#im terrible with names and so is lana

[mad-hunts]

it was awfully random, in his opinion, but the urge to yawn suddenly hit barton after he pushed the glass over to jervis; his head dipping as he did so before he rose it up once more. god's, barton could not bring himself to hate anyone right now even if he tried. there was more than a bit of a 'floaty' feeling stuck in his brain now like honey. so, as you might imagine, the only look that barton was able to conjure up was a neutral one with a hint of something else lingering beneath the surface. maybe it had to do with the last remaining vestiges of humanity that he had left. and/or, that barton was simply expanding upon the quiet acknowledgement that he'd made already towards the other. it showcased that he knew jervis was in some sort of pain and it also wasn't easy for him to deal with it.

whatever the case might've been, when barton met jervis's own, they were arguably a lot less aggressive than they'd been before. it was probably the closest to soft that he was ever going to get in fact. imagine that, barton thought. a man who was once called a 'beautiful monster' by none other than the guy he was in an on-again and off-again relationship with making an attempt to console someone he barely knew. the comment made him want to punch laurent square in the face just as much as it did before regarding of it being a 'joke', of course. but now it had another connotation to it that he didn't realize before: that even his 'kindness' was cruel as monster's can't possibly be capable of doing anything even slightly good. but laurent was wrong about that. for, although barton certainly didn't think that what he'd just done was something so utterly significant that it would absolve himself of all the blood on his hands (especially since barton didn't think anything could at this point), there was nothing in this for him.

no reward. and barton didn't want one, either. he then banished all thoughts of that prick from his mind as one could definitely say that they were on the 'outs' right now. so, barton wasn't going to even grant laurent the pleasure of being on his mind any longer, pushing his plate to the side of himself. a light sigh slipped through barton's lips then. what others thought of him was not something he contemplated very often when it wasn't nightfall, in all honesty. however... some part of barton wondered what the news had taken to considering him to be. would they use a very blah way to describe the person who killed marty, like they're 'dangerous,' as he originally thought? or would they try to sensationalize it by calling them something akin to a 'psychopath?' it almost made him curious enough to turn on the TV, but they probably had enough to worry about with all these people who had phones on them. they were like mini computers now.

psychopath. he never did like that word very much. that's when barton was brought back to reality by jervis talking, but he honestly couldn't be sure whether it was to him. barton silently rose an eyebrow at him and just watched over the other briefly. now that he thought about it, he had seen him looking past him about one or two times during their conversations, as if jervis was privy to something that barton wasn't. he wasn't going to ask him about it because it simply wasn't his business but he had mentioned having ECT forced on him. which could theoretically be used to treat, and he says theoretically because the way they did it in arkham was all wrong, depression, catatonia, schizophrenia. things like that. barton put his head down on both his arms while they were on the counter. what a truly messed-up way to try to make them 'better,' like all of those quacks in the asylum were always phrasing it.

whenever jervis accepted the glass, barton in particular fixated on the accidental brushing of the scars he could feel on jervis's skin. he supposed so he didn't have to have his mind be quiet once more; a downturned smile ever-so-slightly tugging at barton's lips as he watched the other take a bite out of it. that's when he heard the sound of the door to the restaurant opening, and simultaneously, ravi had come out with another plate of his curry. ❝ here you go — ❞ he slowly put it down in front of barton before turning his head to look at who just came in with a surprised look on his face. barton was just about to himself, only for a very well-dressed matilda to lean her body to one side and say 'boo,' effectively scaring barton.

matilda couldn't help but laugh at that before barton murmured a soft, albeit not actually malicious sounding but playful instead, ❝ oh, my god, matilda. you know i love you but i hate you so much right now, ❞ ravi placed a hand on his shoulder and snorted slightly before saying, ❝ hey, be nice to your daughter, mister i-got-attacked-by-a-bear. and you better take his ass to the hospital or i'm hunting both of you down. ❞ the man left without another word, then, though matilda called after him, ❝ it was nice to see you too, ravi! now let me see this. oh, wow. it really does look like you got attacked by a bear. you didn't do this to him, did you? ❞ his daughter was now talking to jervis as she looked at him through narrowed eyes and did something to the wound to make barton protest. ❝ uhh, ow! and no, he didn't. he's obviously too much of a goody-goody to. ❞ barton stated sarcastically. he knew that, if jervis wanted to hurt him, it'd probably be in a much more... creative way now.

Jervis glanced at Barton through his lashes, mouth twitching at the corners. All of the condensed energy within his frame seemed to evaporate like spring dew with that simple gesture, the other man’s words hesitantly sprouting between them like leaves on an olive branch. A beat stretched. Jervis took another spoonful of his soup, chewed the chicken and rice, shut his eyes as the broth trickled down his throat.

At this moment, he was absolutely certain of two things. First, Jervis was touched - genuinely touched - at this second, seeming entirely unprompted act of kindness on Barton’s behalf. And then, a sense of dread begin to sink into the pit of his stomach, as he wondered why exactly Barton was offering him the falooda. What possible ulterior motives did he have this time? A flicker of tension began to rise in his jaw, but it soon snuffed itself out as his teeth accidentally misaligned in mid-bite around the spoon, digging into the callused tissue rimming the underside of his bottom lip. Jervis flinched, one hand immediately flying to his mouth to assess the damage.

It was nothing drastic by any means, no blood had been shed, but that one slip in self-control almost hurt worse. Whatever dregs of revulsion and irritation remained inside him melted, replaced by the familiar, sour notes of shame and self-reproach. Ahh, I deserved that one. Fair enough. After all, they had been stonewalling since they first stepped out of that transport van and into Jamie’s car. Surely, now that they had broken bread together, they could enjoy a temporary peace.

Whatever happened to the Golden Rule, Jervis? Is your hatred of the man so strong, it overrides everything else? He can’t wear the Dollmaker’s mask any longer than you can put on the Hatter’s mantle or pilfer Carroll. You’re both human, after all, not comic book villains. Besides, throwing the offer and the falooda in his face, however small the satisfaction may be, will only widen the chasm between you both. What you need right now is an ally, even if it’s circumstantial.

As if hearing his thoughts, Sylvie clicked her tongue, cocked her head thoughtfully as she looked at him over Barton’s shoulder; her mist-colored eyes sharp and cold as January sleet. “And here I thought I was the petty one between the two of us. What, are you going to spit at him? Pour the soup in his lap? Good; that’s fine. You piss him off, he has second-degree burns, what then? Do you really think that’s wise? Of course not, you’re not an idiot, and you’re not a cruel man. So, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“… it’s fine,” Jervis mumbled numbly, dropping his gaze. “You needn’t worry.” His hands shook, clammy beneath the black leather that encased them. He had no idea if he was speaking to Barton or to the shadowy thing just behind where he sat. “I’ve had… a lot on my mind, as you can probably tell. I lose my train of thought… things can sometimes go mad.” He raised his right hand, extended it to free the glove on the opposite side from where it had bunched around his knuckles once again, only to freeze. His skin crawled at the thought of exposure, but between the escape and the means of its procurement, the trip back to Gotham in Jamie’s car, the bathroom, and now here at this table… the gloves were positively soiled now. The filed edges of Barton’s nails caught the light. There was no way in hell he would’ve been allowed to grow them while he was legitimately practicing medicine…

“The ball’s in your court,” Sylvie drawled. “You’ve got the wolf by the ear, and you don’t even realize it.” The slightest hint of mockery colored the outlines of her words. Jervis’ ears burned. Goosebumps flared. She was getting closer now, her pale features hardening, all the color in her cheeks bleaching itself away, like paint receding from marble. “What’re you going to do about it? Can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, isn’t that what you always told me? What would Alice think of you now?”

This wasn’t her. Not his wife. Not Sylvie, not the mother of their child, not the love of his life. Merely something dark and twisted inside him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge —something he was afraid to address, that that recognition would supersede all the positive traits within him, all the warmth and joy and optimism and kindness and the capacity for love —

His left hand mechanically clenched around his right, tore off the filthy glove. The bare appendage wrapped itself around the base of the proffered falooda glass as Barton hesitantly nudged it towards him. For the briefest of moments, the other man’s nails grazed against the old calluses and the web of scars and contusions marring Jervis’ skin. He raised his head, met Barton’s eyes; saw the earnestness there, the uncertainty, all bleeding together.

Jervis glanced back behind Barton. Sylvie — or whatever figment of his imagination or paranoia or only God knew had taken her face, her voice, her demeanor — had vanished. His heart sank. For just a moment, he wished she had remained there… even if, he rationalized, it wasn’t really her. Or had it been, after all? A peek behind the veils that separated them? The chill of the glass and the soft pink hue of its contents washed over him. He exhaled. Perhaps he didn’t want to know for certain, after all. If there truly was an afterlife… wouldn’t he know by now? Jervis flexed his fingers; took the spoon, scooped up a bite, and savored the falooda’s rich, creamy texture.

Truce.

[mao-likes-2-draw]

ace attorney into the woods au…….save me…….

character choices explained under cut !!!

baker and baker’s wife - diego and mia : okay so. love cut off very tragically. and for lanamia purposes because lana is cinderella’s (miles’) prince. mia is very determined and she dies in the process of reaching the goal because she became distracted, like the baker’s wife.

jack - phoenix : jack is very attached to things, and so is phoenix. he would be trying to get milky white back like his life depended on it. also made him jack so that diego could say “its because of you theres a giant in our midst and my wife is dead!” because he blamed phoenix for mia’s death 🙏🙏 i <3 angst. oh and also he can be friends with red :)

just…dont ask me who his mother is. i dont know.

little red - maya : shes young and just like little red, is kind of sheltered and has some terrible shit happen to her that leads to a revelation about the real world. shes on a search for her mother, or in this case, granny. i know it makes more since for red to be mia as she was looking for misty and the truth and died along the way, but shes already the bakers wife and it can apply somewhat to maya as well.

cinderella - edgeworth : okay so this one is kind of silly. hes like the von karma black sheep and i think franziska being a stepsister is hilarious. i dont think they would have as bad of a relationship and cinderella and lucinda do in the actual show, but the rivalry is still there. he also is the type to run away from hard things because…we have JFA to thank for that.

also gregory can be the ghost

the witch - kristoph : he doesnt have any relation to mia or diego, but him and klavier work pretty well as the witch and rapunzel. i dont know why klavier is related to diego in this. lets just say kristoph did some weird ass wizarding shit that made himself and klavier look very similar. i dont know. the witch is a very complex character but i dont want kristoph to be as sympathetic as she was. he is very interesting but less “right” than the witch was. in her words, “i’m not bad, im not good, i’m just right!” kristoph…isnt really right.

he also loves petty revenge and would do the whole monologue.

princes - lana and ema : siblings, for one thing. lana and mia could have a moments in the woods type of thing going on. mia has a bisexual awakening. lana also works with edgeworth, but in this version i dont think shes very in love with him. its more about asserting her authority as royalty. edgeworth isnt in love either, just as cinderella is unsure of her decisions. ema is the same way. she cannot stand klavier.

the line in agony where rapunzel’s prince says, “you know nothing of madness till you're climbing her hair…all the while hearing her ‘aahhhh’” i feel like that could be recontextualized from “im madly in love” to “oh my goodness this bitch wont stop singing”. the princes, or princesses, are much more reluctant about their counterparts in this au.

lavender marriages. take what you will.

steward - angel starr : okay so the steward(ess) isnt an important character but . maybe idk (im insane) him and cinderella’s prince had some kind of relationship. i mean….he gets around. and lana does too—its insane.

and im pushing the starrskye agenda (cinderella’s prince x steward?? 🤨🤨)

rapunzel - klavier : rapunzel is reminiscent of 17-year old klavier. i feel as if that controlling relationship rapunzel and the witch has is almost like his and kristoph’s. kristoph is keeping klavier close to him because hes afraid if he sees the world he’ll know that what kristoph is doing isn’t right. kristoph is great, and he’ll always be nice, until klavier wants to leave. everything will be fine, as long as klavier depends on his for the rest of his life.

also they both have ridiculous names, and they both sing i guess??

lucinda and step-mother - franziska and manfred von karma : another thing i thought was funny. it just makes sense (somewhat) in the context of this au. its important to note theres only one stepsister now, and i know theres an older VK daughter but im too lazy to cook up a design.

mr. wolf - redd white of bluecorp : hes dangerous and lurking. he killed mia, sure, but he also framed maya and therefore put her in danger. hes definitely got that predator animal vibe to him, but hes also just as charismatic as the wolf. he also had a major hand in the disappearance of misty.

granny - misty fey : a victim of the wolf. a victim of redd white.

WHEW that was long. wow. okay so i hope this was good!! there is not an into the woods fandom and i will personally make that happen if i have to. great musical!!!

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Good Luck, Fermata Tower (18+)

pairing: fire-lookout!seungcheol x female!fire-lookout!reader

genre: firewatch au LMAO, smut (MDNI), soo much angst, COMFORT, fluff

description: after the death of your roommate you have to find a greater purpose to life. what better way than to became a fire lookout with a surprisingly charismatic neighbour tower?

warnings: this fic is a lot, please read ALL warnings. SUICIDE, implied suicidal thoughts, major character death 2x, reader goes through grief, so does seungcheol, AGE GAP, RADIO SEX??? LMAOOO, dirty talk, petnames, cockwarming, pentrative sex, strength kink, f. and m. masturbation (mutual?), PINING TO THE HIGHEST DEGREE, MENTIONS OF DOING DRUGS/DOING SHROOMS, talks of drowning, if u know the game i think you'll be able to visualize the beauty of this way more, intensive writing on the scenery and the emotions, LMK IF I FORGOT ANYTHING PLEASe

quotes from babygirl (@joshibambi): "im getting out lana", "im just gonna be making animal sounds", "can we make this into a play so i can perform this?", "OF ALL THE THINGS THAT COULD MAKE ME CRY IT WAS THE DESCRIPTION OF HIS HOT ASS FACE"

wordcount: 13.9k

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEUNGCHEOL. i love this fic. the writing is a little novelly for a fic, but i was so passionate ab this whole firewatch thing and i got SO INTO the arcs and their personal losses and i just really love yn and seungcheol. i hope this was worth the wait and i apologize for not finishing sooner. all my love, beefboy

You and Mingyu meet at college at some parkour club that you’d both joined to make friends. You face-plant into the pavement and knock out a tooth and Mingyu takes you to a nearby hospital. You click instantly. 

You and Mingyu spend every moment together - you help him and he helps you. Mingyu is smart, you realize. He knows all the formulas in your mathematics course by heart. You tell him he’s smart and he says that no one else seems to think that.

You and Mingyu are best friends. You have matching necklaces that complete a heart. 

You and Mingyu party together and when you get too drunk, he carries you down the halls, home. Sometimes at night he sleeps in your bed. 

Your friend group thinks you’re dating, but you think you and Mingyu are something much more earnest than lovers. You think Mingyu is your soulmate. 

You piggy-back ride Mingyu at graduation and you give him a peck on the cheek when he shakes hands with the dean. 

You and Mingyu become roommates. You binge-watch terrible movies together and hold drinking games. It’s hard to admit some of your favorite memories are from watching the Alvin and The Chipmunks trilogy. 

The night before it happens you and Mingyu eat dinner together that he cooked. You see his snaggletooth every time he smiles. 

You’d almost lived together for two years that morning. He usually wakes earlier than you, but he is nowhere to be seen. The apartment is oddly still. You feel trapped. 

You enter Mingyu’s room.

You think he’s asleep. You leave him alone. 

Two hours later you grow worried. You enter his room to find him in the same position. You shake him. Mingyu doesn’t wake. 

The doctors say a case like Mingyu’s is extremely rare - he was in great shape. You’re not sure if that’s supposed to make you feel better. 

Mingyu’s funeral is grim. His death is so terrible, says the pastor, because it’s so domestic. You think it’s terrible because he is - was - the brightest, most amazing person to walk the earth. His parents want you to hold a speech, but you can’t find the words. You think you might sob if you go up there. You sob anyway. The flowers form a ring on the floor of the church and your soulmate is dead.

You can’t sleep anymore. You imagine him dying, left arm numb, alone in the dead of night and choking out your name, reaching for the thin wall that separated you. You cry for a whole month. The apartment is cursed so you live with your parents. 

One day, you see an ad for a job in the paper. 

You take it.  _____________________________

“Hello?” 

Static stormed the tower-house when the other end cut off.

“Are you there?” 

Your eyes frantically darted around the cabin. It was no more than a 13 foot rectangle and yet your tired eyes couldn’t find the radio, churning out a gruff voice. 

You’d just arrived, barely turned on the generator to allow light in. It was nighttime. The park’s dips and peaks were veiled in blue; the silhouettes of the trees, forking out in long, thin spikes, were navy and the lake Fermata was the brightest, glittering pearl from the moon above. Stars twinkled knowingly at you. 

There. A flash of yellow in your blurred vision. You picked up the worn, dirty radio in your heavy hand, pressing at its side. 

“Yeah, hi, I’m here,” you breathed out tiredly. You let go of the button and a small bit of static spoke back to you. 

“Y/n?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I’m Seungcheol. I’m in Bay Valley Tower. It’s to the east. Saw your light turn on,” His voice was gruff, laced with sleep. It had a rasp at every vowel, strings of vocal chords straining to spit out the words in between sticky ropes of bile. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. You had nothing else to say. The flimsy, one person bed beckoned to your tired body. You moved, like a doll, one limb at a time, into its harbor, collapsing into the thin mattress. You laid on your side, moonlight shining in from the window by the door. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, carelessly. Impatient in tone, you imagined he’d probably been through this a hundred times before. “So,” he sighed out, deeply. “What’s your problem?” 

“Hm?” 

There was a shooting star, dancing across the sky in that moment. You watched it, shuffling onto your back with half-closed eyes. Stardust sprinkled from it on the open, empty sky.

“People here are all running from something. So what’s your deal?” 

You sighed, watching the star’s open path. It could go anywhere, you thought. Then you moved your arm, holding the receiver to your mouth. 

“Listen, Seungcheol. I’ve been hiking for two days, so I’m gonna go to bed now, okay? Hopefully you’ve found some manners by the time I wake up,” you mumbled, then let go of the button (it had a harsh, grainy texture for some reason), and laid your hand, radio in it, limply at your side. 

You heard a raspy chuckle from the other end. You had no energy to be angry. 

“Alright, Fermata Tower,” there was a smile in the anonymous man’s voice. 

There was a pause. The sound of the fierce breeze carried whiffs of autumn, as it lulled you to sleep. You had almost fallen into a black, snow-buried slumber when you heard the radio crinkle again: 

“Fermata, do you see that shooting star?” 

You had no energy to respond, radio spewing static in your open hand. Thankfully, Seungcheol seemed understanding.

“That’s good luck. So...”

A moment. You and Seungcheol watched the sky-dancer, apart. 

“Good luck.”  _____________________________

“You’re awake!” 

It was Seungcheol’s voice. Transformed by the orange hues of daytime, he sounded much more alive than the night prior. 

“I can see you sitting at your desk.” 

Indeed you were sitting on your desk - a flimsy wooden thing, which looked like it had come form a yard sale - studying the map of the massive park. There were simple cartoonish figures to indicate stresses of trees and drops in the terrain, and rock quarries and waterfalls and lakes. You’d delicately pointed out your own position with red marker, scribbling ‘me’ by it with a heavy child’s hand.

It was cold - the thin boards did not do much to ward away the heavy wind, hooting creeping in the cracks. It smelled like pine needles and tea, as you’d just boiled a lavender on the kettle. IT sat, heating your fingers where it rested beside them in a mug left behind by the previous firewatchman (it read: “don’t talk to me before I’ve had my coffee”). 

The radio clattered against the wood when you clumsily picked it up. 

“Didn’t know when I signed up for this that I would be dealing with a stalker,” you joked, smiling small when you heard the man on the other end let out a hearty laugh. 

“Hey, don’t go labeling me just yet, kid.”

“Kid?!” you said incredulously, dropping the marker that you had been so diligently using to scribble excellent comments on your map (latest was: “maybe cute bears”). “How old are you?!” 

“I’m 37,” Seungcheol said.

“Oof.” 

“Hey!” 

“I’m kidding!” you laughed, dropping your pen and leaning back in your seat. The view was beautiful. You could see the lake, surrounded by a rippling sea of trees, each top reaching for the sky, like you. “I’m 27, I’m getting up there with you.”

“Just a small decade.”

“I’m mature for my age.” 

Seungcheol chuckled on the other end of the radio. You spun around in your chair (it creaked horribly - it sounded like a pig at the sight of a cleaver) surveying each square of the forest from your windows. You narrowed your eyes, trying to spot his lookout tower. 

“How come you can see me but I can’t see you?” you mumbled, now standing to try and see, but it was drowned out by the sheer volume of pinewood. Seungcheol grumbled on the other end: “I should be East.” 

“Yeah, fuck, I forgot to tell you, I think I dropped my fucking compass on the way here,” you ran a hand through your hair and frown. 

“Uh, shit, you’re gonna have to pick up a new one, bud,” he said and you slumped. “Well, if you’re facing the lake - Fermata Lake, I mean - I should be to your left.” 

You followed his instructions. You faced the lake, then took two loggy steps to face left, then squinted incessantly at the horizon. Not dissimilar to a crowd in Times Square, the trees stood toe to toe all across at every inch you spied. The pines zagged upwards like Giza, and culminated into the biggest mountain in the park, just under the sun. The mountain loomed overhead where you finally spotted the lookout tower, like a monster crouched over its prey. You tried to shake off the thought and focus on the lone, floating tower in the pit of pointy trees.

“I see you, Bay Valley,” you breathed into the radio. 

The tower looked much more lonely from so far away. It was different when you were in it, but with the miles-long stretch between you two, you found it looked so small and feeble. You could make out the light turned on within it, a rectangle of burning orange. The shooting star must’ve crossed directly between your two towers. 

“Attagirl,” Seungcheol smiles. “Do you see me waving?”

“No, what the fuck.” 

“I got binoculars.” 

“Ew, you are a stalker!” 

“It’s for bird-watching!” Seungcheol informed you, offense in his tone. You cackled into the radio. “I like watching birds, thank you very much.” 

“Jeez, can’t believe what this job does to people.” 

“I liked bird-watching before I got this job,” Seungcheol said.

“You’re so white,” you grinned. 

“I’m not even white!” 

You and Seungcheol both laughed, joyous hiccups interrupted by bursts of static and 3 miles of rocky terrain and pine needles. You squint at the sun, traversing and dipping under the jagged hedges of the tree-line. 

Your head lolled over to spot between the desk and doorway, where you’d dropped your orange backpack (a peculiar color, come to think of it - same color as the lifejacket they deploy on airplanes when everything has already gone wrong). Now it was flopped onto its side, zipper ripped open and knick knacks and crumbs at its mouth, spilling onto the floor. 

“Where do I get a new compass?” you asked, looking at a yellowed book sat beside the backpack.

“Uh, shit, gimme a sec,” Seungcheol mumbled, and before his radio cut off, you heard, briefly, the itchy scrambling of papers, and the sound made him seem a lot more real. “We have these, uh, supply boxes scattered around. ‘M readin’ this, uhhh, fuckin’ info-thing.. Should say which of them supposedly has a compass.” 

“Sounds like you really know your stuff.” 

“Get off my ass, Fermata.” 

You heard papers rustle again and a small bump before the radio cut off, as if he put the radio down on the table. You awaited, arms crossed over your pink and gray striped hoodie, and staring at sundown. Orange flooded the sky, as if it were all engulfed in flames and this was really hell. 

“Uhhh, okay, I got it! There’s one down at Eleison Valley? The code is 1-2-3-4. That’s actually the code to all of them.” 

“Secure.”

“Shut up.” 

“Well, I can get some exploring done, at least,” you frown, spying a not-so-casual hike on the dotted surface of your map, when you tangoed back to the table, fiddling with the edge of the paper. 

“Yeah. You should probably do it tomorrow though. Sun’s coming down.” 

“Yeah. Can’t believe I slept that long.” 

“Don’t feel too bad about it, kid. I was knocked out for, like, two days after the hike out here. It’s a miracle you’re already awake.” 

“Thanks, Bay Valley,” you sighed, leaning back in your seat with some strained shuffling. You watched, eyes half-lidded as the sun fully disappeared behind the curtain of the park. Its light still roamed the sky, where it hid. Half dark blue, half red, the sky twinkled at you and your insignificance brilliantly. You tried not to think about how lonely and floaty your lookout tower must look from afar. Everything feels big when it’s close enough. 

“You’re welcome, Fermata.” _____________________________

“You think I could eat any of these mushrooms, BV?” 

“BV?” 

“Bay Valley.”

“Ah,” Seungcheol sighed on his end of the radio. You were trudging through the undergrowth in your new hiking boots, lifesaver-colored backpack on the plates of your back, weight pushing through the fabric of your jacket. “No, I don’t think that would be wise.” 

“Damn it. Was gonna get hella high,” you joked, eyeing another cluster of snow-white mushrooms under the shade of a tree, sloping along a gnarly root. Your crunching steps in the loose dirt came to a halt - there was a dropoff. The cliff cut off like a broken chocolate bar and a sharp rockwall supported it to the next layer of earth. 

The path was snaking down towards the lake. You’d circle around and climb up towards Tri Forks Tower, where eventually the climbing heights would bowl into Eleison Valley - a flower field, supposedly (in the map a little flower icon alerted you of this). 

“If I die from this rockwall, please, tell my family I love them,” you grumbled, fetching an itchy, frayed rope from the depths of your backpack. Squinting at the high sun, pale drops of sweat forming around your forehead, you slung it over the hook. The park was littered with these - rusted old things that were leaning forward from years of heavy hikers’ tugging. This one was particularly bent. 

“You’re so dramatic,” came Seungcheol from the speaker. 

“Am not, man, these rocks are like fucking knives!” 

“Such a drama queen. A real Primadonna.”

You huffed and puffed as you lowered yourself down the cliffside. Your boots pressed flat against the jagged rock, biceps burning as you held yourself up and walked down the side of it. The whole world was with you, sideways, and you would’ve stopped to appreciate it were you not sure you would pass out doing so. 

“Holy shit,” you said to yourself when you were finally on stable ground and not spider-manning the mineral deposits of the park. You put your hands on your hips and squinted at its imposing open jaw. 

“You down yet, Queen B?”

You panted, grimacing, when you tugged the rope hard and it leapt down like a flying snake: “Yeah, I’m down.” 

You continued padding through the forest. The earth was dry and it was summer, but the wind was harsh and it cooled your stovetop-skin as you walked along a rock quarry, Fermata Lake hiding behind the covers of huge, flat bulwark. You listened to the cacophonous call of the forest: rustling leaves and birds. 

“I had a friend - uh, friend of a friend, actually - who, like, got high as fuck off mushrooms and had a bad trip,” you said, mouth to the mic of the radio, as you studied the cover of the leaves. 

“Yeah? What happened?” Seungcheol hummed. 

“She said that, like -- fuck,” you breathed, scrambling over a particularly rocky rock. “She said there was, like, like her house flooded. Like, water just came gushing in and the whole house was, like, underwater suddenly and she.. She thought she was gonna drown. And her fuckin’ kitchen turned into, like, a coral reef or some shit, I don’t know.” 

“Shit,” Seungcheol seemed much more alert now. You heard him put something down on his table (you imagined it was just as shitty as your own). “I didn’t even know that was possible.” 

“It’s fucking crazy. Don’t do drugs, man.” 

You turned past the quarry and was met with the sight of the huge, gaping hole of Fermata Lake. Strangely oval, the lake was flanked on all sides with thick pineland, except for a slight angle where grassy hills turned upwards towards Tri Forks Tower. 

The water was much more green up close. Algae sloshed up the side of the gravel-earth, willing you into the murky depths. 

You stared at it for a while. You thought maybe you could make out someone standing at the bottom of the bowl-shape.

“I’m at Fermata Lake,” you said then, and then started walking again. 

“Good job! And you haven’t even died at a drop off yet,” Seungcheol joked and you laughed. 

“God, you’re such a jerk. I bet you’re fuckin’.. Watching birds right now like a nerd.” 

“Okay, rude-” 

“Why don’t you go outside and be productive?” 

“I’m looking for fires,” Seungcheol snarked back. “The binoculars are multi-use.” 

You let the conversation die down for a bit, focused on the walk. It was peaceful when you let it be, but at times you came to feel like you were being swallowed alive, or like the looming figure of Aluralura Mountain was pressing its boulder-brawn in between your shoulder blades. The air in the forests was thicker, so you stayed persistent in your path, as you climbed up the clearings and spotted Tri Forks in the distance. 

“Hey, uh, Y/n?” 

The sudden intrusion of Seungcheol on the radio had you jolting, dropping the radio into the earth (thankfully it was fine - here the earth was softer and it dipped under your boot and water pressed out from the mull). You bent over and picked it back up. 

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” you scolded, wiping mud off the yellow plastic of the radio.

“Oh, uh, sorry..” 

It was only then that you noticed a meekness in Seungcheol’s voice. You, of course, had not the furthest idea what he looked like, but he sounded like he was holding a knife behind his back. You furrowed your brows and stared down the radio, as if it would give you answers. There was dirt clamoring the yellow, where your fingers had held on.

“What’s up?” you said and sounded fakely bright. 

“Well, I just-” he cut himself off with a cough, one that reached those stringent, thinning vocal cords and brought back the rasp. “I wanted to apologize. For the other night. I mean, when you came to the tower.” 

You didn’t respond, only furrowed your brow and looked out across the sun-lit moor. There was a deer traversing across the grass. 

“Uhm. Because. I was- I was kinda drunk, uh, when you came, and I know I was kinda pushy about, you know, why you came out here and all that.” 

“OH!” you exclaimed and the noise ended in a laugh. “Please, Seungcheol. Don’t worry about that. It’s fine.” 

“Okay, good,” he mumbled. 

The flower field came into view after climbing a particularly steep hill and it was a flower field - not just cartography myth. 

It was all sunflowers and catmint - a huge, long stretch of purple and yellow splotches, stemming from green, untamed grass - stretching as far as you could see, disappearing into a hill at the far horizon. You were sure the smell of pollen went for miles, flowerdust sprinkling the air in heavy coats. The path you were following split the field in two, a dry, boring gravel streak, but you saw, faded from sunlight, a once deep, now light, ashy brown box at the right side. 

“I found it!” you shrieked into the radio, a newfound strength gearing your legs into a sprint. “Fuck, yes!” 

“Good job, Fermata!” there was a smile in his voice. 

“Thank you!” 

You were also smiling, when you went up to it. It was rectangular and made of planks, held together by a metal loop and a padlock. Like everything else, it was dirty and ravished, and you felt a faint worry at the sight of scratch marks on its side. You clicked in the code: 1-2-3-4. 

The interior of the box was mostly empty. To your horror the first thing you saw was a porn magazine, which you did not dare to touch; then you saw a granola bar, which you did touch and stash away in your backpack, without any regard for how old it may have been; then came the compass, small and cheap metal and pointing out that you were, in fact, facing Northwest.

There was another item in the box. You did not initially see it, as it was taped to the interior of the lid, but when you raised your eyes, you saw it. It was a piece of paper - a note. 

Grimacing, you ripped it off where it was blowing violently in the wind, holding it tight between your fingers and smudging dirt along the untainted white. 

It read: 

‘Hey, Cheol. If you head up the path there’s a family of raccoons! I left this granola bar here so you could feed them! From Jun.’

“Hey, Seungcheol?” you said absently, staring over the blue, scribbled ink, worn out from months of rainwater dripping in through the planks. He hummed on the other end of the line. “There’s a note here for you. From a, uh, Jun?”

“Oh.”

There was a pause that you couldn’t decipher - maybe you could have, had you been there with Seungcheol. Maybe if you could read his face, his body, you could’ve known what it meant. But for now you just stood in the breeze. It was picking up, getting angrier, hurling at your clothes and hair, banishing you from the field. The flowers dangled uselessly. 

“Do you want me to read it to you?” 

Silence. 

“No, not really.” 

“Oh, okay. Uh, who’s- who’s Jun?” 

Silence. 

“The guy who used to work in Fermata Tower. Before you.” 

“Oh.” 

Every second was longer than the last. You wish you knew what it all meant, but you sensed in Seungcheol’s curtness that he was not taking questions currently, and so you looked around the quickly graying sky and the suddenly spiteful wind and folded the note away in your jacket pocket. 

“I’m gonna head back now,” even your voice was rocked by the wind. 

Seungcheol didn’t respond. 

You left Eleison Valley alone.  _____________________________

This was where it was supposed to be - greatness. Not success, but something greater, larger, more alive than you could ever be. You thought you’d find it in the mountains, the valleys, the lakes and the forests and maybe that had been naive of you - to think that nature and earth could give any sort of meaning that death had taken away from you. These shadowed parts only served to make you feel smaller, you realized. The mountains glared at you, the forests swallowed and spat you out. 

You couldn’t sleep. The image of Mingyu’s outstretched hand was back and you could almost see him from your flimsy bed, lying on his back with a tanned hand out for you. You left him alone, just like you always had. 

Burrowed under the veil of your thin blanket, grabbing at it with clumsy hands, you turned your back to Mingyu’s corpse on your floor.

A prickle sauntered up your back. It was that emotion that something was creeping closer, something was out to get you. That you would feel a cool, dead hand on your back and when it would spin you around his face would be there, and he’d look nothing like himself; he’d be pale and purple around the mouth and his eyes would be sunken and dark and all the glitter he possessed - that he used to possess - would be gone and something menacing, like a hungry mountain, would have replaced it. 

You thrashed, suddenly, to look back at the corpse. It was still there. Hadn’t moved an inch. Deja vu. 

Thoughtlessly, desperately, you fumbled for the radio wrapped up the sheets of your bed. Your fingertips found the plastic hardware, and it bounced at your eagerness, before you pulled it along the sheets and up to your mouth. 

“Seungcheol?” you gasped. 

When did you start crying? You decided you must’ve been crying all night and maybe you’d cried so much that your brain had stopped registering the feeling of wet tears. 

There was a pause. A long one. So long, you started to really become aware of the cries of the wind, the patter of the rain and the endless mumbling of the trees (and the gargled, bubbling blood rising from Imaginary Friend Mingyu’s half-open mouth). Then static spoke back to you: 

“Yeah?” his voice was so raspy, you registered that you must’ve awoken him from his sleep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your nails dug into the radio and you pressed it into your chest, holding on tight. 

“I can’t sleep,” you whispered, words full of shaky air. There was another pause and for a second you feared that Seungcheol might’ve gotten angry and gone back to bed. But he spoke again.

“Are you okay?” You heard rustling on his end, and you imagined him standing up from the bed, looking out at your lonely island of a lookout tower. “Do I need to trek over there?” 

“No!- no, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” you protested, then trailed off. 

“... Are you crying?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut: “I just- d’you remember what I said? About my- my friend’s friend who- who had a bad mushroom trip?” 

“Uh, yeah, I remember. Her- Her house flooded, right?” Seungcheol’s voice was tainted with thorough confusion, but not annoyance. Never annoyance. 

“Well, I just-” you sputtered and sighed. You almost wanted to stop talking and give up when Seungcheol stayed quiet on his end and drew the words forward: “It’s so stupid. Sometimes I just- I just feel like that. Like you’re drowning, everywhere you go. You know?” 

Your voice was stringent with nervousness, and you picked at your nail, wrapped around the radio in the shallow dark. 

“It’s not stupid, sweetheart,” he mumbled. It was amazing to you how gruff and tough Seungcheol turned soothing and caring so fast. The nickname felt like a warm hug, and you almost didn’t register the sound of fabric rustling once more. “I’m coming over.”

“N-No!” you gasped sharply. Your eyes flickered down. Mingyu watched from the floor, eyes glazed over from death. He smelled foul.

“Can you.. Can you just- talk to me?” you whispered helplessly, and Seungcheol quieted down, seemingly weighing your proposal. 

“Okay. Okay, sweetheart, I’ll talk to you,” Seungcheol whispered soothingly, and for God’s sake, you didn’t even know what he looked like, but the rasp in his voice, and the comfort and warmth that sung out the speaker of the radio had your heart clenching in your chest. “What do you wanna talk about?” 

“Um, I don’t know,” you sniffled. Seungcheol only softened his voice and sat, awake in the middle of the night, comforting you.

“Can I tell you about birds?” 

He told you about birds for 45 minutes before you fell asleep (something he had predicted would happen); he told you about how pheasants are known for their striking colors and how they have excellent eyesight; he told you how he saw a nightjar just before going to bed that night, and how they’re incredibly hard to spot; he told you about Barrow’s Goldeneyes, and how they’re the funniest little guys, and he loves them, because they glow purple in the sunlight; he told you about g…

Oh. You must’ve started dozing off.  _____________________________

You weren’t sure when it changed, but at some point you looked out the window, and the mountain looked a lot more like yourself. 

You were getting better, happier, you were waking up with more energy, you were bubblier. You weren’t entirely sure you could blame it on the park though. For two months you’d had your job and for about two months, every once in a while, you’d radioed Seungcheol at night, and without any question, he’d tell you about birds. 

It sounded stupid the more you thought about it, but his voice lulled you into a comfortable sleep even on Mingyu’s most insistent nights. 

You’d wake up and patrol your area, then you’d settle back in for a couple of hours, watching out for fire hazards and guests in the park, before you’d patrol one more time. Then you’d go to bed. 

This was not the type of job you took to make friends, but somehow Seungcheol had become the reason you woke up everyday. Everyday you looked forward to walking through the woods with his voice on your radio, and you looked forward to making him laugh and him making you laugh. 

“Seungcheol, I’ve got eyes on what I’m pretty sure is a Red-breasted Merganser, come in.” 

This morning you were up extraordinarily early - for you, that is. You weren’t certain what exactly prompted this early rise (maybe you were finally sleeping right thanks to a certain rough-throated man?), but nonetheless you’d enjoyed the view of dawn along the undergrowth and had eaten half-warm oatmeal in bed with an open book. Now you were bored and craving the attention of your only forest-companion. 

Seungcheol didn’t respond like you were expecting though. When the radio crinkled in response, you heard him panting on the other end and thumps, like he was picking it up off the floor. 

“That’s… That’s great, Fermata. I’ve gotta get my.. My binoculars out,” he heaved for air and fumbled clumsily with the sensitive mic. You cringed at the sound. 

“What are you doing? Why are you so out of breath?” you asked. A twinge of worry slipped out in your tone. Was he okay? 

“I’m, uh, working out,” Seungcheol chuckled, and he seemed to finally regain composure, clearing his throat sheepishly. “You’re not usually awake to hear it.” 

“You work out every day?” 

“Sure do - gotta be prepared to knock out a grizzly,” he grunted. 

You leaned back in your seat, a less than amused expression on your face, because a twirling strand of fire danced up your chest and settled into your cheeks. Why was it suddenly so hot? Fire spread across your nerve endings and twinged you red in the apples of your cheeks. You ran your hands over your face to soothe the sizzling.

This was ridiculous, you thought. Seungcheol was not making you blush. You didn’t even know what he looked like! He might as well have had an eye patch and a mohawk. But even as you halfheartedly scrutinized yourself, your thoughts clouded over the idea of sweet, attentive, raspy Seungcheol with big arms and thighs and a sculpted chest and-

“Are you- are you, like, buff?” 

The question left your lips before you could stop it. Your voice broke halfway through the sentence and you let go of the button with an embarrassed hiss, like a kettle huffing out air. The embarrassment, that was potent and squeezing at your chest, worsened when you heard Seungcheol’s throaty chuckle on the other end, limp and dry. 

“You’re curious today, aren’t you?” he mused then, smirk clear from the tone and pronunciation of the words, and you squeezed your eyes shut because why was his voice and the thought of him and the warmth coming through the radio speaker suddenly bothering you so much?

The truth was you hadn’t masturbated in months. With everything going on, you simply hadn’t felt the urge or the want. But, it occurred to you, now that you were slowly becoming a functioning human once more, the urge was returning hot and fast in your core, and, of course, your only companion with the raspy voice and the attentive words and the apparently muscly body was bringing forth this urge with ease. 

You pressed down the urge, taking a deep breath before you pressed the button once more. You were not going to masturbate to the thought of Seungcheol - not Seungcheol who you only knew by voice, who had been nothing but caring and sweet to you. You could not corrupt the preciousness of your companionship with your lewd, depraved thoughts. 

“I’m just curious what you look like. Unlike you, stalker, I don’t have binoculars!” That sounded a lot more like the you that had not just gotten wet at the thought of Seungcheol’s bulging muscles. 

“Hey! The power of the binoculars is limited. I can only really see your silhouette, nothing fancy,” he defended and then right as you were about to respond, he knocked the wind out of you again: “And yes, I’m pretty buff, if I do say so myself.”

Ugh. 

You went the rounds that day and got through another day without having to complete fire protocol, ending out the evening with a pack of instant noodles your family had so graciously sent you (Seungcheol scolded you: “That has no nutrients!”). However each step through the forest and each slurp of noodles and page of your book was plagued by the latent fire inside you. A burning occupied your abdomen fueled by the echoing morning voice of Bay Valley Tower. 

By nightfall you gave in. You were only a girl. This didn’t have to change anything, you thought, as the park turned plum purple. You settled into bed in your pajamas, sitting upright against the frail wood wall and letting your hair bunch on the rattling plate of glass. Your eyes moved to and fro, bouncing over the now lived-in cabin and taking in the dark void of the farest corner. 

Briefly, you fiddled with your radio in your palm. You could call Seungcheol and- wait, why would you do that? No, no. You packed away that wicked thought - it only served to make you feel more guilty. No, instead you slid down the wall to lay in your pillow, now positive you were alone. 

An owl hooted outside and you slipped your hand into your underwear. 

It was surprisingly easy to surrender your consciousness to the lust (and you had, God bless your soul, stayed wet throughout the entire day). It clouded you over, as you began rubbing up and down your pussy, ghosting over your clit to dip down to your glazed slit. Your eyes squeezed shut and you conjured your best doll-replica of Seungcheol.

In your dream he was a faceless mist, but he had a carved upper body, and from the fog surrounding his head spewed his voice - dripping in warmth and comfort, as you imagined it was his toned arm reaching between your legs and pumping into you.

Your other hand snaked down to your clit, where your hips canted off the bed. In the whirl of thrusting into yourself and rubbing tight circles in your clit, you realized, lip bitten raw under your prying teeth, that there was no reason to hold back your moans. It was only forest and wasteland for miles - and surely Seungcheol would not hear you in his floating snow globe. 

“A-ah, Seungcheol,” you wantonly murmured, burying your head in your pillow and sighing lazily. A flush had crept up your neck, where your chest expanded to allow for air. The pleasure was immense - probably more intense, since it had been quite a while - warmth spreading in your lower stomach and culminating at your throbbing clit. Recklessly, you moaned and thrashed as you fucked yourself on your fingers, hiking towards your orgasm. “Seungcheoool-”

“Y/n?” 

You froze. 

Maybe you’d imagined it. Still, your fingers were stopped in their tracks, simply resting on the warmth of your folds, itching to continue. You sat up in bed and tried to ward away the creeping panic. Your heart began to gallop to the beat of a siren. 

The air had been starched when you finally pulled your hand out of your underwear, hot cheeks and glistening hands all over, when you began searching for the radio.

“Y/n, are you okay?” 

You had your back hunched over the edge of the bed, searching for the little yellow receiver, when his voice came again in a thick forest of static. You snapped your head to under your comforter, where the noise was slightly muffled. 

In a blurred panic, you threw the comforter off of you and spotted the small radio by your calf, and you scrambled to pick it up. When the dirty plastic touched your cheek, you stopped, sighed a shaky, hot breath, and closed your eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m fine. What’s up?” you let go of the button and cringed at your own disheveledness, the breath and shake in your voice. You pressed your forehead radio-front in a silent prayer. 

There was a hesitance to Seungcheol when he spoke next: “... You were calling for me, you sounded in pain?” 

This was certainly the worst thing he could’ve said. You would’ve rather he told you he spotted a bear at the foot of your tower, trying to eat you! You must’ve accidentally kicked the radio and hit the button, you decide, and you damn yourself for keeping it in the bed - of course, shit like this would happen!

“I was…-” (If only you were a better liar), “- pranking you…” 

Seungcheol huffed out in amusement on the other end and you wanted to jump off the railing to the lookout tower and break your neck. “You were pranking me?” 

You gulped with a decidedly dry mouth. “It was a bear attack prank.” 

Seungcheol was smiling: “Yeah?” 

You were not: “Yeah.” 

There was an entropic silence, where you thoughts came rambled and pleading in your head: Please, just let this go, please, just let this go, let’s pretend it never happened, let’s-

“You wanna know what I think you were doing?” 

Seungcheol’s voice had dropped an octave. The smile in his voice was gone and there was something menacing and commanding about him now. In the moment, overcome with a cocktail of guilt and shame, you could not discern if this was anger or lust - the first seemed fitting. 

“I think you were fucking your little fingers thinkin’ about me,” he hummed and in response you whined and squeezed your eyes shut. The shame encapsulated you. “Shh, shh, calm down, I’m not mad, honey.” 

Blinking through rapidly forming tears, you opened your eyes to stare, dumbfounded, at the radio (as if it were Seungcheol and you were not several miles apart). “Really?” 

“Not mad at all. Jus’ think you should’ve told me if you wanted my help,” he tutted on his end and, God, he was so nurturing and comforting and he knew it, and it was so sexy. Your pussy, which had vaguely throbbed from the negligence throughout, was now screaming for your attention, hole clenching sadly around nothing. 

“I thought you wouldn’t want-” 

“You’re crying again, baby,” he must’ve noted from the hoarseness of your voice and the sniffles that accompanied every syllable. 

“Just want you so bad,” you sobbed, now shamelessly slipping your hand back into your underwear and sighing dazedly in relief when you touched it again. 

“Need Seungcheol to take care of you, huh?” The smile in his voice was back. 

“Yeah.” 

“Bet you don’t want me talking about birds now, hm?” he chuckled (at his own joke), voice low and raspy. “Are you touching that pretty pussy?” 

“Mhmm,” you responded lazily, floating high on the sound of his voice and jolts of electricity they sent as you worked up a pace on your clit once more. The pain of the interruption ebbed away. 

“Good girl, hm?” He knew. “Getting off to the sound of my voice, eh? Don’t even know what I look like.” 

“Hng- k-know you’re b-buff,” you gritted out, voice coming in sharp breaths. Your body moved languidly, back arching off the bed and hair coming out in choppy strands on your pillow. Seungcheol scoffed out a laugh: “Like knowing I could just fold you in half? Fuck you into tomorrow? Hm?” 

You let out a loud, dumb whine of his name. It was a total inability to get over his words; how melodious it was, and yet, how contradictory the smoothness of his words were to the strained nature of his thrumming voice. And the worst of it all was how confident he was - you supposed hearing someone else masturbate to you would be a confidence boost - and how the arrogance swelled out in the most comforting, nurturing way. Each word felt like a hand on your body, like a caress that sent shivers down your spine. 

“Fuck, princess, say my name like that again. Please.” 

“Seungcheol!” you obliged mindlessly, legs shaking on either side of your glistening hand. 

“Shit, I-” he grunted, and you heard a fumbling of fabrics on his end. Your nerves spun in excitement at the thought of him getting hard at your voice. “Can you put two fingers in the pretty pussy - it’ll feel like one of mine, baby.” 

You cried out when your fingers entered yourself, pads of your fingertips rubbing against your walls. Outside of the windows, the park was an empty wasteland of mauve and orchid, and the Fermata lake was brilliantly alive and dipping under the three-quarter-moon. 

“Wish it was your pussy wrapped around my cock right now,” he grunted, and he’d lost breath and composure and if you knew what his face looked like, you would imagine it sweaty and twisted up and a red-lipped ‘o’ letting the jaw slack. 

Resuming your earlier motions (double-handing your own kitty), you felt your orgasm lurking in the pit of your stomach, a tight-wound knot being ripped apart. You were panting into the cool air, creating silver-clouds in your tower-home. “A-ah, want you inside me so bad, Cheol- shit! Gonna- gonna cum-” 

“Yeah? You gonna cum thinking about my cock inside you baby? Thinkin’ about me just bouncing you up and down like my little fuckdoll?” His speech ended in the prettiest moan you’d ever heard, and you imagined every well-defined, flexed muscle under the moonlight and the thought had your whole body jerking and shaking and when you closed your eyes the stars stayed with you, white and glimmering under your eyelid. 

The strangled moans of your orgasm sent Seungcheol over the edge - at least from what you could tell. His dirty talk turned into strings of curses and moans and grunts until the radio went dead, and all you could hear was your own labored breaths and the faraway hooting of a horned owl. 

The silence flatlined the excitement into nervousness. Your lip was almost automatically caught in your teeth and you glanced over the radio beside you through your lashes.

Oh shit. What the fuck had you done?

“Uh, did you-” the smell of sweat shot up as you shuffled in your sheet to grab the radio once more. “Did you, uh, cum?” 

Oh fuck. You just made it way worse.

The silence from the radio was much louder than any response, but when the receiver did finally crinkle with static, the sound of laughter exploded from it.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, BV,” you scolded, but you were smiling and relief flooded you like water overflows Fermata Lake during heavy downpour. 

“I’m sorry,” he hiccuped on the other end. “It’s just-.. ‘DID YOU CUM?’” 

“Alright, I’m going to bed now. You suck,” you quacked, and even though you were alone you thought to suppress the gentle tugging at your lips into a sharky smile. 

“DID YOU CUM?” 

He sounded pretty when he laughed.  _____________________________

“I can’t believe I have to hike down here to confiscate some fireworks.” 

Your grumble came from the forest beside Fermata Lake. You were walking down a patch of dirt revealed from years’ of trampling feet, dewy sprigs of grass arching into the mud. A group of (presumably) teenagers were firing fireworks down near the edge of your assigned territory. 

“They’re a fire hazard!” Seungcheol squawked obviously, and you huffed in your boots, preparing to climb down a rocky slope. 

“I know that! It’s just everywhere - the website, the signs - don’t use fireworks!” you complained. Seungcheol hummed absently on the other line: “Go teach those suckers a lesson, Fermata!” 

“I will,” you said, agitated. 

“Just don’t fuck with their personal belongings. Last thing we need is a lawsuit. Again.”

“I won’t,” you said, deflated. 

Even in your most angered moments, you could hand yourself over to the gentle forest. No longer were you protruding into a bubble, straining to get through a barrier that was urging you out, but you were absorbed into it, like you were one of its own. 

The forest was lush with pines and brown and green moss painting bark and rocks, and the grass leapt higher than your knees, as you trudged further and further in. 

SWOOOOSH!

A firework propelled into the sky about 100 meters away, and you watched its ignited trails of smoke before it exploded into a fest of sparkling blue and gold. You huffed out in anger at the sight. The sky wasn’t even fully dark - it was merely a muted blue evening. 

“Did you see that?” Seungcheol came from the radio-speaker. 

“Yeah, I’m right with them.” 

As you padded closer the smell of wet pine cones and coltsfoot accompanied the sound of distant voices - indeed, they sounded juvenile. You could make out at least two girls and at least one boy, although their voices were hard to distinguish, the way they echoed in between the grid of trees.

“Hey!” you yelled, as you creeped just close enough. Their voices hushed and you saw their frightened faces lit by handheld, Target-bought flashlights when you peeled back the screen of a bramblebush. They were gathered together amongst a tent, flashlight lighting the plates of the faces ablaze in cool white.

“Cut it out with the fireworks, alright?” you huffed and your anger melted a little when you saw that they were indeed just kids - maybe 19? They seemed to have nothing to say, and so you scanned the beer cans and the scattered backpacks and finally caught sight of a bundle of rockets in the grass. Your brows furrowed, and you picked it up with a sternness. 

“Hey, that’s ours!” one kid chimed, but he made no move to stop you, really, as you trudged angrily back to the bush you had come from. 

“Not as long as you’re in our park, man. It’s a fire hazard.” 

“We’ll take them back home-” 

“Goodnight!” The desperate plea fell on deaf, tired ears. You just wanted to eat dinner, so you disappeared out on a trail of pine needles and valiantly ignored the trail of curses and insults following you. You could care less. 

“I got the fireworks, Seungcheol,” you sighed tiredly and your eyes were dark pits and your face was relaxed, if only to conservative energy. 

“Good job, Fermata.” 

You were not in the talking mood. Maybe Seungcheol could tell by your tone of voice; maybe he could hear it in your sigh; but Seungcheol piped up again: “You know, if you need some energy for the hike back, there’s a supply box - uhh, 52? - if you head upwards instead of towards Fermata Lake.” 

You wanted to be grumpy, you really did, but the thought of a salivating, expired, delicious, out-of-date granola bar had you changing course to the slowly gaining hill of the forest. 

It was weird. This was probably the closest you’d ever been to Seungcheol’s tower. Under the prickly cover of pine some mile in the distance, you could see a glowing square, perched over the treetops by long, wooden pillars, support beams crossing the middle. You couldn’t help but wanna go up to it. There had been an unbearable magnetic pull to his tower ever since that night however long ago. You decided to stay the course for Supply Box 52. 

“I can practically see you from here,” you commented, and the tower was becoming a beacon as the evening mulled darker and darker by the minute. 

“Really? Hang on,” he did not let go of the radio-button, and so you had the pleasure of listening to the ruffling of fabrics and thumps on the floor. “Can you see me flexing in the window?” 

“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, and the sound bounced off the pines and traveled up to the rock of the nearby Aluralura Mountain. “No, I’m not quite that close.” 

“Damn it!” 

“Yeah, it‘s a real shame,” you muttered, smiling, and then you caught sight of the supply box up ahead. The hill flattened out once more (to which you breathed a sigh of relief) and the box was perched on the edge facing the path that began onto the cliffs. This was Seungcheol’s territory - cliff sides and all. “I think I see Supply Box 52.”

“Open that bad boy up.” 

You entered the code, scrolling the mechanisms one by one until the numbers read 1-2-3-4 (you still thought this combination was ridiculous), and when you opened the lid it creaked horribly, worn from the weather. 

The wind was harsh that day, and a note, identical to the one you’d found at Eleison Valley, broke off its tape from the mean pushes of the wind. Instinctively, you grabbed it as it started to fly off, and your hand closed around it and crinkled it under your fingers. You looked at it with knitted brows. 

Wordlessly, you tucked it in between your side and your arm, redirecting your attention to the goodies in the supply box. 52 held a rope and a map and another directory for supply boxes and, to your exhausted delight, a box of grandma-looking caramels. You took the whole thing and stuffed it into your bag. 

As you shuffled, you put the note between your lips, stuffing the plastic container of gold-wrapped, sugary candies in between your rope and your own map and a coat for possible rain. When you zipped it up, the fabric of the bag warped grotesquely to fit the various items you’d brought. 

You pulled the note back out from your lips. A small wet patch of spit lingered on the paper, as you unfolded it. 

It read: 

‘Hey Seungcheol,

If you find this, I gotta go be with my mom now. I’ll miss you forever.

From Jun.’

The wind blew kisses on your back like the presence of a ghost.

“You find anything good?” Seungcheol’s voice peeked through the static of the radio. It had been quiet for a while. You couldn’t take your eyes off the letter. The ink was smudged and slurred. 

“Uh, caramels, actually,” you said, eyes dancing over each slope of ‘forever’. “Like, granny caramels.”

You put the letter away.  _____________________________

A week later and you were looking out of the window at pouring rain. The sky was smothered by a duvet of dark gray clouds, and the rain was coming harder than you’d ever seen. It was like thousands of bullets pelting into the ground and turning it soft and muddy, and the drops hit your roof like the nonstop click of a keyboard. 

"Rainy season, huh?” your mouth was to the radio. 

“Yeah. We’re gonna be staying up all night to watch out for lightning. Fire hazard.” 

“Shit, I should make coffee.” 

“I’m way ahead of you.” 

The lightning came and thunder followed. The sound was enormous and terrifying. It grumbled like a hungry beast and the sound bounced off of every mountain-wall and echoed from all sides. You felt very small, wrapped up in a blanket at your desk, a steaming cup of coffee by your side and your fire extinguisher evacuated from its holder to stand beside you, all red and shiny aluminum and rubber nozzle. 

“Did that look like it hit a tree?” you asked after seeing a zig-zagging bolt of lightning hanging a little too low over the crowns. Your voice was louder than usual - this night was a game of overpowering the screaming rain. It was some 1 AM.

“Uhhhhh, shit. Maybe. We’d see the fire, but it’s possible it’s at the root.” 

“Fuck,” you whispered. “Was that yours or my area?” 

“Uhhhhh-” 

“I’m gonna check it out.” 

Determined, you let the radio fall on the table, as you fumbled for another sweater. The knitted fabric slipped over your other sweater, and then you were wrapping yourself up in your raincoat.

“Maybe I should go - it’s slippery right now, it’s dangerous as fuck. You could fall and hit your head, you know. I think it was closer to me anyway, so--” 

“Seungcheol, I already have my coat on, I’m going!” 

And indeed you were going, despite the grumbled protests of Seungcheol. Your coat blew in the hurricane wind as you stood atop the cliff, looking down at the cascading water, that’d all race down to the sinkhole that was Fermata Lake. Through the clouds, there were no stars to trade glances with, not even ghosts.

You fought headwind the entire way, your hair flowing wildly and your coat threatening to unbutton at the will of the blasts. The ground under your rainboots had become mud and the further you trudged into the forest, the more the mud crept up your yellow shoe, slinging over you like liquid ropes. 

“I’m going down the drop off again!” you were screaming to overpower the wind, radio to your mouth before you dropped it into your pocket and retrieved your bag to regather your rope. 

“Be careful!” Seungcheol commandeered bitterly, muffled from your pocket. “It’s slippery as shit! Radio me immediately when you’re down, so I know you’re okay.” 

Even as your face grew wet and sore from the whipping rain, you scoffed. A gloved hand shoved into your pocket, brought the radio back up to your red lips: “Stop being such a pussy!” 

“Say yes, Y/n!” 

You rolled your eyes. “Aye, aye.”

“... I’ll take that, asshole.” 

Wet as a wipe, you slung your rope over the hook and prepared it in a slew of motions you’d by now memorized. Although, you noted your movements were awkward, somewhat impaired by the layers of fabric that encased you. Stubborn, you stood before the hook, grabbed onto the rope, and began walking backwards. 

Your booted foot curled around the edge of the cliffside, and with the tightened rope you began your careful horizontal walk. Raindrops pelted your face like a clenched fist, but you only blinked away the water and tried to focus on stepping carefully down the side of the rockface. 

KRRRRRRRRKKKKKK!

You screamed girlishly when your rope snapped from the hook, and you watched it come flying out over the ledge, before you realized, horrifically, you were already falling. 

It was barely a second, just one blurry image of the weeping sky, before you were on the ground, groaning in pain. A pulsing ache creeped up your spine, and you twisted your body in the mud to put the weight on your side. You sighed into the mud, dirt on your squished cheek. 

The rain was uncaring of your unfortunate situation, as you laid pathetically in the dirt, body scrunching up like an elastic, while your shadow was cast by sudden bursts of lightning. Panting, you pushed yourself up by your arms and felt blindly for your-

Where was your radio? 

Your pocket was deflated and empty, and you scrambled in the dirt, desperately, pushing yourself up completely to scan the area. You noted how the pain subsided into a small, dwindling soreness, thanking whatever God for your layers of clothing and the softness of the earth. 

There. A flash of yellow in your blurred vision, aided by another strike of lightning atop Aluralura Mountain. You picked up the worn, dirty radio in your heavy hand, pressing at its side. 

“Hello? Seungcheol?” 

There was no static to indicate your message had been relayed, and the usual red digital numbers telling you what channel you were on was gone, a simple, black screen remaining, mirroring your muddied face, twisted in anguish. 

“Fuck this,” you hissed, standing up on two legs. You looked back up to where your lookout tower was still ablaze, a yellow box in the heights. The rope was fucked. You had to go down anyway. Huffing, you started walking. 

You marched through the undergrowth, crossing through unpathed forest to reach the destination. It was near a hollow marked on your map, and so the expedition, although scarier, more empty and dark without Seungcheol's warm voice, was mild. 

Wet petals brushed your face from rows of bushes, and even through your gloves the cold left your fingertips numb. You sniffled in the dark. 

You found the hollow, then you found the tree. There was, indeed, ash going up the side of it, seemingly stemming from a smaller bush in the clearing, but the fire had been long put out by the insistent rain, and partially you felt disappointment that you’d trekked all the way out here, only for there to be no real danger. 

Heavier than ever, you turned your gaze to the glowing hut in the distance. 

You almost wanted to go back to your own hut, to turn your back to Seungcheol’s glowing tower and forget this ever happened. The anticipation of seeing him - of him seeing you - was a tall wall to overcome. But, you realized, not only was his tower closer; you also needed help. 

Your radio was fucked, your rope was fucked and moreover, you needed to be sure you hadn’t done irreparable damage to your back. With water dripping over the ledge of your hood, you began walking towards Seungcheol. 

Rainwater cascaded off the edge of the trees and the consistent dashed dots looked like tiny glass orbs in the light of Bay Valley Tower. It was intensely quiet for a while - it seemed like every bush-tailed critter of the forest had scuttered away to hide from the rain and the echoing growling of the sky. 

“Y/n!” 

You were so tired you almost could’ve missed it. Each layer of fabric weighed you down and the dirt smearing your cheeks and hands and fabrics could’ve melted you right into the earth. But indeed, a voice - so familiar it almost hurt - was calling to you in the dead of night.

“Seungcheol?” your first call was not a call, but a whisper, as you peered into the thick grooves of the forest. Then, your senses returned to you and you screamed as loud as you could: “Seungcheol!” 

“Y/n!”

You and Seungcheol called for each other, syllables echoing off the huge, towering presence Aluralura Mountain. Getting closer and then closer, and then you could see the figure of another raincoated person, shaded by a hood.

“Y/n? Oh, thank God!” He ran to you, swimming in the rubber of his red coat and pink lips peeking over the closed hood. 

It was a little paralyzing. He was so beautiful, you didn’t even know which speck of his shadowed face to look at. Tan, wet skin and big eyes from which the longest, blackest lashes you’d ever seen sprung. Most notable were his fuzzy, blocky eyebrows sitting over his brown eyes, fine wrinkles springing from the corners (you’d like to think you’d helped create some of those). His lips were big and bright and pouty, but it was wiped away when he smiled at the sight of you, and you could die, because a dimple indented itself in his cheek at the motion. 

“Are you okay?” his smile faded when you said nothing, only stared at him, and then stared at where his thick fingers wrapped around your arm. He leaned into you and God, you hadn’t seen him before this very moment, and now he was leaning over you and he was so close and he smelled like pinewood, and you were pretty sure you smelt exactly the same. 

You lowered yourself from your daze, trying to follow the pattering of rain atop both of your hoods. “Uh,” you gulped, finding his eyes, “yeah, I jus’... I thought you were joking when you said you weren’t white.” 

His laugh. His laugh was even prettier in person and it had the same rasp and the same disapproving hint to it that it had had at all your other jokes. “You’re unbelievable, you know that, Fermata?” 

“Bird watching is crazy, man.” 

He smiled and studied your face for a moment, still leaned over you and thoroughly ignoring the rain and the thunder and the dirt on your boots. Then the smile faded, just a little: “What happened to your radio?” 

“Oh- oh my God! Do you- do you remember my first day? The drop off! I fuckin’- fell down, my rope came undone on the hook! My radio was knocked the fuck out, it was crazy, I’m gonna need a new one-”

“Are you okay? You fell?” Seungcheol’s strong eyebrows became furrowed and the sight was so utterly mesmerizing to you. You waved him off: “I’ll be fine, please, I just want to get out of this weather.” 

Seungcheol did not seem to entirely believe you, but nonetheless he grabbed your hand - in his own rough, used one - and started leading you upwards (“If I don’t hold your hand, how can I be sure you don’t fall down another drop off?”).

Time was not as agonizingly slow by his size, and the tower seemed to propel towards you and the hands on your wristwatch seemed to move backwards. Not before long, you were climbing up the stairway with Seungcheol’s iron fist on your wrist, so as to prevent you from falling down something else (you had a feeling that he would not let this go). 

“I’m gonna make us some tea,” grumbled Seungcheol when you arrived.

“Yes, please,” you murmured. Your coat was folded beside you, starry raindrops soaking into a blanket thrown over his bed. 

It was warm in Seungcheol’s tower house - he had half a brain to put an electric heater in the corner of the room, unlike you - and it was only the sudden embrace of warmth that had you looking out into the park and realizing you would have frozen to death if you’d stayed. 

There was a warm glow from a naked bulb in the ceiling (you guessed Seungcheol had put it up himself), an old rug full of sand-corns, and a shelf with various books. Seungcheol also had a small kitchen, a desk and a bed, just like you. The layout was exactly the same, but sitting down on Seungcheol’s bed, you noted he must’ve made some alterations. Your fingers pulled at the white of the mattress - it was his own and it was much softer.  

When the electric kettle (a rusted, iron old thing) was cooking, Seungcheol turned to you sheepishly and unzipped his coat. You waited in secret anticipation for his supposedly smoking-hot bod, but were disappointed to see another sweater underneath it. 

Seungcheol stopped the kettle and took two large mugs from his cupboard. These, he placed on a carved tray (you thought he might have made it himself from pinewood), and then from a small, wooden tea box on his countertop, he produced two bright yellow tea packets, which he gently placed in the mugs. Then he poured in the water, steam traveling up to open his pores and whatnot. 

“Do you want anything in yours?” he asked, not really looking. 

“Uhm. No, no, thank you,” your hands were folded in your lap. 

He only grunted in response and left one tea untouched, then took a clear, plastic container of honey from an array of unrefrigerated condiments, and squirted half the bottle into his tea. He sniffled when he was done, grabbing the tray and turning to you. Tonight, Seungcheol was uncharacteristically nervous.

“Can you-?”

“Hm?”

“That little- little table over there-”

“What?”

“Can you grab it?- For- for the tray?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” 

The tea sat on the tray and the tray sat on the foldable table and you and Seungcheol sat before them on the edge of his bed. You took the hefty mug in your hand and took a slurp, looking over at him from the rim. Seungcheol looked at you awkwardly. He did not move for his tea. 

“I should take a look at your back,” he said. 

“What? Why?” you quacked disapprovingly. “You fell on it,” Seungcheol reminded you.

You shook your head silently. “I like your hut. It’s way better than mine.” 

“I’ve been here longer,” Seungcheol shrugged. You looked at him and he seemed displeased - this would not have been a big deal were you speaking to him on the radio, but his aura was much more commanding in person - something about his eyes, you thought. You had to look away, settling on your mug again (there was a cartoon dog on it). 

“I suppose that’s true,” you murmured. Seungcheol stared into the side of your face and his obvious concern for you weighed down at your muscles. 

A gentle pause where rain pattered his roof. 

“Are you okay?” 

You glanced over, nervously: “Tired.” 

He bit his lip: “Maybe I should’ve made coffee... Can we put instant coffee in tea?” 

“Seungcheol, I wanted to ask you something,” you said and put your mug down on the tray again with a small ‘clink’. Seungcheol rubbed his hands over his trouser-clad thighs, nodding, maybe more nervous than you. The warm glow of the bulb made him even prettier and all was warm and dry in the hut, even though rain was falling down in thick curtains just outside by the troughs. “It’s just..” you began, “you’ve been so avoidant about this.. Jun guy..”

Seungcheol’s sigh interrupted you before you could finish: “He was just the guy that worked here before you.” 

“I found another letter.”

Seungcheol’s furrowed expression softened and he looked at you with big, glassy brown eyes, hidden under a waft of choppy bangs. What was that in the shine of his pupil? Fear? Vulnerability? Sadness?

“It was about- it said he was gonna go be with his mother and that- that he would miss you,” you explained and your voice was snotty and throaty, and your eyes averted to a folded napkin beside a half-eaten slice of bread. A fly circulated it hungrily. 

Seungcheol’s lips made a tight line, dimples poking out pathetically. He cleared his throat and you heard the strain in his vocal chords once more (and it was so real because there he was - right beside you). 

“Me and Junhui came here together. We’d just finished college and we didn’t want-.. We didn’t want to be adults yet. Like, an office job, wife and kids,” he began and there was a tremor about Seungcheol tonight. “I don’t think he was made for a job like this though. I think the loneliness got to him.. Think he just lived with it ‘cause he could tell I liked it.” 

You nodded along until he wasn’t speaking anymore. Then a thick silence absorbed the two of you, a patch of moss drowned in the downpour. 

“His mom was dead, so..” he whispered. Tears gathered at his waterline like a string of stars. “So, yeah, he went to.. To be with her.” 

“I’m so sorry, Seungcheol,” you whispered and the echoing whispers of the storm bouncing off the rock faces of Aluralura mountain beckoned your hand onto his woolen sleeve. “I had no idea.” 

“They never found his body, you know? He’s just out there, somewhere,” both you and Seungcheol turned your heads out to the pitch black expanse of the massive park. Your mind wandered to every crook and crevice you’d seen out there, wondering if a dead body had hidden behind a quarry rock. “Fuckin’ terrified I’ll find him one day. Just… Rotten.” 

You didn’t know what to say. What do you say? Even though you’d stood in a similar situation - losing a friend - you couldn’t find anything that could ease his pain, the pain that was now tinting the light blue and dulling the sound of the rain. The whole room was pulsating. Luckily, it seemed Seungcheol had something more to say. You watched his lips pucker as the words tried to leave his tongue, then watched them draw back. 

“He used to.. He used to say this thing. It reminded me so much of what you- you said that night about, uhm, your friend’s friend. He used to say that- that sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night and he’d just be.. Totally.. Convinced that he was at the bottom of Fermata Lake and he was drowning,” Seungcheol’s voice broke one too many times and his jaw clenched. “God, I was so worried. Jus’ thought I couldn’t- I couldn’t be the reason that happened again.” 

“I…” A tear slipped down your face and your hand left Seungcheol’s arm to wipe it, furiously.He turned to you pitifully, the broad width of his shoulders hanging low. “I’m sorry- you weren’t meant to feel that way-”

“It’s okay. I wanted to help,” Seungcheol grabbed your hands in his, a deep frown on his lips. 

You stopped the tears, face burning hot and wet when you looked up at him again, calmed. His thumbs stroked over the backs of your hands. The pads were rough and beaten. 

“Y’know it was sort of the same for me,” you said. Seungcheol waited for you to talk patiently and with a small, encouraging smile, as warmth streamed from his hands into yours.

“Yeah, my- uh roommate - best friend - died. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how I found him, like, his hand was just outstretched towards- towards the wall to my room, and he must’ve just lied there while his heart was giving out and I wasn’t there-... And I found him the next morning like that and I thought he was asleep and I left him there. Again. And I just can’t stop seeing him everywhere and for a while I was afraid that he would move, you know, like, start crawling towards me or some shit, but I think now I’m actually more afraid that he’ll never move. I think that’s the joke or whatever, he just won’t move, he’ll just be there the way I left him- and I guess- I guess, I thought I could find some sort of higher purpose out here, but I just can’t.. I feel more as though.. Like, it was these things that took him away from me, these fundamental parts of- existence. Like all the cliffs have evil faces and they want to take me too, and maybe I did want them to take me, but not- not anymore. I don’t know if that makes any sense?” 

You peered up at Seungcheol through your lashes, wet and heavy. He was frowning, hands gripping yours tighter.

“You don’t want them to take you anymore?” he asked quietly. You shook your head. “How so?”

“Honestly, I don’t think it has much to do with me or the park. I think-” you gaze flitted to Seungcheol and he smiled knowingly. You scoffed and smiled too. 

Although you both were fully clothed (Seungcheol annoyingly so), it felt as if all the layers had been stripped away one by one; sweaters and trousers, skin and meat and bones. All there was left were two brightly glowing hearts in front of one another. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered then. “You don’t have to say it.”

You rolled your eyes: “I think it’s because of you.” 

He grinned, wrinkles crinkling the corners of his eyes and cheeks bunching up in shiny, red fat. You poorly suppressed your own grin and the two of you leaned into each other when your eyes hooked, laughing into each other's shoulders.

“You’re so dumb,” you complained, forehead scratching against the stiff, knitted threads in Seungcheol’s shirt. 

“I think- I think we both jus’ get dumber together,” you could feel his smile into your neck and the hot stream of air that bounced against the skin. 

Right as you were about to pull away, Seungcheol’s arms wrapped around your back and pushed you back into him. You giggled at the motion, but with little thought your own arms wrapped around his back too, and your knees clashed where they met. 

“Seungcheol?” your voice was muffled by his neck. His only response was hum, that ruminated from deep in his throat right by your ear. You pulled away until you were staring at his face. 

Each thick stroke of eyebrow hair, each long, black eyelash and each mole dotted on his softly aging skin was crystal clear then. Your hands wrapped around his biceps and felt your heart buzz at their pronounced carvings under the wool. Seungcheol smiled down at you in a sort of adoring way.

“I think-” you began, then felt stupid, then felt idiotic and cowardly. “I don’t know- I think we should kiss now?” 

It came out as more of a question than a statement. 

Seungcheol gravelled a laugh and his eyes became all squinty and he pursed his lips as if it concealed his amusement in any way at how you squirmed beneath him and your face heated up. 

“I think you’re right,” he nodded and you could barely register the feeling of joy that exploded in your chest, before Seungcheol’s pillowy lips crashed into yours at the same instance as a crack of thunder. 

The lightning was a flickering show to the performance of yours and Seungcheol’s passionate kiss. His lips molded to yours and yours to his, warm and chapped and your hands couldn’t help but wrap around the soft planes of his cheeks - to pull him further, to keep him with you. 

Seungcheol grappled for your hips, and you moaned in a sort of discombobulated agreement, as he, with shocking ease, pulled you into his lap. His hands on your body, stroking and pressing into the meat, left a burning ghostly trail behind it. 

“Can I be honest?” you mumbled in between bitten kisses and panted breaths. “You’re hotter than I imagined.” 

Seungcheol smiled into the kiss at that: “You too, baby. Now you get the real thing, hm? After fucking your sweet pussy thinking about me?” 

You whined in response, hips canting down into his and head dropping into the warm crook of his neck. You licked mindlessly at the skin, rolling your hips into his. Seungcheol groaned and steel hands halted your eager core. 

“Desperate so quick?” he quirked, and you cried out because how could even begin to describe how hot it was that he could entirely still your movements so nonchalantly? You swallowed before you tilted your head from the safety of his neck. 

“I have waited so fucking long for your cock, Cheol. I need it inside me now,” you said seriously, and it was his turn to swallow the rising viscous in his throat, before he nodded and pushed you off his lap to remove his trousers. 

You saw the way the metal of the belt reflected the light, as he (almost angrily) began journeying it off his middle, and you took the hint, beginning to discard your clothes. Your first sweater fell to the floor, then the next followed, and then you were stomping the floor to rid your soaked trousers. Another article of clothing that was soaked - your panties! And embarrassingly so, you thought, watching the slick, wet patch as you lowered the material to the floor. 

Only then did your attention return to Seungcheol, now fully naked in his hut with windows on all sides, and you audibly gasped. 

His torso was one huge slab of muscle and meat. The skin was relatively pale, pronounced pecs and his arms were like tree trunks at his sides. His thighs were fucking huge, indentations of muscles peering through his skin, as he impatiently worked his boxers off. 

He halted though at your gasp, smirking cockily before returning to his work.

“Is it as good as you imagined when you came thinkin’ ‘bout me?” he muttered as his boxers slid down his calf. Too busy staring at his girthy, leaking cock sprouting between his legs, you neglected to answer and Seungcheol continued in a deliberately raspy tone: “Jus’ thinking about your pretty moans, my cock’s aching for you, princess. You’re not gonna come warm it up, beautiful?” 

“Yes-” you stumbled over a treacherous boot, “yes, I am!” 

“Good girl,” Seungcheol rumbled, bemused, as your knees floundered into the mattress and back into his lap. Seungcheol seemed to have other plans, however, because as soon as you had found your footing, and his warm hands were sliding up your back and his neck was craned up to you, breath hitting your breasts, he raised you and flipped you over, so you were digging into the mattress and he was above you. The shadows only served to define the chisel of his arms further. 

His hand slid down your soft thighs, settling in between your legs to run two fingers through your folds. 

“Your pussy is so pretty,” he whispered, somewhat mesmerized at the slick coating his fingertips. You squirmed impatiently and he shushed you, ever so gently: “Shh, baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

Immediately following up on his promise, the two fingers snaked down to your sensitive, pulsing hole, prodding gently. You wiggled and whined, one of your hands (which had been gripping his bedsheets) stopped him at the wrist. He stopped, eyes flitting up to your flushed, shiny face questioningly. 

“I wan’ your cock now. No prep,” you scowled, strands of hair sticking out messily. Seungcheol frowned. 

“I need to-” 

“I’m wet enough, please, been thinkin’ ‘bout this since-..” you cut yourself off with a frustrated sigh, eyebrows knitted together in frustration. Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile at how fucked out you were already, so precious, all beautiful and naked and womanly. 

“You sure?” he asked, voice matching the depth of the thunder. You nodded eagerly: “Please, please-” 

“Okay,” he murmured, sticky hand leaving your burning pussy in favor of pressing it against the underside of your thigh. At the command of his strong hands, your body folded in half and the realization of your position had you crying out pathetically. “Anything for my beautiful baby.” 

My. His. The word choice had you clenching around nothing, all spread out for him while he lined his pretty, red cock up with your entrance. 

“Gonna feel real full in a minute, yeah?” he said absently, watching intently at how your pretty pussy was splayed out and ready and aching for him, mind reeling at the sight of you and the smell of you and how you felt under his hands. 

And suddenly it was there - a mountain of pressure building around the head of his cock as it pushed inside, bursting when he pushed in a little further, until he was fully nestled inside. Seungcheol was not unaffected, body curling over yours animalistically with a deep, throaty groan. You, too, had to squirm and moan wantonly, as your body shone under the bulb. 

“You’re so tight, pretty,” Seungcheol managed, face scrunched up, as his pelvis met your pubic bone. His hands gripped your shaking legs once more, fully folding you in half and you cried as the movement invited him further inside, feeling him brush the spongy spot inside you. 

“Feel s’good!” you moaned, even as he hadn’t moved yet, and Seungcheol’s hands squeezed you in response. 

Experimentally (perhaps fearful, as you had rushed into it without preparation), Seungcheol thrust shallowly and was pleased at your broken cry, so he did it again and then again, and then he was building up a rhythm and your sultry moans were slipping through the cracks of the hut and bouncing off the walls of Aluralura mountain and echoing twenty times over. 

There was nothing sweet about the pace of Seungcheol’s hips. He was pistoning in and out with an impressive agility, huffing over your folded body. It was desperation; the way your nails raked over his back and his sloping arms, and sweet, little whimpers and your pussy choking his cock. 

“Sweetest, prettiest-” he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, stomach caving inwards and clenching. “Fuck, cutest, little princess being stuffed full of my cock.”

“Love your cock,” you babbled, “Love- love your cock, love you.” 

The words slipped out as if they were nothing, but their meaning was solidified by your raking hand sneaking up to his neck and pulling him down into another sloppy kiss. Tongues melding and spit trickling down your chin as he hummed into your mouth in the most wonderful way. 

“Love you, too. Pretty, funny, sweet girl-” 

“A-ah, ‘m gonna cum soon,” you warned, voice nothing but a breath, and your face pleasured, scrunched up in the dead of night. Your stomach was a well of pressure.

“I know, baby, I know. Squeezing me so tight,” he soothed, hands running up and down the plush underside of your thighs, as his hips continued their unrelenting pace. “Come on, cum on my cock.” 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Seungcheol-” a string of curses and his name followed as your pussy clenched one last hard time and your cum seeped out around his thick, veiny length.

Holding his own orgasm at bay, he clenched his jaw and gritted out: “Where d’you want my cum?” 

“Inside!” you mewled, overstimulated and sore, and legs still pressed to your chest, clammy and slick. 

Seungcheol would’ve made a snarky remark was he not already cumming at your words, white seed painting your insides and spilling out around his softening length. He thrust a couple more times, relishing in the sounds of your fucked-out moans before he’d emptied himself, and he dropped down beside you. 

Due to the nature of a one-person bed, you and Seungcheol were both pressed close to one another, covered in sweat. Your panting, huffing breaths synchronized and you stared into each other's eyes, all wild and blushed. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered, brought back to reality by a distant calling owl. You were still in the park, you realized - not some other pleasure dimension like one may have thought. Seungcheol smiled giddily.

You looked out into the wasteland, and your eyelids and limbs (draping over Seungcheol’s big, pretty body) were suddenly heavy. You yawned.

“D’you think we have to stay up anymore?”

Seungcheol watched you gauging the pinelands with starry eyes. “You can go to bed,” he offered gently, “I’ll stay up and make sure the storm’s over.” 

“Are you sure?” you mumbled, but you were already settling into the domes of his chest, closing your eyes. Seungcheol looked at you and thought you were adorable. 

“Yeah.” 

“Can you stay here?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Can your dick stay inside me?” 

This prompted a laughter blooming all the way from his chest, where your cheek bunched up against the skin. His arm was wrapped around your back. 

“Sure, baby.” 

You mumbled something like ‘okay’ or ‘good’ or ‘thank you’, and you drifted off into sleep with his arms around you, and when Seungcheol was certain the storm had passed, he nuzzled his head into your hair and dozed off himself. 

At the swimming red sky of dawn, your eyes pried open to see Seungcheol already awake, still wrapped around you. 

Nonchalantly (that is to say: as if your chest was not bursting with glee), you nodded your head over to the window behind him:

“Is that not a black-billed cuckoo?!” 

And Seungcheol thought that maybe you and him could find birds together elsewhere too. 

[wisteriaw0rld]

-ˋˏ ༻Hantengu Clones༺ ˎˊ-

||Characters: Sekido, Karaku, Aizetsu, Urogi

||Additional Tags: Fluff, Gn! Reader, Headcanons + Short Oneshot

“You’re no good for me, but baby I want you, I want you..” -Lana Del Rey

˚ʚsekidoɞ˚

♡He’s obviously always angry, it’s the emotion he’s meant to be. But when he confessed to you, he attempted to be as least angered as possible.

♡However if in any way you decide to tease him or say something like, “what?” (Even if you genuinely didn’t hear him), he would quickly get angry, even if its only slightly angrier from before.

♡He’s also not very patient, that much is extremely obvious. So make sure you answer quickly, whether you hug him or give a verbal reply, don’t be slow. He has a short temper.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ 

You had originally been hanging out with Daki, you playing around with her hair and putting it ip into different styles over and over again. But that was until Sekido suddenly entered the room, grabbing hold of your wrist and dragging you out with Daki seeming shocked.

Saying that you weren’t scared at first was a complete lie. Despite having a crush on Sekido, you’ve seen the way he acted. It was still against demon rules to kill another upper moon, but in reality, Sekido was just a clone.

“Y/n.” The demon stated, having his usual tone of voice while breaking you out of your trance and letting go of your now sore wrist.

“Hm?” You asked while rubbing your wrist gently with your opposite hand.

“I like you.” He said, looking down at your hand rubbing your wrist. “Return my feelings.”

The last statement sounded more demanding than he wanted it too…

˚ʚkarakuɞ˚

♡He’s a pleasure demon. And although it doesn’t seem like it, he knows how to be romantic when he wants to. Which was shocking for you to find out.

♡Unfortunately, when he’s searching for you, he sounds more terrifying than loving. But then again, why go around his part of the infinity castle calling out your name in a sing-song voice?

♡He doesn’t exactly know how to be romantic when in a place like the infinity castle, so instead he sneaks out at night and finds you your favorite flower. If your flower only grows in a certain area, he makes Urogi fly there.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ 

“Y/n~” You heard Karaku’s voice call out for you while you continued hiding from him. You didn’t really know what to expect with his scary sounding voice. Especially since you had secretly eaten the human body he retrieved a few moments later.

“Found ya! Why were you hiding?” He laughs slightly at your terrible hiding spot before picking you up with one arm and bringing you to your feet.

“Oh you didn’t- You know what? Nevermind. What did you need?” You questioned, trying to peek behind his back where he was hiding his hand.

Suddenly, he brought the flowers from behind his hand, handing them to you while watching your face expression change into a slightly more flustered one.

“Just wanted to proclaim my love for you.” He said with a smirk before pulling you in a hug. Only a few seconds into the hug, he moved his lips over near your mouth. “I know you ate the last body.”

Crap. 

˚ʚaizetsuɞ˚

♡He looked more anxious than usual. Which didn’t take long for you to notice as you had your eyes on him for a while.

♡For a while, you pestered him about it, asking him repeatedly if he was okay or if something happened. After repeated answers of “im fine”, you eventually gave up.

♡Aizetsu took up an entire hour preparing himself, mainly for rejection. If anything he would much so prefer a hug or kiss rather than a verbal response from you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ 

“Y/n?” You heard a hesitant voice call out to you from behind, making you turn around and come face to face with Aizetsu, who seemed to have more of a sad expression than usual. The same expression you’ve been worried of.

“Are you finally going to tell me what’s wrong?” You question with a hint of worry plastered on your own face. His sadness was slowly getting more and more contagious. But it never meant you didn’t lime being around him.

“I…I really like you.” He replied, handing over a single small sunflower that had been slouching in an almost sad way. Immediately, your expression changed as you pulled Aizetsu into a loving hug, him hugging back as he realized.

˚ʚurogiɞ˚

♡Another charmer out of the clones, just like Karaku. He wanted it to be perfect, and his joy only made the moment better. At least to him.

♡It was surprisingly easy for him to push all the negative thoughts of what may happen to the very back of his head, only thinking of your mesmerizing face and happy expression. 

♡He’s almost always by your side, so when he wanted to take his plan into initiative, he didn’t really have to go looking for you. He just told you he needed to show you something urgent so he rushed you outside in the moonlight with him.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ 

“Urogi!” You exclaimed, holding onto him tightly as he began flying off with an arm around you waist, to make sure you wouldn’t fall. Sure, you were used to jumping high during battle, but flying was different.

You kept your eyes shut for the first few minutes as all you felt was the wind brushing through your hair and against your body.

“Open your eyes or this will all be for nothing.” Urogi groaned while ever so gently and repeatedly slapping your cheek in an attempt to get you to open your eyes.

Eventually you opened your eyes, the white shining light of the moon taking over as you continuously fluttered your eyes until you adjusted to the bright light.

Finally, you looked up at the full moon, you and Urogi still moving at a fast pace through the sky.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

[soapified]

weirdly specific soap mactavish headcanons!! for sfw for funsies

fem!reader

hehe my first (and probably last post) sorryy if the format is confusing im still learning 💔💔. mb if things don’t make sense or i didn’t say the correct name/spelling im bad at english lol

IM SORRYRYRYRY 😭😭

ugh i want him so bad

——————————————————————————

sfw (wrote too much sorry)

words are his love language so if you play them correctly he WILL melt

loves giving and receiving compliments no matter how big or small

sliding him a few compliments at first will flabbergast this poor guy especially ones about his physique 🤭

his nose would twitch instead of him blushing

uses nicknames like “schnookums” “shmoopy” ironically especially to embarrass you in front of everybody else

sneaks in actual little nicknames for you and tries to be sneaky, ex. “love” “lassie/lass” “sweetheart” “sweet girl”

he thought he was being slick, he wasn’t and doesn’t know that

has earned a few snorts and furrowed eyebrows from the rest of them because of his antics lol

wants you to touch his hair but doesn’t wanna admit it (i am not sure if he has any tbh)

doesn’t have time to go to a barber anymore so he shaves and cuts his own hair

talks about his petite little mohawk and chews your ear off about it

“would you still love me if i shaved it off? not so beautiful anymore? arent i?!” he says, jokingly threatening to shave off the feeble strip of “mohawk” standing up in the middle of his scalp

wears Spider-Man pajamas every time he gets a chance

bought the shirt a smaller size so it’s tighter

enjoys it when you stare at his cute little Spider-Man shirt

listens to old white dad metal music and grossly adores radiohead

doesn’t admit he likes soft voices and black box recorder (our lana del rey coded sad girl king!!1!1)

“actually- i have sort of a kinship to the song creep 🤓” and his voice would thicken saying this

genuinely teared up to ‘high and dry’

his hands are very rough, his palms are slightly softer but it sometimes hurts holding them

has scars inside both of his palms

was weary of holding your hands at first because he knows how rough his hands are

does the thing where he strokes your hand with his thumb

is a bath man

has those bath trays that connect from end to end on the bathtub rim

has an arsenal of axe body spray on the tray

loves the brand philosophy because of the smell of the shower gels so he treats himself with a bottle after a long task

his one and only alternative is the dove cucumber soap bars

despises loofahs

tries to start with a cold bath but it’s too scared and then immediately starts to crank the faucet to the hot one

sings in the shower (..when he actually showers)

starts out quiet and hums but the longer it takes, the more it becomes a mini concert

sounds terrible when he sings radiohead

once tried to sing the last part of creep, his voice cracked, he knocked over a shampoo bottle on his foot, and started coughing and almost punched a hole in the shower because of the pain

tries to take cold showers and endures it unlike the bath

uses head and shoulders because he thinks his oily scalp is dandruff

doesn’t know that’s what makes his tiny mohawk flat

refuses to admit he has a skin care routine

“a what? well i barely use anything. very little.. yous gotta believe me!!1!1!1”

aftershave, retinol serum, tatcha moisturizer (he somehow accidentally bought it and was fuming because his military pension isn’t built for that)

uses the same bar of soap he uses for his body as a cleanser

also secretly has an amethyst roller (it constantly falls apart and cracked)

he has a king size bed all for himself

has a shit ton of pillows like a cocoon

bed smells like his own like scent but also a sickening amount of sauvage

never let go of his paw patrol blanket that he bought as a joke in like 2019 because it’s very warm and fluffy

surprisingly let’s you take up most of the space if you want and gives you the paw patrol blanket

used to be a mouth breather and snores so loud

throat used to be so dry and he was afraid of drinking orange juice because it stung

he thought his hoarse morning voice was hot (probably is)

doesn’t snore anymore because he got those sony headphones

he swears they’re magical (they’re really just expensive

he cherishes them and is very attached to them

once fell asleep to his usual playlist, woke up to lana del rey’s “cola”

has this one fluffy white persian cat plush toy that he named ‘goyangi’ but pronounces it horribly, also doesn’t know that it means ‘cat’

“go-YANG-gEE 🤓” and pronounced the actual G twice

“my cat is a SHE. 🙄🙄 she’s pretty little creature isnt she?”

when he’s too embarrassed to say it out loud his second name for it is “Hubert”

has had that thing since like 2014

okay that’s it byee 🫶🫶

might make a 2nd one with both sfw and nsfw

[dolledaudrey]

𝜗𝜚 girlblogging

ྀི︶˚̣̣̣ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞˚̣̣̣ ྀི︶୨୧︶˚̣̣̣ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞˚̣̣̣ ྀི︶ ྀི

hello my dolls ♡ sorry for not blogging yesterday.. (i did nothing at all but scroll on pinterest) but anyways.. gosh i love and hate being a girl.. tell me why one second i feel like the most jovial... joyous... spontaneous and whimsical girl alive then the next second im weeping curled up in a fetal position and plotting revenge while bel air by lana del rey plays in the background?? but whateverrr!! i really really REALLY want the victoria's secret carryall tote bag for school... its so gorgeous!!! but its not ANYWHERE on the canadian website but it is on different countries' websites!!!! but whatever.. i found a reseller... but its like around $273 cad... uhh... should i???? MAYBE.. maybe i will buy it! gosh this is why i make such TERRIBLE financial decisions.. ANYWAYS i feel so healthy oh my gosh im on day 5 of doing the vs angel workout and i see such big improvementss and i pair it with healthy low carb & low cal but high protein meals!! but obviously eat whatever you want, life is too short!! god please send me a very incredibly rich man who is willing to drop thousands to fulfill my wishlist.. PLEASE!!! aanyways... im watching modern family and gossip girls right now (season 1 for gossip girls!! season 2 for modern family) and... i kind of feel bad for serena!! poor girl.. and my FAVOURITE character from modern family is haley & cam!! haley is so funny and shes so stunning!! i love her attitude so much.. cam is super funny and i love him!! alright this is where im gonna call it a day.. ALSO FUN FACT!! my dad originally wanted to name me betty or charlotte.. but then my older brother jumped in and decided choose the name audrey for me because of audrey hepburn!! how cool is that?? maybe i told you guys that already but... what if you needed a refresher? aaanywayss.. catch you later dolls ♡ 07.23.2024 9:17PM you know you love me xoxo, audrey

ྀི︶˚̣̣̣ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞˚̣̣̣ ྀི︶୨୧︶˚̣̣̣ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞˚̣̣̣ ྀི︶ ྀི

[idaokiwatine]

as i'm agonizingly waiting for last twilight, here are some scenarios i like to imagine morkday in (begging this series to come out soon bc im going insane and i'm not sure how much more i can take.) anyways, here you go, i need to share my misery with other people:

- an aquarium date, after noticing day's liking towards fish when cleaning up day's fish tank, mork decides to bring him to a real life aquarium. he holds his hand while day gets as close as possible to the glass and mork describes to him the fish species that can be seen.

- day asking mork to read him his favorite book, or even better, mork telling him once about a book he loves and day asking him to read it for him (and mork doing so happily while explaining his favorite scenes)

- one night, as they're cuddling (mork loves being the little spoon and feeling safe and warm knowing there's someone out there who cares about him), mork wakes up terrified after a nightmare about being abandoned - since he doesn't have parental figures in his life anymore and has spent most of his life on his own - and as he turns around he sees day sleeping soundly with an arm around him. mork is suddenly overwhelmed with emotion as it dawns on him that he isn't alone anymore and that he is loved (for who he is, in spite of everything) (then he falls back to sleep at peace, putting his hand over day's and squeezing it tightly.)

- day is feeling down so mork puts some music on and convince him to dance together. (user @stormyoceans i will never move on from your fic it was the most beautiful thing i have ever read)

- mork is jealous of this guy who hangs out at day's house and who seems close to him (he doesn't know it yet, but the guy's name is august.) mork hasn't yet put a name on the confusing feelings he has for day, and he hates feeling this upset over what should be nothing. but he slowly realizes he is falling for day.

- day asks mork to take him to the garage he works at after finding out he's a mechanic. mork teaches him a lot about his job and day is eager to learn about mork's interest for cars.

- day wants to know more about mork and one afternoon he asks him about his music taste and the two share earphones as mork plays lana del rey. although day thinks the songs are a bit sad he doesn't say a thing and instead, asks him often after that day to listen to lana together. he likes the proximity of this activity and how it allows them to bond.

- on the days when going out seems too exhausting and day needs peace, mork would sit on day's bed and day would lay his head on mork's lap while mork plays with his hair and tells him stories about anything day wants.

- day finds out about mork's tattoo and as they're closer now, asks him if mork could describe to him what it looks like. mork suggests day touches the tattoo while mork describes each part and that's how they end up lying side by side, day tracing mork's tattoo on mork's bare skin as mork describes every line, every curve of the tattoo.

- day holding mork's face in his hands to know whether he's smiling or not (like in the trailer) (but it happens more than once)

that's it for now but expect more as i'm terribly attached to them already (for the ones who know me from twt i'm sorry for bringing my insanity here, it will happen again)

[jacensolodjo]

Wait no im not done about traumatized response seven. With b'elanna being taught by tuvok how to do meditation exercises and stuff. Do you know what that is a short leap to? Grounding exercises.

Guess who they have in common: tuvok. Guess who could have suggested to Seven how to deal with her nightmares now that she does regenerate? B'Elanna. Because b'elanna knows Seven and Tuvok are actually friends. Knows tuvok would agree with B'Elanna's idea.

I already write B and 7 having ptsd and being the only ones who can snap each other out of it. So yeah I admit that sin of mine. But. Even without the b7 goggles we know B taught 7 a few things (including a goddamn override that can suffocate people with noxious gas or fill a room with explosive gas). That they have a lot in common.

7's temperament when we catch up with her in Picard mirrors B'Elanna (often as B'Elanna's most pessimistic. Such as Seven remarking she didn't want to disabuse Picard of the notion of hope and goodness in the galaxy). 7's temperament at the end of Picard Firewall sounds 100% like B'Elanna.

"I won't let anyone tell me I don't know my own fucking name" sounds 100% like something B'Elanna might say. But it is 7 saying it. B'Elanna probably has said things about knowing her heritage and everyone needs to fuck off. B'Elanna could have even had trouble with people pronouncing her name right during the Academy years (remember starfleet is a hypocrite. They are xenophobic towards klingons and then 10+ years later an ex borg).

"Can't you have a more Human name?" "Are you sure it is 'bey-lana' not 'Be-lana'?" (ask me how mad I am about both B'Elanna and Chakotay having the pronunciation of their names changed as time went on and no one said shit. There's a reason I then shorten B'Elanna's name as 'Bey' instead of 'Bee.' B'Elanna is pronounced like Beyonce.)

B'Elanna has trauma response to a lot of things. B'Elanna would know how to deal with Seven's trauma after Picard: Firewall. Like Ellory would be there for emotional support and such but B'Elanna knows how to deal with a traumatized ex-Borg.

Seven after that terrible no good very bad trip to the wrong timeline would have Raffi for emotional support but B'Elanna knows how to deal with a traumatized ex-Borg.

B'Elanna Torres instead around the time of Ellory/Seven is running away from Tom and having adventures with Ro Laren, apparently. But shh. But who knows what the fuck she is doing around the time of Picard s2.

[pinkcornerstuff]

Updated 11/8/23

why hello!!💋🩰

Disclaimer: anyone who follows this account or interacts with the media of this account and is under the age of 18 will be removed and BLOCKED.

My name is 🎀Trina🎀 !!! I have had this blog for a little awhile now, and ive gotten pretty comfy. So let me introduce myself 🎀

queen of crying spells and bpd episodes✨

18 yr old girl with a messy bpd brain, super bad daddy issues and comes on here to be openly emotionally and mentally stunted🤍

🩷welcome to my girl blog/ shitpost show / online diary / photo/crying for help blog🩷

!!Somethings that I absolutely love!!

Vintage things 🎞️

I LOVE HELLO KITTY.!!! HELLOOOO KITTYYYYTY🎀🍓🫶🏼

Anything and everything that is PINK🌸

Bows on everything🎀

Cats ( feral or not🤭 idc)

mariage- iguana 🍃

French fries 🍟🫶🏼

Finding cute little things/knick knacks😽

Romanticizing my sad little girl life💌

Being an anti social stay at home at 18👩🏻‍🦯

commenting on everyones Tumblr ( I love putting my beautiful opinions in 🫶🏼)

BLOGGINGGGGGGGGGGGG

Making terrible jokes about my trauma🤭

pretty sunsets🌅

LANA GOSH DARN DEL REY🩰💋🚬

Super baggy hoodies

my bops🎧🎶 ( I listen to mostly Lana, cafe lo-fi and like euphoric grunge idk what to call it )

Being pretty👛

Having talks with kind strangers

rainy days

knit cardigans

tea 🫖 ( ouuuu boba 🧋🩷 )

fuzzy blankets

Autumn 🍂

late night walks🌑

TARGETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

my boyfriend♾️

Pretty women 🎀

Im super sensitive so if you think you can make me cry,, you definitely can👩🏻‍🦯🩷

so with that being SAIIIIDDD pls pls try to be nice ( or dont... but ill probably cry.) Trying maintain a safe social place for me n my delusions & also everyone else who interacts✨

Always interacting back🫶🏼!!!

[thegreatimpersonator]

So you can either ignore this whole ask or only answer certain aspects because I totally get if you don't want to.

While you were gone/your inbox was closed, there were ofc (as always) a lot of things happening in the fandom and there aren't many blogs line you that have constructive criticism (someone who can criticise taylor when it's due but not blame her for unnecessary things) so all the blogs and in general everywhere I was on (tiktok, twitter, etc) was either completely babygirling taylor for her actions or hating her for every single breath she was taking. So I have some following things that happened in the last two weeks and if you'd like to, I'd love to hear your honest opinion on them and if you think criticising taylor for these things is valid.

1. "Taylor is a mean girl because she dragged Lana on the stage when she won aoty and made fun of her since she was nominated in the same category."

2. Taylor's gonna bash/drag the hell out of Joe in the new album. It's unfair when she names songs like 'So long London' when he was there for her when the whole world hated her."

3. "Taylor (apparently) smoking at the superbowl after party in the club while she knew people were recording her is so irresponsible and she's such a bad role model for young girls when she smokes in public"

Please don't feel pressured to reply to all of these and if it makes you uncomfortable, dont reply at all :) Love you <3

I think this is fine to answer because tbh i think all of this is pointless and has no merit.

it bothers me more that taylor is friends with lana, who's a zionist and racist (also other things), and actively praised her during her speech. i feel like that's the issue people should've focused on.

Taylor has every right to write about her life and going through a breakup of a 6+ year relationship is hard for anyone, so of course she's gonna cope with it the way she knows best which is through writing. the real issue is how the fans act/react to it. they act like her emotions are just 'tea' and that they should fight anyone who does her wrong, just overall being incredibly immature and disrespecting her art and craft. it's one thing to listen to the album (what we assume it'll cover topic-wise) and be like 'oh this is why the relationship ended, this is how she felt at certain moments and im sure he also has his side', that's healthy and mature... it's another thing to be like 'he never valued her, he was terrible, joe is a terrible person i cant believe him she's so innocent and hurt' and that's the way it's probably gonna go, just immature mindsets, making blind and harmful assumptions, infantilizing her and her role in the breakup, diminishing her songwriting to map out a relationship no one truly knows about, and never actually will. they disguise their behavior as analyzing her art when in reality they're just analyzing gossip and reducing her art to feed their parasocial behavior.

she's a grown woman who can do as she pleases, there are way more important things to be angry about, from her own actions that are actually serious to just around the world.

[starsburnout]

i was tagged by @aslowmotionlovepotion! thanks for tagging me :)

What book are you currently reading? Amber Eyes by Maya Banks and Smolder by Mika Nix

What’s your favorite movie you saw in cinemas this year? I haven't been to the movie theater since before covid lol but the last movie i saw in theaters was the rise of skywalker lol

What do you usually wear? sweatpants and a tshirt

How tall are you? 5'9

What's your star sign? Cancer

Do you share your birthday with a celebrity or historical event? I share a birthday with Lana Parrilla, who played Regina Mills from Once Upon a Time, a show i used to love lol, as for historical events...idk lol

Do you go by your name or a nickname? just my name

Did you grow up to be what you wanted to be as a child? well considering i didn't want to be anything when i grew up........lol

Are you in a relationship? Who's your crush if not? i am not! i wish lol. i dont think i have any like crushes atm

What's something you're good at vs. something you're bad at? i'd like to say im pretty good with photoshop stuff. or maybe baking cookies lol. im bad at a lot of stuff so i can't think of one atm? i guess im bad at like........being emotionally vulnerable??? aigjkgnmkjgnk

What's something you'd like to create content for? if im the only one giffing danny gonzalez then so be it. but yeah danny gonzalez!! ive already made a few gifs but i plan on making more in the future (hes a youtuber btw lol)

What's something you're currently obsessed with? hmmmmm. stardew valley. i love it so much.

What’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year? idk.....this year hasnt been terrible so far but also i just remembered we're barely 3 months in lmao

What a hidden talent of yours? idk..i can type fast with two fingers??? LOL???? not sure that counts i dont have a lot of talent

Are you religious? eh.

What's something you wish you had at this moment? a back that doesn't hurt or ache. LOL.

imma tag: @rainsoncornelia, @jakeperalta, @takeawaythepain (it goes without saying that yall dont have to if you dont want to lol)

[angelickks]

☾ - all about me!

welcome honey!

✰ hii i go by angel! - she/her

itʻs technically my middle name but my name nonetheless!

✰ eighteen. indigenous politics. aquarius sun. lana and kali obsessed. practical magic enthusiast. woc. hawaiian.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊i love and am obsessed with... practical magic wannabe gilly owens and yes, ive made this movie my entire personality. homemade coffee. making playlists. late-night drives. fluffy socks. 2000s chick flicks. cupcakes. chewy caramel candy. fresh nail sets. piercings. rings. kuromi. fairies. stickers. sonny angels. matcha & london fogs.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊i do not love nor am i obsessed with... getting yelled at i am so sensitive its not funny. sweaty hands. long presentations. laggy videos. ads. muggy air does that even make sense wtf. obnoxious chewing. studying. impromptu anything im such a control freak that i need to always be prepared.

xtra stuff - some things to note !

✰ despite reading fan fiction, i am completely new to writing it and the community of writers that surround it. with that being said, i am open to constructive criticism and tips! so please feel free to chat with me. i rlly want to expand in this, as writing is one of my many passions even if i am a little terrible at it lol. anything is greatly appreciated and if anyone is kind enough to offer a helping hand, i am very grateful <3 also pls don't be afraid to message, i love making new friends!

✰ my current obsessions consist of...the last of us/pedro pascal (movies, tv shows, and the man himself) in general tbh. wolverine/logan howlette. oscar isaac characters. robbie reyes from agents of shield and more!

[man-i-love-folklore]

i love these so much!!! tonee dear tysm for the tag!!!

last song: mariner's apartment complex - lana del rey

favorite color: green!

currently watching: monsters: the lyle and erik menendez story (which by the way is terrible in multiple ways)

last movie: marriage story. i watched it for the first time a few days ago and to say it was devastating would be an understatement.

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet!

relationship status: single. depressingly so.

current obsession: i mean hozier forever and always, we know this. but also i just got a guitar and i've been teaching myself how to play, so im kind of obsessed with that right now (currently teaching myself how to play maroon by taylor swift!)

last thing googled: greek myths! i realized i could only name like 5 off the top of my head so i reminded myself of a few of them. bc of course.

no pressure tags! @nadja-antipaxos @meghanegghan @wastelandbabyblues @balladofsejanusplinth

I was tagged by @waywurd! <3

last song?  tantrum - ashnikko

favorite colour? black and blue

currently watching? yu-gi-oh

last movie? monster house

sweet/spicy/savoury? sweet

relationship status? in a relationship! <3

current obsessions? winterhawk (clint barton/bucky barnes) and the Funeral Portrait

last thing you googled? the apparition lyrics. i needed to scream about a ship idea inspired by it

no pressure tags- @silversoulstardust, @hookedhobbies, @cuddlesomeone, @octaviaabadassblakee

[stumbling-to-sea]

kids AU

This is all @ohpineapples​ fault, with her roomboom kids! While i got an AU where Lana and Ace meet early while Ace was still alive, even that AU doesn’t end ... happily, but the ”what kids would they have, in the extremely unlikely case that would happen?“ won’t leave me alone now, so i have to get this out of my system:

In the unlikely universe where Lana heads for the Grand Line early and the War of the Best was survived, kids would still be not on the table — Ace refuses to pass on his blood and Lana has no time for kids, going from one mission to the next; the revolution never sleeps and neither does cypher pol

But one day Koala looks at her, frowns, and asks if she‘s gotten a little … uh, chubbier? and after another month of relentless nagging, Lana eventually goes to one of the medics and this is how she finds out she‘s pregnant

Ace is terrified and panicking and fussing, and unfortunately he contaminates everyone including the ghosts hanging around –  they try to carry her everywhere and refuse to leave her side and it‘s all just bloody inconvenient

What are we going to do, Ace whispers, his head on her chest and cradling her belly and thinking of his mother, and what if you—

The brat will have some of the most powerful people of the world as uncles, Lana growls, fed up, and I went six months without knowing ‘bout this, I’ll manage the rest, you are being dramatic.

The last month is miserable and the labour even more so, and Lana tells Ace flatly that she‘s not ever doing this again, fuck you kindly

Her daughter announces herself by splitting everyone’s eardrums

She‘s so ugly, Lana notes, amazed, and Ace nods, not listening and staring at the red wrinkly thing because it‘s the most beautiful thing he‘s ever seen

Lana refuses to name any of her kids after other people, at least with their first names, because they will not be burdened by any ghosts

Ace replies, you‘re just going to call them some ridiculous nickname anyway

Sure enough the portgas-leafless spawn with her muddy green eyes, a shock of wild blonde-ish curls and skin two shades darker than her father‘s, reacts to the call of “Dandelion“, short Lio or Lion, instead of whatever she‘s named

Ace would be extremely protective, like borderline paranoid about Lion‘s safety. Everyone who comes within ten feet of her is double screened and babyproofed, and the worst thing is that he considers himself the biggest danger — not only bc of his heritage, but ohdeargodimfirewhatifiburnher

Lana didn‘t think he could get worse than the time she was pregnant, but she spoke too soon

Whenever late Whitebeards are around they tease mercilessly, and she can‘t get Thatch to leave (free baby-monitoring aside, it‘s not worth the incessant jabbering and jokes about poop)

Seriously, she‘s not ever doing this again

But when Lion is barely two years old, Lana sits up in the middle of the night and just says, shit. I think i‘ve gotten fat again. Ace cries and says, how can one of the chief informants of the revolutionary army be such an idiot in the fondest but also exhasperated way possible

Little Copper‘s hair is black with a reddish tint and less curly than her sister’s, grey-brown eyes taking the world in as if she‘s already disappointed by what it offers her

where Lion will flutter her eyes prettily at people to get what she wants, Copper stares them into oblivion with an underlying threat of or else

Ace is, so good with kids, though. Which is great, because even though Lana loves her girls, people don‘t stop dying and ghosts don‘t stop knocking down her door, and the revolution doesn‘t sleep, and someone has to keep cipher pol off their tail

Copper and Lion spent their first years ship- and island-hopping with their dad (because the revolution isn‘t a place for children and there isn‘t a crew big and calm enough to hide among, with the Whitebeards gone). 

They don‘t blink at logic-defying weather patterns, wacky powers or displays of raw strength, because both of them could punch through concrete when they turned four, their dad‘s literally fire and their mother talks to ghosts and sometimes has dead people inside her, and don‘t get them started on their vast networks of “aunties“ and “uncles“ (both alive and dead)

The two knock on doorways when they enter and greet the air respectfully in case there‘s any spirits lingering, and know every way to put a fire out, and plenty ways to start one

Ace would eventually resign himself to semi-settling on an island under Luffy‘s protection, constantly catered to by one of the crews of his little brother‘s grand fleet

Somehow, on the way, Ace can’t help adopting strays — the small girl with samurai-ambitions and a once-empty stomach is just the start. He ends up the go-to-babysitter of the Grand Line; pirates and Revolutionaries alike drop off their kids with him when things get to hot for children around

He takes the kids on wild adventuring trips where he makes sure he is the scariest thing around, which considering,,, naturally means the trips are only mostly life-threatening

Lana visits as often as she can, and learns how to tell ghost stories to a rapt audience of lots of eager little faces. Everyone knows you can‘t play pranks on Mam Lana, she‘ll know. But she‘s also the safest place, because if there were any danger, she‘d know

Every couple of years, they‘d sit their kids down and tell them they can be anything they want to be. Lana never sugarcoats the problems people might have with their origins and their parents, but if they eventually want to start with a new identity they will make it possible, because choices have always been important to both of them

their kids have the D. but being descended from a Leafless means you don‘t put much stock in names

They didn‘t want their children to carry other‘s legacies, but their grandpa was the Pirate King, their mother and uncle are toppling the world government, their other uncle is going to be Pirate King and — what is cooler than that? Also Grandparents Leafless send the best tasting fruity sweets.

(Lion gets told that she looks like her paternal grandma, and Copper is kind of envious)

Everyone thinks Lion with her cat-eyes hides trouble behind her innocent freckled smile, but she’s really just a sweetheart while it‘s unimpressed Copper you have to watch out for, who takes everything as a personal challenge and chases after the next thrill

(If the revolution is still going when they grow up, Copper might go and join the Marines for the heck of it, Lion is good with boring details so she does the next best thing and goes into investigative journalism; each one‘s of the opinion that they work harder than the other to keep sis out of trouble)

(Copper and Lion has a nice ring to it, but so does Bronze and Lynx)

One lights her Dao on fire in a fight and the other has everyone wrapped around her little finger before she shoves them up their noses

Ace still occasionally gets terrified by the sheer responsibility but he‘s got a big family and somehow, the protection of every notable crew around because they like their babysitter hale and whole

Life is okay and well, as calm as can be, for a stay-at-home-pirate and ghost hunter who the world government would both rather see dead, with two fierce little girls of their own and a bunch of other teens who think monsters are normal, thank you very much

Until like six years after Copper is born and before dawn, Lana sits up in bed, saying, shit, Firefly. and. Ace buries his head beneath his pillow, moaning in despair

(but Page stumbles after his big sisters with black curls, chubby legs and much enthusiasm, and he‘s never alone or without laps to take naps on, and later on he will always have his freckled nose buried in a book)

(Little red-haired Tooth, two years later, will not stop trying to eat anything in reach. Her first instinct will always be to taste, which is quite problematic considering she expands on the knack for engineering she got from her father and metal has no place in your body – she‘ll probably end up eating a devil fruit)

(TL,DR; basically Ace will always want and deserve a big family, and Lana just. goes along with it, and they are one more reason to get involved in world affairs)

[novalunosiss]

Okay!! The post strangerthingstv just made on Instagram looks really interesting! The whole thing gives me fear street vibes (like the title sequence with the news paper articles and whatnot) but I digress… Seems like season 4 is going to have some kind of murder plot.. or this murder could potentially be one from the past (like how Hop was looking at old newspaper articles in season 1). Anyway the video goes really fast but I saved it to my camera roll and slowed it down to read. Most of the information is blacked out but I’ll write what is legible below. I’ll write everything in the newspaper in a different font, my own thoughts will be in the regular font. For simplicities sake and because I don’t know terminology I’ll be calling the pictures “frames”. I won’t be discussing the frames that are just pictures, only the ones that show the text. This means that when I say “second frame” or something, it might not actually be the second frame in the video, but it’s the second frame with text on it. Hope that’s not confusing. Not sure if anyone will find this useful but i thought it was interesting, so here goes. Just as a warning, it’s 3:00 am where I live rn so this will probably be a little scattered.

First frame:

THE WEEKLY WATCHER

Lana stalked by crazed fan page 3

BLANK CLAIMS: VENGEFUL DEMON KILLED FAMILY

The Murder That Shocked A Small Community - PAGE 10

The Star-studded ‘bonanza’ premiere - CENTER PAGES

Policeman shot 12 times survives - PAGE 3

Inside Jayne and Mickey’s ‘Palace’ - PAGE 24

Thousands seek gold in jungle - PAGE 7

Magic Pill helping people lose weight

Second frame: you can only see part of the newspaper in this bit, but I’ll still try my best

s are certain Creel is to blame, but he claims

BLANK: Killer or t

m of a vengeful sp

by Addie Ba-cock

Okay so after this there’s a blank block of text but I’ll use this to point out some stuff. In this frame the text starts with the end letter of a word, s. I’m gonna assume that the word in question was ‘Authorities’. That would make sense considering it’s about a murder case and it fits well into the rest of the sentence. Not sure what the T or the M could be for, but the Sp is definitely the beginning of Spirit. This is later confirmed by another slide. As for the dash in the surname of whoever wrote this article, I couldn’t quite make out a letter so I left it like that. Back onto the text.

Whoever you believe, the strange case of the Creel family has put the heretofore sleepy town of Hawkins, Indiana, on the map. It is safe to say that the entire region will never be the same again. District attorney Phillip Bradley said of the ordeal.

Once again this is followed by a block of text. Now. Im fairly confident I’ve got most of this right, but it’s hard to be sure because the text is pretty small and blurry. The two lots of dashes are words I couldn’t quite figure out. Credit to @the-one-and-only-asha who figured out that the missing words were entire and region and let me know in the comments. For some reason it won’t allow me to link to their profile, as it says her blog is missing. But full credit goes to them :) To the right of this text is another bit that is featured in two slides. By piecing together both bits it is still incomplete but more together. It says the following.

‘I thought I was dying… so I w

flooded with relief… but there

a sense of terrible grief, too.’

The first time this bit of text appears it is in the second frame and has a block of blanked out text under it. However, the second time it appears, in the fourth frame, you can see some of the previously blanked out text. It says:

The discovery of a dead an-

the property. One evening,

ether Alice found a rotting

The third slide is also a closer up version of the second slide with a bit more information that was not previously seen.

Crime scene photos from inside the Creel Home obtained EXCLUSIVELY by TWW reveal a complete blood bath.

Underneath it is a picture of the scene but it’s blurry and you can’t see much. To the right there is more text, though most of it is cut off.

to the super

The Cre

home in Ha

Court docum

had recently

itance with

murder hou

Creel cl

in to their

a series of

paranormal

A lot of this you can use common sense to figure out. Cre is obviously Creed, Ha is most likely Hawkins, docum is documents, hou is house, cl is claimed, and after paranormal I’d assume it says events.

After this the video blurs through some more text but if you slow it down you can read one bit.

Didn’t know what I

told the court.

“I said I thought

teenagers set the gra

wouldn’t listen to me

dener tells our source

ly had enough

Not sure if i got all of this part right, it was lighter than the rest of the text so it was a little harder to read. For “gra” that could be grave, I’m thinking. Dener sounds like it could be a person, probably a surname, but im definitely not sure I got that right, it could be a completely different word/name. The ly in the final sentence is probably finally, as in “finally had enough.”

That’s it, I’ll include the video and the screenshots I took below but hopefully someone finds this as interesting as I did!

[kendrixtermina]

The Types as Musicians

i was initially doing research to make “unstereotypic own words playlists” for the other 8 types after i made the 5 one, but i soon realized that i wouldnt have enough material for many of them. 

Personality Database proved utterly useless in this endeavor because they type everyone & their dog as infj 4. 

It’s like they’re too preoccupied with empty praise to really try to understand what makes their favs the way they are. 

Still, this is what i noticed trying to look up musicians of different types. 

1:

drawing a blank, maybe they’re all in classical or some other genre I don’t listen to. 

2:

I can only think of Dolly Parton

3: 

Their songs come in roughly two genres: “self-referential badassitude hymn” and “unironic passionate lovesong” ( can also be directed at friends or Family). The latter are the really good ones IMHO. 

Examples:

Britney Spears

Taylor Swift

christina aquilera 

madonna

bebe rexha

4:

I think most of you can picture this one. theyre very concentrated in the arts.  Back in my day it was rockbands, nowadays a lot of them are in indie. 

Of course saying this is tantamout to summoning att the ones from the woodworks who like some completely different genres and do not want to be associated with the above

[ducks]

Examples: 

 Amy Lee of Evanescence

Emilie Autumn

Taylor Momsen of The Pretty Reckless

Toopoor

marylin manson

the frontman from mindless self indulgence. 

the mcr frontman

lana del rey

Jonathan Davis from Korn

5:

Avantgardistic and high-concept stuff. Grunge, Metal, and a sizeable fraction of  european bands that dont sing in English

Also, nearly all those “one guy and his laptop” acts 

Examples:

Kurt Cobain of Nirvana

Trenz Reznor of NiN

Honey Malecki of Welle Erdball

Matt Bellamy of Muse

Thom Yorke

Whoever was in charge of lyrics for the earlier albums of In Flames. i bet you my glasses. 

Blixa Bargeld of Einstürzende Neubauten

Sophie Xeon 

6:

supposedly theres quite a lot of them in hiphop/rap as well but im not an expert in that. probably punk & alt rock, too. You’ll recognize that those two genres often have alot of quick rapid fire lyrics.

The ones I was personally familiar with were mostly singer-songwriter types

Examples: 

Mitski

Meg Myers

La Roux

if you asked me to find the common denominator of these, i would say “a lot of feelings”. 

7:

Also come in two grenres: “Terribly Sad Wailing Breakup Song” and “associative Thinking galore creativity explosion”, surprising propensity of ‘layered’ writing where a song will sometimes be about several things at once

Sometimes the same artist will go back and forth between Wailing Breakup and Creativity Explosion, or even pull off both at once. 

Lady Gaga

Tori Amos 

Lindsay Stirling (the violinist)

amy winehouse

rihanna

Fiona Apple

Cardi B

8: 

There were not many examples but i did find a few:

Garbage’s Shirley Manson

P!nk

Peaches

What would I say the common denominator is? It’s dangerous to extrapolate from so few data points, but I’d say a love of scandalous costumes, and the more emotional songs having an undercurrent of tiredness.

9: 

Many widely beloved, ‘iconic’ artists with devoted worshippers. A lot of colorful dreamy/whimsical clothes & aesthetic. 

Otherwise run a pretty wide gamut.  I see a lot more common through-lines with 9 writers. (though many of them are also super beloved household names)

Examples: 

Shakira

Hayley kiyoko

Lil nas x

Beyonce

Ashnikko

Björk

Enya

Note that contrary to popular belief not all of these even have a vibe that could be described as particularly chill. if anything the through line seems to be flexibility & quirkyness. 

its striking that i was familiar with so many of their names & the few most famous songs though im not a big fan of any of these nor intently following popculture. theyre just very popular & ppl frequently gush about them. 

Seems like type 9 has the optimum balance of unique creativity and broad relatable appeal. Plus, you can talk in normal-sized sentences unlike us head types