, but the novel makes it so much more apparent how Yoojin loathes himself, to the point he keeps wishing he wasn't a human being, rather an item for his brother to use. It's so messed up to want to abandon all your humanity, feelings and concept of self just so you can be of help.

SCTIR is fun to read, but even more so with the unreliable narrator that is Yoojin. He sees what he does as nothing impressive, considering the people he is surrounded with, despite running the kisengsu facility, negotiating with the hair loss company to develop a new product, managing Seok Hayan's research team, mantaining diplomatic ties with Japan, training and helping other hunters and, most importantly, caring for all the S classes. He worries for their well-being because it's only natural for him to do so, as the Perfect Caregiver.

And, in the middle of it all, the only thing Yoojin spares for himself is hate. He doesn't want to live long for himself, but rather for Yoohyun, even though Yoojin already has been through the pain of loss. When Yoojin died in chapter 241, the first thing that he thought was Yoohyun. He didn't even think about how much it hurted dying (with a freaking shot on the head)! He just wanted to reunite and soothe Yoohyun that he was okay.

Speaking of which, in Sigma's arc, as Yoojin was alone, he really stopped caring for his well-being, so Sung Hyunjae took that role and did everything he could to help Yoojin. But, for him to even have to create a quest just so Yoojin could eat is what sparked my lizard brain to write this post.

My point is, there isn't an arc dedicated for recovery (at least until the chapter I have read that is like, ~300) and that is beautiful, because Yoojin is still processing what he went through, and we get to see that. Yoojin has such an interesting character arc as he begins wanting to forget the past, as it is too painful, to start running after it. He can't let go of it, because letting it go means letting his little brother go too. Which is why he says he will never be okay again in chapter 278.

[goldfades]

okay but a paige x highschool sweetheart headcannons…….🤫

you’ve known paige since middle school, back when she had braces and that oversized basketball hoodie she wore like a uniform. you weren’t best friends right away, though

she was the loud one, all confidence and easy laughter, and you were… not. but eighth grade science class changed that—she offered you half of her sandwich during a field trip, and suddenly, she was sitting next to you every day

and by the time high school started, paige was already a star

everyone knew her name, not just because she was the point guard who could do things no one else could, but because she had that kind of energy that pulled people in

and yet, her favorite place to be was still with you—sitting on your bedroom floor, eating pizza, and letting you quiz her on geometry proofs. she claimed you were her good luck charm whenever she passed a test

paige didn’t officially ask you out until sophomore year. she said she’d been working up the courage for months—you laughed because, honestly, what did paige bueckers have to be nervous about?

but she was fidgeting with the drawstring of her hoodie, looking at you like she’d miss her next shot if you said no. of course, you didn’t

being with paige meant learning to share her with the world. you went to all her games, cheered louder than anyone else, and learned to love the way she’d scan the crowd for you after every buzzer, that grin of hers lighting up the whole gym when she found you

she’d sneak you into post-game interviews sometimes, just so she could wink at you while pretending to answer a serious question

she loved basketball, sure, but she loved you, too—in a way that made it clear you weren’t just her high school sweetheart

you were her person, the one she wanted next to her, whether she was on the court or sitting on the roof of your car, counting stars

and when senior year rolled around—the stakes felt higher, both on and off the court. she was being courted by every top college program in the country, and you—you were figuring out what life after high school might look like for the two of you

late-night talks turned into plans scrawled in notebooks, filled with possibilities of visits, long-distance calls, and maybe even the same college, if the stars aligned just right

when the acceptance letters came in, it felt like fate. uconn for both of you!

paige couldn’t stop smiling for days, talking about how you’d get to keep cheering her on, just in a bigger arena. but the transition to college wasn’t as seamless as either of you had hoped

paige was the star recruit—the freshman everyone had their eyes on. she was juggling practice, games, media appearances, and the pressure of being "the next big thing"

meanwhile, you were trying to find your footing in a new environment, feeling a little like you were standing in her shadow for the first time

it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but there were nights when it felt like the distance between you wasn’t just physical. you missed the simplicity of high school, the way things felt so easy back then

paige tried—she really did—to balance it all, but sometimes it felt like basketball demanded every piece of her

by sophomore year, the fights started. little things at first—missed plans, forgotten texts. but they added up, like a pressure cooker ready to burst. there was one night, after a particularly tough loss, when everything came out

"i’m trying my best, okay?" she’d said, voice raw. "you think i don’t miss how things used to be? but this… this is my dream. and i don’t know how to do it all."

"and what about us?" you’d shot back, tears in your eyes. "am i supposed to just wait around while basketball gets all of you?"

it was the kind of fight that felt like a turning point—the kind where you either figure it out or fall apart. and somehow, through the tears and the yelling, you found a way to talk. really talk.

paige admitted she’d been scared of losing you, of letting you down. you told her how lonely you’d been, how hard it was to feel like you were coming second to everything else. by the time the sun started to rise, you’d fallen asleep on her dorm room floor, her arms wrapped tightly around you, like she was scared you’d disappear if she let go

things weren’t perfect after that but they were better. you both learned how to make time for each other, even when it felt like there wasn’t any to spare

paige started bringing you to practices sometimes, letting you sit courtside while she worked through drills. you found your own rhythm at school, joining clubs and making friends who reminded you that you were more than just "paige bueckers’ girlfriend."

by the end of sophomore year, you’d both grown in ways you didn’t expect. paige was still the same girl who gave you half her sandwich back in eighth grade, and you were still her good luck charm

but now, you were partners, too—figuring out how to build a life together, one game, one moment at a time

[utilitycaster]

edit: thanks @wardensantoineandevka for sending me the post I reference below but couldn't find at the time, it's this one and I will also be reblogging it separately because you should all read it.

while I'm thinking about Downfall I really have been thinking extensively about the ongoing discussion of fandoms and particularly centering/prioritizing white queerness and more generally one's own experiences (and I cannot find one of the best posts about it, which is not by me) because, as I've said before, but notably about Circle of Needle and Thread and Downfall, Brennan is somehow known as The Communist DM and also at every opportunity his messages of class-based oppression get pushed aside by fandoms. In D20, the message frequently gets flattened into Capitalism Is The BBEG (to the point that D20 has somewhat depressingly caved to it) but in doing so generally erases the human element - the discussion becomes dominated by the terminally online anticapitalist types who really do want to treat capitalism as the BBEG that, once killed, everything will be fixed, rather than part of a complex system to be dismantled in a manner that preserves the most human lives. In Candela Obscura: Circle of Needle and Thread, Sean's story explicitly about losing everything to the wealthy and powerful was shoved aside by fans cranky that his character wasn't made explicitly queer and in love with Marion. In Downfall, Aeor's exploitation was acknowledged by fans but its imperialism conveniently forgotten in order to focus on those powerful within the system who hated the gods, not the poor of the city nor those on the surface, without protection, being used as nothing more than a source of cheap labor.

And the thing is: I obviously do not think that the world is lacking in empathy nor opportunity for straight cis white men, but the fact that people cannot take Brennan and his experiences as someone of a lower class - the most tame palatable version of that too, as in addition to being a straight cis white man he is educated, a native English speaker, sober, and housed his entire life - without needing to twist it into something closer to their (often middle-class) experiences or existing worldview is depressing and telling, and it has not improved. This was an issue with Campaign 2 (the post I cannot find touched on how Fjord and Veth's stories were cast aside or only engaged with using heavy headcanoning to make them more like the viewer because they were not explicitly textually queer, despite being explicitly racialized and about class) and it's gone metastatic in Campaign 3, and it really needs to stop.

I am hoping, still, that Campaign 3 serves as the endpoint of this sort of selfishness, and its fans will have some sort of realization (or, more likely if less good for the world, will leave this fandom to terrorize another) but I will say if this continues in C4 I will personally be calling it out in the moment - no more vagueing, if you say you're nauseated by someone bringing up their personal experiences with colonialism that happen conflict with your feelings about your blorbos you're getting nailed to the wall by name then and there and what happens to you is your business.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Is there hope in us, still? (is there something worth believing in?)

let me wrap my teeth around the world - series masterlist here

pairing: poly marauders x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.4k

genre: fluff, kinda angsty

warnings: slytherin reader, the good good post summer break mental illness, everybody's having some issues here, there will be a pt.2 next week to give it a happy happy ending but this isn't so bad, it has a hopeful ending on its own

a/n: wowie another one lol hope y'all enjoy <3

Sirius is hollow when he gets back from summer break - quiet and petulant in a way that doesn't suit him anymore, snapping at his peers and pulling away from people's touch. You can't blame him. Especially not when you're feeling the same. You're not quite as showy about it as he is, that constant, underlying desperation to keep it all hidden burning under your skin. Sirius's suffering is loud - loud enough that you always hope it will drown out yours. It never really does, as far as the other two are concerned. 

He shoves towards the door when class ends, likely stalking back to his dorm to hole up for the rest of the evening. James sighs, a hand on Remus' shoulder comfortingly as the boy stares at the doorway where Sirius just was, his brow furrowed in that worried way that he's mastered. 

"We're going to do some studying together in the common room later… see if maybe Pads feels like joining. You're always welcome to come along with us…?" James asks in that gentle way of his, patiently hopeful. You busy yourself with gathering up your books, knowing that if you look at him, you'll crumble. There is love in the way he looks at you, despite everything. You're sure that, if you take notice of it, it would be enough to condemn you these days.

"I'm going to do some work alone tonight," you say shortly, brushing past the two of them. Remus catches your arm as you try to leave, fingers wrapping around your wrist ever so gently. But when you pause, he lets go of you abruptly, like there's something wrong with his touch against yours. This is the beginning, you think. This is where I start to lose you. 

"If you change your mind…" he begins softly. You nod stiffly.

"I'll let you know." James and Remus watch as you leave swiftly, Remus rubbing the palm of his hand against his thigh, as if trying to take back the contact he'd already made with your wrist. This is where it starts, he thinks. This is where you begin to realize that I'm better when I'm left behind.

Remus has to stop himself from startling later that night when he's woken up by a cold hand shaking his shoulder. You hadn't come to study with them that evening, which wasn't surprising, but it hurt something in Remus. James, especially, had deflated, his eyes dull and his hands fidgety while he tried desperately to finish his essay, his thoughts wandering to Sirius and the dark circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin - and then to you, to the stubborn set of your jaw and the hard look in your eyes. Looking down at his own hands, he wonders what worth they have if he can't even save the people he loves.

Needless to say, the last thing Remus was expecting was to have you in his dorm in the middle of the night, one of Sirius's sweaters shoved hastily over your pajamas as you shook him awake. You place a finger over his lips when he wakes abruptly, climbing up next to him without so much as a word as he fumbles to find his wand on his nightstand, casting a silencing spell over the four-poster bed.

"What's going on, dove?" he asks, his hands itching to hold your face, to smooth his thumbs over the skin of your cheeks and soothe you in some way. But he resists - you're here, in his bed, looking at him like you need him, and the last thing he wants is to overwhelm you and have you scared away. The last thing he can bear to do is put his hands on you, his scars glinting against unblemished skin -  something ruined touching something holy.

"I just… couldn't sleep. I'm not - I haven't been sleeping well these days," you respond, and Remus is sure that if he could see you clearly, if he weren't squinting at you through the dark, you'd be shying away, face tilted away from his eyes, away from any kind of vulnerability.

"Well," he says carefully, reaching out to put a hand on your knee. You don't pull away, to his relief. In fact, you relax a bit into it, letting your posture slouch. "Stay here then, yea?" Much to Remus's delight, that's all it really takes for you to move forward, pulling the blankets back to settle underneath them. He joins you, of course, settling in next to you and letting you decide how much - or how little space to leave between your bodies.

When you reach your hand over, cupping his cheek in your palm and smoothing your thumb over the skin there, he feels a part of him melt in the relief of it, a part of him that didn't realize quite how much he'd missed your touch - your love. He cups his hand over yours, tilting his head to press a series of kisses across your palm. When you continue to let him, sagging further into the pillows, he keeps going, trailing kisses up and down each finger and finishing with your thumb. 

It's then that you pull him closer, tilting your own face up to place your own gentle kiss to his lips before thumping your head against his chest. He lets you, of course, keeping his hand tangled up with yours while the other wraps around you. Before you can sleep, though, he leans close to whisper near your ear.

"James has been wondering where the invisibility cloak disappeared to. I'm sure he'll be pleased to know you're the one who ran off with it." You can't help but smile at his words, your face still pressed against his chest.

"You have so little faith in me, Rem. Not everyone needs the cloak to sneak around in this castle."

"But you did steal it, didn't you?'

"…I'll give it back to him later." Remus huffs out a quiet laugh at your confession, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

"You know he doesn't mind," he soothes. You squeeze his hand in thanks where your fingers are still interlocked.

"Goodnight, Rem… and thank you for this."

"No need to thank me, love. I don't mind at all."

Something clatters to the floor on the other side of the locked bathroom floor and Remus frowns, staring at it like he can burn a hole big enough to see Sirius on the other side - to make sure he's ok. James drapes himself over Remus's back where they're sitting on James's bed together, his arms wrapping tightly around his waist. Remus lets him, leaning back against him and feeling James sigh at the weight of it, a bit of tension draining from him.

"Were they really here last night? They really came and spoke with you?" James says, his face buried in Remus's neck, a desperate sort of lilt to his voice. Tell me there is hope, he thinks. Tell me I can fix this, still.

"You saw the note they left, love," Remus lets his eyes settle on his nightstand where you'd left the invisibility cloak, a note folded on top with a simple thank you written in it, a heart scrawled next to it that he recognized as yours. The whole thing almost made up for the fact that, by the time Remus had woken up, you'd already been gone.

"Do you think… things will be better now? At least a bit? Were things better last night?" James asks, his arms tightening around Remus's waist. Remus, in an act of reassurance, wraps his fingers around one of James's hands and squeezes gently as Sirius stalks out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and stomping away.

"I do think things are getting better. It's… slower than you and I would like, I know. But all we can is love them - and that, my dear Prongs, I know you can do." James grumbles something unintelligible at the compliment, his face still hidden from view. Remus is sure that, if he could see it, he'd be greeted by the flushed red of James's cheeks. He settles for bringing one of his hands up to press kisses across it, instead, content to bring a bit of hope back to the person he loves - to do something good with this body of his. 

There is hope, he thinks, in this love they all share. There is something here to fight for, still.

[eclipsethemagic]

Just best friends? |Lee Felix|

summary: Felix loves being friends with you so much that he doesn't want to lose you.

paring: idolfelix x!reader

Genre: fluff, a little bit of Angus

Song of the day: Gold by offonoff ft. Dean

(m.list)

wc: 2,224

Every time Felix looks at you his heart beats. Every time Felix looks at you his smile brightens. Every time Felix looks at you his day gets a little brighter. Just like today, when you walk into his room with the biggest smile on your face, it's contagious and he too, smiles at you. "I brought you mini donuts. I hope you like them." You told him as you walked over to his desk next to his bed and set them down. Felix nods and drops his phone to the side, moving his plushie from beside him so you can sit down.

"Thank you muffin." Felix had many nicknames for you, rose, pedal, and beautiful. But muffin was your favorite from the Australian. Just the way it rolled off his tongue when he said it made your stomach do flips. "How was going to the studio with Chris?" You hear him let out a snort, bringing his arm behind his head before answering you. "Good, annoying but Good. You know how he is though. He wants everything to be perfect for stays." And it was true. His leader worked day in and day out to make their fans happy. "How were classes?" Did Felix mention that you were a college student? It was your senior year, graduating next spring to become a journalist. You even interviewed him a few times for a project or two. Maybe that's why he loved you?

"Good." You sigh and lean back against his chest. "Don't think I passed my final exam though. I'm sorry but math just isn't for me." Felix lets out a deep laugh that you hear from the middle of his chest. "Well we know that- ow!" Felix yells as you hit him in his chest. Felix and you have been friends for about two years. Meeting you online under his private account on Instagram. You had posted a funny meme about him that he had to like it. Which made him also curious about what else you did.

Looking through your pictures randomly at night he noticed you loved photography, you loved taking pictures of just about anything. From you walk to the river near the trees. He also found out that you weren't from Korea, in fact, you lived in New York your whole life and moved to Korea for school. But what shocked him the most was that you loved his music. Most if not all of the posts you did post were either music from him or another artist you seemed to enjoy.

So Felix had to meet you, but he couldn't be so straightforward though. So he texted you, trying to get to know you, and then before he knew it he was outside your dorm room getting to meet you for the first time. And you were beautiful, the most gorgeous person he ever laid his eyes on, made his cheeks feel hot. That's when he knew he had to keep you in his life forever. Even if he couldn't tell you about his silly little crush that all his members knew about.

"Lix?" You called out to the Australian as he spun in his desk chair, popping a mini donut in his mouth. Felix lets out a hum, stopping his movement to look at you. "You're home for Christmas aren't you?" Ah yes, every Christmas Felix is never in Korea, he's either busy doing promotions or he's at home visiting family. But this year he's here which he kind of did on purpose but you'll never know that. "Yes, I am beautiful why?" Your cheeks start to feel hot at the pet name. After being around Felix for so long you could never get used to him calling you beautiful. If anyone was beautiful it was him. From his eyes to his nose Felix was beautiful in every shape. You loved how his freckles kissed his cheeks to his nose. You loved how his eyes were shaped like little chocolate almonds, and when the sun shined in his face he looked like a damn god.

"Do you want to go ice skating? Or come over to my house for Christmas? Unless you and the guys doing something?" Felix was quick to shake his head no. "That'll be great, I'm free. All the members won't be here this year so it can just be me and you." Them simple words made you feel all warm inside and you didn't like that.

Felix would hate to admit it but he hates it when you post pictures with other people, especially men he hasn't met before. He was in the studio scrolling on his phone when stops to see a picture you posted from two weeks ago. It was random really because you never mentioned going on a date. Not that you had to, but when it was something like this you'll never keep it a secret. And that made his blood boil. It wasn't like he should be mad, you two weren't together and yet he was angry, annoyed even. "Will you quit sulking and hand me my notebook," Christopher says when he looks over at his best friend. Felix rolls his eyes and turns his phone off before grabbing his friend's notebook and handing it to him.

"I wasn't sulking."

"Yeah, and I was the first one to walk on the moon." He mumbles, "No but really what's bothering you? It isn't y/n isn't it." But the face Felix makes gives him his answer. "Oh my god, it is. Lord, what happened this time?"

"A picture of her and a very handsome man is what happened. She never told me she went out on a date last week." Felix's lips form into a pout. "Why should she have told you? You aren't together Lix." A bitter taste formed in his mouth when it was said out loud. Felix knew that. He knew you two weren't together, he knew that you had every right to go out and date, because who wouldn't want to date you? Someone so beautiful, so funny, so- god you were everything and yet he didn't have the balls to make you his and only his.

"Because, well because." Because she's mind. That is what he wanted to say. "You're right why should she." It hurt to say really. "You still haven't told her have you?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"No."

"Yongbok." Felix lets out a whine when his government name is called. He hears Chris sigh before getting up from his desk chair to sit beside Felix on the couch. "I'm sorry I just, Chris it's hard. Everything about it is hard to do. What if she says no? What if she does say yes and then it doesn't work out? I can't lose her. My friendship with her means way more than this stupid crush that can pass." Deep down Felix didn't think he could handle losing you, deep down Felix knew he was so far deep in this crush that he felt like if he did say he liked you I'll send him in a spiral if you rejected him. "And it's okay to have these doubts lix, I mean the more you stress over it the more you end up not doing it. This isn't just some silly crush you can get over; if it was, it would have been gone. You love her dude. And I know because you look at her like she's some sort of angel that fell from heaven to you and if that angel leaves you too will be too heartbroken." Shit. Chris really knew how to make Felix want to be hit by a bus, a truck even. But he wasn't wrong. Maybe he did love you? I mean he wouldn't be surprised if he did.

You quite literally spend time with each other 24/7 out of the 7 days of the week. And when he can't spend time with you he'll get all moody because he can't see you. Yeah, he was way too far gone. So maybe when he goes over to your house he'll just tell you. The worst you can say is no. Right?

The night was great up to this point. It was the day before Christmas and you thought it would be a great idea to have a sleepover. Felix had just come over not too long ago, with his cute little pj pants. And everything was fine. You too sat and watched a Christmas movie, drinking hot chocolate. He even made cookies with you. But Felix should have known that this wonderful, night would turn so fast when you brought up the guy you had been going on dates with.

"I don't understand why you're upset about this Felix?" Yeah, Felix's mood completely changed the moment you brought up the guy, the sexy tall guy who he wanted to punch his beautiful face. Fuck. Why is he so beautiful? Why would you want to date anyone like him? Why not me? Is what Felix wanted to scream. But he couldn't. He just fucking couldn't. So he sat in front of you with the biggest frown on his face. "No reason." He mumbles. And I guess that answer set you off.

"Well it's something if you have an attitude about it."

"No? What attitude? Y/n I'm tired."

"See! Right there you just said my name, you never say my name." Felix wanted to die. He really did. Seeing you so angry, so hurt, and yet all Felix just sits there. "I-, look can we drop this please?" He begs. His whole face changed in a matter of minutes. You and Felix never fought. And when you did it never lasted long. But it felt like this argument would. Specially from the way your fist clutched, and the way he could see your body language change. You get up, bring your mug with you, and walk to the kitchen. "I'm sorry Princess," Felix speaks again, but you don't answer. "Are you though? Are you really? Because this isn't the first time Lix. You've done this multiple times, all in separate accounts."

"And it's not even like you care, shit. Can I not go out? I have sexual needs too Felix! Have I ever done that to you? All them times when you would leave me to go and fuck a bitch at your hotel room. But when I go out I'm wrong. Alright. Felix, I can't wait for you forever. I can't." Wait what. What does she mean by that? Felix blinks at you, he's not sure what you said if he heard right. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You like me?" That is all he could mumble out. "I- yes. Do you know how long I have been waiting for you to make a move? Since last summer." How was he supposed to know that? Okay, maybe he should of. "How was I supposed to know that y/n? You never said anything along those lines, and it wasn't like you showed me either."

"Yes, I did Felix." You throw your hands in the air as you walk back into the living room. As mad as you wanted to be at him maybe you didn't show him. Maybe the stubble touches, the wishing him good luck on tours, maybe the visiting him every summer wasn't a good enough sign either. So why did it hurt so bad to know he didn't notice?

"When?" He looks at you, before looking down at his hands. "Do you know how much I wished for you to notice me? And the girls I brought? I only said that so you could get jealous. I mean I'm guessing it worked. Y/n you don't know how much I truly do like you. How I'll do anything to make you happy, smile even. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid of losing you, especially at Christmas. A holiday you love so much." All you could do was smile, a very goofy smile. He might be an idiot, that you knew, but he was your idiot. You walk over to him, before sitting next to him. "Just kiss me, you big idiot."

"Huh-" before he can even react you bring your lips to his with full force. A grunt leaves his lips as you bring your hand to his cheek. His lips and yours move together, his hand resting on your hips as he pulls you closer. Felix's heart was beating out of his chest, he felt like he was on a cloud nine, a high he could never get off of. Your lips felt so soft against his, that and your sweet cherry chapstick that made him go crazy.

When you two pull away, no words are spoken, and he couldn't find his voice. "One thing is for sure, you're a good kisser." A laugh leaves his lips before he pulls you into another kiss, this time taking your breath away. "You too muffin, you too." He smiles when he pulls away from you, a giggle leaves your lips and you bring your finger to his lips wiping off your chapstick. "Does that mean we're together?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Felix gives you a small smile. "Yeah. Merry Christmas baby."

"Merry Christmas Lix."