#if you're expecting screenshots don't hold your breath

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Arcana M6 Drabble: A Painful Process

~ just some self-indulgent comfort of the M6 helping someone navigate the process of reporting harassment and hateful behavior ~

Focused!Julian, subconsciously pacing back and forth with his eyebrows knit as you spill all about your situation and ask him for advice. If anyone knows how to resolve something interpersonal quickly and quietly with the right words, it's him. You don't expect his steps to slow down, gradually coming to a halt while his gray eyes fix on your face, fury swirling under the compassion in his gaze. They said what? They did what??

Focused!Julian pressing a cool, tendony hand between your shoulder blades while you spend hours writing an email way longer than you thought it would be. He doesn't comment on your shaky breathing, but his tone is gentle while he proofreads the statement and screenshots.

Encouraging!Nadia, sitting tall and proud and regal and firm next to you while you have to relay every uncomfortable detail, holding your hand steadily under the table with reassuring squeezes whenever your voice falters. She doesn't leave any space for you to feel small. She doesn't hijack the conversation, but she keeps the meeting focused, respectful, and centered solely around your freedom to say what you need to.

Encouraging!Nadia making no comment about how tired you seem afterwards, wrapping one strong arm around your shoulders and taking you to get a nice treat. She looks you dead in the eyes with that deep crimson gaze and tells you that nothing about you, or who you are, is wrong or dirty.

Determined!Portia, sitting across from you with both of your hands folded into her tiny calloused ones while you try to decide what to do next. There's a small crease between her eyebrows while she worries her lip between her teeth and tries to weigh all the pros and cons of you available options. She wants to see action taken on behalf of you and whoever else has been affected. She also wants you to be safe and untargeted.

Determined!Portia, letting out a long breath when you tell her you're going to push for action, promising you her unwavering support and crushing you in a bear hug. She's in this for the long haul and she's not going anywhere. You tell her what you need to do, and she'll do it with you.

Angry!Lucio fighting not to interrupt you while you tell him about your doubts, slowly turning red while his lips crumple into a furious pout. He's up on his feet as soon as you've finished your sentence - of course you're worth all of this mess! This wasn't even your fault! You wait out his furious rant while he paces, heels tapping on the floor and gelled hair quivering with indignation. He got a mind to take matters into his own hands!

Angry!Lucio settling into a quieter rage, accompanied with the occasional sniffle and smeared eyeliner. He's not worried about what happens to the person who hurt you. He's angry, angry and upset, because he's listening to someone he cares about worry that they're not worth fighting for.

Stubborn!Muriel, showing up to escort you wherever you need to go, regardless of how many times you tell him you don't want to bother him. Fine, then, he's just in the area, on his own business, and he just happens to be taking the route from your workplace to your neighborhood, and he made too much dinner. You should eat it. He'll gaze down at you with the same unimpressed stare as your earliest memory of him until you agree.

Stubborn!Muriel, braving the social discomfort of making sure everyone you know sees that he's backing you up, refusing to meet your eyes as he reaches for your bag and wraps his massive scarf around you. His gaze is hypervigilant as he walks between you and all traffic the whole way home.

Gentle!Asra, showing up unannounced in your living room with incense and fluffy blankets, pulling you out of an anxiety spiral as you close all your curtains and check the locks on your doors. They're careful to keep their touch soothing and safe while they ask questions to get your mind back on track. He's perfectly at ease in your space, rummaging around and transforming your room into a fortress of comfort and safety.

Gentle!Asra bringing two mugs of tea and a snack they smuggled in that they know you can't resist. His voice keeps the same, easy pitch as he reaffirms your voice, your identity, your space, and then lightens your mood with his silliest misadventures. They don't give up until you feel at home again.

All six of your friends, (maybe some of them your lovers), inviting you to stay with them if it'll help you sleep, and then inviting themselves over when you decline. You're not used to having six other people in your space (three in sleeping bags on your floor, two insisting on camping out by your doors, and your lover next to you in your bed). It's safer than you could ever imagine, and such a relief that you fall into the sweetest, easiest sleep you've ever had.

The massive breakfast the seven of you put together the next morning is the stuff of legends. (After they convince you to sleep in and call out of your day's obligations, that is.)

[justabigoldnerd]

For the WIP tag game, I have to know more about number 16, the Soviet Russia Memes Incident, please!

AKHDJSSKHDJ Okay so I was inspired by these memes:

And started writing a modern crack fic where Solo and Gaby torment Illya with them 😅

Here's a snippet, under the cut!

"So," Waverly started, leaning back in his chair, "Would either of you like to tell me exactly how this happened?" He gestured between the two men vaguely.

Solo moved the icepack he was holding against his swollen eye to glance over at Illya. The Russian wasn't in much better shape; blood was drying around his nose, and a colorful bruise blossomed along his jaw. He was sitting up perfectly straight, his arms crossed and a frankly pissed expression on his face. Solo rolled his eyes and flexed his sore knuckles.

"I….may have misused the work group chat."

"'Misused,'" Illya scoffed under his breath.

"Misused, how?" Waverly prompted.

"In my defense," Solo drawled as he wrangled his phone from the inner pocket of his blazer, "They were hilarious."

A crease formed in Waverly's brow as he accepted the phone, but as he scrolled through the seemingly endless number of messages, his confusion gave way to annoyance. "To be perfectly honest, Mr. Solo, I am impressed at just how many of these you were able to find."

"I made a few of them myself," he preened, "I'm particularly fond of the 'in Soviet Russia, its not iPhone, its OURPhone' one."

"Is not funny," Illya grumbled.

"Right. Mr. Solo, I believe some sensitivity training is in order. However, I don't believe the onslaught of memes warranted an assault. So, in lieu of a harsher penalty, I'll just have you apologize to each other."

Solo huffed, and looked to Illya, who mirrored his indignation.

Waverly leaned forward again and clicked his pen threateningly, "Or would you prefer paperwork only for a month?"

With a sigh, Solo shifted in his chair to half-face Illya, "I'm sorry for sending you a hundred Soviet Russia memes, Peril."

"One hundred and thirty five," he corrected through gritted teeth.

"You counted?"

"When messages keep you up all night, nothing else to do but count."

"It wasn't-" Solo tried to protest, but a pointed look from Waverly made him stop short, "I'm sorry for sending you one hundred and thirty five Soviet Russia memes."

Illya's glare didn't waver in intensity, even as he tipped his head to the side and held Solo's gaze. He was silent for a few moments, then took in a deep breath and muttered, "I am sorry for punching your face. Might have been overreaction."

Solo chewed the inside of his cheek, unable to conjure much anger when he was faced with Illya's ridiculously adorable head tilt, and he had no right to be that attractive with blood smearing his face. 

"I didn't break your nose, did I?" he asked before he could stop himself, in a soft tone that made him curse inwardly. Maybe Illya had concussed him.

In a fraction of a second, something flickered behind Illya's murderous stare, and he turned away with a shrug. He cleared his throat and stared at a missed spot in the freshly polished tile. "Doesn't feel broken."

"Good," Solo nodded, an extremely unfamiliar feeling of awkwardness churning in his stomach.

"Well then," their boss cut in, sounding more like a middle school principal than the commander of an international espionage force, "Now that's all settled, Mr. Solo, I expect you to be front row at next week's sensitivity seminar. Otherwise, you're both dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," Solo beamed bitterly as he stood, "Looking forward to it."

Illya mumbled a similar acknowledgment and slunk out of the office. Once Solo shut the door behind them, he sighed and mused, "Now the only question is how did Gaby get out of this one."

"No idea," Illya shook his head, "Even screenshots I took were altered. Without my knowledge. Couldn't even track changes."

"She's getting too good at this game," Solo tsked, a bit of pride swelling in his chest nevertheless.

"Da. We make her pay."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

His partner's fingers drummed against his leg, and the muscle in his jaw jumped as he considered their options. "We take engine."

"The whole thing?"

The corner of Illya's mouth quirked up in a poorly hidden smile, "Is just bizarre enough to be good payback."

"She's gonna be pissed," Solo laughed quietly, "Hide it in rendezvous three- no, two. The storage rack in there is taller."

Illya nodded along, mischief washing away the anger in his eyes, and checked their surroundings before giving Solo's chest a pat, "Come on, Cowboy. Let's go steal an engine."

[alltimefail-sims]

I woke up to a few anon messages that came in batches at different times, so I'm not sure if these are all from the same person or a few different people, but I'm just going to answer them all here!

Questions and replies below the cut ↓

That is absolutely what I would do. I wouldn't even upload sims who use cc to the gallery, especially if the sims team/EA refuses to tell you what about your sims is being flagged as inappropriate by their standards. After a few suspensions and warnings they will go ahead with a permanent ban and from what I've found in my research, they don't seem to have a lot of flexibility to undo a ban once it has been issued, so you're right to play it safe rather than be sorry.

Thank you for saying that, I genuinely appreciate it! I'm so glad you stopped by for help, and that I could be helpful to you in any way. ❤️

I agree on all fronts! I'm almost positive there will be bugs with this new EP upon release, I just hope they're mild and managable until the Sims team can get out a hotfix. Just hoping the bugs aren't as bad as My Wedding Stories, for instance - that pack was completely unplayable upon release.

I think what we have seen of the build buy items looks really unique and beautiful. I'm always excited to see new traits, although some of them seem so pack-specific that I'm worried how they'll impact gameplay outside of the renter situations. I reblogged a couple isolated screenshots on my page that break down some new potential features - like a rice cooker, standing toilet, marbles and hopscotch for children (new child activities!!! Yay!!), and so on! The world itself seems immersive and different than what we already have and I think the non-American representation has been severely lacking, so it'll *hopefully* be a breath of fresh air.

Somewhat related to this point: the inclusion of a non-American world also gives me hope for the future. I'm still holding out hope for a Spanish inspired world or an African inspired world, but perhaps they'll incorporate one or both in the future. I hate that Selvadorada is a vacation world only!

The negative part of me kind of hates that this feels like "City Living: The Sequel." I'm curious how this will impact the already existent apartment lot types in the game. Hopefully it's different enough to stand on its own, but I just think we should have been able to create apartments all this time. That's the main selling point of this pack for me, and it would seem like that's the shared sentiment in the community as well, so that's unfortunate that we all have to buy/acquire a different pack to implement a feature that could and should have been implemented in another pack. I'm going to withhold judgment until I play though and try to go in with an open mind!

I love refreshing the townies, too! It's actually one of the first things I do when I start a new gameplay save because, like you said, a lot of them don't even have hot/cold weather outfits which is... well, it's expected of the lazy ass sims team lol. I'm not surprised. 🤦 But I can't stand seeing townies walk around in the wackiest outfits, especially the townies I really like!

I've always thought the community, by and large, does a better job handling townie refreshes anyway. I think every time the Sims team touches a beloved townie or alters their lore in any way, they fuck it up lmao. I would rather they just leave it to the people who actually care about these sims...😬

Thank you so much for the compliment, that means so much to me! I know it's cliché, but the more you practice making sims, the better you will get and the more you'll start to see your own "style" take shape. One tip I would give is to use real people as a reference: this helps avoid that "same face" syndrome you can get yourself into. They don't have to be perfect and exact to your reference, but you'll find over time that looking at all these different real people will not only diversify your sims, but also your ideas of beauty. You'll start to notice little things about a face that make it different - a bump of the nose, a slant of the eyes, pulled-in corners of the mouth, a cupid's bow arch of the lips versus a perfectly rounded edge. If you go to Pinterest and just look up "Face claims" you will find a never-ending amount of pictures with people of all different facial features, ages, ethnicities, hair textures, etc. Create a board on there - public or private (that's totally up to you) - and save all the faces you think are beautiful, unique, intriguing, etc. It helps me so much, and my sim style has really developed over time just by doing that!

I have to admit... I'm not a particularly fashionable person: I've been dressing pretty much the same way since middle school not gonna lie (think thrift store grandpa in band/graphic t-shirts and leggings exclusively lmao). So I try to think of the kind of personality my sim has first, which helps me pick an aesthetic style I want to go for when it's time to dress them. I'll think of questions like are they more alternative, or are they preppy? Do they dress for comfort or for style? Would they spend a lot of money on their clothes, or do they prioritize simple, affordable, staple pieces? Are they environmentally-conscious, avoiding animal furs/clothes that could be over the top but also made cruelly? Do they have a culture, religion, or belief-system that encourages modesty and head-coverings of some kind? So on and so forth. Then I might look up pictures or just play around until I find a few outfits that feel right. If you need inspo, go to TS4 lookbook tag as well- there's lots of variety and seeing how people pair some cc pieces might help your creative juices flow!

The Goth family will always have a special place in my heart, first and foremost. Naturally I have to include Erwin Pries (Strangerville GP), my number one silly goose, because he feels like he's mine. I know EA made him and we all have him in our games, but he feels so personal to me. I also love Penny Pizzaz (City Living EP) and the entire Jang family (City Living EP), Sienna Grove and Don Gooseman (Horse Ranch EP), Max Villareal and Lucas Munch (Get Together EP), Bob Pancakes (BG), the Vatore siblings (Vampires GP), Morgyn Ember and L. Faba (ROM GP - sorry Simeon).

Honorable mention to every Wildfangs werewolf and Celene López: I love all of them equally and could not pick a favorite. Another honorable mention to the Behr sisters as well: I don't play with them often, but I love their aesthetic.

Little blurb but this was such a tough question because I had to decipher between the townies I love because I have an attachment to them, versus townies I love because they're done so well by someone else (Gunther Munch by Ai, Hugo and Malcom by tricoufamily, and so on). I feel good about the above list though - I think these are my favorite sims that I play with based on my own attachment and personal headcanons.

Thank you so much!!! 😊🥰

It genuinely makes my heart happy to think that anyone will find joy in a build that I had joy in making. It's like sharing brain children, collaborating in a way - my build housing someone else's sims, two elements creating one story. Idk if that makes sense, but that's my favorite part of the community... just like, creating together.

I wasn't a good builder either, I found the mechanics really confusing at first, but it's actually become kind of a catharsis for my anxiety and adhd. It keeps me focused and grounded and gives me a task to direct my, at times, directionless energy. I also recommend using floor plan pictures from Pinterest to help practice building as well! I have a whole board of floor plans and exteriors!

Anyway, if this is all my same friend who came to me for help, I'm sorry I wrote you a book lmao! If this is more than one person, I'm also sorry all my answers were long. I am so appreciative when anyone comes to talk in my inbox, I'm so happy that running this account has helped me meet so many wonderful people!

Anyway, I'm probably too sentimental this time of year (lol). I'll wrap it up now.

Byeeeee! ❤️

[ghostlytidalwavephantom]

@ms-demeanor: don't mind the link, just trying to keep it organized.

First, I can guarantee I'm not familiar with how you've discussed the topic elsewhere. For me the limit of reasonable discourse is "quick skim of first three pages in case others were already discussing it." A lot of times I'd really like to engage someone and can barely scroll half a page without seeing calls to violence I really cannot reblog. Honestly the length of your response alone gives me nostalgia for the kinds of debate it was possible to have in forum days.

Second, hi. Not really used to introducing myself, mostly due to aforementioned paranormal experiences. I'm glad you replied, and feel pretty good about the screenshot since it feels like the opposite of censorship (which I've sorta come to expect). I'd say more, if it were relevant to the topic.

Third, I don't feel comfortable using your phrasing since knowledge isn't something we can afford to dismiss.

Society is crumbling. The erosion of the middle class isn't a process with a lower bound; it doesn't have a reason to stop, and we can't expect "safety nets" to hold if it all relied on the middle class from the start. Journalism is critical to the security of literally every possible kind of society, and democracy especially is widely criticized for how awful its performance gets under ignorance. We can't expect the systems we've erected to mean anything if the critical knowledge of operating them vanishes in a moment of crisis. The laws of tomorrow conflict with our present, and we weren't doing too well with servicing our rights in the present as it is. One missed story, one journalist censored, one threat we didn't see in the paper because they weren't ready to speak out, is justice destroyed.

You can't call it knowledge in one breath and pretend it's worthless to talk about in the same breath, having not even finished typing the sentence. Moments which altered history, 'cuz someone decided their life wasn't more important than letting people know what was actually happening somewhere in the world. We don't live in a censorship-free society where all the really important stuff definitely makes it to our dash, and anything which isn't "officially sanctioned, sponsored content" is automatically fake and wrong. We have to decide for ourselves what to think and feel and believe, and we can't delegate on it. Sure this is reactionary, except how else could it possibly work? (Gonna have to rant on anti-reactionary rhetoric later)

So the idea of vilifying a common behavior, and one which is rooted in the pursuit of knowledge, can't be a real path forward.

We haven't achieved the ideal where a journalist isn't at fault for keeping their source anonymous, where whistleblowers are defended, where rights and the spread of knowledge are the main focus in any controversial publication. We still have a lot of work to do filtering corruption out of our institutions, figuring out what kinds of FOIA requests pose as necessary checks and balances on the viney federal executive branch. We need people who can see in ways we didn't know to look.

Trust isn't working. Especially when half the "reputable" links are straight up copying from each other. Fact-checking is pretty much a dead science for the current market. I really don't mean to conflate anything you're saying, it connects with fake news the exact moment profit comes first. We might all be operating on the same fatigue: Too many facts.

I don't feel closer for anything you've said. I'm still over here with paranormal experiences I won't see documented for fear of hoaxes, and you're still "over there" with journalism and blind positivity and all the personal accountability which I have to guess looks pretty simple for anyone subscribed to The Right Media Companies™. I'd love to share, and honestly maybe the opportunity will exist if I actually make this post.

Thanks for replying, it means, well. The last couple hours writing this.

[cheollipop]

okay. hello. oof.

I can't believe it took me this long to finally read this but boy do I have a few things to say now that I have... bai..... you.... this.... I swear you will never fail to blow my mind with your fics. I have not stopped thinking about this since I finished it yesterday. now that I'm finally sitting down to write my feedback, I'm left speechless, and yet I somehow have so much to say. (a little cut so people don't hate me)

I originally wasn't going to include any screenshots because there's just so much to like about this fic and I couldn't decide on specific scenes to talk about, but I looked over it after I finished and I managed to pinpoint the scenes that truly had me holding my breath.

let me begin with this:

I fully gasped and put my phone down when I first read this,, bai... the shame this made me feel??? I was so immersed in the scene - reader's thoughts and emotions were my own for a solid moment, and wooyoung saying this out of nowhere made me snap out of it. the way you drag the reader into the scene you're drawing up is just amazing. you're amazing 🫵🏼

I loved the contast between the seonghwa reader saw and the seonghwa you showed us - he isn't this perfect being made of roses and stardust, but simply a human who can feel greed and lust. seonghwa wasn't afraid to make reader a cheater if it meant he could have her, if he could prove to her that he was better than wooyoung. this is just.... I'm afraid all my marbles have gone missing since I've read this.

I already mentioned this during our chat earlier but this scene was so... fragile? I felt like I had to read it with care or else it might shatter. it's such an intimate exchange of words and despite the hurt, it must have been so relieving for reader to finally tell someone about her struggle. and seonghwa handled it so well, encouraging reader to open up, but not pressuring her to. I'm not gonna lie, I nearly teared up reading this scene.

"let me show you worship" GOD- this paragraph of dialogue was just *aggressive chef's kiss* and followed by the french??? bai you beautiful human, let me kiss your forehead rn 👇🏼

I squealed at this, I'd melt into the earth if someone looked me in the eye and said that. what the actual fuck. I'll never get over this.

this is insanely filthy... but so sweet? wanting to capture the moment she fell apart, yet dying to ravish her at the same time?? a man who can balance his passion for his career and loving the woman in front of him.... bai, jesus christ, this is so beautiful.

don't even get me started on this ending. oh. my. god.

I said this earlier as well but I could tell something was a little off about wooyoung, and then that eerie phone call while she was at work left me so uneasy. I genuinely dislike open endings so much, but this?? more of this please!!!

I stared at my cieling for a good 30 minutes trying to process it and... I don't even know what to say other than it was perfect. perfect. perfect. perfect. I didn't know what to expect other than reader leaving a sad wooyoung behind to go to europe with seonghwa, but then you changed the vibe so quick, spat on me, then squashed me under your foot. I just realised that you did this with mafia seonghwa too. damn.

honestly, I wish I could get on a plane rn and fly my ass over to you to give you the wettest, juiciest smooch. this fic fully rewired my brain. my therapist will hear about this. thank you so much for being a brilliant writer and for giving us this masterpiece -- I'm gonna print it out and hang it up on my walls so that everyone who enters my room can read at least a snippet of true art.

mwah. <3

Long exposure

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🔳 pairing: seonghwa x afab!reader, wooyoung x afab!reader 🔳 genre: smut, angst, dark themes, fluff if you squint 🔳 summary: as you struggle to see a future with your boyfriend, Wooyoung, and spiral into an obsession over your boss, Seonghwa, you hope to see a different world through the lens. 🔳 wordcount: 14.6k 🔳 warnings/tags: photographer!seonghwa, sculptor!wooyoung, everybody in this fic is toxic I swear (this is FICTION pls don't do this), boyfriend!wooyoung, boss!seonghwa, cheater!wooyoung, cheating on the cheater, language, hints at violence, arguments, passive aggressive behaviour, photography, art, living in black and white, unhealthy social relations, kind of edited kind of not, lmk if anything else 🔳 taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 🔳 a/n: Hello, this has been haunting me... hope you enjoy, any reblogs, comments, likes appreciated, much love and big hugs!!

🔳 NSFW warnings/tags: slight corruption, pictophilia, fingering, masturbation (m&f), light voyeurism, deriving pleasure from taking pictures of someone with them not knowing, blowjob, wet dreams galore, perhaps cuckolding, degradation, petnames, boudoir, soft dom hwa, jealous/teaser woo, dom-ish woo, implant and pull out (irl pls wrap that before you tap that)

You were no stranger to pleasure. You watched him share it many times. Each one, an offering to the altar of hedonism. Such was his work, his vision.

Park Seonghwa was a man who dedicated his life to passion. The greatest satisfaction imaginable, on the brink of after life and illusion, the closest to heavens above that a person could ever experience. He had an eye for it, discovering its many manifestations in the smallest of things. Rarely was there a place that did not bear its traces in his magnificent, deep brown eyes. To the unenlightened, ones who had not had the honour of being in the vicinity, let alone sharing musings with this enigmatic man, this amounted to nothing more than phosphenes that they assumed had permanently corrupted his vision. But you knew better. His art was an ode to raw human nature, an address which only he would dare reveal and be capable of subjecting himself to the rolling waves of judgement that came with it.

You were not sure who you wanted to be. This was a question that plagued you every time you entered the photography studio and let yourself sink into its monochromatic elegance. Did you want to be the decor - the paraphernalia occupying the white, low shelving units off to the left from the entrance, or the potted ivy, suspended by chains that your teacher had painted with mars black acrylic, cascading to blend with the barely-there tulle? Would you turn into an object so you could spend your days in motionless awe, observing the master at work, embracing art in pure desire? Perhaps you wanted to be one of the models - the goddesses, clad in armour of lace, performing seduction through a complex sequence of motions with a ritualistic sanctity, irony leaving the beholder intoxicated. Maybe you would be willing to expose yourself down to your intricate network of capillaries, tear yourself apart to translate and immortalise pleasure with the click of the shutter, nothing more than a vessel for the artist's higher meaning. One this was certain, however. You did not want to be him. The creator. The bearer of the prodigal eye. The tormented soul curating fantasy. For that place was only ever for the Park Seonghwa as he was - his essence, his flair.

This, you had been confident in, for as long as you could remember, so, for as long as you had been dedicated to following the photographer's work. You were partial to the coiled intensity contained within each piece, and had spent many hours poring over collections, published photobooks, specials in editorial magazines. This had become a near religious act, carried out in silence, in the illusion of privacy of the tiny apartment that you shared with Wooyoung, who, acting like more of a ghost than a man, would lurk behind you to catch a glimpse of the beauties who you could never compare to. In those moments, you would choose to dissociate from the dysfunctional, cacophonic home life and tap into the memories you had with each piece. Be it the past or the present. The grayscale, interestingly enough, possessed more colour than all else you were meant to hold dear.

Tracing the curves of the bodies frozen in time, treasure maps to your personal safe haven, you traversed the avenues of your own memory: from what you had helped shoot and what was now gracing your shelves as a reminder that you were worth something to someone in your home, all the way back to the beginning. It was the triptych that you had analysed for one of your modules way back, when you barely knew anything except the basics of what was now your craft. It was a composition set in what you had later found out was Seonghwa’s secluded seaside studio down in the south, one which he used extensively in the summer months. It had been your first dive into learning of Gestalt grouping, and how easily a photographer could actually influence a viewer – a couple of miniscule tweaks, and the world was changed. Much like yours. The three pieces were terrifically entrancing in their proud solitude, but, in tandem, were a wave that covered and drowned you. The Rembrandt lighting, in contrast to the gentle waves made by white and shadow grey bedsheets, framed the centrepiece, the guideline to observation – rolling hills from waist, to hip, to the hint of a black stocking. Perhaps a person not in the know would try to argue that since the image was in monochrome, just like every other of the photographer’s works, it was not possible to infer hue, but you had the honour of knowing: Park Seonghwa lived in black and white. Floor, set, attitude – a balanced divide. The mind was loud, he had told you. If the composition needed physical colour, it would be able to complete the picture for itself. Otherwise, the colour of sensation was the underlying theme and mission.

That piece was what had started your lighthearted interest, or so you had naively called it. From mild appreciation of his works, to warm enthusiasm for the inner workings and technique, to going down the spiral to feverish adoration of all that Seonghwa captured. It was a glimpse into how he saw the world, and how he wanted to aid others in perceiving it. The initial embarrassment that had come with studying his photobooks that you had checked out from the library had subsided as you ceased to avoid the concept of eroticism. On the contrary, in some of your projects you had made attempts to emulate the master’s style, which had earned the attention of one of your professors and closest mentors. After confirming that you had not gained access to a closed early showing of the photographer’s exhibition, he had been kind enough to extend an invitation, thereby changing the course of your life.

The event had been an extension of the man, complete in the same hues, down to the very last detail. Even the guests were all a part of the scene, blurred to emphasise the subject, the creator. He was gallant, attentive, guiding you from masterpiece to masterpiece even though he had hordes of hardened professionals and eagle-eyed critics to entertain. He had made you feel central to something other than your obligations. Deserving of time and space. And left you with a business card where he had neatly added his personal mobile phone number, making you promise to consider working with him as soon as you could.

After a year of stalling on any decision, you had applied, and became his apprentice. You had discovered that Seonghwa had been keeping tabs on you, producing printouts of your own work during the informal interview he had organised, and asking you to elaborate on aspects that you had intentionally hidden away. You realised that it was impossible to hide anything from him, your mind was behind an open door. Rapidly, his world became yours, and you turned to seeing it in the beautiful black and white.

You took a sip of your hot coffee from your beloved dalmatian patterned mug cradled in one hand, scrolling through social media with the other. Checking works tagged with anything relevant to your teacher’s studio and works had become a habit for you, and as such, you continued to do it even though Seonghwa had hired a social media manager a couple of months ago. To your defence, most of their work was done remotely, so you could take pride in being the first one to see your favourite artist break out into a megawatt grin, giving you a peck on the cheek if you were lucky. In those moments, you swore you would do anything just to see and feel it all again. A smile crept onto your lips as you indulged in your fantastical daydreams, one which you tried to mask by taking another long sip.

“Your boss really should let you catch a break. This is not even intern level stuff.” You had not noticed your boyfriend’s presence behind you, and with a glance behind you noticed that he was lazily eyeing your screen. Good thing you were deep in some nature photography at least, rather than your boss’s or the studio’s page. It had been a touchy subject recently. And by recently, it meant the entirety of the time you had been hired there and had been earning a steady income from what Wooyoung had called your ‘hobby’.

“Call it market research. It is important for any artist to keep a finger on the pulse, otherwise they will be left behind, and won’t be able to innovate.” You locked your phone for good measure, placed it face down on the table and spun yourself around on the bar stool. You had insisted on having a pair at the breakfast table to be economical, seeing as the area was simply an extension of the kitchenette’s counter space. Plus, they were a wonderful snowy white and matched with your recent furniture upgrades.

Wooyoung appeared less than amused, though it was not much of a surprise to you.

“But the guy will be taking the same fap material pics anyways, so what’s the point?” he countered, running a hand through his dark hair. There was something you knew for certain about the man you had been with for the last one and a half years, and living together for nine months. He was hilariously easy to read. Past the façade of biting comments and cheeky quips, he was as good as a flyer on a posterboard at keeping things hidden from you.

“I see you have your day planned out, huh?” Your response was quick and venomous, and you noticed Wooyoung roll his eyes and trail the gaze to a print hanging on the wall to your right, in the living room. It had been a gift from your boss, a ‘less stimulating’ piece perfect for family life, as he had elaborated, making you laugh. After giving you a soft embrace, he had let his hands linger on your waist, and whispered his congratulations on your moving in with your boyfriend right against your ear, sending shivers down the spine. You were not ashamed to say that it was Park Seonghwa’s touch you had thought about during your first night, in your own apartment, together with Jung Wooyoung.

“So do you. Dolled up and ready to impress, I see?” a classic response as of late. Equal parts aggressive and accusatory, equal parts hinting at his still lingering desire for you.

Irritation. Jealousy. That was what had been fuelling your relationship since the start. Truth be told, you were surprised it had lasted as long as it did, considering how you wanted nothing more than to slam his head against the wall sometimes. That was what happened when two individuals who had sold their soul to the creative arts decided to live under the same roof, under the illusion that they had found their lifelong muse. You had been there, in the very beginning; confident that Wooyoung was the one likeminded collection of visions, the closest thing there was on this earth to a soulmate. You had melted under his touch, much like the intricate sculptures he crafted and carved away, but it only resulted in you eventually being burned and the ceramic of your heart - cracked.

Nothing gold couldn’t fix. Or, in your case, it was the hours you spent at the studio, letting yourself get carried away by the intoxicating sensuality you were tasked with capturing. If it were anyone except you who was with Wooyoung, they would have probably started a riot and confronted him, but his behaviour gave you an excuse to mentally reduce him to an abstract expressionist dot on your canvas and dedicate yourself wholly to your idol. You told yourself that you were engaging in these mind games only until your lease were to run out. Then, you would quietly not renew it – to your advantage, Wooyoung was not much of a documents man, leaving it to whoever was closest, which just so happened to be his ‘dearest’ with a vengeance. It was not a matter of taking it out on Wooyoung because you had been scorned – oh no, it was because you found it unfair that he could act this way while your conscience had deemed this to be taboo. Besides, you needed something above you, a higher legislative power, to take that final step.

But who were you kidding? Had you the ability to control the way in which you thought of Seonghwa, you would have probably had the resolve to pack up your things and go anywhere, as long as it was far away from Wooyoung. He would remember you by the pieces he had sculpted in your honour, inspired by your frame, by the fire that had burned out some time ago. But even then, say you had left, and your black suitcase with metal decal at the ready, camera lazily slung over your neck, where would you go, when your feet could only remember the route from this loveless apartment to P.SH Studio?

“Mm, you know it. Rough day today, so I will probably be back late.” Not that you would notice was left unspoken. You wanted to at least finish your coffee before the bickering started.

“Just how you like it. Isn’t it right?” He was pushing your buttons, purposefully twisting your worlds into lewd euphemism. Wooyoung enjoyed driving you up the wall – probably the closest he came to actually giving you some kind of excitement in recent weeks. Otherwise, he was perfectly satiated, and you might as well be décor, sauntering around from room to room. It was as if he took pleasure in knowing that your mind was hazy, but the distance between you concrete, and only getting larger.

You swivelled back around to face away from your boyfriend, but caught his darkened gaze at the last moment. Head lowered to make his dark hair fall slightly over his eyes, a dangerous smirk dancing on his lips, still in your vision as you stared at the bottom of the cup, thoughtlessly moving the remaining grounds that were suspended in rapidly cooling droplets. You listened to Wooyoung pushing himself off the cupboards, and step towards you, until his chin was hovering just above you shoulder, and you could count his breaths.

“Want me to give you a little pep talk?” he whispered, turning to peck your earlobe a couple of times. You gripped your mug, not wanting to satisfy Wooyoung with a reaction.

In these moments, you almost wished you were still infatuated instead of subjecting him to impersonal evaluation. The attention would have then felt special, instead of as an apology in advance for inviting his assistant over to your shared accommodation. Again, his habits and methods were very traceable and blatantly obvious. But at least it let you think of the man you were going to be spending the entire day and evening shooting with, and helped you get rid of your frustrations early, so they did not bother you as much while you watched your master with unbreaking focus. And like in long exposure photography, eventually, everything except him became a blur. It was impossible to associate your own satisfaction with anyone else, so when you felt Wooyoung’s hot, needy lips trailing from your ear to the lower jaw, and his hand snaking up your thigh, pushing your black skirt up with it, you merely shut your eyes, and thought of him.

To your delight, Wooyoung was not being vocal like he usually would as he continued to caress you, his other hand now having found its place on your waist, effectively making him wrap around you. His sturdy chest was pressing against your shoulder blade while he nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. You cursed yourself as you felt a moan threatening to escape you, and bit your lower lip. Oh, to imagine yourself as one of those models in monochrome, revealing their true nature for the first time only to him. He never touched them, at least not in front of you, but oh how they wanted to be. You understood them wholeheartedly – your imagination being the only thing to get you closer to Park Seonghwa.

The hand that you mentally removed from its owner slinked away from your thigh, completely hiking the skirt up and slipping under the band of your black panties. You liked to think that your strive to match inside and out gave you more desirability, thus enabled you to be more confident at work – a silly way of masking your subconscious intentions. Who were you trying to fool? The other slid under your shirt, and, without bothering to take it off, tugged your bra aside to reveal your shapely breasts. The sudden change in temperature proved to be stimulating, leading to your nipples increasing in sensitivity. The hand carefully, patiently brushed over the tip of its erectness. You inhaled sharply and gave a little further into the feeling. No harm done, right?

Tapping into your mind palace, it conjured an external image of what was happening to you, the subject of the moving photograph. It was a surrealist, fantastical performance, challenging the imaginary viewer with physical abstraction. You could not help but wonder if how you were unravelling right this moment would look good through the lens. What settings would be used for this shoot? You ran the numbers, and with each one, turned more and more pliable, a putty in the strong arms that had permeated into this early morning day dream. Two fingers slipped into your half open mouth, and teasing, you ran the tip of your tongue over them, wordlessly giving full access and commanding they stop teasing you any longer.

A 105mm lens would do it. Focus should be on the act, other elements fading into the background and removing any undesired presence – a mechanical fog, heightening your desire. Heat pooled to your core as you felt what could only be equivalent to sparks of electricity coursing from your exposed and stimulated breasts down to the now aching arousal. He would probably praise you for being so responsive to him – any task, no matter how small, had earned you the warmed gratitude before, so why could that not be the same here? He would give you his undivided attention, slipping those fingers, coated in saliva, down to the pleading sex, poking your inner thighs to give him better access. You obliged, visualising how a gentle, approving smile would settle on the beautiful man’s every feature, down to the slight squint of his eyes. He leaned in closer to you, his chest hitting against your back once more as he suddenly squeezed your nipple, and ran his digits over your hard clit, coaxing out a gasp.

Your molars sank into your inner cheek with such power that you thought you would draw blood, as the fingers continued to tease you, moving in painfully slow circles around the nub, making your muscle clench and inadvertently grind your hips forwards, for even a small bit more friction. The action spurred him on, and soon enough you felt a pair of soft lips trailing across from your jawline to your collarbone, occasionally stopping to pay special attention to what he knew would make you scream. Barely being able to contain yourself, you stopped preventing the sinful melody from escaping you, and moaned to a particularly precise adoration of skin on the side of your neck. Fingers, which had been mercilessly abusing your impossibly sensitive clit, slipped between your folds and glided down their length, coating them in your own arousal. You had not realised just how wet you had gotten, raw desire coating the inside of your panties.

This had to be shot in the same rush as the one you were being enveloped by – handheld, manual, shutter speed at 1/200th – it only made sense to do so. This had to be sultry, less exposed to the lamp lights. A sensuality meant to be contained in the shadows. With a final flick, which made you groan in pleasure, only begging for more, the fingers travelled down the length of your soaked pussy lips, practically hooking it in and curling themselves into you. The entry of the digits into your trembling cunt sent your thoughts into a flurry, clouding you from seeing anything except stars and the man who shared his name with the celestial apparitions.

If not for the heat building in your lower half at an astounding rate, you would have been more amused at your conclusion for best using ISO 800 for this scene – high sensitivity, indeed. How terribly you wanted to capture this intimate portrait, encapsulate the dreamlike tenderness that you were visualising for none other than Park Seonghwa. Black and white. Lustful and loving. Fast and slow. He was a man of contrasts and unthinkable combinations, he was the only one who could understand your vision.

The rhythmic, accelerating pumping of masterful fingers into your pussy was caused you to lose focus, attention span reduced to mere instinct. Writhing in the chair, you were about to fully transport yourself into the studio, forgetting to set the shutter speed for the pretend shoot, when you caught the last voice that you wanted to hear in the building of your high:

“I bet you’re thinking of him, you dirty girl.” Wooyoung hissed right into your ear, an unsaid challenge in his tone. A flash of guilt ran over you as you were caught red-minded but did not want to go through the trouble of denying that what he said was true. Blame sculptors and their skilful hands, bringing you to a certain ruin.

“Shut… up, ah!” you yelped as you felt your boyfriend’s thumb pressing against your bud, moving at an entirely different pace as it stimulated just the tip, shifting your folds further apart.

“What, don’t want to hear me in your daydreams?” he teased you, knowing full well that you would agree if you weren’t so secretive. He had clocked some time ago that you were not indifferent to your boss, however he did not realise just how far gone you were. In his mind, the claims he was throwing out were a mere improvisation, the best he could conjure to fuel his hate-driven passion towards you.

“I- mfph, said, shut-”

“Such a needy little slut for him.” You were insufferable. When you were like this, trying to regain control of the situation even though you were clay in his hands, melting under him, he was regretful that you could not be the only one in his turbulent life.

If it was not work, then it was the mood. If it was not the mood it was something he did wrong. And if, somehow, he did nothing and you confirmed that, you simply pitied him. That was the power you held. You ignited within Wooyoung a ferocious need to destroy the pedestal onto which he had elevated you in the very beginning. But as he gave you distance, toppled one platform after another, you only seemed to soar higher above him, just within reach but still, not someone he could control. He was no longer a figure of romantic authority for you – perplexed by the exact timeline, he assumed that it was simply meant to be that way. Carnal pleasure in this united destruction.

“I know you want his fingers in your tight cunt, don’t you, my darling?”

You could not respond as Wooyoung continued to pick up the pace, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. The pet name was obviously taken from the snippets of conversation between you and Seonghwa that your boyfriend had overheard. Whenever he would have an idea for another series, or changes to some details for already planned scenes, he would run them by you, always interested in your opinions and taking them as the most valuable pieces of the creative puzzle. You really were here, getting off to the thought of being listened to, the master's hums and approvals at the forefront of ideation. You had to give it to him, Wooyoung knew how to make you come undone, even if it was by guesswork.

The vocalisation of the real source of your climb had flipped a switch, and Seonghwa flooded your mind. Wooyoung did not speak up again, and you were gone from regular consciousness, the dark lustful abyss surrounding you. Park Seonghwa was right there with you. You dashed from vision to vision, stringing them together to describe how he would feel. How it would feel for him to be the one to capture soft, supple tenderness of your throat with his enticing mouth, and how his arms would embrace your form and crush you in boundless pleasure. For the first time, he could be in front of the camera, together with you. The blur of the background disappeared as you adjusted the focus to the lewdness, the wet sounds of his outrageous rhythm. His face was now crystal clear before your eyes, his sharp features, half-lidded eyes as he brought you to your orgasm, praising you for being such an obedient little girl for him.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you with unexpected force. Overwhelmed, you let the sensation wash over you like a tempestuous ocean. Seeing only those two beloved colours, you felt for the seat beneath you to support your unsteady form. You could not yell, could not let out as much as a whisper as the etchings of the man you so desired glinted before you, lips parted in a silent proclamation of brutal, unrefined passion and obsessive adoration. Comical, how it was his manifestation amidst your sensual release that was the embodiment of love and lust, and not the man who you intentionally possessed with the role of Seonghwa.

“So fucked out, Y/N, shit. Just look at yourself.” Wooyoung chuckled as he watched you coming back to reality, trying to blink away the haze of the climax. He had remained still, wrapped around you almost in a protective gesture, his chest serving as a support for your arched body. His own arousal was frustrating him, trapped under a layer of denim, the friction only making him more impatient.

“Vulgar, as always.”

“Says you – look at this precious little mess you made, my sweet. Or can I even say ‘my’ anymore?” He demonstratively twisted you, so you were facing him, and with the hand that was attacking your breast now on his hip, he lifted the other away from your pulsating sex and lapped up the nectar that remained on his fingers, eyes lowered and scrutinising you through fluttering lashes. The bulge of his crotch commanded your gaze, albeit only for a split second. You were far from being in a Wooyoung mood. You squeezed your legs shut, feeling the soaked panties rubbing against you, and rolled your eyes.

“So, why in the world did you do that?” your nonchalance was painfully fake, airiness taking away from any impact you had intended for your question to have.

“If I told you I missed you, what would you do?” he countered, throwing the ball back in your court.

“Tell you to shove that bullshit where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Way ahead of you there, sweetheart.” He winked, completely dispelling your sensual musings.

“Run that mouth one more time, Woo, I dare you.”

“Oh, so you want my mouth to treat you right too. How greedy. Plus, I bet you would much rather have a certain someone else do that.” He kept on going, goading you into a spat. What had previously been a joke now transformed into a hypothesis, and Wooyoung was keen to see how far you would go to keep the truth from him.

“Shut u-”

“I’ve seen the photos you have of him, sweetie. All ‘focused with tongue sticking out’, or ‘making a playful face in a selfie’. Even I can imagine as far.” He could see that he was close to cracking you.

In your vulnerable, stupefied glory, the barrier between your pursed, plump lips and cruel heart was as weak as it could be. He needed to hear that you did not love him anymore. Not because it would give him any particular relief. Mainly for minimising regret over his actions. Convincing himself that what you two had was long gone and you were stuck in a routine. He needed to hear you say it. Wooyoung needed you to utter the words, be explicit that you wanted someone else. He peered into your eyes, unwaveringly, in search for at least a hint. The rise and fall of your chest was still uneven, yet you managed to return a glare, outwardly unfeeling, unresponsive, and worst of all, indifferent. He wondered if his little act of service was actually an act of pity on your behalf.

“I’m leaving.” Silence turned to bitter disappointment. It was time to slip away, very noticed, but that was the intention. Wooyoung pulled you closer to him by pinching your collar, letting you observe how a natural grimace underwent a metamorphosis into a boyish grin, as though he genuinely wanted to wish you the best.

“Have a lovely day.”

“Have fun being a ‘hand me down’,” you mercilessly quipped, fed up with his taunts. If one were to objectively compare you and him, the answer to who was the instigator of this shipwreck was clear enough. You were confident that it was not you, since up until this point, you had remained strictly theoretical, and did not dare bring up neither his unfaithfulness nor your dissatisfactions. “Fuck, I have got to change these now…” you stated, mainly to yourself as you hopped off the stool and made a beeline for the bedroom to grab a fresh set of lingerie.

Wooyoung fell into deep contemplation, leaning back on the counter with his elbows, and letting out a soft whistle. So, you did know of his escapades, as he had assumed. He had to give it to you, you were a phenomenal actress, and all these months that he had been indulging in one temporary partner after another, you had maintained a cool demeanour, letting your own evolution and walk through life without considering him in the present nor the future. Had you really so readily accepted his dismissal of you? His disrespect? Were you not seeking… vengeance? Could you not openly hate him for his sake?

He regarded you with indignation as you rushed from room to room, intent on ignoring his presence. Had you spared him any more emotion than basal instinct, even if it was just demanding his silence with rude yells, Wooyoung would have been content. But all he had left now was to watch your silhouette, now donning that oversized shirt dress, gathered at the waist with a black leather corset which had never failed to drive him wild, disappear out of the apartment, front door shutting softly behind you and leaving him alone with his demons and the divine shapes of your body that his hands had memorised. For the first time on his own volition, he cancelled that day’s rendezvous. He would only be able to think of you, anyways.

You were late. Terribly late. And no excuses about public transport or traffic could cover for you. And like hell you were going to say to your boss that you were late because you were fantasizing about him while your cheating boyfriend fingered you. To be frank, you could mention that you could not board the trains since they were overcrowded, but you encountered the issue only because you left the house at peak commute time, like an utter fool. Shame had settled into you as you were travelling across the city, squeezed between passengers, faceless and much the same as one another. You had tried to avoid touching anything, relying on your platform shoes to give you balance - you did not want your filth to embed itself into the doors and handles. How was what you had allowed yourself to do at all appropriate? And how had you conceded to Wooyoung's accusations and teasing, accepting his conjectures as soon as he played into your darkest dreams? Stuck in this blameful loop, you had almost missed your stop and had a number of glares sent and not so kind words muttered in your address, as you lurched through the crowded carriage by sheer inertia from the train stopping, and out of the doors.

It was nearly forty minutes past the hour on which you had agreed to begin preparations today, which meant even less time until the arranged boudoir shoot with the model Seonghwa had signed to work with. Thankfully this did not require too much effort, since for the most part you and your boss had the bright idea of beginning last night: setting up the backdrops, readying the series of props and leaving the clothing rack with pre-selected outfits out by the set. But the fact that you broke a promise that you had made to your boss, the master, was what aggravated your brooding.

Once you flew up the stairs that led from the entrance to the main part of the studio, you crept into the space nearly folded over. Bowing repeatedly in apology, you could barely see where you were going, and instead of making an uneventful entrance, were halted by a hand on either one of your shoulders, grinding you to a halt and making you straighten out.

“Woah there, beautiful, don’t run me over.”

You went pale as you came face to face with none other than your boss. The one who you had just been thinking about in less than professional ways. You grinned at him sheepishly, lowering your head and choosing to focus on his outfit. Black Oxfords, slacks and shirt, black hair in the elegant 4:6 parting… of course he would be embodying this timeless hue. He had explained to you before: the reason why he was dedicated to the monochromatic palette was because if one were to consider its formulation, black was the most ‘colourful’. Seonghwa was enamoured with everything around him, and thought its predominant use to be the optimal method of honouring nature.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.” He chuckled, while adjusting the top of the dress from invisible creases, giving you a discreet onceover. It was impossible for you to remain composed, and an indecipherable amalgamation of ‘sorry’s and haphazardly mashed elaborations that all amounted to nervous white noise began to pour.

You were cute when you were shy, he concluded to himself as he took in your presently meek form, cooing that you need not worry. Though the illusion was broken as soon as he spotted what was, unmistakably, a fresh hickey that was only just gaining prominence on your delicate neck. A playful smirk threatened his lips as he raised an eyebrow and cut your monologue short.

"A kiss from your boyfriend wishing you a good day at work, my love?" The odd combination of words sent your heart ablaze. It was like Wooyoung's existence did not matter one bit to him, he was above it.

"Huh? What, sorry?"

"Your neck." You were caught off-guard by the handsome brunette pointing at his own neck, and then tilting his head towards you. An unreadable smile was on his lips as he watched your checks heat up and you stuttering out a barely audible curse. It was endearing, watching how you, normally unphased and professional, crumbling at the slightest mention of something even the tiniest bit suggestive if it was related to you.

Did you want to appear 'pure' in front of him? Unaffected and innocent? Whilst it was admirable that you had been holding out for so long, be it because of your so-called commitments or something darker, it was the not-so-subtle glances you sent in his direction that drove him to the brink of insanity, igniting a demonic creativity that led him to shoot one masterpiece after the other. Your hesitation blended with an undeniable desire was his strange addiction.

When Seonghwa had met you at his exhibition all that time ago, within you he saw a sophisticated fragility, like that of a precious artwork, or of a spring flower. At the beginning of your journey as a photographer but showing much promise, the sparkle in your eyes left him dizzy. There was something about you that reminded him of a cherub, a sweet creature untainted by misery and heartbreak. Or so was his initial perception that had given him the push to take a deeper interest in you. As he observed your rise in the circle, be it through his extensive web of connections or his own eyes, he noticed your expressions morph into showcasing a grotesque chiaroscuro. A daunting heaviness of your portrait miniseries for a class, where you had placed every pore, every wrinkle of your subjects under scrutiny in the stark light, left an inkling of fear and concern in Seonghwa's heart. This was work done in passing, an experiment for a module where you had to present your interpretation of an assigned theme, with yours being 'heartbreak'. He had found out about it by accident while catching up over a coffee with your professor for that class. And yet, it was this collection that demolished any doubts that he might have had about your future as an artist. You lived through each portrait. Your soul was shared with the model, and immortalised. A collection of portraits of people who had lost love.

You had a story to tell, and what better way to do it than through photography? Any description of his joy when you had asked if his offer of mentorship and fulltime work was still standing would be an understatement. He wanted to play a part in your development. To help you harness the immeasurable talent you had and give you the opportunity and resources necessary for a newcomer to the otherwise cruel industry. Seonghwa felt the urge to be your protector, someone who you could turn to and rely on. While you two maintained a professional relationship, he could not help but treat you with extra care and affection – it came naturally. And it only increased once he found out that, apparently, you had an excuse for a significant other. What little rationality he had left when it came to you proclaimed he should distance himself, but by a risk-hungry democracy, he only inched closer to the fire. Although you were always hesitant to share anything about your partner, he managed to piece the facts together. You were hanging on by a thread, and Seonghwa wanted to cut it and be there to catch you.

He felt it tighten once again as you dashed for the full length mirror standing in the corner of the room, inspecting the bruised skin, mortified. If only he could have the key to that gorgeous mind of yours to know just what you were recalling as you stared into the mirror and attempted to raise the collar of your dress to cover it, but to no avail. The corset – a neat contraption with a convenient zip at the back, highlighting your graceful features, was holding the article stubbornly in place. As you began to search in your bag for the concealer which you just so happened to forget due to the disturbance of your routine this morning, Seonghwa stalked towards you, raising his hand to place it over yours, reducing agitation to mere shock. The surprise on your face as he guided you into a more relaxed stance accelerated the pace of his heart to unprecedented heights.

“Do not worry about it, hey, look at me, Y/N, are you okay?” you had refrained from lifting your head.

Everything was going wrong, and you were the only one to blame. Automatically, you moved to cover the hickey, pressing a palm against it. Did Wooyoung do this on purpose, to send some sick message to you and your boss? Claim ownership over someone who was, emotionally, already lightyears away? How you despised that man, but even more, how you despised yourself for the utter lack of control you had. Splitting into thousands of pieces, you offered too many parts to the one and a half years of an illusion, clearly not having enough left to make a concrete decision and dare to spread your wings. Even if you were to be burned by the sun, you would give up anything for the smallest chance to not be plagued by the conundrum and would soar. The ghost of a touch that Seonghwa applied to your knuckles sparked your internal pleas, and again you availed yourself of safe formality, and let apologies overflow.

Confused, Seonghwa let the weight of his hand become more noticeable as he turned you a little more towards him, meeting you half way with a side step. Taking the purse out of your hand and setting it down on a painted bench set right by the mirror, he was about to pull you even closer but hesitated.

“Sorry, may I put my hands on your upper arms?” you glanced up to meet Seonghwa’s earnest expression, “Would it be alright with you?” only once you nodded did he let himself do just as he had explained, and lightly squeezed the muscle. “Y/N, what happened, talk to me.”

This man was going to be the death of you. Asking for permission over things Wooyoung did not even consider. Ever. Not even when he was just trying to ‘woo’ you, for the lack of a better word. If your heart had not melted before, it sure did now, as Seonghwa continued whispering phrases of reassurance, concerned but not pushing you to reveal more than you wanted. Presenting himself as your safe haven. He was normally open about physical affection with those close to him, but respect was an even higher priority.

“Seonghwa, I-… I am not sure I can talk about it… at least right now.” You mumbled, dropping your arm to your side.

“I get that. Sure. You okay to do the shoot? If you need to go home-”

“Anything but home! Uh, I mean, yeah. I am okay. I just need to cover this… thing… thank you for spotting it. And again, I am so sorry you had to set all of this up and I am a mess and-”

“Ma belle, what you need to cover is your responsibilities. So, if you’re sorry, get to it.” The sudden sternness snapped you out of your mental drift, and you widened your eyes. His finger dug into your skin, not quite as strong as to leave marks, but enough to make the temperature begin rising. Voice dropped into a whisper, but still bearing traces of near maternal attentiveness, he explained:

“The make up artist will be here in about fifteen minutes, but I assume you don’t want anyone to see it, so if you don’t mind, I have an accessory for you to try on.” He moved away to stride to a cabinet on the other side of the room and retrieved an item from one of the drawers.

Upon closer inspection, you recognised the item to be a thick black leather collar, with a circular silver detail at the front. This was a prop from one of the shoots you had collaborated on a couple of months ago – a series that took inspiration from dominatrix culture and bondage. Your cheeks began to heat up as Seonghwa raised it closer to eye level, and smiled sweetly, as if he did not have the same association with the object as you did.

“This should do it. And if not, you know we have some items with more… substantial coverage,” you hummed in agreement, unsure of how to proceed. Seonghwa was expectant, motioning for you to let him help with the choker.

Not finding any reason to disagree with the proposition, you lifted your hair, while he walked behind you and slid the item around your neck, positioning and fastening it in such a way that the bruise was fully concealed. As he worked on the miniature buckle, a strong sense of déjà vu overtook you, making you even more sensitive to his proximity. This was too close to what you had been playing in your head; a couple of steps going south, and it would be a re-enactment. You bit your lip nervously, listening to every breath.

When Seonghwa requested that you show the now completed outfit to him, the intensity with which he was affected by it was unforeseeable. He barely managed to utter a compliment, clenching his fist to suppress an urge to ruin the beauty. Here stood the one who he had been searching for in his art. The one who he had subconsciously been dedicating work to. The Aphrodite, and at the same time, the visionary and his partner in crime. And in that pretty collar, there was no longer any reminder that you should be off limits. The forbidden fruit. To hell with common courtesy-

Seonghwa dipped his head towards you, and once millimetres away, shut his eyes and sank into the feeling of his lips locking with yours. Just as he had thought, you were a sweet paradise, leading him into a paralysis - all he could ponder was how far he could go. You did not push away, joining him in the passionate abyss and getting drunk off his delicious and soft lips. In unison you were satiating your hunger, the current proximity simply not enough. To deepen the long-awaited kiss, you ran your fingers through his hair and gently tugged at the back, causing him to break away momentarily, revealing darkened, carnivorous orbs. He stepped even closer to you, his hips almost touching yours as hands travelled to your waist and pulled you in. Perhaps it was good that you had as little control as you did – or were just this willing when it came to this dazzling man.

There was no good reason for this to be happening. In fact, had your life been a show, most of the audience would likely say you were to blame, that you were a cheater, a whore living two lives, but to you even these seconds, turning to minutes, were worth it. With each caress you were erasing your memories of early morning, and of the fiend who, undoubtedly had organised his own fun. Didn’t a girl deserve to smile too?

Nothing felt real. Floating, life forever altered, relishing in the fact that there was no turning back. Finally, the thread snapped. A precious little bird, freed from the confines of losing oneself, day in, day out. Seonghwa noticed how you entered a flow state, hypnotised by the taste of your personal heaven. The Birth of Venus, your vibrancy brought to light by none other than him – couldn’t the other man see that you could not be carved nor moulded? You needed the spark, the energy, the worship. For that, you would go to the end of the world, but now, Seonghwa was the only one who had the power to choose if you did.

A sharp ringing of a phone interrupted your dizzying sensuality, making Seonghwa groan as he took out the vexing device from his pocket, flipping it to answer. As he talked, however, it was as though the moment still continued, with him not taking his eyes off you a single time, only motion being his mouth outlining the contours of your jawline, moving to your reddened lips to wipe away smudged lipstick. You could not move, fixated on his mellifluous low tone as he continued to admire you. Like you were his magnum opus.

“My darling, our time to shine. The whole crew will be here in five.” He covered the speaker, sharing with you what the manager on the other end of the line had stated. Unwillingly, he had to part from you, but was halted by your nimble hands cupping his face and returning the favour, clearing his face of any traces of your makeup. As a way of thanks, he turned to give your fingers a peck, a brief amused chuckle escaping him as you raised your eyebrows.

Though it was customary for Seonghwa to be a little more physically affectionate than most when it came to working in a professional environment, the significance of his attention towards you had changed drastically and did not go unnoticed by either of you. Each lingering caress held a universe, and served as silent reassurance, communication of the ongoing symbiosis between you and him. As he would reach over to grab a different lens, he would just so happen to brush past you, and send you, just you, a smile. While his hands were pressing all the right buttons, and he was uttering the right commands that the manager was translating to the model – as it turned out she did not speak a word of Korean nor any of the languages Seonghwa had picked up during his travels, and generally preferred to remain void of emotion, his thoughts were entirely on you. As he guided the model from one position to another, directed the feeling that she was supposed to be embodying, but ultimately failing, his only salvation was pretending what it would be like if you were on that chaise longue sofa, clad in elegant lingerie.

Far too many long, gruelling hours had passed by, and Seonghwa had shown far too much patience with the solemn, rigid woman on the set. The sun had already gone down, so he was trying his best to retake some of the shots, with you running from reflector to studio light, endlessly readjusting. Both you and him were winded, exhausted both physically and mentally as you, the model and the manager were the only ones left working – upon Seonghwa’s request, you had dismissed the stylist and makeup artist, agreeing that if any last touch ups were needed due to the heat from the lights, you would figure it out. Art school had taught you how to improvise in times of crisis.

At this stage, it would be better to simply wrap up for the day and pick up again tomorrow; it could be that the ‘energy’ for the shoot was off for someone, or everyone. Could be that there simply was dissonance between certain people on set. But it could not be any worse than what you had waiting for you at home, so, in some ways the long shoot was a blessing in disguise. With the new dynamic between you and Seonghwa to explore, you had almost forgotten about the fact that you had a significant other, at least until your phone began to ring incessantly in your bag, forcing you into a run across the room. As soon as you checked the caller id, your blood ran cold, and with a hardened expression, you swiped to answer.

“Y/N, hello there, sweetheart!”

“Hi.” You could not remember the last time Wooyoung had called you out of the blue. You thought that such behaviour had remained in the flirting stage for him.

“You sound stressed. Hard day at work?”

“Yes. It isn’t over yet, so I need to go.”

“Aw… And here I was, about to ask you what you would like for dinner.” He elaborated. You could hear the pout that he was undoubtedly wearing, along with some shuffling.

“Back so soon? No fun at work?” you remarked, implicitly jibing.

“Yes… terribly uneventful. Was thinking about you all day, replaying this morning…” he was acting too sweet for your liking, and for his present character. Had he been conversing with anyone else and you were listening in, you could have made more sense of it. But this made your skin crawl.

As he babbled away, your focus drifted. Never before had the man on the call felt so foreign – more distant than a stranger. It was like the dull words being uttered were entirely inaccessible, nothing more than the ghost of lost meaning, thrown into a gust of wind. His efforts were lost on you, for you had no heart to tolerate Wooyoung anymore. With an unprecedented tranquility, a conclusion had been reached, and it felt right to step away. That decision, that snap that you had been seeking had finally happened, and you were observing him while pretending to listen to the incessant chatter. The dream, the fresh start, the possibility. Seonghwa had captured your heart long before you had even met Wooyoung – so, maybe, it was you who had been unfair. Getting into a relationship when you had been simply fooling yourself.

A conversation between your boss and the manager, which had previously been level and measured out, was growing more heated by the second. You perked up at the elevated volume, and pulled the phone away from your ear to tune in.

“…I can’t work with her when she is not even trying to work with me!” Seonghwa exclaimed, clearly upset as a familiar southern lilt had seeped into the phrase, naturally deepening his voice and leaving his interlocutor taken aback. But not for long enough, as they recovered and snapped back:

“She’s pretty, isn’t she? Making her look good in a frame is your job, so, do it.”

Eyes wide, you whispered some excuse to Wooyoung, cutting him off mid-sentence. You wished you felt bad, to preserve some social dignity, but it was liberating to finally be the one to elicit shock.

"Honey, what did you say? I'm worried."

The fingers of your free hand curled into a fist as you registered the urgency in his voice. A drastic change from even a mere couple of minutes. You fell silent, processing your reaction. Why did you freeze? Why could you not just... leave?

"Y/N, darling, are you there? Do you need any help? I'll be right there if you need me..." he continued, concern growing with every syllable as you began to dig your nails into the soft flesh of your palm.

Part of you was still attached, it seemed. Some subconscious element that had been thoroughly trained by none other than Wooyoung, trained to believe him and only him. That toxic portion was still confident that he wished for nothing more except for you to be well and in a blissful harmony. In his shadow. A gifted sculptor, whispering watered down droplets of affection, softening up the clay of your innocent heart until he could leave his permanent mark. Wooyoung was here. Wooyoung wanted to be your creator. But the magic trick ceased to be impressive as soon as you realised, and now could take the risk to fight back.

"I'm okay, I'll... I'll see you later." You wanted to conclude the conversation as soon as possible, seeing as you could see that Seonghwa was beginning to lose his patience. It was a rare occurrence but unpleasant enough to avoid... at all costs.

"Is he hurting you?" A sharp jab, out of the blue, right into the arguments that you had been collecting against the man on the phone. He? Was Wooyoung really accusing Seonghwa of something you could not even begin to imagine him doing?

"What?" You mumbled, so quietly that it could have been to yourself.

"I can hear the shouting, Y/N. Not only is he overworking you, but... resorting to violence? Who does he think he is?"

Your eyes darted to the black-haired angel on the other side of the studio, about to hang his halo on a clothing rack in the strive to prove a point to a person who did not want to listen. Surely, that was an appropriate reaction? And was he not the one who gave you what you swore to be your first love-filled kiss?

"Sweetheart, just say the word... do you need to go home?"

Wooyoung was your boyfriend still, wasn't he? Many promises and commitments later, many months as one whole. He couldn't recommend something downright outrageous, since he would have to face your wrath in close proximity. Yes, you were still safe there. Home. Not perfect, but a home nonetheless. What did Seonghwa promise? Do? You were a colleague to him, a subordinate. An inexperienced photographer who barely graduated from being a pure amateur. Maybe you would be doing him a favour if you went home right now. Home to the person who had officially called you his.

"I..."

"Mm?"

"Y/N! Can you give me a hand?" You winced at the question turned command that Seonghwa boomed. It did little to dispel your assumption that Wooyoung might be right in saying you should leave, but at the same time, cleared your head just enough to realise that here you were again. Falling into the same pattern of blind obedience.

"Was it him? Say no!"

"Sorry what? Can't hear you I think you are breaking the connection is so bad so sorry I really did not understand bye-" you stuttered out, ending the call, and letting out a sigh of relief.

You felt dizzy. Exhausted. The brief conversation with Wooyoung had drained you more than the photoshoot, leaving you numb and dreading the end of the workday. Just how much strength would it take to cut all ties? You had not noticed that you had been absent-mindedly playing with the choker, and only when Seonghwa had sent a glare in your direction did you fall from your musings in a cold flash and followed his pointing gestures.

He was turning livid, his expression darkening. You slipped into the background, approaching the model, and gestured for her to follow you. Seeing as she was bored to be here, she was more than happy to follow you to the neatly folded pile of her clothes, paying no mind to the standoff occurring a mere couple of metres away. You cowered as the manager leered at you slyly, and dismissed yet another one of Seonghwa's rational suggestions for how to switch up the shoot to take at least couple of salvaging shots. As the model took her time to get ready, not having heard from her supervisor whether it was time to go or not, you saw Seonghwa's eyes bleed into a ghoulish abyss, barely containing what would be the foundation for a catastrophe.

“How about this, I can find another model, and you can find another photographer to complete this lady’s portfolio. I think both of us would be satisfied with that outcome.” he hissed, refraining from stooping so low so as to use informal language, even though the other man had been disregarding the common principle for the better, or worse, half of the day.

"Who, this... girl?" All eyes were on you, and you could not feel any smaller than you did at that moment. The manager gave you a wry side glance and crossed his arms. "Can she even model?"

"I'd say my co-creator and muse can model. Yes. And better than... many." Seonghwa bit back the offences that had accumulated, but the weight of his words was enough to hint at the lack of welcome. He nodded at you in an attempt to subtly share some comfort, but could not find your eyes, which were tracing lines between the white floorboards.

Muse. The title he had given you with such ease and pride. The title that no artist dared to use lightly out of fear of cursing their inspiration. A warmth spread over your body as the notion ate away at the embedded agitation, washing over the soul and taking, with each wave, the rotting floatation left behind by the person who wanted to sculpt your fate. A muse. And there was no better place for a muse than in a place of art and innovation. Wooyoung could enjoy his dinner by himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, it is late, and I don't think this should continue for any longer." The manager broke the silence, though nothing except his indignant utterance littered the ambience.

"Adieu."

The duo had departed, thankfully, in a hurry, with the manager practically pushing the lady with the stony face out of the door. As soon as Seonghwa, from his position by the window, having lifted the tulle away from it with two fingers, saw the pair appear on the street and start in the direction of the busier road that was in the studio’s vicinity, he let out a low, exasperated groan and ruffled his hair. The camera, which had weighed down on his neck not dissimilarly to a ball and chain, had found home on a high stool, while the photographer stormed towards the main set, and crashed onto the chaise longue.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight. His right arm was grazing the floor, while the other, palm pointed outwards, was pressing into the bridge of his nose with the wrist. One leg slightly bent, the other fully lying on the plush material, he had landed in a threateningly sensual position that set you ablaze. It was impossible to tell whether this was purposeful or not, but at that moment you began to question why this ethereal man had never made an official appearance in front of the camera. The lights gave him a mystical sheen, only further enhancing the dreamlike quality Seonghwa possessed. You took a tiny step closer, careful to not produce a sound with the thick rubber soles of your boots.

He was worn out. It was painted, clear as day, across his face, and yet he still retained a regal quality, his profile – a timeless elegance. He would not hurt you. It had to be a crude lie said in egoistic anguish. The magnificent individual before you was a healing luminescence, filling up the room, embodying it, spreading the monochrome across your universe until you were hesitant to even consider external matters. This had to be immortalised. You raised your mobile phone, swiping to remove the notifications of messages that Wooyoung had apparently sent you, instead switching to the camera. The angle was not perfect, since you were on the side, the outskirts, but with a careful zoom and some manual finetuning to the settings, you could see the opportunity for a shot. Steadying yourself, you adjusted your hold on the device, and snapped away.

An unfamiliar sensation began to course through you as you focused on Seonghwa’s every detail, eyes devouring him and guiding your secret shoot. The thrill of acting on your own accord, capturing an intimate moment for yourself only was leaving you feverish. Enraptured by his slightly parted lips, you went for an extreme close up, leaning further forward and adjusting the settings once again to drop the ISO to 280 and adjusting the shutter speed to a 1/750th. Through the lens you could witness divinity embraced by pitch black, broken only by his grace. One click. Another. You were losing rationality. Snapping away, hypnotised.

“Use the proper camera. It’ll be good practice.” You froze as you were met with Seonghwa’s smouldering gaze, sent right into the lens. With a gasp, you locked your phone and shuddered, flaring up in embarrassment.

“I-I am s-so sorry, I didn’t even a-ask-”

“Apologising to me an awful lot today, aren’t you?” you could not respond, and merely followed Seonghwa’s movements as he raised himself back up and, while still on the sofa, spun to sit facing you. Legs slightly spread apar, he positioned his elbows at the knees, and intently studied you with a smug grin. “A photographer’s calling is to capture beauty as they see it, so if anything, I am honoured, my love.”

A knot began to form in your stomach as you regarded the man. How could he treat your actions so lightly? Should he not be mad? Where was the enraged Seonghwa, who had been on the verge of letting hell break loose? His unreadable nature only proved to elevate your excitement, and you eagerly approached him as he beckoned you:

“Would you show me the photos, darling?” you nodded, taking a seat to his left and unlocking your phone.

Careful not to scroll up, nor to hit any buttons to unleash the guilty pictographic altar that was the candid photographs you had taken at earlier times, you clicked on the first one you had taken this evening and tilted the screen towards the interested man. Prior consideration of your actions as only adorable rapidly evaporated as he inspected the work, astonished by its quality. You had managed to surpass the awkward positioning of the equipment from where you had been standing and made the phone work with you. Seonghwa manoeuvred to be pressed against you, thigh to thigh, and used your startled state to fish your phone out of your hands and scrutinise the pictures freely.

Judging by the reluctance to let go, he could sense that you were hiding something from him. You were heavily interested in where and how he was swiping, and one of your hands was hovering next to his. It was his duty, and his pleasure, to find out what the fuss was about. There was something unequivocally compelling about your transfixion – no dispassionate photographer would be so loving and involved in any image. Even his own works, on occasion, exhibited the ‘technically perfect, and yet far removed’ quality. Seonghwa had a sneaking suspicion about what kinds of pictures you had, but did not want to show how the sheer idea affected him. As he indulged in your reflection on the screen, your trepidation proving irresistible, a spontaneous ruse spawned in his mind, and was rolling off the tip of his tongue in an instant.

“Y/N, could you get me my camera, please? This shot reminded me of one I had taken…”

Waiting for the moment you were outside of arm’s reach, making a beeline to the requested object, he pressed on the back arrow, and within a couple of clicks and scrolls, his guesses were confirmed. A hidden album containing only him. Bursts of his profile, his physique, occupying your gallery. You appeared to be quite selective in when you took the photos, too. More often than not, you emulated Rembrandt style lighting, and the pictures you had favourited were those that reminded him of ancient Greek etchings and sculptures. When did you have the time to do this? How had he not discovered this before? He could not wipe the smirk off his face in time as he saw your shadow fall over him. Far from innocent, weren’t you? The grasp over the camera grew slack, only saved by the habit you had formed of wrapping the strap around your hand to not let it hang loose. With a victorious raising of the eyebrows, Seonghwa turned the phone to you, showcasing what he had ‘just so happened to stumble upon’, and declared:

“I think we have a lot to discuss here, love. Take a seat.” Just when you were about to stiffly settle in the same place, he roughly pulled you to him and onto his lap, grunting as you collided with his powerful thighs. One arm immediately found your waist, fingers toying with the base of the corset, while the other, phone on display, rested like a guard over your legs.

“Now, let’s see… what a collection! How long has it been?” he scrolled slowly, making sure to elevate your sense of shame, though judging by your facial expressions, you were more than happy to be treated how you were at that moment. Eyes half shut, ragged breaths, you were alert and in anticipation. “You kissed me, so you can tell me.” He emphasised, raising up the phone to poke you lightly under the chin.

“A… about seven months…”

“Wow… and how long have you been together with mister Jung Wooyoung?”

“A year and a half…”

“And how long has he been… not satisfying you?” you gaped at Seonghwa in shock. He locked your mobile and set it aside, choosing to play with the metal loop attached to the choker he had picked for you, and tugging just enough for the pressure to build.

“What?”

“Well, evidently there is something that is not there anymore… and these hickeys don’t count, my love. So tell me, what is it?”

“Cheating. He is cheating...” It was challenging to muster up the courage to say the words out loud. It was the first time you openly acknowledged the act for what it was. No euphemisms, no bent truths. It was almost too much for you, as that lump in your throat that had formed during your last conversation with your boyfriend made an irksome return.

“How long?”

“I have had my suspicions for… eight months, confident for… three.”

“I see. I am so sorry, darling I-”

“Now who’s the one apologising?” You joked, a small smile returning to you as you let Seonghwa take the camera from your hands, his chuckle making you shiver.

“Then I hope you won’t need one from me when I do this,” Seonghwa’s voice dropped into a sultry tone before he traced your jawline with his fingers and closed the minimal space between you.

Hands roaming your body, gentle, barely there, treating you like you were a priceless centrepiece made of glass. Compared to the first you had shared, this kiss was an ocean, commencing with a series of lulling waves – a reminder that you need not worry about anything except yourself and what you desired. A crescendo with a building breeze, awakening you from a forlornness and leading you into a glowing, rekindled wanting. The climb towards the crashing tsunami, consuming you as, finally, you felt wholly acknowledged, adored, affirmed.

Your yelp was stifled as he deepened the kiss and let you down slowly onto the velvet fabric of the chaise longue, making sure that your head was lying on the miniature pillow in the corner of the seat by protectively cradling you. Once your back was against the material, Seonghwa hovered over you, a hand on either side while his right knee positioned itself between your legs, with it pushing your dress upwards. His tongue pressed against your teeth, begging for entrance which you readily allowed, and sighed at the feeling of it filling your senses, Seonghwa quickly becoming the only thing you ever wanted to taste. With a tilt of the head, it moved even deeper, while his body was radiating an immeasurable longing for you, its friction against yours nearly making you question your own sanity.

Once you broke apart for gasps of sweet oxygen, sharing the hot air and watching a lewd string of saliva stretch and break between you, you mumbled out a breathy question, which you knew to be your last as you were growing more and more desperate for this man’s heavenly touch.

“Seonghwa… but why?”

“You can only see me. I can only see you. It simply makes sense, no?” he responded, giving you a quick peck on your reddened lips, followed by a couple more on your cheek, until he was right by your ear, “Let me show you that you deserve so much more, darling. Let me show you worship. May I, my love?” his beautiful, dark eyes staring into yours as he awaited your agreement.

“Yes.”

“Très bien.”

With that, the choker flew off you in one swift swipe, and, suddenly, your neck was exposed to him. Hungry orbs trained on the mark that your boyfriend had left, and soon enough Seonghwa’s lips were abusing the same sensitive spot, teasing the skin. After giving it his love and special attention, he moved to another area right beside it, repeating the action, while his knee moved higher for more support, accidentally brushing against your clothed core. You could not help but use the opportunity to buck your hips a little to add to the pooling desire. Unfortunately for you, Seonghwa had caught on too fast, and with satisfied lick, rose up and pushed himself off the chaise longue.

He regarded you through half-lidded eyes, his own arousal starting to build. No longer were there traces of the other man on you. You were free to choose whomever, and you chose him – Seonghwa. This moment had to become timeless.

“Darling, as much as I would love to ravish you right here right now, we have some photos to retake.” He could barely contain himself as you whimpered with frustration, rubbing your thighs together. He reached over to grab the camera and your phone, and added a request for you to undress. Completely.

Erection rubbing against him as he ambled towards the stand, Seonghwa heard a zip, followed by a series of rustles. “You can throw them off set for now, I do not mind.” He called out, his back still to you. A thump, and quietude. Finally at his rightful place as photographer, he let himself retrain on the scene, and felt his heat rise to unprecedented heights. He realised – this was exactly what he had been imagining every time he had a model work with him. Every time he had anybody over, this was what had been guiding his vision. You. Only you. Sat patiently, waiting for his direction.

You heard the clicking of the aperture, and took in Seonghwa’s black-clad form on the stool behind the camera. It was easy enough to guess why it was uncomfortable to remain in one place, but you were not about to ruin the photoshoot. You were a professional, after all.

“Do you think you can show me how you touch yourself?” he asked, readying his camera. You were still a little shy, so he urged you on: “You have so many photos of me, darling, show me how you get off to them. I know you do, my love.” Blushing, you finally acted, and Seonghwa could not believe it.

Sliding a finger between your slick folds, you wetted it with your own arousal and began to rub slow circles over your sensitive clit, head tilting back.

“Legs a little wider for me,” a flash, “that’s it, well done. What are you thinking of, ma belle?”

“Ah… y-you…” the sinful mumble was electrifying, and one of Seonghwa’s hands drifted towards his bulge, which had grown even larger, starting to become problematic for his concentration.

“What specifically, Y/N?”

“H-how you could take me, right here.”

“Take you? Elaborate, tell me everything. And yes, just like that, beautiful.”

Your hand began to move faster, flicking the nub, while the fingers of your other hand took to producing unimaginable sounds as they curled to stimulate the clit even further and progress to glide into your pussy with ease. A course of flashes and clicks signified that Seonghwa particularly enjoyed this course, so you did not hold back and let yourself moan, whispering his name as your high started to approach.

“How you could- ah! Make me come. In any way- AH, Hwa, I’m close-” beloved fantasies floated before you as you continued your performance.

“You are gorgeous, Y/N, I’ll make you come, not to worry, darling, just one more shot, okay?” he cooed as he continued to palm himself through his trousers, watching you bring yourself to a euphoric ruin.

“I- I am n-not sure I’ll la-ast-” you cried out, the orgasm imminent.

“That’s perfect, Y/N, show me.” His finger hovered over the button, like a panther lying in wait to capture its next kill.

“S-Seonghwa!”

“Yes-”

A flurry of shots surrounded you as you shut your eyes and were hit by a satisfying climax that caused you to sink back into the sofa and left your sex pulsing, hot juices trickling out and coaxing Seonghwa out of his digital hiding. It was virtually impossible for him to contain himself any longer, so with a few quick changes to settings, he set an automatic interval timer, for the camera to continue capturing the intimacy, but now with him in the second starring role.

Not taking his gaze off you, Seonghwa slipped out of his Oxfords, and neatly folded his button up and trousers, while having been reduced to a miniscule tremor due to the never-ending pressure on his trapped member, which had already leaked precum onto his boxers. Another flash, and he was walking towards you, ablaze from how you studied him, so alluringly dishevelled and dedicated to him.

A real life Adonis, a mortal blessing seeking you out and yearning for your caress. His equally well shaped cock twitched as he stood off to one side of you, at an impeccable ninety degrees from the camera to capture his length and salaciousness of the scene. Having recovered from your high, you were enthusiastic to please and dropped to your knees as Seonghwa gave the member a couple of pumps. Crawling forward, you innocently opened your mouth, lolling your tongue out. A perfect picture, you knew it.

“Care to prepare me before I make you feel good, ma belle?” he did not need to ask twice.

As soon as he let his hand fall to his side, you replaced it with your own, and with the other massaged his balls, attentive to every flex of muscle, every groan he held back. Now, that was not acceptable. You wanted to hear this man say your name at least once if he truly held you in his heart. You shot him a quick look, and upon seeing that he had bit his lower lip and he was already hazy, took his tip in your mouth, circling it with your tongue and giving it a couple of light sucks. A gasp promoted your continuation, and you teased his hole while not ceasing to give his base thorough focus.

Shaken, Seonghwa could only manage a low, guttural moan as you moved to take in half of his length, still keeping up the intoxicating patterns with your tongue. He gingerly pushed a lock of hair out of your face, unable to utter anything when you gazed up with curiosity. With that, you took a quick breath, and by pulling yourself forward using Seonghwa’s legs, you took him in until the cock hit the back of your throat and caused tiny tears to well up.

“Ah- Y/N, you- mfph-” nothing had ever sounded better than this you leaned back, with only the tip remaining between your lips, and then slid back down,  speeding up as you listened to Seonghwa’s sinful vocalisations.

Feeling his member harden, you were about to pick up the pace even more, but your endeavour was cut short by Seonghwa placing his palm on your crown, and tapping you with his index finger a couple of times.

“Th-thank you, love, now I want to make you feel good.” A loud pop resounded as you removed yourself, resulting in the man fighting back a shudder. “Ah, but I don’t have-”

“I have the implant, and you don’t have to come inside.”

“Wasn’t planning to, love, I want to paint over you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Seonghwa sat on the chaise longue, much as he had done at the very beginning while still clothed, and reached out to take your hand and walk you to him. Only you existed to him, a realisation that turned to fact as he sped up your movements, roaming your body and helping you lower yourself onto his throbbing dick. Prior to giving him the full pleasure, however, you ran the soaked pussy lips, softened by a climax and yearning for more, across it, to coat and lubricate it with your nectar. And finally, you sank onto the member, the dizzying feeling of fullness making your walls clench around it, and Seonghwa’s nails dig into your waist.

He let you remain motionless to get used to him, and to have the camera do its magic, but was ecstatic once you rose again, and began to ride him while lazily rolling your hips. You were now moaning without inhibition, Seonghwa’s name sounding simply right. When you cried out, his cock hitting at just the right spot, he rushed to soothe you by stroking circles over your pelvis, but the concern quickly dissipated as you uttered, much to his delight:

“Seonghwa, this is so-so good…”

“You’re perfect, my love. So perfect for me.” He mumbled back, kissing your shoulder blades.

Only fate could have brought him to you, or you to him. It was as though you had been made for one another, fluid and communicating through exquisite body language. A flash. Another. A priceless collection marking yours and Seonghwa’s evolution into a divine creative partnership. Undefined by standards, understood by inspiration and artistry.

“Mm, love how you fill me up so well, Hwa, please-” the knot in your stomach continued to grow as you grinded on his dick.

“So amazing, my darling, my muse.”

Seonghwa reached over and stimulated your clit while your breathing turned shallower, and you attempted to speed up. The action proved difficult, as with your climax fast approaching, your movements became more disjointed and dysrhythmic. Clearly, they became so uncontrollable, that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Melting into his touch, you followed as he stood up, careful to keep his member inside of you, and told you to bend over, keeping your ass up in the air.

Arranging for the best angle, he checked the camera, and, once confirming that the shot was going to be ideal, inhaled and glided his length into you, progressively picking up the speed until what had been a slow exploration was now him pounding into you, skin on skin, slapping against one another. You let out the uncontainable yelps of pleasure, tuning into a higher and higher pitch until your comments were mere incoherent babble. Thoughts clouded over, you could only focus on Seonghwa and your state on the verge of orgasm.

“AH…ah… Please… Hwa… don’t stop- I’m about to-”

Your yell was interrupted by him increasing the pace to an unprecedented level, accelerating you into an unthinkable crash as you shook with your climax. The way in which you enveloped him, and how you reacted to his demands and touch was becoming too much, and a bead of sweat was threatening to roll down his face as he prayed he would not come while your pussy clenched around him, the walls mercilessly pulsating as he built himself up to his high, which came sooner rather than later, and only just in time did he manage to pull his member out, and watch as strings of cum decorated your lower back and buttocks.

You collapsed on the floor, while Seonghwa fell onto the chaise longue, the back hitting his, and the two of you silently rejoiced in a shared ideal, illuminated by the continuing flashes.

“My love?”

“Mm?” you hummed, listening to Seonghwa stepping around you and shutting off the camera, only to approach you again.

“May I pick you up? Let’s go get cleaned up.” Sleepily, you raised your arms and let him lift you up, first to stand, and next to pick you up bridal style, making you giggle. “Off to the showers we go! Oh, the benefits of having a guest room at work.” He rambled light-heartedly, pecking you on the cheek, grinning, and disappearing into a dark corridor.

For the first time in a while, you felt, as Seonghwa had said, satisfied. Nothing could be more right.

You had insisted that you still needed to go home, even though it was long past midnight. But you did promise that, on that exact morning, you were going to break the news that you were leaving your soon to be ex. Life was looking brighter, and the taxi driver had already called you and Seonghwa a couple, which both of you had actively welcomed.

“I am going to Europe. In two weeks.” The brilliant young man stated as he held your hands in his while standing by the taxi, at the entrance to your apartment building.

“Oh… uhm… where?” you tried to conceal your disappointment, failing miserably.

“Brussels.” The cheeriness in his voice confused you, but as you tried to pry yourself away and mumble a “Bon… voyage?”, he beamed and embraced you.

“Two tickets, darling. You are coming with me. And I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“Then I won’t say no. All the more motivation for me, Hwa.” You snuggled into his trench coat, memorising the aroma so it could help you last the next few hours in that damned apartment.

“Let me know how it goes, okay?” his concern did not fail to make your heart flutter, and you hugged him tighter.

“If you see me at your doorstep in these same clothes, you’ll know it went… supremely well.”

“That’s why you have your good luck collar on.” Seonghwa joked, freeing one arm to poke your leather-covered neck.

“Ha, sure. Well, I’ll be off and see you soon.”

Sharing one final kiss, you departed into what you were looking forward to no longer call your home.

Upon entry, you needed a moment to adjust to the darkness. Assuming Wooyoung was asleep, you decided against entering the bedroom and occupying the sofa. If you were to breakup, it was better to start hyping yourself up early by separating yourself. There was no emotion attached to the walls, to the rooms, to him anymore. You just wanted out. As soon as possible. There was no place for you here, not when Seonghwa was waiting.

You lied down on the couch, exhausted, and what you had assumed to be five minutes of shuteye quickly turned into a deep slumber, recounting the beautiful revelations and your destined happiness. If only the man who was blankly staring at the ceiling, felt the same way. But it was impossible to, after he had spent the entire day lost in memories of you and him, of how you had been before he had gone astray and found temporary fun.

He had prepared an elaborate dinner in an attempt to impress you, only for it to be stuffed into plastic boxes to grow cold and inedible in the refrigerator. Had grown sick with worry over your disappearances and ignorance of his emotional state. And then, the final straw. You, and him, revoltingly enamoured, sharing saliva right under his damn windows. Wooyoung had vowed, today, to change, so who had allowed you to do what he had done? Were you not better than that?

Wooyoung crept out of the bedroom to at least catch a glimpse of you, and there you were a sleeping beauty. He had never seen you smiling in your sleep before. It was because of him, wasn’t it? That bastard, stealing what was not his. Or were you just so ready to give yourself away? Were you not the epitome of loyalty, standing by Wooyoung’s side no matter what? Who gave you the right? No, this could not be. This was wrong on all levels. This was not you, this was an impostor. A possessed version of you, about to do something you would regret. How could he prevent you from leaving, he wondered, toying with the clay-cutting wire in his hands.

[escherstrange-ffxiv]

I posted 50 times in 2022

32 posts created (64%)

18 posts reblogged (36%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@haila-wetyios

@furys-mercy

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I tagged 46 of my posts in 2022

Only 8% of my posts had no tags

#ffxivwrite - 27 posts

#ffxivwrite2022 - 26 posts

#story time - 25 posts

#ffxiv - 23 posts

#escher strange - 19 posts

#rossignol martinez - 9 posts

#isillud losstarot - 8 posts

#ffxiv screenshots - 5 posts

#ffxiv character - 4 posts

#campanella strange - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 60 characters

#yeah i ganked and adapted it from a bridgerton novel bite me

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

#10 Channel

Isillud forgot he had it until the woman wailing on his door reminded him.

"Please, I must see him! I will pay any amount of you ask-"

"Madam, you misunderstand, I cannot bring him to life, I only channel what's in your heart to-"

She pulled his sleeve past his shoulder, bringing him down to her height, "Please, I beg you, just tonight! Just-"

He immediately ushered her in before the neighbours poked out, shutting the door behind him. "Sit, I'll bring some tea-"

"No tea! Just- just him. I only want to see-"

"-For me." He gently peeled her hand away as he emptied a mug of black tea before pulling up a stool to sit in front of her. He cupped her face in his hands. "Close your eyes. See him in your mind. Open your eyes only when you do."

The woman's eyes fluttered open. Tears streamed down her wrinkly smile, leathery fingers ruffling his hair. "I've missed you so much, Akira, my dearest son."

Isillud smiled gently, and nodded.

5 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

#4

#17: Novel

Isillud locked the door and kicked off his boots to the wall, landing with a thump. Next, he shrugged off his coat to lay in a heap. Carefully placing the book on the table, he slid into the kitchen to bring out the tray of tea and cookies he prepared beforehand, placing it on the table. The water had slightly cooled, but it was nothing a fire shard in the teapot couldn't fix.

He took a deep breath, gazing at the novel in front of him: How he had waited in line for two bells, praying to the Fury he would snag a copy. He had fretted at the line - who knew people were suckers for Ishgardian romances? For him it was the link to a life long abandoned, of what sould have been.

...Or was it? He would certainly not be the heroine in Julianne Quinnoix's novels. He'd have to be the dashing hero, the man of the hour; perhaps in another time, in another life he could - would have. Go to war, slay a dragon, perhaps return to a life of quiet contemplation in the clergy, free from the expectations of courtship and marriage. At least with two brothers he could afford to avoid it.

But that was then. A life only in dream's eye, reduced to ash.

And in turn, unexpectedly set him free.

I am well, mother.

Isillud sipped his tea at the first wisp of steam. He licked his finger, and turned to the first page:

~

"Precisely two days before her sixteenth nameday, Percelle de Plumeux fell in love. It was thrilling, her heart leaped as the world shook, and she was certain the man in question - Ser Carrilaut Passerelle - felt the same way."

~

6 notes - Posted September 18, 2022

#3

#11: Cutting Corners (Take 2)

What do Ishgardian knights eat?

You don't even glance at the Coerthas section of the recipe book - man serves two noble houses and has the accent for it. You turn to the dog-eared pages marking the La Noscean cuisine section. He doesn't seem to leave Ishgard much; seems like a good idea to bring the world to him instead. It's a big-arsed assumption, but you're here in the tavern on its off day trying out a recipe because the hole in a wall you call home can't fit a tiny stove. Go nuts or go home.

Bacon bread seems like something the folk at the Brume bar would appreciate, but it's filling, goes well with drinks, plus you can hold it as you chat and not worry about spilling it all over each other. Seems sensible enough, and you both are sensible men, right?

You've never been careful about heat: It's always 'hot enough' or 'warm enough', but you're not taking shortcuts with this. You want this to turn out right. You want it to be something everyone will love. Something he will love...or like, it's a bit too soon.

Boss doesn't hang a chronometer because he doesn't want people leaving. "Longer they stay longer they drink", so you knead the dough muttering "one one thousand, two one thousand" until ten minutes have passed. Was making bread ever this hard or did you simply tune out the crowd when they complained their bread was too hard?

Ishgardian knights eat bread, right...?

Hopefully Ala Mhigan mustard won't be too spicy. You can take the heat but you also haven't lived in in a snowed-in castle your entire life either. At least you don't think so. You follow each measurement to the letter, using measuring spoons to measure an ilm around the dough before laying out the boiled bacon strips. The Bismarck would be so proud of you today; shame it's not for them. Their loss.

Problem: You don't understand how to cut the loaf to look like wheat. You flip through the pages hoping for a reference picture. There is none. You reread the instructions, hands gesturing with an invisible pair of scissors. Each cut you pray for forgiveness: "Sorry, Ibant." You lose count.

Under lamplight, golden is a yellow-red hue. It's tempting to run the fork through over and over until it's definitely cooked but that would ruin the bread. Not when you've come so far. You tear off a piece to taste while thinking of excuses to not share this loaf. It tastes so good you kick yourself for not trusting it to turn out good. You carefully wrap the loaves before putting it into the lacquered box some Hingan traveler left behind. A tiny fire shard to keep it warm because you don't trust the weather to improve.

There's just enough time to catch the next airship. It's only when your feet hit the deck a damning thought hits: What if he doesn't show up tonight? Do you offer it to someone else? Do you eat it by yourself in a corner?

No, you say. For him, and only him (and definitely for her if she comes along). And he will come; if he will make the effort, so will you.

--

Rosenthal, V. (2021), The Ultimate Final Fantasy XIV Online Cookbook. London: Titan Books, p67.

6 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

#2

#2 Bolt

"What's this?"

Campanula twirled, presenting the bolts of cloth with a flourish. "A court mage can no longer wear a slave's garments, after all." She unrolled the topmost bolt towards the viera. "Look, Hannish silk! His majesty has spared no expense on you."

No threads snagged on his nails, the cooling fabric soothed the cuts on his hands. A a gold tapestry at the edges shimmered - each turn of the light revealed a new image - a story in motion.

"Each thread conducts aether. It's made for magic. For you," she explained. His eyes sparkled from the inlaid gems, too entranced for words.

The guard snorted, sneering at him. "Perhaps the concubine should be court mage instead since she knows so much more, eunuch."

His eyes narrowed. One swift move - the cloth wound around an arm, the other clutching the edge. An arrow crackling with lightning launched from his fingers and struck the floor tile closest to the guard, sending him tumbling into the pile, knocking bolts over and onto his head, half burying him.

A cruel smile drew across the viera's lips. "Oops."

7 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

#5: Cutting Corners

Written on the margin in a recipe book charred at the center of the page, in dark bold strokes:

"Fire 4 does NOT cook the dish faster!!!"

15 notes - Posted September 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[friendly-fire-engaged]

The kids were less than alright

((Flora and Martin should not be left unsupervised to have heavy conversations about rough childhoods. Sorry mobile viewers. This wasn’t supposed to be a four hour rp stint but it sure turned into one))

Flora Valerian is about as zoned-out as usual, placidly sweeping the steps of whatever dirty, crumbling old building this is.

Martin Adler is about to change that. The half-hyur shuffles up the road on foot. He still lacks his usual spring to his step, but he’s moving. That’s an improvement over earlier. "Flora!" He waves.

Flora Valerian stands straight up and turns on her heel, almost fumbling the broom right out of her hands. "Martin," she starts, heading toward him, "Do you feel better, at all?"

"Marginally." He answers. The soldier hops up the stairs, flinching when he lands a little too roughly on one foot. "The folks at the Reach have been takin' good care of me. Been making me change dressings and checkin my head every day." He points to the broom. "Why do you dust out here? It's just gonna get dirty again."

"Good, good. Ah, it's better you go there. I apologize if my mother was rude, or anything. I intended to stay up and try and make sure things did not get off on the wrong foot. But-- well, I am glad to see you up and walking around." She looks down at her broom. "That's... why I'm sweeping. Because it will get dirtier the longer someone does not, yes?" She sounds a little confused. "There has not been anyone taking care of this place for some time."

Martin Adler waves off Flora's concerns. "Eh, I think she was too busy being miffed with Autgar to get in my face about anything." Martin assures. "As for the sweeping, I guess it just seems like a lost cause, but I guess someone's gotta."

"I think-- if the spirits here have been so willing to accept me living in this place, I ought to replay them by keeping this place up. And-- well, it just makes me happier." She pauses and tilts her head to the side. "Ah, did... she offend him? Or did he offend her...? Oh, no... I had a feeling."

Martin Adler raises a skeptical brow and stares at the ruins. "Spirits, huh?" He repeats. "You ever actually see one?" The question about Autgar has him freezing. He scratches his chin reluctantly. "Err, I dunno. It's probably nothing. They'll get over it." He promises.

Flora Valerian nods. "I don't see them or hear them-- they say, up north, you can see all sorts of strange things. But-- ah, the men who died here at Sali were old, and-- I think they had few regrets, when they did what they did. So, it is different from what I think folk usually think of-- when you hear stories about spirits, and ghosts, and things." Her head stays cocked to the side as she considers his explanation. "Ah, you're probably right. I just-- ah, it's embarrassing, is all. She is not very pleasant."

Martin Adler 's gaze wanders north thoughtfully. "What happened here, then?" He makes himself comfortable, plopping down on the stairs. "Who used to live here, monks? How'd they die?"

Flora Valerian 's gaze folows his. "It's-- This is the place elderly monks would live out the rest of their days, yes. And-- they would take in children from the city to instruct them in the ways of the order. But, ah-- During the revolution-- Many of the men here knew they could not fight back any longer, and that they had been cornered. So-- rather than letting the teachings fall into the hands of the Corpse Brigade, ah-- They ended their lives."

"...Oh."

Martin Adler stares quietly up the path. "It's weird, trying to imagine anyone being able to slaughter the monks. Look at Berrod and Autgar, they can punch holes through people if they wanted!"

"And even if they were old men-- to have even once been this strong, they must have been stronger than most, still, their age."

"Age claims everyone eventually." Martin shrugs. "But still, with how Autgar flattened me to a paste the other day, monk killers seem a little far-fetched. Wonder how they did it..."

"Purely for speculation, of course," he hastily adds.

"I don't know much about the Corpse Brigade or their methods-- which, that's odd to think about, isn't it? I lived not malms from where they decided to hole up. But-- The Corpse Brigade of Ala Mhigo and the Corpse Brigade of Broken Water are two very different entities, I suspect." Flora Valerian keeps sweeping as she talks.

Martin Adler blinks. "Wait, you did what?!"

Flora Valerian looks to him. "Have you heard of-- in Thanalan, there's a place called Little Ala Mhigo, where a lot of us settled. In the middle of Broken Water, which is a lawless land.  And-- unfortunately, the Corpse Brigade decided to settle there, too, because of this."

"Ehhhh..." Martin shrugs. "Not really. Don't know much about life over the wall."

"Oh, I ought to take you. It is not really a safe place to travel to-- so ordinarily, I would object. But I think we will be fine. The Uldahns occupied us, there, to keep an eye on the beastmen, so-- it is not as bad as it once was, in terms of, ah, the Corpse Brigade."

"Have I ever backed away from danger?" Martin smiles cavalierly. "I'll be more than fine!" He presses for more information. "What was it like? Growing up there?"

"Yes, ah-- It will be fine." She pauses. "We were all folk who had survived the migration through the Black Shroud, but-- for whatever reason, could not make lives for ourselves in Ul'Dah. We were all very poor, and very hungry and ill. But we were angry-- I remember always being so angry at the Ul'Dahns that came to offer us aid. It seemed so patronizing. But-- I think this was the only way we could feel powerful. Between the Amal'jaa and the Corpse Brigade-- ah, at the worst of it, I think --one or the other would raid our settlement every other night."

"Things got better when the Flames came. But none of us wanted to admit it."

"Uldahns? Patronizing?" Martin snorts disdainfully. "I woulda never guessed." He leans into the conversation eagerly. "So what did you do out there? Just huddle in the mud all day?"

"The height of their kindness-- I will never forget this-- was that they would waive the entrance fee for competing in the Bloodsands, for us. So that we could fight to the death for their entertainment, yes. And so many of us took them up on that-- they're buried in pauper's graves in Drybone, now." Her nose then twitches. "Nothing could be grown in the soil, there. We had to leave the settlement and forage for everything we ate. So-- we were very easy folk to target and isolate."

Martin Adler 's gaze hardens. He harrumphs. "I guess that's a common thread, then." He remarks cynically. "Sell your body to the bloodsands in Eorzea, sell your body to the Empire's war machine over here. The prime resource my village exported, back in the day, was conscripts." He falls silent, listening to Flora once more. He watches her intently. "Were you ever... y'know..." He fumbles for the word. "...targeted?"

Flora Valerian pauses. "Yes. I don't really think about it, anymore. But-- It was a great victory for me to leave that desert behind. It sounds-- it sounds unbelievable to me, still, but I felt safer sleeping on the street in Ul'Dah than I ever did in Broken Water. It's-- I have faith that things will never be so bad again, for the children of our countrymen-- as what I experienced, or what you did."

Martin Adler immediately freezes. The sheepish look on his face speaks louder than words. He shouldn't have asked that. "Shite..." He breathes, at a loss for better words. An awkward silence hangs over them.

"... Good that you're in a better place now than before... yeah?"

"Yes," she starts, with some difficulty. "I'm going to spend the rest of my days mastering myself and what brings me sorrow-- besting my own mirage. It's the happiest I could've ever imagined myself. I told my husband that. I think-- I think it's possible to cut off what rots us."

Martin Adler slouches on the steps, looking thoughtful. "How do you even begin that?" He asks, smiling wearily. "Seems impossible to do, starting from the bottom of it... Not that I've ever shied away from a challenge."

Flora Valerian finally takes a seat, setting her broom across her lap. "It's-- It's going to be difficult for all of us, certainly. But-- tell me your worries."

Martin Adler grimaces. "Do I have to?" He groans, turning his gaze down the path and away from Flora. He's being slightly dramatic.

"I want to help. You should let me."

"Hnnnngh." Martin groans. "It's seriously nothing. I'll work through it." He promises. "Just need to think on it for a bit."

"You should take your time, yes. Don't worry about it. Do you need water, or tea, or anything like this?"

Martin Adler straightens up and blinks. "I didn't mean right now..." He mutters. But then again... "Tea would be good."

"I had some brewed. It is likely still warm. Come on, then."

Martin Adler shoves to his feet and saunters after her. He glances over the ruins ahead. "Y'know, when it's not raining, it looks a lot nicer out here."

"I think it's beautiful, yes. Especially to imagine what it looked like when folk lived here."

Martin Adler gaze wanders over the crumbled ruins as he tries to do just that. When they arrive in the monastery, he hops up onto one of the tarped over crates, creating an explosion of dust. He sputters and coughs and settles down on his new perch.

Flora Valerian plops down on the ground where she's put her dead animal skins and few posessions. She digs through a crate and hands over a still-warm canteen of tea.

Martin Adler accepts it with a grateful nod and drums his fingers against it. "Do you forage for the herbs for it or is this the one thing you buy?"

"I usually forage for it, yes. It's very easy, and it is never the same tea twice. My husband brings me other kinds, though, sometimes. But I don't carry coin-- so I don't buy things."

Martin Adler sniffs the tea curiously, then takes a tentative sip.

The tea tastes exactly like you'd think it might-- like random-ass boiled mountain herbs.

Martin Adler swallows thickly, biting back a look of repulsion. Oh. "It's... unique." He praises through clenched teeth. "But, if you don't buy things. What do you do? Barter? Trade? Surely there's something you can't get from the mountains."

"Oh, good, good." She brightens up a little. "People have been kind to me. An ananta from my old cell makes my clothing, and mends it when there is something wrong. And my husband likes to bring me things like bread, that I cannot make on my own. And-- ah, lately, when I have come back, for the night-- I think it is folk from the Ala Mhigan Quarter leaving me bread and water, as well. And I have bartered on occasion. I have traded adventuring work for things I need."

Martin Adler eyes Flora thoughtfully. "What do you do for them in return? The ananta? The locals?"

"I think-- As for Mahira, I do not know why she has always been so intent on keeping me well. But-- She was able to find work under my husband, as his maidservant. So this is part of it, I think, surely. The locals-- I know not what to think of this, yet. But-- an old woman, the one who brought me my broom, was just happy to see that there were monks here, again."

Martin Adler takes another sip, despite the grossness of the taste. "They just... do it." He states. A grimace follows. "That's... weird. You don't even like, give them blessings or some shit for it? You just exist and they give you brooms."

"I haven't, yet. I think I ought to be. If I see someone here, I try to talk to them and pray with them. But, well-- I think it still is not enough, you are right. I think-- there is still a novelty, in their minds, to me being here."

"I mean, sure, that’s given.” Martin replies. “You lot have been dead for 20 some years and now suddenly you're all back. Probably a lot of old folks really delighted to see that. And youths too, I s'pose."

Flora Valerian nods. "It-- I love to see them happy, but in truth, I have done nothing to deserve it."

"Eh, you'll think of something to do." Martin shrugs.

"Their favours did not matter to me at all, at first, but the more I think about it, the more I realize what we are charged with.

"And that would beeeeee?" Martin drawls.

"As Autgar says, yes, the protection of this country. But not only that. Their spiritual well-being, as well. When I was a child, growing up, I--- Ah, some of my questioning and despair-- I always wished that the Fists were still alive. I wanted to ask them everything that was on my mind."

Martin Adler looks to the worn stone tiles below. "Growing up, when the imperials weren't around, the children in the village would sneak out to the mountain and play pretend. Monks, corpse brigade bad guys." He chuckles bitterly. "They'd make me be the latter. Or King Theodoric."

"But, I always thought I wanted to be a hero and save the day in those games. Be a monk. I think that's every little boy's dream. All the ones that grew up hearing the stories."

“Ah, yes! It was the same for us. Or-- we would be the Resistance, or something like this. Or-- well, I wasn't really allowed out, much. But I got to hear everyone else play."

"I snuck out as much as I can. Better to be out in the mountains than back at home."

"What was it like, where you grew up?"

Martin Adler 's face falls. He scratches his chin. "Ehhh.... cold. We were up in the northern mountains. Lots of snow in the winter. Bears were common. Those were the staple food during the winter."

"Ah, but one bear is at least a lot of meat, yes? Was it plentiful enough?"

"For the most part.  We didn't have a lot of hunters in the village; men under the age of 40 were conscripted, women as well if they didn't have children to care for. So it was the old patriarchs that would go out and hunt. But bears are easy to kill in the winter. You just have to find their den and slaughter them in their sleep. It isn't much of a hunt."

"Unless you find a roving male that didn't hibernate. Those ones are dangerous and kill men and women out of hunger."

"I never thought of that.” Flora replies, “I've fought one, before, but-- ah, did-- did those bears come close to your village, ever?

"Sometimes, yeah. One killed a girl a few years older than me and her baby brother. They were just outside the village. The hunters chased it out and killed it after."

"Couldn't eat the meat though, they said. It would be wrong... indirect cannabilism, I guess."

"Y-yes. I agree. That's terrible."

Flora Valerian thinks. "Your mother was not conscripted, though, yes? I assume your father was..."

"I don't want to talk about them."

Martin Adler cuts her off coldly.

"You don't have to, then."

Martin Adler had hunched up defensively at the question, but slowly relaxes. He falls silent a moment. "...What were you going to say my father was?"

"A soldier, mayhap." Flora answers. "I don't know."

She follows up. "I understand, now, how it was. You don't have a choice. It just happens."

Martin Adler averts his gaze. "Yeah, well, I don't know a whole lot of people who are that understandin' about it." He huffs.

"I know. And that is the most insidious part of it."

Martin Adler is quiet. "...Did you overhear the other night? When Autgar was talking about it?"

"...What?"

"He brought it up in front of your mother. Asked if I had any aether in me. If it would be possible for me to even learn to be a monk."

"Why wouldn't you be able to?" She squints at him.... until it hits her.

Martin Adler watches realization dawn on her. He squints. "I thought that's what you were implyin'."

"N-no. I wasn't. I didn't know. I-- I'm sorry if it seemed that way."

Martin Adler 's gaze is fixated on a pebble on the ground. He shrugs listlessly. "It's fine. That cat's out of the bag with a few people now. Autgar and Berrod know."

Flora Valerian shakes her head. "I won't tell anyone."

"I believe you."

Martin Adler flashes a bemused smile and chuckles at his own reply. Like he’s surprised he even said it. "It's not often I get to say that, but I do."

"And I won't let anyone disparage you for it." Flora adds. "I am very good at keeping secrets."

Martin Adler smiles softly. It’s a rare, genuine look on him. "Thanks."

"If it-- if it makes you feel better, I would have never known if you did not tell me."

Martin Adler laughs. "Oh phew. I pass well. I guess I was luckier than that Arenvald guy. My mum didn't care enough to scar me up in case I grew a third eye. My grandad considered it, but he was always too sloppy drunk to follow through with the threats." The half-hyur taps his forehead. "Just a shallow lil pockmark. Like I got the pox or something. Close as I'll ever get to one." He rubs at the center point between his eyes.

"Autgar slapped me when I told him." He presses his palm flat against his forehead. "Wanted to make sure I wasn't lying and there wasn't one glamoured over."

"G-grow a third eye?" She looks a little horrified, but the longer she continues to look at him, she lets up. "I have more pockmarks than you do. I hope he will not decide to slap me over it." She pulls the hair away from her forehead, and-- indeed someone who had the real pox doesn't look too different.

"That's the rumor, at least. That halfies'll grow one just like their pureblooded cousins. So far I haven't found much truth to it, but who knows? Maybe I'm a late bloomer." He jokes.

Flora Valerian just sort of nods, looking a little frightened at the prospect. "Even then-- glamours, yes?"

"Works as long as you're not getting slapped by monks." He replies. "Buuuuut I don't think it'll happen. Twenty is a lil late for last minute growth spurts."

"Yes, yes. It's true." Flora pauses. "I thought you were so much older than I. But you're only a little bit."

"War does that to you." Martin jokes. "Prolly got some grey hairs on my head from my time as a prisoner."

Flora Valerian 's head juts to the side. "Prisoner?"

Martin Adler hesitates. "That's... a long story."

"You don't have to tell me, either. Not unless you want to."

“Yeah, I know.” Martin Adler thinks on it. "One day. But not today. It's been a long enough one already."

Flora Valerian nods. "I understand, yes. Thank you, though, for being as frank with me as you have."

"Workin' on it." Martin smiles wryly. "All part of destroyin' that mirage, yeah?"

Flora Valerian brightens, and even looks to be smiling-- a little. Just a little. "That's right, yes."

Martin Adler drums his fingers on the canteen and looks down on it. "About earlier..." He begins.

"Ah?"

"You and Autgar and Berrod make it look easy. Destroyin' your mirages and all that shite." He remarks. "But it feels like... I dunno. If I get rid of it all, change everything around... what's left of me?"He laughs guiltily. "Not only that, but it's fuckin' hard to do. Stop being afraid, easy I guess." He is known to lie. "Stop being angry? Hah!"

"You never destroy yourself. You destroy what brings you sorrow. I know that sounds impossible-- and-- I am not there, yet, not at all. But there is a reason we have our whole lives to do it." Flora explains. "What will be left of you is the man the Destroyer intended you be. Before your mirage brought you sorrow. I believe this."

"He sure brought me a lot of sorrow alright." Martin mutters under his breath. He takes a breath.

"I feel this way, too."

Martin Adler chuckles. "I got that impression of you." He agrees. The smile on his face withers to something serious. "I want to be able to change..." His tone falters reluctantly. Where words fail, his body language speaks. Sagging shoulders and a tired sigh finish his sentence: he's not ready.

"It's not an overnight thing, I know. But I want to succeed."

"Just don't be so harsh on yourself," she says, hypocritically. "All of us are here for you. All of us want this for you. I know this for a fact."

Martin Adler smiles thinly. "No promises, but I'll try." He hops out of his seat and offers the canteen back to Flora. "I know you lot do. I won't disappoint."

"I know you won't."

Martin Adler cants his head, smiling flippantly. "How do you know that?"

"Because I won't let you disappoint me. I just will not let it happen."

Martin Adler's smile turns to a grin. "Yeah? Well, then I know my soul is saved." He laughs. "Thanks for the tea and the talk, Flora. I best be getting back to the Reach."

Flora Valerian stands up, bowing her head. "Please be well-- Strength in Rhalgr. Let me know if you need me for anything, yes?"

"Will do, Flora. Comet guide ya."

Flora Valerian nods to him.

[curseofaphrodite]

🏹- WHEEL OF LOVE: give me a dialogue from this list and I'll do a spin on a wheel that has every troupe ever (or you can spin and let me know which one came up, just be honest but don't use screenshots! they take a lot of space). I'll write a blurb based on the troupe and the dialogue! Lucky three requests will be made into one-shots!

troupe: chaotic dumbass + sarcastic bastard

dialogue: 11

do we have to mention the character as well? then umm tasm!peter parker <33

I have this hc that Peter loves shopping and will drag you to shops whenever there's a sale <3

You didn't expect the guy who wore the same army jacket every single day to secretly love shopping. He went through the rows of clothes whispering "no, no, not this," throwing each of them behind him at an unbelievably fast pace.

Before the staff could see him, he had already moved to a new section; because well, he was Spiderman. Brilliant reflexes were part of the package.

"I'm fine finding my own clothes," you said, already knowing that he wasn't going to listen.

"You said this event is important," he remarked, taking a brown leather jacket from the display and looking at it thoughtfully. "You need to stand out. Besides, we never spend much time anymore. This is fun!"

"Is it?" you asked, sitting down. "Just don't buy anything without running it by me first."

He chuckled nervously, then his eyes lit up at seeing a handbag. "This. You need this. This is everything."

"What—"

"Nop, you're buying this. This is perfection. It comes in two colors though. Which do you like; pink or red?"

You sighed dramatically. "Red, like the blood of my enemies."

"Got it, so pink like the blood of uh...yours?" he asked, then thought better of it. He threw both over his head, proceeding to attack other accessories.

"Sir, do you need help finding anything?" the staff had finally caught up, catching his breath.

"Nope, I'm fine thank you," Peter replied, hardly looking at him.

"Oh this looks cool," you said, pointing at a ring to your left.

"Would you like for me to add it to your other items?" the staff asked, smiling forcefully. You frowned.

"What other items?"

"The one your friend added—"

"I have never seen that man in my entire life," you said firmly, pointing to Peter. "Just for fun, can you point me to the checkout?"

"Y/N, LOOK AT THESE BOOTS!" Peter squealed, holding them up. You glanced frantically at the staff.

"Forget checkout, where's the fire exit?"

[andysbubba]

around your neck

just a little thot because my man kinda suggested this blood necklace thing 😮‍💨

and ransom seems like a perfect candidate ;)

an | BLOOD because blood necklace. possessiveness. sorta "im yours and you're mine". not really smut, just like making out yanno'. ++ i put a pic of my bf's necklace at the end if u wanna see

just don't read this if blood necklaces aren't your thing.

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

---

you weren't expecting a text from ransom in the middle of a Monday afternoon while you were both working. but nothing could've prepared you for what's coming.

ran: wanna wear my blood around your neck?

and he proceeds to send you a screenshot of a blood necklace kit from Etsy.

y/n: fuck

ran: taking that as a yes. see you tonight, kitten.

he knows what he's doing. sorta using your words against you. he usually wears a chain around his neck and there's a pendant with your initials. you told him that its pretty hot seeing it around his neck- it's like you're marking your claim on him.

he wasn't even looking for that damn kit. he was looking for a normal, simple, diamond necklace with his initials on it for you to wear. but the kit popped up on his suggestions and ransom cannot get the image out of his head- you wearing his blood around your neck everywhere you go. and as much as he likes his current necklace, he kinda wants to wear you around him too.

the package reaches in like 3 days and ransom got so riled up he instantly made you sit on the couch while he unpacks the syringes and the vials. except, he did not tell you that you were supposed to draw your own blood too. that fucking asshole. your fingers dug into his sweater covered bicep while he pokes the syringe into your arm and ransom winced at how hard you're gripping onto him.

but the outcome? it was worth it. he won't admit it but he's a little turned on with how that vial looks so fucking good around your neck, resting in the middle of your chest and between your collarbones. sure, his hand around your neck's a nice necklace too, but this blood mess? he's riled up because it really means you're his.

and his new necklace. ransom couldn't stop staring at it whenever he's looking at his reflection in the mirror. wearing your initials was one, but your blood? it makes him feel owned and he fucking loves it.

but he doesn't know if you're affected by it as much as he is. so why not put it to a test, right?

and oh- you're definitely affected by the necklace.

you're pressing up against him as soon as you're both back home, your palm pushing him against the wall before he can even take off his jacket.

"you forgot that you're mine or somethin'?" you almost growl at him and ransom was so close to grinning his ass off. you take the vial he's wearing between your fingers, tugging at it and his necklace so he's pulled towards you. "wearing my blood isn't enough for ya or you just need me to warm your cock everywhere you go just to remind you that you're mine?"

he groans at your words, instantly pulling you down and he hastily presses his lips against yours and he flips both of you around so you're pressed against the wall. he shoves his tongue into your mouth and ransom lets his hand rests around your throat, feeling the vial sitting under his thumb and his fingers pressed around your throat.

"so fuckin' hot when you get all possessive." he grunts, hand tightly holding your waist and his breath fanning against your face. "but you should've known better, huh? there's nothin' else i want more than you, kitten. everyone can eat shit but you're stayin' with me for good."

---

phewwwww okay but uhm ransom– sir. pls take my blood allllll you want 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

hope yall liked this little thot! and tell me what u think abt this lmao 😭

not tagging my usual taglist for this one :)

– haney

[cr0wbonezz-wr1ting-inc]

One more time

Summary: Alex regrets ever saying yes. All he wants is a second chance.

Trigger warning: Mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, swearing, angst

Author's note: my first piece off hiatus !! - you're a twitch streamer in this fic but it won't come up too much :) hope u like it <3

Based on: Break My Heart Again - FINNEAS

you sigh. your ex-boyfriend called again. you've been ignoring your phone for 5 minutes now. was he really this desperate?

you pick up your phone and slide the green button.

"what do you want, alex?"

"___, you picked up!"

he sounded extremely relieved, like he needs you to breathe.

"i did, now what do you want?"

alex sighed and leaned on a wall in his bedroom.

"can i come over? there's some stuff i still need to pick up."

you suck in a breath sharply. the air is thick and tense.

"no."

you clench the phone you were holding and bit your lip.

"i don't want to see you right now."

alex closed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall.

"i understand, you need time."

there was silence for a moment. neither of you wanted to say anything.

"if you want to come over that bad you can get your things tomorrow morning."

"sounds good. i'll be there around 11, okay?"

"fine."

"good-"

you ended the call.

"-bye..."

alex let his arm drop beside him. his eyes were watering, but he wiped it away with the sleeve of his hoodie.

it's his fault, he knew. but why is he still so upset? he shouldn't feel like this - it's is his own doing, after all.

~

you open the door to your home. alex was standing on the porch with a few empty bags in hand. the morning sun blinded you slightly, making you squint at the man in front of you.

"hi ___."

"hello, alex. all your belongings are on the couch.

"great, thank you."

~

he looks over as he's folding a shirt.

"what are you looking at?"

you say without looking away from your laptop.

his face was getting red slightly from embarrassment.

"nothing, you seem busy."

alex directed his eyes back to the clothes in front of him.

"otherwise you would've said something about me."

alex snickered slightly, trying to lighten the mood.

you sigh, holding your face in one of your hands.

don't say it. ___, keep it in. there's no point in fighting him. ___-

"if i wanted to make a comment it'd be about the fact you can't keep your dick in your pants."

god damn it, why did you do that?

he fell quiet. you hated his guts, but even you felt kind of bad for being so blunt with it.

a part of you still loved him. his loud, yet charming laugh. his sweet kisses. his adorable clinginess. his blushing face when you teased him.

you shake your head, trying to physically get rid of your pity for him. he doesn't love you anymore. he shouldn't, and neither should you.

~

after filling the bags with alex's belongings he stood up and wiped his forehead. you waver from your work and look him up and down.

"you done?"

you asked him. he turned around and gave you a weak smile.

"yeah, i think so."

"good, you know the way out."

you turn back to your computer.

"___, wait. can i ask you something?"

you make eye contact with him, fully aware it makes him nervous.

"what do you want?"

alex took a quick breath.

"can we talk sometime?"

you look at him like he spoke an alien tongue.

"why the hell would i?"

"i want to talk about what happened between us. i hate that our relationship is so sour."

he set a step forward.

"i just want this to end peaceful - or at least neutral."

"why the fuck would i want to be peaceful with you of all people?"

"i hate ending things on the wrong foot, you know that."

alex stands his ground, making you livid.

"then we make up, and then what? you'll just break my heart again!"

you stand up, simultaneously pushing the chair away with your legs.

"then i can lay awake and think about why i even let you inside my house again in the first place?!"

if looks could kill, alex would be on the floor.

"fine. if you don't want to, then i guess everything will just stay the way it is."

alex turned around and grabbed his bags. there's no way he's getting through to you right now.

"oh, so now it's my fault?"

you slam your laptop and walk away from the table.

"well, i'm so sorry for being angry at you for cheating on me!"

you don't hold your anger in anymore, he crossed the line.

"i never said that, ___!"

alex yelled to match your energy.

you took a step back. the audacity to yell at you in your house.

"out. now."

alex grabbed the second bag of clothes and without a word walked to the front door.

"goodbye, ___."

alex pushes the door open and steps outside. you go after him but stop at the doorstep.

"fuck you!" you sob out. you grab the doorknob and slam the door shut.

your knees slowly got weaker and you sit against the front door, shutting your eyes.

~

it's been a month since you've seen alex. you've blocked him on everything since then.

you were doing a q&a on your twitch channel and everything was going well. chat was filled with questions and you answered the one's you could.

your thoughts were somewhere else, though.

you still miss him, you really did. alex used to watch your streams all the time. he sent you donations with cheesy pick-up lines, he called you during streams to make fun of you for dying in a game or just to chat while he's bored.

but that didn't happen anymore.

you realize you haven't said anything in a while and you apologize. your chat was spamming purple hearts and 'are you okay?'

"ah, sorry everyone, i'm still tired from yesterday. i think i'm going to end the stream for today, thank you all for coming!"

after saying goodbye you turn off your computer.

why are you still so obsessed over him?! he cheated on you! he even tried to cover it up with a bullshit story about "not being the first to kiss her," and "she forced me to," like someone would believe a lie like that.

yet, you still love him. something inside you wants to believe him, like he really was telling the truth.

~

the next morning you open twitter and scroll for a bit. you made a tweet earlier in which you stated you weren't going to stream today.

you looked at the trending topics and saw your name in bold letters. you clicked on it and read the first tweet that popped up.

'i really hope ___ is doing better, they looked so sad on stream :('

an image was attached to it - a screenshot from the stream you did yesterday where you were mindlessly staring at your computer screen.

you sighed. at least they're not thinking too deep about this.

you scroll further down, replying and liking a couple tweets saying you were alright, thanking them or cracking a joke. this should keep them off your back for a while.

after scrolling for a bit one tweet catches your eye. you clutch your phone as you read the comment.

'kinda obvious they miss quackity :/ it's a good cover-up story tho '

~

alex was staring at his ceiling. he'd seen the tweets about you - about him.

he hates this feeling. he hates the fact that he knows what you're thinking. he hates that he knows it's his fault. he didn't mean to. he didn't.

"come on, alex. you know you want it." the woman said.

"i told you, no! i have a partner!" alex pushed her away for the second time, trying to find a way past the girl and out of this small alleyway. he should've never gone to this stupid bar.

"tch, whatever. but know you'll regret rejecting someone like me!" the girl pushed him to the brick wall and fixed her dress as she walked away.

alex fixed himself for a minute and walked past the bar and into his car. he pulled out his phone and shot you a quick text.

'hey bb i'll be over in a few :)'

'don't come back.'

you responded almost immediately. alex froze as he looked at the screen.

'wdym?'

'you know damn well why'

you sent him a photo of him next to the bar in the alley. the girl was all over him while her lips connected lustfully to his.

'it isn't what it looks like, i didn't start any of this!'

you don't respond. alex tries to send you another text when an error pops up.

'unable to send message. user has blocked you.'

~

you hover your hand over your phone's keyboard. you thought anbout alex's offer to talk, and decided that maybe it was a good idea after all. you couldn't get your mind off him, you thought that hopefully getting some closure could help.

but how were you going to ask him? 'hey, i know i blocked number like a month ago but can you to meet me at some random park? see you there!'

after typing and deleting multiple texts you eventually landed on a message.

'hey alex, i've been thinking about your offer to talk it out, and i wanted to ask if you're still up for it?'

you send it and immediately turn off your phone and place it on the coffeetable in front of you. you did it, finally. you fall back on your couch and pull your knees up to your face, waiting for a notification.

after a nailbiting five minutes a light emits from your phone. you pick it up and read the name calling you. 'alex'. you take a deep breath and answer the phone.

"hi alex."

"hey ___, it's been a while."

you sit up straight, preparing yourself for the conversation you're about to have.

'yeah, you can say that."

the atmosphere was a lot less tense than you expected. it was weirdly... comforting? you can hear alex's raspy voice through the phone. has he been crying?

"i saw your text, you wanted to meet?"

"yes, i did. i wanted to get some closure, at least."

alex chuckled, his laugh making you a little flustered. trying to brush it off, you laugh with him.

"what's so funny?" alex asked.

you rolled your eyes and smile.

"you, dumbass."

he gasps cartoonishly loud. his goofy personality is something you could never get enough of. maybe you were wrong after all.

"ok, but seriously, when do you want to meet?"

he gets back on topic. you snap out of your smile and remember why he called in the first place.

"right, right. i'm free this whole week, you can choose when."

after some planning and back and forth, you decide to meet at a small family-run café in the afternoon. coincidentally, it's the same place you two had your first date.

~

you settle down at a table on the terrace of the café, the sunday sun greeting you warmly. you were a little early, so you decided to think of some questions. it didn't take you long to come to a few, though. your main question was the photo. what was that all about?

as you were handed a menu you saw alex walking on the pavement fidgeting with his fingers.

"hey! sorry if i'm late, i took the bus instead of my car."

he took the seat parallel to yours and exhaled.

"oh no, you're right on time. i was just a little early."

the waitress gave alex a menu and disappeared into the establishment. you both decided to stay quiet before getting on topic. neither of you want to start the conversation.

after both ordering and having surface level conversation for a while silence fell. you both know why you're here, it feels off to talk like nothing ever happened.

"okay-"

"so-"

you both start at the same time. alex awkwardly chuckles while covering his mouth.

"you first."

alex proposes. you nod and like magic lose the somewhat content mood you had prior. you steadily breathe in and pull out your phone.

"so, first things first; my main goal is to get closure and an explanation - there's no point in lying to me."

alex hums in agreement. you could tell he was nervous, you knew him better than anyone. you tap on your screen a few times until you reach the photo that was sent to you.

"now, i want a clear answer. what happened that night?"

you ask him firmly as you put your phone on the table to reveal the image.

"that's my ex-girlfriend."

alex said. you raise an eyebrow - his ex? you've heard some wild things about her and her antics, which is exactly why alex broke up with her in the first place.

"she said she wanted to ask me something in private. my dumbass said yes, because i can't pick up on context clues, apparently."

you cross your arms and lean back on the chair.

"you got that right."

alex looks up from the photo and makes eye contact with you.

"long story short, she pushed me to the wall and kissed me. i tried to push her off but she didn't let me go. after shoving her, like, twice she finally got the hint and left."

~

"so she set you up?"

"she hasn't changed a bit since all those years."

you say with a hint of condescension. his explanation made sense, and from what you heard he wasn't lying. your gut told you to believe him, yet your mind had an itching feeling that there was something else.

"are you sure that's all?"

alex flinched slightly.

"y-yes, ___. i don't know what else to tell you."

you mess with your hair a bit, clearly conflicted. there was nothing else, you knew that. but your brain wouldn't let it go. you decided it's better if you just sleep on it.

"alright, then.-"

you grab your bag and stand up.

"-i think we're done here."

alex stays seated and looks up at you.

"yeah, i think so."

you pick the phone up that's laying on the table. you pull out your wallet and put a $5 bill under your teacup.

"goodbye, alex."

"wait!"

alex stands up and grabs your wrist, the gesture scaring you little bit.

"are you still mad at me?"

those eyes. they're so pretty, almost sparlking. you snap out of it when he lets go, just realizing how weird it is to grab someone's arm out of nowhere.

"sorry, my bad. i wasn't thinking."

alex scratches the back of his neck.

"i'm still deciding if i can trust you, but i appreciate you showing up, at least."

"that's enough for me."

alex smile at you, not trying to pry.

"goodbye, ___."

"goodbye, alex."

~

you heard the chirping of the birds outside your window and groan. why is it already morning? you sit up and grab your phone from the nightstand next to your bed, the phone reading 11:23 - tuesday - xx-xx-xxxx.

you sigh and fall back onto your bed. you've been thinking about alex for a few days now, still not getting him out of your head.

after going downstairs and eating some toast you pull out your phone again, the clock now reading 12:44. you look through your contacts and eventually land on his name.

you hover your hand over the green pixels while sitting down at the dining table. you swallow audibly and click the call button.

it goes once.

it goes twice.

"___?"

'Hey alex, i wanted to ask you if you wanted to meet up again?"

ty for reading <3

m.list

taglist: @adoring-ghost @sakisaralazy @for-memories-sacrifice @ialexabsuniverse @shiyanchan @bioluminescentfrog @esylwen

reblogs >> likes !

[chaeiimimi]

13 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞

Summary: you weren’t really sure how it happened, but an average student who wore glasses and spent all her extra time on bookstores and library managed to date your school’s volleyball club setter. On your 3rd year of law school, your ten years anniversary to be exact, he went home from Argentina and it was a week before he was going back, he broke up with you with the reason of he can't handle long-distance relationship anymore despite being at it for two years. You didn’t cry, you stood there as he was sobbing in front of you, you held his face in your palms and offered him a gentle smile, gentle enough to let him know you’ll support him and will always be watching him, together with the child in your stomach right now, but he doesn’t need to know that.

chapter: prev//next

"i'm pregnant"

Oikawa looks back at her like its the most ridiculous thing she has ever said

"that has nothing to do with me, I never touched you" he says and was about to leave when Himari spoke

"yes it does Oikawa, I told the media you're the father"

"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!" he was angry now, as much as he wants to strangle the lady , it was below him to hurt women

"what do you expect? The media thinks we're dating" she says, eyes on the ground

"who's the father?" Oikawa asks as he pinches his nose bridge in frustration

"a barista, from Argentina"

"then tell the media that"

"You don't understand-my image Oikawa you gotta help me"

The audacity of this woman never fails to mesmerize him, after all she's done she still has the guts to ask hin for help

"you really had the guts to ask me that when you almost ruined my family huh?"

Himari looks at him with pleading eyes

"look, I'm not going to play as the father of that child, y/n and my twins, it's going to hurt them" he says as he takes a deep breath

"then I'm just going to keep telling the media that you're the father who refuse to take responsibility then"

"you dont wanna play this game with me Himari, for a fully grown adult with a successful modeling career, you're still a child throwing a temper tantrum" and with that he left the house

He was shaking in anger, he needed you to be there with him, he needed you to calm him down

That night Oikawa wenr home to you crying on the couch while the twins were fast asleep

He slowly walks up to you "bubs the rumor- Himari she's- I'm not"

You sush him as you pulled him close and hugged hum tightly

"I know Tooru, you maybe an ass but I know you won't sleep with your ex's cousin" you say in between sniffles, Oikawa chuckles

"especially with someone as ugly as Himari"

The next few days was hell, you couldn't bring yourself to go to work due to the humiliation, you stayed at home watching over the twins

Every single day, Himari would just come out with fabricated receipts and false statement

She even acused you of always trying to steal Oikawa away from her since high school

The comments were tormenting to read, a lot of hateful and death threats on there, it was so disturbing

Oikawa's two week vacation was cut off as he was working with a company to arrange a press conference

The Aoba Josai former volleyball club showed their support, they constantly visited you and the twins especially Maki who had a lot of time on his hands , by now they already know they are Oikawa's sons

His team from Argentina heard about what was happening and some of them decided to fly to Japan to show their support

Iwaizumi and Akira came to your house practically everyday and brings good food

Honestly, you felt quite assured that a lot of people really care for you amd you weren't fighting this battle alone

Your parents even went to the hometown of Himari's parents to talk to them about the situation and they said Himari wouldn't listen to them

After a week of non-stop lies from Himari, it was time for Oikaw to step on the podium in front of flashing cameras

Some of his teammates and coach were there to show support, Iwaizumi, Issei and Maki were also there, they were both holding the twins, which has been the center of the attention for a while now

In the matter of seconds, the press conference has already begun

Akira was with you at home since you couldn't go to the press conference, the media was just going to crush you and your sef confidence was deteriorating because of all the hate you were recieving

"as you all know about the issue between me and model Sato Himari, first thing's first, me and her are not a thing, we are not lovers, we are not exes, I have been single for two years and the last girl I've dated is her cousin l/n y/n, who I'm currently dating again now"

There were a lot of murmurs going around the room but Oikawa was quick to silence them

"Y/n and I have been dating ever since we were in second year of high school, we dated for nine years and broke up two years ago, because of Himari slandering her in front of our head coach and I have proofd for that"

Oikawa clicks the little remote on his hand as the huge projector showed screenshot of Humari's and his Coach's messeges, it also showed a lot of pictures of you and Oikawa from Hugh School, contradicting Himari's statement that you tried to steal him in higgh school

"we are now back together and sharing our lives with our children who are twins Haruto and Hayato"

The press whipped their heads towards the twins who were pointing at Oikawa and giggling, the media awww-ed at the sight

"handsome aren't they? Yeah my lovely girlfriend gave birth to them" of course he was Oikawa

"as for Himari's pregnancy, I am positive that I am not the father of that baby, she told me that herself, if she denies it I'll gladly take a dna test when the baby is born so that I can expose more of her lies"

There were a lot of whispers going around, his teammates, ex-teammates and coach gave him a thumbs up

"I have been talking with my lawyers and I will be taking legal actions regarding this, that is all, thank you"

So I decided to post the last chapter tomorrow because I am going to change it, yes, that's how impulsive my ass is BSBSHSHSH anyways thank you so much to those who supported this until the end, I love y'all💖! Stay safe and happy luvs!

Taglist:

@heiressofdexter @artsamber @seashellmichellee @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @misssugarless @minnieminnie00-got7  @karakento @maizumis @torus-wiife @fiaesco @stormcastello @tintina365 @sakusasimpbot   @falconfeather23435 ​ @jojowantstocry @pluviophilefangirl ​ @qualitygiantshoepsychic

[mcwriting]

Lost in Rome

hello, friends! Ever since "La Vita Dolce," I've wanted to write something else involving Italy and at least one Italian phrase, and so this lil story was born! Hope you all enjoy!

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1488

Warnings: mentions of drinking, vv slight language

★

You had been walking around Rome for what felt like an eternity.

(It had only been like 30 minutes)

You knew the bar was right near Piazza Navona, but you'd only been to that part of the city one other time, having been staying south on the other side of the river in Trastevere.

You felt embarrassed knowing you were dragging your friends around the city without much of a guide, but you were too stubborn to admit that you were actually lost.

"Maybe we should've gone to Bar San Calisto again. It was cheap and close but noooo. I just had to look up a 'best bars in Rome' list" you thought as you continued to trudge on.

Not only were you lost, but you also didn't have the ability to look up where you were going, since you'd decided to go cheap and not buy an international plan or a vpn, choosing to only using wifi so you'd "stay in the moment."

That moment seemed stupid now that every marble wall and cobblestone street started to meld together in your brain as it continued to darken.

A trip to Rome was something you'd been wanting to do for years, so when your university offered up the chance to go study abroad for 4 weeks, you immediately began scrounging up the funds to go, even scoring a scholarship based on the fact that you'd taken Italian classes in school.

You'd only been there a week but thankfully had bonded with your roommate before even going, having struck up a conversation at the informational meeting the semester before. Since then, you had also bonded with those in the room next door, them sticking to you as their translator.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore, stopping.

"Okay, look, guys. I'm really sorry but I literally have no idea where we are," you admitted, feeling guilty. Everyone else smiled.

"That's okay! This place is beautiful! I'm sure we'll find it eventually," your roommate, Olivia, said.

"Yeah. Didn't you say it was at Piazza Navona?" Aaron, one of your neighbors, asked. You nodded. "Well as long as we can find that, then we're basically there!"

After some wandering, your group found itself in the square in front of the Pantheon, which was a step in the right direction, but you were determined to actually find the right place.

There was a hotel right there, so you quickly stepped in to ask the desk worker to point you towards the Piazza, who explained that it was only a couple streets East of where you were.

Relieved, you and your friends quickly walked that way, breathing out a collective sigh when you walked into the giant open square, looking around at the familiar structures from the second day of class when you'd toured the area.

"Sooo... where's this bar?" Aaron's roommate Joseph asked.

You all circled the square from the inside and out a couple times, not seeing any signs with the name "Bar del Fico Roma" anywhere.

Dread started to wash over you as you realized the website must not have meant the bar was actually on the square, but was somewhere nearby. You felt stupid for not screenshotting the website page or, you know, actually looking it up first.

"Fine, that's it! I'm marching up to the next person I see and asking where this darn place is. We've made it this far!" you said, exasperated.

The first thing that caught your eye was a group of people who looked close to your age, talking in a small group. They were pretty well dressed, typical of a young Italian, so you immediately started over towards them, expecting them to be the most helpful in giving directions.

"Wait, y/n!" Olivia protested, but you ignored her, walking between a shorter boy and taller girl.

You couldn't help but sigh out the words as you started speaking, placing a light hand on the boy's arm.

“Scusa, potresti dirme dov’è la-" "Excuse me, could you tell me where the-"

"Sorry! I don't speak Italian!" the boy answered in a British accent, turning to face you with hands in surrender.

You both seemed taken aback when your eyes met.

Tom Holland?

"Um, oh what was the word for sorry in Italian again?" the actor in front of you asked, looking to one of his many Spider-man costars around you. Before one could answer, you blurted out one for him.

"It's 'mi dispiace' or 'perdonami,' depending on how you want to say it," you started, realizing how stupid you probably sounded to be teaching a world famous actor Italian words after accidentally infiltrating his conversation.

However, Tom was more shocked by your American accent. Your eyes still widened as you realized what was actually going on.

"Oh my gosh, what am I saying, um. I- I'm so sorry. We're just trying to find this bar and got lost and-"

"Which bar?" he asked in return. You furrowed your brows and looked at him funny, wondering why he would care. He seemed to take notice. "It's just that, we're also headed to a bar and can't seem to find it, either."

You chuckled at the situation, baffled.

"Well, um, it's called 'Bar del Fico Roma.'"

Tom's eyes widened.

"Hey, that's where we're headed!" Jacob Batalon cut in, making you look at him and the rest of the actors in surprise. You could see your own friends shock from your peripheral.

"No way! Really?" Joseph said for you. The group nodded.

"I just got it pulled up on maps," Zendaya said, holding up her phone. Realization suddenly hit that she of all people was the one who you had been standing next to this whole time.

You and your friends all gasped incredulously, amazed at your luck after spending all that time lost.

"If you want, we can show you the way," Tom offered.

"What? No, no we couldn't impose like that," you began, knowing your friends were probably internally screaming at you.

"Oh come on," Tom responded. "We're all going to the same place anyways, not like we won't see you there. It's barely a five minute's walk."

"Seriously, y/n. Do you really want to go around asking more locals for help when we've got it right here?" Olivia asked, raising a good point.

"Alright, fine," you started, rolling your eyes. You turned back to Tom. "You know what they say, 'when in Rome.' Seriously, thank you. All of you. You're definitely saving our asses."

He chuckled as Zendaya began leading the way. Though the sun had set, lights throughout the roads and emanating from various shops lit the way.

Without meaning to, you fell into step with Tom, easily matching his gait as you crossed through the bustling piazza.

"So what brings you to Italy?" He asked. "You don't quite sound like a local."

"We're studying abroad through our university. Unfortunately for me, these goons keep following me 'cause I speak the language," you joked, causing Olivia to slap the back of her hand to your shoulder.

"Ah, I see. I was definitely confused when you went from Italian to American in an instant. Y/n, was it?"

"Yes! Yeah, that's me. And you're obviously Tom Holland."

"You better remember that later, he tends to forget his own name after a few drinks," Zendaya called back to you, causing the group to laugh.

"Hey! That was one time!" Tom defended himself. "Not my fault I was going through a breakup!"

He turned back to you.

"Don't listen to them. I'm quite fun to drink with. You should see for yourself."

"Is that some sort of offer..?" you questioned playfully, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"If everyone's alright with it, I figured you all would join us at the lounge. I'm more than happy to pay for a round or two," he winked.

The group was approaching the bar, and any anxiety you'd had about finding it finally quelled when you could see people outside laughing and drinking as they enjoyed the summer night.

"Hmm... I don't know..." you sing-songed, looking up at the sky.

"Dude are you crazy?" Aaron exclaimed, causing the others to argue in agreement with him.

"Okay, okay. Of course we would be happy to join you for a drink. Thank you."

Both groups cheered in approval.

"The only thing I ask in return is a little lesson in Italian and, if all goes well, a pretty lady's number at the end of the night," he said smoothly, giving you a look.

The others looked between you with wide eyes, surprised at his open flirting. You couldn't help but smile and blush before replying.

"I think that's something I can manage. Now come on, your first lesson will be in ordering drinks," you said, grabbing his hand to lead him in what was about to be the best night of his life.

And yours.

★

A/N: Okay fun fact I thought up this concept immediately after publishing La Vita Dolce and just... never wrote it? The entire work was actually written around the one Italian phrase I used haha.

Anyways... Hope you all enjoyed as per usual and feel free to hmu anytime about anything :)

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

@jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @justafangirlduh

[tokyoghoose]

[ 2:04pm ]

It's surprisingly cold when you step into the house with the box tucked to your chest, boosting it up into your arms with your knee before shuffling forward into the entryway to set it down on the kitchen counter not too far off. With a huff, you blow out your cheeks and look around. It's empty and completely bare of any character, but you're already sure Hawks would be able to fill the space with his own energy. It's honestly a lot smaller than you thought he'd go for, but it's peaceful and a small ways away from the bustling city. It makes for a good place to breathe when you feel overwhelmed by life zooming by, moving far too fast for comfort. Even the thought of getting to spend days off with each other, side by side, and watching the sun settle into orange and lavender, sends an excited shiver down your spine and you giggle. A few years ago you hadn't even expected the fling to become a full-on relationship, much less moving in and actually being domesticated with the winged hero. In no time this place would become a home.

Speaking of the devil, Keigo stumbles in with two boxes obstructing his view—of course, he was trying to show off around you, no matter how long you'd been together now. It's amazing how entertaining and light he kept the relationship, never failing to bring a smile to your face. A light in this dimming world. His boisterous laugh echos as he tangos over his own two feet, trying not to fall over his shoelace or catch the pocket of his sweatpants on the knob of the cabinet before bending his knees slightly so you can take one of the boxes.

"That's the last one!"

You uncover his face to see a glowing smile and everything about him just radiates unexplained energy. It sends butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy at the sight. It's so genuine, and raw, and soft. You've seen so much of him, so many expressions and raw emotions—explosive anger into a suffocating, quiet sadness, the stress of being the number two hero weighted on his shoulders, and a breakdown behind closed doors and prying eyes. This is by far your favorite, surpassing the half-real, half-fake smiles to reporters and the sly smirk with bedroom eyes. This one has a toothy grin and adoration, only for you to see and experience. And god, what an experience it is. You've been blessed just to see it once, but now you were given the opportunity to see it every day if possible.

The boxes are discarded on the counter, one already ripped open to take some mugs and glasses out, and you shake your head with a laugh of your own. The joyful noise echos around the empty house, but it occupies the space with overwhelming warmth. It doesn't feel nearly as cold now. Hawks hums, wrapping an arm around your waist, fingers skimming under your shirt to caress the dip in your spine and it lights a trail of fire, goosebumps rising on your skin. He may be slick with his words, but touch was definitely the best way he showed his love.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, it's like the world pauses for a moment to give you this screenshot, this memory for a little bit longer. The world is still spinning, but just for the two of you, it's willing to slow down. How kind. It's quiet out, except for the birds chirping around and the occasional car passing by to get home from work. The crickets would start soon, the sun starting to say goodbye. It had taken the two of you more time to unload than you'd like to admit, but maybe unpacking could wait. You'd stay like this forever, given the first chance. It seems Keigo agrees like he can read your mind and brings you in for a soft, passionate kiss. Usually very eager or cool, it's a nice change in pace, but never lacks the enthusiasm of kissing you.

Your biggest fan, greatest supporter. Keigo Takami really is the one, and you'd be damned to let go.

His other hand comes to brush the hair from your face, tracing your cheekbone with his calloused fingers gently before starting to sway. It makes you giggle into the kiss, pulling away to lean your forehead against his. He looks so tired but so full of life. He's an enigma, truly. How he keeps it up is beyond you, but you show how much you appreciate it whenever you can.

He pecks your lips again, moving his hand down to cup your neck before sliding it to your side and pulling you into an embrace. Your face fits perfectly into the crook of his neck, his chin slotting right onto your shoulder like the final piece of a puzzle that had taken far too long to complete. The two of you shuffle around in a circle, just holding each other in a slow dance—taking in every ounce of the rare peace.

It feels like only a few minutes, but before you know it the sun has finally set and the moon has taken its place in lavender and blue. He presses a single kiss to your neck before pushing your away to take your hand, pushing you out into a spin. It feels a little juvenile, like a couple of kids at homecoming when you spin under his hand. Highschool felt so far away now—he hasn't changed a bit. He twirls you again, drawing you back into his chest where you place your hands with a breathy laugh. Always laughing. How lucky are you to always be laughing with him, and how lucky is he to have the chance to marry you any day now. A dream is what it is. But you don't think you want to wake up any time soon.

The two of you sway between kisses and praises. Passion, admiration, love. Heat in the cold home.

You could get used to this.

————

playlist:

subway song - julianna zachariou

new house - rex orange county

i wanna boi - pwr bttm

macaroni song - corey kilgannon

announcements!

this week is underrated charcter week! I extended it due to work and school, so feel free to send in requests for your favorite characters!

you can find prompts under the tag :)

thank you so much for the support! Feedback is appreciated and welcome! :)

[iamyoursinblog]

Find you

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x Reader x Im Jaebeom

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 3,1 k

LIST

Part: [ 1] [ 2] [ 3 ] [ 3.5 ] [ 4 ] [ ]

_____________________________

 POV Jinyoung

"Run to the library quickly. You've got three seconds!" he hissed into the tube and passed out. He hid behind the book row, looking out the side of the window.

He went to the library to give the book away. Turning to the exit, girl in a red sweater catch his attention, who sitting on a table near the window. He didn't immediately believe his eyes. But it was definitely you! It was their chance with Jaebeom to meet you. So he's acting like he's in a spy movie right now. He got amused because he was acting like a teenager. A minute later, Jaebeom appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily. He ran to the door and grabbed Jaebeom for jacket dragged to the place where he was hiding before.

"What a jerk? What are you doing? Why such urgency?" Jaebeom wanted to keep talking, but Jinyoung covered his mouth with his hand.

"Shut up already!" whispered Jinyoung

He pointed with his finger on the window where you was sitting. Jaebeom turned his head and froze when he saw you. He almost laughed with Jaebeom's reaction. You really act on them just as much. He turned his eyes to you. You sat and read the book. You were wearing reading glasses, and your fingers were playing with strands of your hair. How can someone look so depraved just by reading a book in a library. He rested his forehead in Jaebeom's shoulder. How can he handle it?

"She definitely loves red," Jaebeom said, looking at you.

"Was she also in red when you first saw her? When I met her she was wearing a red dress." he replied

"When I met her, she was wearing a red suit, " said Jaebeom

"We have to approach her," he said, though he lacked the courage to do so.

"Yes, come on," Jaebeom replied. But a few minutes passed, and none of them budged. They looked at each other and giggled. They were arguing over who should go first, turning their heads, they saw that your place was empty. They ran out into the middle of the hall looking around.

"Damn, it's all your fault" Jinyoung slammed Jaebeom on the shoulder.

They ran out into the hallway. "There" Jinyoung pointed to the end of the corridor where you turned the corner. They ran there. Turning the corner, Jaebeom abruptly stopped. Jinyoung crashed into Jaebeom, causing them to fall.

"Why the hell did you stop so abruptly?" Jinyoung said shoving Jaebeom. But Jaebeom did not react at all, looking at the wall. He turned his head and sat down again on the floor, losing his balance. You stood near the wall with your arms folded on your chest, and you watched them on top of your glasses. You squatted, looking at them.

"So that's who was staring at me in the library. I think I've seen you before." "And you too" you pointed your finger at Jaebeom. "Too many coincidences to be an accident," you said before getting up.

"We liked your coffee shop. So we decided to meet each other," said Jaebeom, and got to his feet, giving Jinyoung's hand.

"And you go by promo of 1+1. Meet one, the other as a gift?" you chuckled.

"Yes, and you are against it? I think the offer is very profitable." replied Jinyoung.

"I'm sure you won't regret it" added Jaebeom

"Sorry, but we have to go, miss" the guy in the black suit appeared next to you.

"Yes, let's go," you told to the guy. "It was nice to meet them, 1+1" you looked at them from head to toe, before turning and going to the exit.

"I think we just screwed up," he laughed as he continued to look at you. He looked out the window watching you get in the car before getting out of sight. He turned and saw that Jaebeom was still looking out the window.

"But she remembered us, even though we came separately," Jaebeom turned his eyes to him. "So there's a chance."

"You don't think we've been playing in 'good guys' for too long..." he said, moving away from the window, "Come on, Mark is waiting for us."

They went to the restaurant where Mark was waiting for them. They said hello and made an order.

"Mark, remember that coffee shop you told me to go to?" asked Jaebeom.

"Yes, I thought you'd like it there, they've got a lot of interesting books." answered Mark

"Books are the only reason why you told me to go there." asked Jinyoung

"Yes, and what? You can't just get there. Nobody knows about them, only those who have been told about this by a person who has already been there can come there."

"Do you know the girl in red who works there in the second hall?" asked Jinyoung.

"I know" laughed Mark "But only she is not an employee, she is the owner."

"Tell us about her" asked Jinyoung

"Forget about it. She's not in our league. I'm even afraid to turn to her once again when she's at the bar. I've never met anyone like her. I heard that if you post on the Internet about this coffee shop, it's gone in a minute. She seems to have too much power. Even the two guys who work there, they're not bartenders, they're security guards."

"I've only seen one guy," Jaebeom said

'Me too' confirmed Jinyoung

"The second guy is on sick leave. One of the new customers recently got drunk and threw a glass in her direction, but the bartender stood in front of her and the glass crashed against his head. Usually in such cases there is began a panic, even me feel uncomfortable, but she looked like she saw it every day. A minute later, the customer was entered by security, and she calmly pulled shards of glass from his wound until an ambulance arrived." Mark shook his head "I have to go, see you later" he said, looking at his watch.

"Yes, see you" replied Jaebeom

'She's really something,' he thought to himself. And how do they deal with that. If he had the idea of hiring someone to find out more about her, now he realizes that it could be dangerous.

"Can we hire someone to find out who she is?" asked Jaebeom when Mark left.

"I've thought about it too, but now I'm not sure it's a good idea. Judging by what Mark said about her, she learns that she is being watched for 5 minutes, and in next five will know who exactly do it".

"Why don't we go to the coffee shop tomorrow?" asked Jaebeom.

"She certainly won't communicate with us there. It seems that she often visits the library, it is necessary to meet with her in neutral territory"

"It feels like we're discussing a takeover of a company, not an acquaintance with a girl." laughed Jaebeom

They came home with the hope that they could meet you again.

POV You

You were sitting in your office, the day was too busy. You smiled remembering those two guys outside the library. They seemed too innocent. You picked up the phone and dialed the number.

"My goodness. I never thought I'd be able to hear your beautiful voice again." answered male voice

"Too much sarcasm, from someone like you" you answered

"I just thought you were on the side of the angels now. Although it's safer for them if you're on their side."

"You've forgotten, I'm always on my side" you grinned.

"Closer to the point, baby. I don't think you called to find out how I was doing. Who should be found?"

"I sent pictures to your mail." You selected some screenshots from the surveillance camera in the coffee shops and clicked send.

"Ok. Will you come to see me sometime?"

"Have you forgotten? I'm kind of on the side of the angels," you said, and hung up.

A few days later you were sitting in a car looking at the pictures. 'They're really 1+1,' you thought. Always together, live together, even their families are friends. You read the name of the companies that their families own, they seemed too familiar. You took out your phone and opened your mother's letter, which had blind dating candidates. After scrolling through the list, you found two familiar names. 'Best in everything' you grinned. You kept looking at the photo, from home, from the car, from the workout, from the restaurants. You stopped at the last photo "This is more interesting" you said and laughed. You put the last photo in the envelope and put it in your bag. "Get rid of it" you passed the rest of the photos to the driver.

"Yes, Miss"

"I'll be on my own for a few days. I want to check something."

"Okay, miss. I'll be in the coffee shop. Drive your car from home?"

"My father didn't burn it after I refused to be part of the family business?"

He smiled, "He's probably still hoping that in a few years you'll change your mind. As far as I know there were no restrictions on your account"

"A couple of years? Hmm, maybe I'll change my mind" you got out of the car and went towards the library.

You've never been in a crowded place, unnecessarily. You felt like someone was looking at you all the time. When you went out and turned the corner, you heard quick steps in your direction. You wondered who might have been chasing you, so you decided to stop and see. But you didn't expect it to be your clients. You barely kept a smile when they fell in front of you. It's been a long time since you've been entertained. You've decided to see what'll happens.

You went into the library and sat down at your favorite place by the big window. You opened the book and started reading, it always calmed you down. It was a little escape to a made-up world. That's why you opened this coffee shop for those who wanted a break from the outside world.

"Excuse me, can I meet with you?" You looked away from the book and turned to the sound source. There was a nice guy in his 20s, standing in front of you, with a bright smile, holding out a drink for you. Apparently your look was too dissatisfied because you were distract from reading. That's why the guy apologized a few times and putting the drink next to you disappeared from view. You looked closely at the drink before you went back to your book. You heard laughter at the next table. Turned your head you saw two students who giggled and whispered, looking in your direction. Apparently today you will not be allowed to read quietly. You took a deep breath trying not to kill these girls mentally. You were too annoyed by the people who were discussing you behind your back, you could have seen us differently before. But as you were reminded recently, you're on the side of the angels. 'Devil pretends an angel' you laughed at the thought. After looking at the hall, you made sure that those you wanted to see were not here. You got up from your seat and went between the book rows to get the book back in place. You turned on your heels and headed for the exit. When you went into the library, you noticed a coffee shop, you decided to wait for your car there. You were hoping there wouldn't be too many people there at that time. When you got to the place, you went inside, and was happy because only a few tables were occupied. You sit on a table by the window from which you can see the parking lot, and you made an order. You feeling the vibration and picked up the phone.

"Your car will be in half an hour"

You smiled that your wait wouldn't last long.

POV Jaebeom

He was reaching the entrance to the library when he saw Jinyoung standing in front of the entrance.

"Well, what went in search?" said Jinyoung, when Jaebeom came closer.

"People already think we live in the library," he laughed. They were walking past the coffee shop when the red clothes in the window caught his attention. He didn't believe his eyes right away. You were wearing a red smock ruffle blouse and short black shorts that were naked on your beautiful legs. He stopped, but Jinyoung continued to walk towards the library. Grabbing Jinyoung by the collar he drew to himself.

"Hey, what are you doing?" said Jinyoung, stepping back.

"I think our plans have changed. Let's go and take some coffee."

"What? What coffee? Aren't we..." Jinyoung didn’t finish when he saw you in the window. "Coffee? Great idea, I really want to drink a coffee"

They went inside and quickly made an order. The hall was half empty, you were sitting on the couch at a table near the window and something looked at on the phone, with not very happy look. But then she smiled broadly, and from your smile a wave of trembling passed through his body. I think it's the first time he's seen your sincere smile. They took their order and went to your table.

"Is it not occupied?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, they sat down on the couch opposite you.

You looked up from the phone and first looked at Jaebeom and then at Jinyoung. "You really are 1+1! But usually people wait for the answer to the question they asked before you take further action." you raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure it's not occupied here," Jinyoung said.

"Then absolutely loses the meaning of your question, if you were sure that the place is free" you turned your eyes again to your phone.

He just loved what you said. I always left the last word behind me. He laughed.

"I think we started the wrong way," he said with a smile. "Hi. How are you?"

"Great" you answered without even looking at them.

"Isn't it customary to ask in response 'how are you' from the interlocutor" said Jinyoung, taking a sip of coffee

"Even if I'm not really interested?" you asked, finally looking at them.

"Even if you're not interested", Jaebeom smiled.

"How are you?" You fake smiled for a second

"We're great too, thank you for asking," Jinyoung replied, smiling broadly.

"We not introduced each other last time," Jaebeom said.

"Are you talking about the time when you both were lying at my feet" you grinned

"Yes, about that time" replied Jinyoung

"I know yours names"

"You know?" asked Jaebeom

"Yes, I do. 1+1!" You sent a stinging smile to them, and goosebumps ran over his skin. 'What a cute devil' he thought to himself.

Jinyoung laughed loudly, "If you like it, you can call us like that. But for help my name is Jinyoung, and this is my best friend Jaebeom"

"What's your name?" asked Jaebeom

"Why are you trying so hard to meet me?" you asked, taking the phone in your bag and completely switching your attention to them.

"We like you, " calmly replied Jinyoung

"Do you like me? Are you two?"

"Yes. Did you forget, after all, you called us 1 + 1" smiled Jaebeom

"Very interesting couple" you said your thought in loud. You looked intently first at him and then at Jinyoung.

Every time you looked at him with that glance, he seemed to fall in love more and more. "In that case, I have a couple of questions."

"Of course, ask everything you're interested in," Jinyoung replied.

"Are you gay?"

"No" they answered at the same time, and you chuckled. "We like girls. And now we like you," Jaebeom added.

"Are you bisexual?"

"No" they answered and looked at each other

"This time the answer was less confident. Perhaps you yourself do not know the exact answer to it." you said carefully watching their every move. "Have you kissed?" you asked, pointing your finger at them

"No" they answered again together. He heard the vibration of your phone before you took it out of your bag. You picked up the phone, but you didn't produce a word, you just looked out the window and nodded. He looked out the window, too, and saw a guy in a black suit, the same guy they saw in the library hallway.

"Then the last question. Did you want to kiss each other?" your view has changed, now he would have called it piercing through.

"No" they almost responded together, and he was glad that his answer coincided with Jinyoung's response.

You smirked and got out of your seat. So without saying anything, you're gone.

"See you " said Jinyoung to you after

For a few minutes they sat in silence, watching you leave the window. He still felt a tremor in his body from your gaze. Each time your presence caused indescribable emotions. He turned his eyes to Jinyoung and saw all the same emotions on his face as he was experiencing himself.

"I wonder if it's progress?" he said, "She spoke to us, but we still not knew her name."

Jinyoung laughed at his words. "I think it can definitely be called progress"

They had coffee and headed for the exit.

"Sorry" to them spoke the girl behind the bar. "Before going out, the girl you were sitting with asked to pass it on to you" she held out a white envelope and he took it

"Thank you" smiled Jinyoung

He turned the envelope over and saw the inscription in beautiful handwriting:

"Are you sure the answer to the last question is 'no'?"

He opened the envelope and the cold walked through his veins, chaining his whole body in a tight knot when he saw a photograph. It was a screenshot from a surveillance camera. In the pictures, he pressed Jinyoung against a wall in a dark corridor, and their faces were only a few centimetres apart.

"We seem to be in trouble," he said, handing over an envelope with a photo of Jinyoung.

'It's time to stop playing honestly,' he thought. He glanced again at the photograph which jinyoung held with trembling hands, and his face was an unreadable mask.

"Let's go" he put his arms around Jinyoung's shoulders, and headed for the exit. "I think we've been at the club in a long time ago" 

_____________________________

LIST

Part: [ 1] [ 2] [ 3 ] [ 3.5 ] [ 4 ] [ ]

[thedyingmoon]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

~ A V X Reader set in an Alternate Universe where V gets to ask the riddles. 🖤

~ @acieoj and @heaven-on-a-landslide , thank you for always supporting me. 🖤

~ These are two of my game screenshots. I hope you like them. 🖤

~ Enjoy! 🖤

***

VII

"You can do this, (Y/N). Just remember what I said and you'll be fine."

Patty's words rang into your head as you descended the staircase. It's not like you don't want to stay with the others, no.

It's just that - let's face it: you may be taught how to dance and have a perfect posture but, no one ever taught you how to conduct yourself in an event like this. You were totally clueless. And so as not to embarrass yourself, you woke up earlier than the others that Friday morning, went to a friend's house, and sought her advice regarding events such as this.

Yes, Patty Lowell may be jealous of you for a while for being hired as Dante's assistant but, that all changed with a little bit of explanation and a lot of girl - bonding moments with her, that was, after your missions with the Devil Hunter or during your off days. The girl may only be seventeen, turning a year older two weeks from now, but she sure knew her stuff, being a girl who always got invited to parties.

And so, you decided to trust her for this.

And, as you scanned the area, making sure that no one's paying attention, you took some steps forward, careful not to stumble on your stilettoes.

Your head held high, your posture as perfect as it can be, you were prepared for the challenge ahead. Everything will go according to your plan. The entity didn't show you anything bad that might happen, what could go wrong?

You suddenly felt eyes directed towards your being, making the hairs on your nape stand. Your (E/C) eyes widened a bit. You looked down to your left and saw, leaning on one of the walls, the man who almost landed on top of you that Thursday afternoon. The man with the markings on his skin.

The man in your visions.

It was none other than V, himself. And boy, did he take your breath away. First time you saw him, he was wearing a long black leather vest, a pair of dark cargo pants, and, well, a very unflattering pair of sandals.

But, now,...

As soon as he noticed that you finally turned to look at him, V's eyes slightly widened, then returned to normal. He noticed the same reaction on you, as if you were definitely expecting him to be there. He saw how you looked at him, like his presence awed you, and it honestly made him flattered, especially when he saw you blush a little bit, then looked away.

Ah, and so the girl finally gave up her game of hide and seek! V thought.

How could you not blush? Here was the man who had been plaguing you with both romantic and erotic visions for ten years straight. Yes, he may look a bit different in them but, that definitely was him, no doubt about it.

And, oh, what a wonderful time to be plagued by those sinful thoughts! Your plan was already falling apart! You were slowly losing focus.

When you looked back at him, you saw that he was still looking at you. He was even smiling at you as he made his way towards you, head slightly tilted to the side in amusement.

This is it! You thought as you prepared to meet him. There's no going back -

"Hey, beautiful!"

"Dante?!"

Somehow, you failed to notice, even with your ability to see into the future, the Devil Hunter who made his way towards you without you noticing due to your mind's preoccupation with thoughts of V.

You were quickly swept to your feet as the tall and devilishly handsome Dante, who looked even more devilishly handsome with his black formal wear and white shirt that exposed his broad and muscular chest, held your tiny waist with both hands and effortlessly brought you closer to him. So dangerously close, that there's actually no space left between the two of you, at all.

Griffon materialized and went directly to V's waiting left arm, sensing his master's uneasiness due to the sudden turn of events.

"It's Dante!" Griffon whispered to V. "Who knew that chit had an interesting relationship with him?"

V's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he saw Dante flirt with you. "Looks like I'm going to get my hands full as of the moment."

"What are we gonna do?"

He smiled confidently, as if he knew from the start that he's going to win against Dante. "I will,... think of something."

"You smell nice, as always." Dante whispered, his lips close to your ear, making you shiver. "Like an excellent vintage."

"Thanks but," you answered, getting creeped out by the Devil Hunter's behavior. You placed your hands against his chest to put some decent space between you. "... I thought you don't want to see me?"

But, your actions only fueled Dante's motivation to crush you against him even further. "Nah, that was three weeks ago!" He answered, his boyish smile both endearing and frightening.

Finally, you realized: he smelled of booze. He was intoxicated! But, a half Demon like him should have a high tolerance to things such as liquor. Which meant,...

How long has he been like this?! Was it since - ?

"Okay, Dante, you're drunk, and you need to take a rest - " you quickly spoke, getting more and more nervous as he got even more interested in your scent, actually burying his face to the most sensitive part of your neck and sniffing you, not caring in the least to the people around you.

"Who? Me? Drunk?" Dante said in a louder voice, then laughed, his hands now exploring your back, sending mixed sensations of both fear and heat all throughout your small body. "Not in the slightest!"

All of a sudden, you saw how Dante's eyes turn from icy blue to blood red without so much as a hint.

You gasped in utter fright: he was losing his mind over you, and you're afraid that he might take you forcefully if you don't do anything to divert his attention.

How come nobody's seeing this?! You thought as you looked around and noticed that the guests were busy doing their own business. And Nico and Kyrie's boyfriend? Well, they're both busy arguing with each other on the other side of the room!

"Now, don't be scared. Nobody's gonna see us." Dante literally growled. His voice was also changing very rapidly. "How about we go somewhere else and - ?"

Somebody, anyone, you thought helplessly. Help!

As if by a miracle, the head of a metal cane landed forcefully on Dante's right shoulder, enough to stop him from disgracing you even further. You both looked behind him and saw none other than V, himself, whose eyes were steadily trained on a hard - bound book, his right hand gripping the cane as tight as he could.

"While the lily white shall in love delight, nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright."

V quoted, not taking his eyes off the book. And when he finally looked up, putting the book away, he gave Dante a threatening kind of smirk. "It has been quite a while, Dante."

"V?" Dante muttered, slightly losing his grip on you. "What are you - ?"

"Now, a little bird has whispered,... something,... intriguing,... to me." the tattooed man playfully said, not letting Dante finish. "I've heard you are fond of riddles as I' am, no?"

"What are you even - ?!"

Dante's eyes were returning to normal, and his voice was reverting back to how it should be. And, what's more, he unknowingly let go of you.

You felt something tug at your shoulder. You turned and saw Griffon flying at the level of your eye.

"This way, sweet pea." the bird whispered to you, gesturing for you to follow him.

V smiled as he noticed you and the demonic bird going to the other side of the room, unnoticed by Dante. He went on with his facade.

"Now, there is a mirror in the middle of the room and three people who are looking at it: a warrior, a prince, and a bard." V said, smirking as he made his own riddle on the go just to distract Dante. "So, the question is: what do you think this Wrath of the Gods is?"

Dante just stared at V, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.

"I don't even know what kind of riddle you're blabbering about." Dante said to him. "Who are you, my brother?"

V chuckled good - naturedly. Somehow, through his brother's drunken state of mind, Dante still managed to see through him.

Oh, how on point he was with what he just said,...

V grasped his cane with both hands and nodded. Obviously, his brother has entirely forgotten all about the invitation and the riddle it brought. "My apologies." he said, turning away while playfully twirling his cane before tapping it on the ground. "I will let you be."

Just like that, V has won against Dante. He didn't even realize that you weren't there beside him anymore.

And now, to look for his quarry,...

He found you there behind a pillar on the right side of the room listening to Griffon's quips. He made his way there as quietly as he could and stopped just behind you.

"It's alright, he's confused beyond his own wits." You heard V softly whisper on your ear, sending shivers down your back to the pit of your stomach.

You turned and looked up at him, trying to suppress your tears at what just happened, and fought the urge to hug him. "I don't know how to thank you."

He smiled at you, but this time, it held none of the threat he showed to Dante earlier. It was gentle and comforting.

"Come with me." He requested, gesturing towards the refreshments table with a little tilt of his head.

And so, you followed him. You really wanted to convey your gratitude towards him for saving you earlier, but you couldn't bring yourself to say the words. His very presence seemed to overwhelm you but, not in an awful way. You knew he had total control over you right then, you just didn't know how or when it exactly happened.

And, as if to add more to your confusion and conflicting emotions towards the man, you noticed how his crisp, jet black tail coat hugged his slender torso. His equally dark pair of fitted pants also did a good job of emphasizing his height, about six feet and a few inches. The way he walked while holding his cane on his right hand was, indeed, very hypnotic, that your eyes were drawn to his every movement.

Yes, you may find Dante attractive before his drunken fiasco earlier but, it was nothing compared to how you thought and felt of V now.

And you simply blushed at the initial thought of it.

V looked behind him to check if you were still following him. And when he noticed the flush on your cheeks and how you look up at him, your long and heavy lashes making your eyes look endearingly languid, he had enough reason to look at your well - defined curves, the graceful movement of your hips that was further emphasized by your fitting white dress, and that lovely way your generous chest rise and fall with each breath you take. He had to look away for a while to not get himself excited over you. He was no teenager, and he must not conduct himself as one in front of you.

He stopped in front of the table, picked a glass of water, and offered it to you.

You shook your head. "I'm good, thanks." You smiled at him.

"Are you sure? You do look like you need it."

"I'm sure."

"Then, how about,... " V put the glass of water down and took a glass of champagne. " ... something a bit stronger?" his voice sounded really playful.

You shook your head once more, not wanting to offend -

"On second thought,... "

And just like what happened with the pizza box last Thursday, you threw all pretense aside and quickly took the glass of champagne from V's hand. You gulped the whole thing in one go in front of him, making him smile in amusement. After that, you took a seat in one of the chairs.

V looked down at you, his very person as imposing as hell and as attractive as heaven. But, you don't care. Your plan of a perfect evening was ruined, thanks to Dante, and you wanted to indulge yourself to forget all about it.

"You want another glass?" V graciously offered.

You nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, please."

"As you wish, my lady." V said with a mischievous grin, turning to get another one.

***

🖤🖤🖤

[indigobackfire]

Don't worry you didn't sound harsh at all!

All your complaints were super understandable, I don't remember if I considered them back then, but it was my favorite because it was basically a fest of my favorite characters from the game - Barnaby, Ismelda, Chiara, (there was even random little Diego around), Xenophilus, all that was missing was Jae trying to sell Chiara something xD I was both mad at these inconsistencies and how they wrote Ismelda, but also over-joyous because of their presence.

I really couldn't judge Chiara's view on the Quibbler back then, because it triggers in y5 before we get Divination in y6. And as careless Dumbledore can be about the students' safety, I don't think he'd let Chira go through her transformations without Wolfsbane, and if not him Snape who has been brewing/helping her brew it for five years by this point. How they could've fixed it is a bit beyond my writing capacities, but I believe it could've been done better.

And you're right, I remember you mentioning those points about Tulip in some post, I'm just the most biased person to talk about her, because truth be told I never really liked Tulip 😅 I don't hate her, but I also don't miss her. Do I have hope they'll tackle those topics and redeem her in my eyes, the way the story has been going, adding this myriad of side characters and b-plots, not really...

But I'm also biased in favor of Ismelda - I think I must have screenshots from nearly every interaction with her 🙈 - so I'll have a tendency to over-analyze her presence. I mean they did include her in all the Club SQs if I'm not mistaken, and while I have no idea why she was there, I was just happy she was at least there and being pleasant to MC!

Considering she's by far not the most important side character, I shouldn't hold my breath expecting them to position her and just accept somebody in the writing team took a liking to her enough to place her in those SQs, but not enough to bother a comprehensible arc. Especially considering there's a whole line of characters waiting to get some attention xD

Since the topic of Ismelda came up and no one ever talks about her 🙈😅 I feel like JC doesn't know what to do with her (?). Like they didn't know what to do with Tulip so she appeared less and less, only like a cameo, there was the Cook Off but that tlsq came and went, and she was the least memorable character in there.

But Ismelda is weird cause they seem like they want to include her but don't know how? They can't decide whether she's getting nicer or is still the same old Ismelda. If she's over Barnaby or not. If she's Merula's friend or not.

One of the SQ that most gives me this feeling is The Quibbler - that no one talks about it ever, but I loved that tlsq - in which we see her doing something half understandable (a werewolf in school is dangerous and Dumbledore is an idiot), half unacceptable (especially because it's Chiara we're talking about).

But the thing is, we see her hanging out with a different pair of kids every scene like little henchmen, which is already unlike her, but also several of them were Gryffindors, and it's so OoC.

And I also didn't entirely understand her purpose here. Was it for the money? The pleasure of screwing over Dumbledore? Screwing over the werewolf? It was a really bad thing she almost did and I don't get how JC wants us to view her, because then we get her really friendly in other tlsqs of the same year, which returns with my theory of they're confused about what to do with her.

(Sorry this is stupidly long).

No worries about it being long! In return, you’re getting a pretty long answer. Apologies in advance because I’m gonna be very critical about “The Quibbler” TLSQ as it’s one of my least favourite quests, and I believe that Ismelda is not even its biggest problem.

But first things first. It’s probably just my nit-picking, but I still want to talk about it. I wouldn’t really compare the situations between Tulip and Ismelda. I believe that the main reason why Tulip was moved to the side is her strong connection to the main story. It was revealed by Matt London that her wand is a hand-me-down from her grandmother who attended Mahoutokoro, her parents work at the Ministry (where R might have bigger or smaller influence), there was the whole thing with her friendship with Merula, and Matt London just seemed to be fond of her in general. The problem is that Jam City got lost with their main story at some point. I believe that some of the elements I mentioned about Tulip might still be important, but I think that the problem is not necessarily that Jam City doesn’t know what to do with Tulip – they don’t know what to do with the main story. And Tulip suffers because of that.

I mean, look at Tulip in Y4. She had her whole investigation on Rakepick and the Cursed Vault which led her from House-Elves to Hogsmeade. Then, it was just dropped like a hot potato. Sure, there might be an in-game explanation for that: she was silenced by Rakepick. I mean, there’s no way Patricia didn’t learn about her investigation, and if she was discovering things faster than MC was supposed to, then Rakepick might’ve done something with it. It’s more likely, though, that JC started getting confused with the main story. Too bad that all notes they have on Tulip when it comes to future plans are about that. Anyway, the end result is kind of the same: that they don’t know what to do with Tulip. But as I said, I’m nit-picking.

Now, the situation with Ismelda is very different, in my opinion, because I don’t think she has much direct connection to the main story at all. What I mean by that is that she’s not really interested in the Cursed Vaults, for example. I believe that she joined Merula mainly because she wanted to belong. I don’t know, she just never really showed that she might care about the treasure or even the search itself. Because of that, the writers could work on her just as a character: someone who’s not exactly MC’s friend, but also is not as antagonistic as Merula. And that’s good! But ultimately, I suppose that Ismelda became a victim of the major change in the writing team by the end of Y5.

I talked about it a bit in my analysis on how MC was supposed to use Crucio on Rakepick, perhaps you recall. Either way, I strongly believe that there was some big change around that time. It even can be seen in our recent discussion about Rowan and Barnaby: how the writers seemingly don’t remember that Rowan tutored Barnaby for years etc. And I suppose it’s just the same with Ismelda. Notice how at the beginning of Y6, MC doesn’t remember at all that Ismelda is not that bad. We also totally abandoned the conflict between Ismelda and Merula. It’s not exactly that they grew apart because in Y6Ch13, there’s a scene where we learn that Ismelda still spies for Merula, for example. On the other hand, Merula hangs out with Ben suspiciously often – and Ismelda seemingly doesn’t have any reaction to that. Their relationship is still weird like that in Y7, actually. But what happened with Ismelda’s jealousy from Y5?

Now, the thing with her crush on Barnaby actually seems pretty realistic to me personally. I mean, as someone who used to have a big crush on their friend, I have to say – it’s not that easy to simply say: “Oh, I’m over with that!”, but also you want to be over with that, so it just ends up being very confusing. Of course, it could be as well the case of inconsistent writing, too, but that one thing doesn’t bother me much.

Moving to “The Quibbler” TLSQ, though… I don’t want to sound dismissive or anything, but I honestly don’t think there’s any point in trying to understand Ismelda’s motivation there or what the writers wanted us to think – and that’s simply because I doubt that its creator put much thought into it at all, to begin with. And the most problematic part of it is actually Chiara.

First of all, Chiara was super OoC in this quest. We know from the main story that she likes Divination very much, she’s very serious about it, she even believes Trelawney is a real Seer. There are even parts in Divination classes where she enjoys reading The Quibbler. But here, she suddenly laughs at the magazine? Why? Her strong scepticism makes absolutely no sense! Sure, you could argue that this story change her perspective on Divination and all of that, but the problem is that there’s no such conclusion in this quest. At any point, Chiara didn’t say: “Perhaps I shouldn’t make fun of The Quibbler after all” or anything like that. So, I’m sorry, but I just can’t accept this explanation.

Secondly, Chiara wanted to win money for the ingredients for Wolfsbane Potion, right? And we even had this scene:

But then, as soon as Chiara gets money, she’s all happy that she’ll be able to get ingredients in time. So… Chiara needed only money to get ingredients? So, the quest basically implies that DUMBLEDORE DIDN’T WANT TO GIVE CHIARA MONEY FOR INGREDIENTS? I mean, if Chiara needed only money to be sure that she’ll make it in time, what exactly was stopping Dumbledore from getting the ingredients from the same source?

I’m sorry, but it’s so bullshit. You can say a lot about Dumbledore, but he wouldn’t refuse to give Chiara money in a situation like that. You also can’t tell me that he didn’t have money. And even if you want to believe that Albus would be a scumbag like that, we saw in the “Lone Wolf” TLSQ that Snape cares about Chiara a lot, so he would give her money. Hell, Snape would buy the ingredients himself, brew the Potion and deliver it to Chiara.

The way I see it, someone really wanted to put Chiara in this quest for some reason, but they knew it doesn’t exactly make sense – so they needed a scapegoat. Sadly, Ismelda was the easiest to turn into a bad guy of the story. Honestly, I don’t think that the writer of this quest was thinking anything about how we’re gonna view Ismelda. They just needed to distract the players. I hate to say it, but it’s kind of an equivalent of Merula’s sad backstory. Just in this case, it was rather: “Let’s not care about writing a logical side quest. Let’s make everyone worried about precious cinnamon roll Chiara instead”.

I’m sorry if these statements sound a bit too strong, but I’m really annoyed thinking about how many people were hating on Ismelda after this quest while I didn’t see much on how little sense this story made in general. And truth be told, this whole situation kind of made me dislike Chiara…

Overall, I hope that “The Quibbler” TLSQ was an exception when it comes to Ismelda’s character. I assume that her role will still be somewhere between [MC’s friend] and [Merula]. I mean, I believe that that’s how she is usually (“The Quibbler” TLSQ aside). That being said, I also expect that Jam City is not gonna remember all of the past stories, so I suppose that Ismelda will never be truly consistent.

I have no idea if I addressed your concerns properly. I hope I did. If not, as always, feel free to ask for clarification.