#just to draw a lot in a short amount of time and convey the right vibes

[seraph-sar]

I recently got into Sally Face, and have now started on a longer project for that fandom that includes me making a lot of semi-shitty art. But I did draw one Sal that I like quite a lot.

He looks so judgemental. I love him XD

Also, another personal favourite of mine:

[linesonscreens]

Let's Read Peanuts (Yes, all of it) - December 1951

There are lots of great strips I just don't have room to comment on. I strongly encourage everybody to read the full month at the official GoComics page. Today's month starts HERE.

Dec 3, 1951

In my headcanon Charlie Brown is 100% correct and Schroeder is just mad that he noticed.

Dec 7, 1951

I don't have any witty commentary here. I just really love that last panel

Dec 8, 1951

No, really. “Charlie Brown is a narcissist” is a whole thing.

Dec 10, 1951

Dec 14, 1951

Shut up it's not sexist. You and I both know that a snowball from Patty would have put him in a coma.

Dec 18, 1951

I'm basically the opposite of Violet here. I know all the stuff I want is too expensive so I ask for the jumprope and then quietly buy the tricycle on my own later.

Dec 19, 1951

No you fool! You idiot! You stupid little baboon! The key to getting the good shit is bribery, obviously. That's what the cookies are for.

Dec 22, 1951

People reacting to Charlie Brown like this makes so much more sense at this point in the strip.

Dec 25, 1951

Merry ChristmasHalloween everybody!

Dec 27, 1951

Does... Charlie Brown normally make his dog get his own water?

Thoughts:

And that's it for 1951!

It's kind of incredible how much the strip has evolved in just this short amount of time. We've gone from a fairly simplistic wold full of generic children to something with a much more nuanced and distinct personality to it (and hey, Shermy is also there! HEYOOOO!). And the cool part is that the strip's evolution has only barely just begun.

As a fun end-of-year thing I figured it would be neat to track how the style of the strip changes over time. I'm not going to follow every character every year (going forward I think I'll spotlight 1 character per year for my own sanity) but I'll try and keep track of the major players at least.

Anywho, let's get started with...

Charlie Brown

October 1950

December 1950

December 1951

Snoopy

October 1950

December 1950

December 1951

Patty

October 1950

December 1950

December 1951

Shermy

October 1950

December 1950

December 1951

Violet

February 1951

December 1951

Schroeder

May 1951

December 1951

You can really see Schulz's artistic growth when you put the drawings side by side like this. Heads are getting smaller, bodies are getting longer, and much more emphasis is being placed on conveying specific unique emotions. Schulz is adding more detail all around, especially in backgrounds and the rendering of shadows/textures, and is getting very good at adding a few extra lines to make an object feel more authentic.

I also noticed that he's starting to embrace a somewhat looser inking style (look at the sketchy way he draws black items of clothing now for an example of what I'm talking about) and it's really working for him. Eventually I think this will make the art look a bit messy but right now it's a wonderful balance of tightly controlled yet natural and organic. It's a really good style.

Anyways, enough nerding out about art for now. Onward to 1952!

[spectrum-core]

1 14 23 + the black haired dude you draw a lot

Longass rant ahead because I Am So Normal About This Dude He's Like A Brother To Me

Short answer: he's very hot

Long answer: honestly as it always happens i joked so hard about this guy that without realizing he had become my favorite character from ruina. There's also that I just, tend to resonate a lot w characters who are just Some Guy and he happens to have the feeling of being a secondary character even in the singular cutscene where he shows up (before dying a death that's so pointless and absurd it almost comes off as comical, pour one for my mans 😔✊), there's also the fact that he has this cold and emotionless and professional exterior but his dialogue lines, specially during gameplay segments (as opposed to in cutscenes), show that he actually has a very emotional/caring inner self and he's just suppressing that side of him, either because he feels like he needs to act cold and professional to be taken seriously or just to cope with the nature of the universe he lives in and his job and it's like Yeah Maybe That Hits A Bit Too Close Home, to add to it ruina has this feature akin to like a bestiary (?) of sorts where you can read little blurbs of text implied to have been something each defeated enemy character said/thought at some point of their lives, and ofc Mr. Irrelevant McBackgroundCharacter here has a worldbuilding exposition (as do most of my favorite characters in the game let's be real 😔) but it has this specific cynical tone of him trying to rationalize why things are the way they are while still questioning them/thinking it doesn't fully make sense and it's like you go little guy! keep pondering the concepts of power and freedom and if they're even possible to achieve in your universe without losing your sense of self and therefore not gaining them because the person who achieved them is no longer yourself!

Conclusion this guy was probably engineered in a lab to be appealing to me in particular and I love him so much and he makes me feel way too many things for a guy with like 10 dialogue lines and a worldbuilding exposition.

Some sort of like... industrial/military-esque... goth style? Some sort of mostly practical but still stylish kinda thing, loose fabric that allows for movement, mostly grey, black and cold desaturated tones, straight cuts, lots of pockets when needing to carry lots of stuff (not too many bags as the straps can limit mobility if you carry too many of them + having a bag hanging around gets annoying at times), materials made to last long (and probably some patched up/manually repaired stuff just for that sweet extra durability), probably also with some emphasis on layered clothes as to be prepared for a varied weather (<- delusional, proyecting) and so on, while still keeping it stylish and wearing accesories if/when possible (but not too many of them, after the main focus would be practicality i think), and belts, lots of belts, stereotypical jrpg protagonist levels of belts here, also this guy 100% wears eyeliner to me, just look at his sprite.

idk I don't know about fashion terms so i just described the vibe of how I imagine he usually dresses like.

Out of official artwork, this one, 100%, it gives me the vibe of a guy trying too hard to look edgy and badass and reverting to be absolutely silly without realizing, absolute cringefail loser behavior (affectionate)

Out of fanart... there's like 3 people who make fanart of him me included so I may as well focus on my stuff, it's these 3: first one bc while I still wasn't used to his dessign it manages to convey such a Vibe (him showing the emotional/caring side I mentioned in 1), I don't feel like he's the kind of guy to smile a lot, if ever, so I feel like when he actually smiles it's something extra special for the people around him and I think I managed to convey that in the picture, the second one because the stylization goes hard + I managed to get juuuuust the right amount of spikiness on his hair (very important) and also I like how I made his eyes in there, and third is just what I feel has been my best take on his dessign in general, specially facial features, that is how I Imagine He Looks Like.

[softbean]

You guys... I want to clarify something. So many of you reblog my pixel art pieces shocked at how I was able to draw them “square by square”.

(a polished pixel art piece of orym)

I’m sorry to burst your bubble but that’s not how pixel art works, at least not for me. I hope you won’t idolize an unrealistic belief and don’t hold me to an impossible standard. When things like that are said, I start to feel ashamed for “cheating” or “taking short cuts” because I’m not actually living up to your expectation that I’m drawing them square by square. Lines exist in pixel art. The bucket tool exists, so do layers. Even more amazingly, so do dithering brushes. I use procreate on an iPad, not MS paint with my mouse, because this is 2023. I don’t want my art to be appreciated solely for how “difficult” the creation process is—I want it to be appreciated for its content. Intentionally making art inaccessible may be a choice some artists make—and in a sense pixel art is a challenge like that, to limit your shapes and form and colour palette—but that’s what it is: a personal challenge, a stylistic preference. Making art hard can add to its value, but it shouldn’t be the only thing valuable about it, and “hard art” shouldn’t make you think that “easy art” is worth less. There is no easy medium. The amount of awe and ‘THIS IS PIXEL ART?!’ I get in comparison to the silence when I make art in my preferred medium makes me sad that the audience seems to take certain types of art media and styles for granted. There is no easy medium. And, I don’t find pixel art particularly harder than other media. Sure, pixel art style may be more unique, but it certainly isn’t barred from the same advancements in art technology that have developed in other forms of art, and it certainly shouldn’t be appreciated only for its uniqueness.

When people express awe in the “pixel by pixel” process, I get sad thinking they’ll never really know the kind of work that goes into refining a pixel art piece: the meticulous and tedious cleaning of lines (I don’t draw lines pixel by pixel, instead I draw a line and erase pixel by pixel), the overlaying of different dither brushes to create gradients from a limited palette, the block coloring that I do by hand, and the endless revisions I make to capture the feeling I want to convey. None of these are done pixel by pixel as if going left to right, top to bottom, none of these are done square by square like your color-by-numbers, but it doesn’t mean it was quick or easy. To me, my choice of art style doesn’t matter as much as the feelings I want my art to evoke, the impression that I want it to leave on your being, some ineffable part of you that responds without needing to break art down to its technicalities.

I’ve learned over the years that there is no cheating in art. If doing something will improve the look of your piece, and save you time, then that’s a win.

I know a lot of you don’t make art yourselves, and are of the mindset that anything that looks more difficult/time consuming to you than others becomes mysterious, feels cooler than things you think you’re more likely to be able to make yourselves. But I don’t like this view of art as something that is worth more the more untouchable it is. I like to think that art is everywhere, ubiquitous, and something that anybody with soul can make and regularly does make. It just takes the right lens to see the art in your own life for what it is. It’s not so far away. In fact, sometimes the closer to me art is, the more impact it has for me.

(a roughly sketched comic that resembles the doodles of a child)

Art comes from life, art is alive because we are alive, it is not its own mysterious separate thing. I wish more people would appreciate the art that we can make rather than the art that we can’t, and that more people would embrace the art in their lives as opposed to keep it at arms length like it’s something foreign.

Art is not talent. It’s not about what you’re born with or without, familiar or foreign. If society has put up definitions and parameters for what is considered “art”, to the point where you feel it’s impossible for you to make your own, then perhaps we should reexamine the ideals of our society that only sees artistry in perfection. In truth, art is hard work and dedication, and above all, to me it’s choosing to see the beauty in the most mundane things, in things that aren’t conventionally beautiful. That’s why I don’t want my art to be appreciated for how impossible it feels. I want it to be appreciated for all the ways you feel warm and represented and connected and understood by it.

[saturnfairycat]

Him.

Archive #6 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: Damn, who hurt her- anyway, I found this in my embarrassing amount of 'Untitled Documents' in my google drive. You know when you are cleaning your room and you come across letters/diaries of when you were going through it? Yeah... but why was this so interesting to read HAHA (I don't even remember when I wrote it). Enjoy!

Him.

----------------------------------------------------------

He would’ve read my work. 

Not voluntarily, I would have had to definitely convince him. Though, it didn’t take much teasing— he always complied in the end. So much for his complaints that I “wrote too much” or my work was “too complicated”, he ended up taking extra time and care reading everything I sent through. 

Did he always understand what I wrote? Ha. Absolutely not. 

But he read it anyway, he always did.

I ponder about it, sometimes. I glance down to— nothing, really— and just relive all the little things and memories we shared. It’s definitely bittersweet, but I am not a picky eater; the taste of bitterness accompanied by the honey-suckle kiss on the tongue has soon become a fan favourite. It’s like a logical but irrational balance: good as a thesis, terrible for the heart. All those bitterness-cringing-moments won’t hide the fear of high blood sugar.  

Would he ever miss my writing? 

Really does your head in, doesn’t it? All those rudely blunt questions your mind comes up with when the world goes quiet. 

Does he even remember half of what he read from me? 

To be fair, I don’t even remember what I sent him— I just remember I used to do it all the time. 

Will he ever get to know that I have found a passion to write again?

Poems were my favourite way to convey storytelling. Commitment was miminial, because they are so short (surprise, surprise— my signature 14 paged spiel does take a lot of effort and energy which is not favourable), and I loved my little rabbit-holes of just finding the synonym for every. single. word. Anything that required excessive and proper sentences drained me, it didn’t feel right. But now— I have come to embrace it and oh, enjoy it oh-so-much. 

Funny thing, though— I never felt like my essays were the best. I’m sure the actual concepts and ideas I write within an essay structure have merit, but I never felt like my structural integrity of a normal essay spoke out to me. I also always felt like what I wrote for an essay could have been better— it just felt cheesy. To be fair— I never really got to the point of sitting down and reading poetry, the pieces I picked up were always too cheesy (even for me). But oh, how I loved writing it. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing essays. But–

Will he ever know that I found my own sense of writing style? 

My sense of writing is emotive language. I love symbolism, the play on words— I like the puzzling effect, the double take on things. I love to draw people in, make them confused and heart-broken. I want the real message hidden in deciphering, having to go back and reread it just so you can catch the missed hints and easter eggs. I love deep and dark themes— horror has always been my favourite genre, after all. 

And because I love the deep, emotive conception of writing— I want to always incorporate it into my essays. But of course, I don’t have the time to properly plan out which critical sentence to repeat later down the line— what metaphors and personifications really mean. But you’ll be damned to not see me try.   

Would he be damned? 

It doesn’t matter anymore, even if the current isn’t the direction I want to swim against.

Some people might read this and wonder: “Wait, is this about me?”

But the right person will read this and their heart will stop for a beat, because they know it’s about them. Well, if they can remember— of course. Can’t forget the fact his memory of us is so terrible, I would have better luck asking a goldfish to memorise the two times table. 

I did consider a lot of people when thinking about this umbrella of thoughts. Often, I would have left it to mystery and let my readers conclude what they thought I meant (though, I still can’t help but cringe when they butcher the meaning), but in this reality, I have been pondering about the thought of loneliness. 

I’m not alone.

I’m far from it. 

But I guess it's the closeness and intimacy that I crave. I have the people, I have the bonds— but I figure that being an arms length away from most of my friends for so long due to my personal business, I hesitate to be needy. It’s selfish of me to do so, it’s like the poem situation— I can’t just commit to something because it’s the bare minimum. 

Would he miss my face? I wear a mask consistently, sometimes I do believe that some of my classmates don’t remember what I look like. 

And most of all, do I mean mask symbolically, or physically?

Would he remember my face? It makes me want to take off my mask more, but it has become a comfort— plus, I get sick so easily. 

Every time I got really ill, he was who I talked to. 

He made sickness bearable. He cared and made me laugh. 

What a joke. 

Closure was never the answer, like a mouse that follows a snake— tailing behind the sharp-fanged beast screaming out the question for it to hear.

Why?

Why not? Why else? For I will never know. 

Because it is not worth knowing. 

Why would a mouse go back to the very place, the snake’s lair, where they were bitten once already— to ask why they bit the mouse in the first place? 

Does he remember the puncture wounds? 

Would he read my writing if it was about a snake and mouse?

Would he understand it?

…

Sigh

…

A fresh wound appears.

-------------------------------------------------------- 

[kustas]

“Something fast and cool is happening” - Traditional hand drawn anime limitations part 4

Part one

Part two

Part three

The biggest lie anime enthusiasts spread is that impressive animation is fast and snappy. Anime is renown overseas for it’s over the top action scenes and FX (things like fire, smoke, lightning...) which make up a majority of animation compilations. Sakuga is synonymous with mad FX zapping around the air followed by a weighty explosion, and sakuga is to most, synonymous with “the good parts of animation”.

But flashing FX and running on walls is not a hard thing to animate.

Disclaimer: FX animation is it’s own job. It’s a complex, technical subset of animation and you do need to be talented as hell for it - but FX isn’t all epic flashes at all, FX is much wider.

The truth is - the faster it moves, the easier it is to draw.

Animation requires drawing the same thing over and over to simulate movement. The illusion of movement speed works by how far your two drawings are from each other, by distance. If two consecutive frames are close to each other in your shot, the movement will appear slow. If they are far apart, it will appear fast. Distance in relation to timing, and your eye thinks it moves.

So, animation is just a succession of drawings that give illusion of movement. To animate, you have to draw a ton, to detail how your characters move, which involves drawing each step of their movement enough for your eye to catch what’s going on. If I want to make my character punch a wall, I need to at least draw him winding up for a punch, and then hitting the wall. The more drawings I add, the more I can detail stuff - adding flying dust after the punch hits, adding a frame in the middle of the punch to emphasize the impact, etc.

Drawings that are essential to understanding your movement are the keyframes. Anything added after “pads” these frames to make the movement look natural. The “smoother” the movement, the more frames you gotta add. The slower the movement, the more frames you gotta add. If you look at this cute little YYH intermission, the eyeball monsters have many frames, while our characters only have their keyframes! You understand how they move, even if it is choppy.

Drawing what goes on between keyframes is called in-betweening. It’s an art in itself! You have to time well the position of your stuff or it will look weird. While less sexy that keyframes because it is a task relgated to assitant chores, in-betweening is crucial to smooth looking animation. It comes up often when compared to AI-made interpolation - where instead of a human eye drawing, a computer creates in-betweens as a literal in-between of two images. And uh...You feel the human input. Here is a short article about this with examples.

So:

The smoother you want your animation the more drawings you need - to detail

The slower you want animation the more drawings you need - because it is more frames for a same distance

In-betweens have to be placed well.

With all this combined lets draw keyframes and compare, between point A and B, the position of the drawn character in my shot. On this jumping beastie, the tip of the tail and nose have distance like so

And on this guy turning his head, you can see how greatly reduced the distances between A and B are, comparatively.

If I want the same amount of in-betweens for both, the jumping animal will be much more forgiving to draw, because if I accidentally draw alittle to the right, there’s lots of space. If I do the same with the reduced distance of the looking guy, the wobble will be much more visible. The faster your movement, the more forgiving it is to animated.

This is where the beginning of my post applies. But flashing FX and running on walls is not a hard thing to animate. The truth is - the faster it moves, the easier it is to draw.

Additionally, FX is just one type of animation. You can have “good animation” in so many ways, less flashy and therefore less celebrated, for example:

Anatomy: how does the body move?

Weight: how well conveyed is the feeling of weight in animation?

Acting: how natural/expressive is a character’s body language?

Volumes: does a 2D drawing feel 3-dimensional?

Anatomy is the way Shere Khan’s shoulderblades move under his skin, and how his thigh muscles tense up as he lowers. (animator is Milt Kahl)

Volume is how efortlessly 3D the characters in the opening of the Cowboy Bebop movie look - this is not rotoscoped. (animator is Hiroyuki Okiura)

These are, unfortunately for online clout, neither fast, nor cool.

Imagine yourself having to make a show, you want it to look as cool as possible but have to work with a limited budget. Let’s go back to my anon’s message:

idk if you've seen it but i hated jujutsu kaisen's art style. the "sakuga" shots are all blurry action scenes that dont give the eye a chance to SEE the action, but only register that something fast and cool is happening. like an overrealiance on stretch frames (is that what it's called?). 

JJK is a shonen, with epic fights. Your frame budget is likely going to go to these - that’s what the audience wants to see! A battle shonen with underwhelming fightsis bound to be a huge dissapointement. With my limited show budget, i’ll focus on making these look cool first and foremost by allocating more frames and effort to them.

I am now going to randomly google for sakuga from the show and take the first thing that comes up, because I have not seen it.

Based on this gif alone, Anon is a bit rough, this is cool animation! Lots of frames indeed, in your face, clear action that hurts the eye if you look at it for too long. But let’s analyze their words and give technical terms and solutions to it.

blurry action scenes that don’t give the eye a chance to see the action: Fight choreography. A job in itself. This is partially done at the board stage and partially with the keyframes.

an overrealiance on stretch frames: Smears, too much of them. Smears are a type of drawing usually done on in-betweens to simulate how the eye “bends” fast moving things. Using them too much makes your movements “soft” and floppy, and confusing.

but only register that something fast and cool is happening: there is no technical term for this, but I hope this post did its job at explaining - it is fast and cool because how much things move. It catches the eye but is not detailed. From what I’ve seen and described with flashy FX making the bulk of sakuga compilations, it’s because ppl find it dope.

Here’s the thing with FX though - it’s not characters. FX do not have anatomy, expressions; and with most cases of shots that need them, they do not have volume. A lightning bolt does exist in 3D but it zaps so fast by that from a frame to the other, it’s shape will have fully changed, thus eliminating the technical constraint of drawing the same volume from a different angle. Weight can be neglected for most clouds and firn - pacing is left, and that’s where you find most “sakuga” FX efforts in. A lot I see contrasts speeds - a super fast movement right next to a slow one is an immediate “WOW” effect!

Add to that the way the things in these shots generally move around everywhere very fast, which makes them super forgiving to animate...Truth is, due to the care anime puts in budgeting it’s frames, it’s hard to find bad animation. It’s just that something that’s mediocre and flashes around in epic ways will both look epic and underwhelming. Compared to a slow boring shot, it’s harder to say something looks bad when there is lots to focus on.

Good animation is rare, a bulk of what you’ll see is just okay, and that’s fine, animated shows don’t have to be technical marvels to be good! If it’s understandable what’s going on, the goal is set. You don’t need groundbreaking mastery at all. It’s a bonus, a cherry on top if a movie or show can let itself go apeshit on the animation.

What looks good is separate from what is hard to do. Erroneous public perception of epic FX is an example of this I tried to explain to my best. But public perception is going to influence what shows do! I believe the reason anon dislikes JJK is they are sensitive to aspects the animation did not highlight because it had other priorities, likely making fans hyped as hell being a major one.

This is where I’ll conclude my explanations for the day. If you liked these posts, do share and comment, as it took me several hours to cobble this up. Cheers!

[onecanonlife]

Tommy’s getting tired of people thinking he’s not real. Tubbo, meanwhile, hopes that this hallucination of his best friend will stay a while longer.

They work it out.

(word count: 1,563)

............................

It only takes about another fifteen minutes for him to snap.

“What the fuck are you doing that for?” he demands, planting his feet and wheeling around and staring Tubbo dead in the face, because Tubbo’s been trailing along behind him like a fucking lost puppy or some shit since he got out, and he’s tired of it, tired of his best friend looking at him like that, with equal amounts of wonder and dread in his eyes, like he’s not fucking real at all.

Or should that be former best friend? He doesn’t fucking know. Apparently, it didn’t take all that long for Tubbo to replace him with Ranboo of all people. And get married. Apparently.

Tubbo blinks at him.

“I don’t think you’re real,” he says, and if Tommy’s anger hadn’t been boiling over before, it is now. He didn’t go to hell and back for people to tell him he’s not real. He didn’t stay in the same cell as Dream for a month for people to tell him he’s not real. He is so, so very real. The shock that shoots through his system, the bolt of all-consuming terror that overtakes his mind whenever anyone so much as bumps into him is proof enough of that. He is real, and who the fuck is anyone else to say that he’s not?

“Well guess what,” he says, “I fucking am, so deal with it or go away.”

He spent so long wishing to be by Tubbo’s side again. He didn’t think he’d get out to find this. Didn’t think he’d come out to be replaced. Didn’t think Tubbo would crouch along after him without saying anything at all, like he’s the one who died.

“You don’t need to be angry about it,” Tubbo replies, as if he’s the one being wronged here. “I’ve got it all figured out. See, I didn’t think you were dead at first, either. Sam told us and my brain went all weird and flat and in denial, because I knew it couldn’t be true, because you couldn’t be dead. But then it was a few days later and you still hadn’t come out, and it was true after all. So I can’t trust my brain, really, so this is probably my brain going into denial again. Wishful thinking.”

“You—” He cuts himself off, rage warring with confusion warring with he-doesn’t-fucking-know-what, because he’s been dead and locked in prison and he’s not even used to the sunlight yet, much less his own emotions. “I literally pinched you. I pinched you, and then you ran away and stood staring at me from that new—that new McDonald’s!”

“Tactile hallucinations aren’t impossible,” Tubbo informs him. “It’s probably because I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

That draws him up short, just a little bit. “You have?” he asks. “I thought you got married.”

“I did,” Tubbo agrees. “It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing, really, so nobody got invited, but I was thinking about maybe having a bigger ceremony once you got out so you could be my best man, or something. I don’t really know how that works. ‘Cause it’s a platonic marriage, right, so I don’t know if you’re supposed to do it differently. But I wanted you to be there, and then it turned out that you wouldn’t ever, ever be.”

Well. Alright, so he wasn’t disregarded entirely, then. But still—

“And then,” Tubbo continues, “and then we adopted Michael, and I wanted you to be his godfather. You were supposed to be his godfather. Michael was going to love you. I thought you were gonna come back out and you were gonna meet Michael and everything was going to be alright. But then you didn’t.”

“Who the fuck is Michael,” he says flatly, even though his head is reeling because adopted—?

“He’s our son!” Tubbo says. “Mine and Ranboo’s! And you were gonna be the godfather. And it was going to be great, and we were gonna be a family, but then you died, and now Michael’s not even going to get to meet you. And you’re just, you’re just dead and I’m following you around because I don’t have anything better to do.”

There is—there is so much to unpack there, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Ranboo is—is the spouse, then, and he supposes he should have guessed that. The Michael issue isn’t too much clearer, since he doesn’t have a frame of reference for this—for this child? That Tubbo has adopted? What the hell? But it’s the last sentence that sends the anger flooding back, because what the fuck does he mean, he doesn’t have anything better to do?

“If that’s how you feel, then why don’t you—” he starts, but Tubbo cuts him off.

“I’m sort of pathetic, I guess,” he says. “‘Cause I’m following around a hallucination. I guess it’s because I know it’s the best I’m ever going to get. And you know, I’d rather have a you that’s not real than not have you at all, because this way, I get to see you and hear you. Even if you’re not here. So I need to enjoy it while I can, because I don’t know how long hallucinations last for, so I don’t know when you’ll go away again. And I don’t want you to go away. I don’t want you to be dead.”

All through this speech, Tubbo’s face remains distant, a little open, a little blank. But his eyes are welling up with tears, and as Tommy watches, they start spilling over his cheeks, uncommented upon.

And Tommy feels the rage drain out of him.

It was hell, where he was, in that terrible darkness, that void, being torn apart and shoved back together again. It was hell, coming back, everything too bright and too loud and too much, his body flinching and his heart racing at any movement, and a single touch is still enough to send him back there, to that moment, his vision fading and pain bursting like fireworks and Dream’s mask leaning over him, grinning.

It’s been hell, seeing how everything’s changed.

But Tubbo missed him. Really, really missed him. And maybe he’s replaced him a bit, and Tommy no longer has any idea how to feel about that, because it seems like Tubbo wasn’t trying to? That Tubbo still wanted him to be there, still intended him to be there? So he’s still a little pissed, maybe, and he still really, really wants people to stop being so weird, to stop reminding him at every juncture that he died, died and came back, but—

But Tubbo is crying.

“Tubbo,” he says, “I’m not a hallucination.”

“You are, though,” Tubbo says. “My mind’s playing tricks. You’re not—you’re not really—” He hiccups, and Tommy comes to a decision.

He extends a hand. It should be fine. It’s just Tubbo, and he’s choosing to do this. It should be fine. It’s going to be fine.

“C’mon, then,” he says. “Hold my hand, I’ll prove it. Maybe you could make up a pinch in your brain, but I bet you couldn’t make up this.”

Tubbo stares at his hand for a very, very long time.

“Don’t make this weird,” he says. “Tubbo, please, for the love of god, don’t make this weird. I really will go away, and you can just stay here and cry.”

Tubbo blinks, hard. And then, slowly, reaches out and takes his hand.

Tommy flinches, every nerve in his body lighting up, screaming at him to get away, and he can’t stop himself from gasping, from letting out a little whimper. But in the next moment, he’s fine, his heart rate already calming, and it’s just Tubbo’s hand in his, his grip loose and warm.

Tubbo’s eyebrows furrow. A minute passes before he speaks.

“This is a long time for a tactile hallucination to last,” he says.

Tommy rolls his eyes as hard as he possibly can, in order to express all of his exasperation.

“I’m not a fucking hallucination, alright?” he says. “Has married life made you an idiot or something?”

Tubbo looks up at him, then. He looks back, and tries to convey with his eyeballs his sheer displeasure at literally all of this.

“I’m holding your hand,” Tubbo says slowly. “You’re not disappearing, and I’m holding your hand.”

He tries to convey with his eyeballs that Tubbo should consider arriving at the point sometime soon.

“Oh my god,” Tubbo says. “You’re real. Tommy, you’re real.”

“Damn fucking right I’m real,” he says. And something like relief washes over him. It’s nice to hear those words, from someone else. And Tubbo just stands there and holds his hand and keeps crying, harder, if that’s even possible, and Tommy thinks that this is a scene that he should possibly put a stop to.

But he doesn’t. He stands there and holds Tubbo’s hand and lets Tubbo cry. Because nothing is alright. Nothing at all is alright. Everything sucks and everything’s different and he needs to kill Dream and the world kept on turning without him. But Tubbo is glad to have him back. Tubbo missed him. Tubbo still wants him.

If his eyes are wet, it’s just the rain. He glances up, and blinks against the sun.

Just the rain.

[willadisatercrywrites]

Head injuries & passing out!!!

Some realistic aspects of whump you’re probably glossing over/conveying incorrectly Part 2

just some realistic medical accuracies that will bolster your whump writing, and the category is...

the dazed and confused:

a person can experience a lapse in consciousness or lucidity when they receive a traumatic head injury or their bodies are put under severe stress by something like an extreme condition or nasty illness. both symptoms can occur from many different injuries/ailments ranging from blunt force head trauma, drug use, inadequate sleep, malnourishment, physical exhaustion... the option are really endless and not much is out of the realm of possibility in regards to being medically accurate.

a rapid increase in blood pressure is the nervous system’s vasovagal syncope response, also commonly referred to as passing tf out. fainting itself isn’t inherently harmful or dangerous if whumpee gets themselves to the ground before its lights out. pretty much unless the whumpee is in a hostile environment where they don’t have access to food, water, or medical supplies to care for their wounds or sickness, they will be ok and should come to rather quickly!

if the whumpee is exhausted, whether it is because they have physically exhausted themselves by working too hard, not taking the time to properly recover after a fight, disregarding healthy sleeping and eating habits, ignoring a cold or viral bug because they think they can just tough it out etc. they can function in a haze for a pretty solid amount of time before their blood pressure will eventually plummet where the blood vessels relax to reduce resistance in the flow and all of the blood in their body races to their head at once to try and quell whatever is wrong. this will probably come at a breaking point or at the mention of exerting themselves intensely once more. they might be faced with a flight of stairs, or the alarms are going off for another mission, or their superior won’t end the meeting and they didn’t succeed in grabbing a seat before they were all taken. before this they would’ve been sluggish in their movements and sick or tired-looking. they would probably have to ask someone to repeat themselves because their brain is lagging and they can’t grasp whatever’s been said on the first go. they also would experience moments of lightheadedness that would stop them in their tracks and have them searching for purchase on a nearby wall or table as they ride out the blood rush in their ears that is similar to what you might get from standing up too quickly, except this would happen randomly. they might not have a large appetite that day and be uncharacteristically thirsty. there will be moments the whumpee or caregiver finds them swaying unsteadily where they’d be urged to sit down before they collapse. the whumpee would be grumpy about this but they’d listen because at this point they are aware they could very well pass out. too many moments like these and they actually do.

the textbook first aid response is to raise their feet above their heart by either lifting them or elevating them on a higher surface, this gets blood flowing on a path of least resistance to the brian and will help them recover quicker. they should stay on the ground or move into the recovery position on their side until they feel better, then they should move into a sitting position and acclimate to that before trying to stand. they will probably be weak and shakey after this and should go rest and eat something before turning in for the night.

if the whumpee has a head injury, passing out is very dangerous and a type of triage would be to keep them awake until they are evaluated properly. concussions occur when the brain quite literally rattles around in the head a tad too aggressively. this can be caused by violent shaking or what might even be considered a minor blow. think two football players clonking helmets and how when their bodies are thrown back by the force, their brains would be jolted forward in their skulls. this can result in pretty sever concussions that impede cognitive functions without drawing a drop of blood, occurring even within the confines of reinforced protective gear. confusion and disorientation as well as an unpleasant or throbbing pressure would be the first symptoms to present themselves with this type of blunt head injury. memory loss and an overall altered perception of reality could be documented for the first stage of recovery, short term events would be lost on the whumpee and they might find themselves suddenly having no clue what day it is or where they are. they would be sensitive to light and noise and any sort of intense movement depending on the severity of the concussion. and any increase in such would make them dizzy, nauseated, or even lightheaded.

the window of danger for falling asleep or fainting after getting concussed usually passes after the 24 hour mark post injury. the caregiver would likely have to wait up all night shaking awake a lethargic and possibly incoherent whumpee, maybe even taking shifts with others until they don’t think the whumpee would be at risk of not waking up. this type of injury might take months to fully heal from and is very inconvenient and uncomfortable for the whumpee leaving space for a lot of additional hurt and beautiful moments of fussing over/comforting.

head injuries that result in wounds will bleed a horrifying amount for even the tiniest of cuts, the same goes for facial wounds. this is because they are like a million blood vessels up there to get more blood to the brain. so if you have a heavily bleeding head wound... the blood flowing there will be leaving a lot quicker than the body can replenish it and can delve into a dangerous amount of blood loss pretty quickly. any blow to the head will jar you temporarily and leave you virtually incapacitated even if you don’t fall down or lose consciousness. think being paralyzed in sudden and excruciating pain after hitting your funny bone, it passes quickly, but for a solid minute you’re definitely seeing red. a whumpee that gets their head split open can keep fighting on adrenaline as long as they aren’t rendered unconscious right off the bat, but the longer they rely on energy reserves, the more blood they are going to have lost and the harder they’ll crash once they’re safe or the fight is over. the whumpee along with whoever is around them after they receive this hit might think they are relatively okay since they didn’t collapse on impact, but crashing will look like stumbling back to the mode of transport, not being able to stand up after they finish the bad guy off, staring off at nothing while a wave of malaise washes over them once they look at the blood that comes away from the wet spot on the side of their head, etc.

shock is also a silent killer and plays large part in the dazed and confused bit of a flesh wound like this. any type of wound that bleeds for more than a minute will be accompanied by an assortment of shock symptoms like trembling, becoming cold, sudden weakness, incoherence, all to varying severities that coincide with the amount of blood loss sustained, so once again the longer the whumpee pushes or avoids treatment the worse it will be. immediate triage would be to have the whumpee sit and keep them warm with body heat or a blanket as well as keep steady pressure on the wound, additionally it would be ideal to get a bit of sugar in them and have them sip water to calm them down and keep their mind level. remaining clam and warm is really the most important aspects of staving off the worse symptoms of shock like slowed heart rate and shallowed breathing, which isn’t passing out exactly, more like their body slowly shutting down. a whumpee with this type of injury also wouldn’t really pass out in the dramatic way you think of if they didn’t on initial impact, it’d look more like their legs giving out in the middle of their stride, their weight slowly increasing in a friend’s arms during a congratulatory hug, or rushing for the nearest seat after getting a head rush and suddenly very woozy.

[angeli-marco-writes]

Harry Holland - Polaroids

A/N & WC - I do not know Harry or the other people mentioned in this fic, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, mention of food, smut: depictions of oral (m+f rec), penetrative sex, use of toys, bondage & bdsm, photos being taken in the act, mild exhibitionism and definite voyeurism (not Harry or reader) 18+.

Summary - You and Harry have an exciting intimate life to say the least, and he rather enjoys taking photos of the two of you in compromising positions. However, in his sex-addled mind, one vital fact is let slip when he allows Sam into his room unsupervised.

“BUD, WHERE ARE THOSE PHOTOS you took of my food the other day?” Sam asks.

The sizzling of pancakes overlaps the conversation, and you mussing up Harry’s hair distracts him, his attention drawn to more important matters than his brother. Harry barely swallows his giant mouthful of food before speaking.

“By my bed there’s a huge pile, they’ll be somewhere,” he answers flippantly.

Flippantly.

Usually so cautious and so organised Harry lets one thing slip his mind for five seconds, and his life is going to fall through the cracks. His reputation will be utterly destroyed. Just with his brother, but it still stands. Sam is… more innocent than Harry has ever been. And Sam will also tell the others, and likely their friends…

“Remembered something, baby?” you muse sardonically from beside him, your hand halting its movements as you cup his jaw, turning him to face you.

The second his green eyes meet yours, you watch the world crumble in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scramble up from his seat so quickly. His bare feet slap on the tiled floor violently, thudding sounds echoing through the house as he blunders around, swinging around the banister with the force and elegance of an elephant.

“Sam! FUCK— Wait!”

“Don’t look in that pile of photos,” you add in a feeble shout.

It’s not like what Sam’ll find there is any secret. You’ve been together a long time, you and Harry, and everyone knows full well that you’re shagging, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them to know exactly what happens in the bedroom, in your most intimate, secret moments together. That’s sacred, even if it seems like sacrilege to so many.

No matter how quickly you hear Harry legging it upstairs, his lean legs carrying him up the stairs perhaps three at a time, his curly hair even more unruly than before from the exertion, you know he won’t be fast enough, and that Sam is an insolent bastard when he wants to be. You’ve lived with them all long enough and have had more than your fair share of near misses: no chance will you not be found out, this time you’ll be caught. Better than the alternative and the other times, you suppose, as you cram one more syrup-drizzled and strawberry-covered pancake into your gob, reluctantly trudging your way upstairs to the hive of fun.

It’s chaos by the time you get there. Dozens of artfully-taken photos spilled out onto your duvet, Harry’s freckled face paler than you’ve ever seen it, his hands tugging at his pyjama shirt convulsively while Sam stands on the other side of the room, his dark eyes wide, his expression agog, his jaw unhinged, staring blankly and pointing at whatever the most incriminating thing is he sees next. You just hope he doesn’t go ferreting through your drawers, because then you’ll really be in trouble.

“What… the fuck.”

You come up to Harry’s side, and wrap an arm around his slim waist, lending a weak, “Surprise?”

It’s their fault if they haven’t guessed, frankly.

You can’t draw your eyes away from the pictures, so many of them, all displaying different aspects of your sex life at varying degrees of explicitness. You can even recount the minutes and hours of pleasure that led to the photos, each occasion etched into your mind. Sure, you and Harry go at it a lot, but you don’t always go the extra mile, hence why these commemorative photos of your special nights are so treasured. And private. Or, were.

The first one… oh boy, that takes you back to the most far-out, extreme experiment you tried—the most recent, as well: just this past weekend. You’re still covered in rope burn from it, though that could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t writhed or wriggled about so much while in those bonds. The amount of attempts it took, the sheer number of YouTube tutorials you had to watch, but it was definitely worth it. The intricate patterns the ropes formed all across your body, creating braids down your back, suspending you prone with little movement in your arms or legs. It was heaven to have Harry tugging on the ropes, contorting you into new and wonderful positions for his own delightful access to all of you. Perhaps it’s not something you’ll gravitate towards again, but it was fun while it lasted, and it’s another thing to tick off your list of fun, kinky bedroom experiments to try. To be fair, even though the swathes of soft, rose-coloured rope, intricately woven around you were a lot, you certainly wouldn’t be averse to trying something else with rope. Less shibari, perhaps just normal levels of bondage. You can feel the skin on your arms prickling with heat: Harry feels it too, winding his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he struggles to suppress a smirk.

The next set is interesting, and rather common. Harry’s freckled, ring-less hand is unmistakable in the dappled light as it grapples with the handle of a leather whip, or a paddle, even his belt, bringing them down harshly onto your ass cheeks, already reddened with hand prints, purple from bruises. In one of them, your skin is even glistening with his release, and another, your hands are suspended behind your back. Harry’s always been one for spanking, and the rest of them know it. Even before you were sleeping together he’d playfully smacked your bum, and he certainly hasn’t stopped even with the sexual connotations it now conveys between the two of you. As though he can read your mind, he snakes a hand down and pats you on the bum; his wink telling you it’s just for good measure. Cheeky shit.

One in the dead centre brings shivers throughout your body. Not because it wasn’t fun or pleasurable, but because of the way it made you feel afterwards. Yes, you’d talked through it in thorough details—as with everything the two of you do—how it made you feel going in, throughout, and you’d got a safe word sorted, but perhaps you hadn’t discussed all the long term risks of it. The pretty pink collar, the satin blindfold… The whole subservient thing is a big turn on for Harry, and you played into it, you always do and you naturally fall into a position of less power in your relationship because of the way you are, but being degraded in such a way isn’t for you. You can’t help but feel a sting of shame ricochet through your heart. Harry must feel it this considering how reactive he is: he leaps towards the bed and snatches it up, shredding it before your eyes, chucking it into the bin, and curling another protective arm around you.

“Look,” you whisper to Harry, turning his attention elsewhere as you point to the bottom few: your favourite photos of all.

Despite the disarray, they’re all together, and they remind you of an incredible night. Your anniversary, and what a special day it was. Butterflies swarm you at the sight of them again, but it feels strange for someone else to be looking at them. Not that you or Harry are exactly in a fit state to be proactive about preventative measures now Sam’s seen them all. His eyes bulge from his face, his mouth going dry as he swallows viciously, suddenly having to shift his already apparently tight shorts. Again.

“You’re so sexy in those, baby,” purrs Harry.

He’s damn right, you do look incredibly sexy. And though the first one in the chronological series is you mostly covered, you can remember how hard his dick was at the sight alone, salivating, clenching his fists to stop from ripping the lingerie from you piece by piece. You wanted to put on a show for him that day: who was he to deny you?

On top of your bra, panties and stockings was a nightgown, and above that, a dressing gown. Each image shows you in a further state of undress. It was a deep burgundy lace set of negligée with soft satin straps that pushed your boobs together, lifting them up, the lace hooked together with a single eyelet on your spine, whereas the panties, though half covering your cheeks with dustings of lace, hid nothing while they sat high on your hips, revealing your entire upper thigh where a matching satin garter sat with tiny lace bows. The entire thing cost a fortune. You forked out a damn arm and a leg for what you got, even with a discount included with a certain toy you bought.

First went the dressing gown, letting it fall from your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your feet as you showed off the skimpiness of the silk slip in a series of flourishing twirls, much to Harry’s delight. Next went the slip, and you honestly wish you’d taken a picture of his face utterly agog—as you stood there in stockings held up by garters, barely there panties and a push up bra. There’s one shot of his rough fingertips playing with the trim of the stockings delightedly, like a kid in a candy shop. Next went the feeble scrap of fabric that you dared to call a bra, barely covering your nipples, allowing your breasts free, spilling into Harry’s awaiting hand. You remember the next part vividly, because he was just about to peel the panties off when you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, babe.” you cooed.

His twinkling eyes grew as wide as saucers, and you dared to card your fingers through his curls as you settled yourself over his lap, letting him keep his camera in one hand while leading the other down, down, a little further…

He’s never since made a sound quite like it, so visceral and animalistic, so ready to devour you, to come on sight. He’s never been as hard as he was in that instance.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moaned, a deep groan released from him the second his fingers slipped through your folds to find dripping arousal all ready for him. “Just—wait a minute…”

You followed his every instruction for the next few moments, finding yourself standing up in a good lighting position, Harry strategically beneath you as he snapped a particularly incriminating (yet oh so sexy shot) of your bare pussy in crotchless panties. Harry’s never recovered. He’s already openly admitted that he uses those particular photos more than any others to get himself off whenever you’re away from him. However, the creases and folded corners of one particular photo can’t be blamed on him, since that’s the one you use when you're away, two of his fingers plunged knuckle-deep inside you in those exact panties, from that exact angle, desperately trying to replicate the irreplaceably pleasurable feeling of him within you. He took a good few more than had to be thrown away. Spillages are awfully unfortunate… He fucked you that night with the panties, stockings and garters still on. Twice. Then without the panties, then without the stockings, then nude at last at some ungodly hour of the morning when he took you at last as the sun rose. You didn’t sleep a wink.

There are more of you with lingerie on, nightgowns and matching sets, scraps of silk and strange one pieces that took you hours to get on, but they’re bound to make a sort of book, stowed away neatly (mercifully) beneath his bed.

Sam still hasn’t moved from his state of paralysed shock, and though you should probably clear the photos up from where they’re dumped, you feel a filthy swelling pride within your chest, a glean of risk as you watch Sam rove his eyes over some more, these all involving toys. If only he knew where you hid them. One his eyes focus on is you with a thick purple rubber dildo deep inside you, a rabbit vibrator stuck to your clit. Your body is but a blur, writhing around for Harry, your hands cuffed before you and not released no matter how much you moved. Harry wouldn’t let you stop coming for what felt like hours: it was the first time you squirted for him as a cry tore from your heaving chest, drenching the bed with your fifth orgasm of the night. Harry vowed he’d be the only one to make you squirt after that, no toys involved, and he’s stayed true to his word.

There’s a few more, and Sam seems to be furrowing his thick brows at the sight of the Polaroids. Glass wands, spreader bars, clit suctions (that admittedly look like they’d be used in a spa for a facial). Poor boy is being corrupted...

Good God, you need to get those toys out again.

With his twin's attention diverted, you snake your hand down the front of Baz’s shorts, wrapping your fingers around his already hard member through his boxers: he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

You point out one of your favourite pictures, a debauched mess that shouldn’t be viewed by anyone else, frankly. Harry was reluctant about hurting you or pushing you too far, but you begged to be gagged. You meant just by a tie, maybe his bandana—which features in many images in many different manners: as a bind for your hands, tying you to the bed, keeping your ankles together, even wrapped lightly around your neck, but never as a gag—but he went all out. When you got home, he was waiting in his room with a leather-bound ball gag.

“You begged, baby,” he said, and you couldn’t refute. You had begged, but this was above and beyond. You complied with his every wish that night, and though you’d do it again in a heartbeat, Harry wasn’t a fan of not being able to shove his fingers or cock down your throat at any given moment. He liked hearing your whines and moans and hushed curses, prayers of his name. He also liked hearing your bratty, belligerent rebuttals when he took on a dominant role. You enjoyed it more than a little, but only now can you see how much of a mess you were, messy hair and tears spouting from your eyes, drool down your chin...

Given the chance of the slightest spark of stimulation, you’ll be coming on the spot.

There’s a scattered pile of the two of you in just about every position under the sun, every shape in the karma sutra, fucking both inside and out, al fresco sex beneath the big oak in the garden, anyhow, anywhere and everywhere you could fuck safely and privately, you would, and you didn’t even realise Harry had snapped some of these shots after consenting to him taking them at any time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you peaked, Baz’s palm kneading your chest, your skirt hiked up around your stomach while your jaw was agape, your pussy exposed and glistening slick in the mirror, penetrated by Harry’s cock. That was a good day, mirror sex, and definitely something you’ll try again. This time with your own mirror... There are a few snapshots of oral, perfect Polaroids of Harry’s nose nuzzled into your pussy, his tongue deep in your core, his lips on your labia, all of them for your sake whenever he goes away.

“Gonna recreate that one tonight,” Harry husks, pointing towards one image in particular of you sucking him off.

His huge member down your throat, you’d trained yourself to breathe solely through your nose, but the neatly trimmed patch of hair there tickled your nostrils. Harry’s talent for photography reveals your doe eyes were red rimmed, saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth matching the mascara tracks down your cheeks. You’ve never looked so fucked out, and Harry couldn’t believe you remained in that innocent façade, rosy cheeks and a coy expression even with his dick rammed down your throat, making you gag.

However, the one you’d like to recreate is one he picks up on, surreptitiously moving a hand to your chest, his fingers hovering over your peaked nipple.

“Reckon we can go again the second Sam fucks off?”

“Yes,” he eagerly exhales.

You don’t blame him, especially not when both twins are staring at the same image of your tits, pushed together with Harry’s dick between them, fucking your chest despite the fact his come already painted your chest in hot white strips, a beautiful painting you’d always wish to frame. He certainly has an obsession with your boobs so there are a couple like that, his hands all over them, the tip of his member tapping them, but the debauched one is by far your favourite. Similarly, there’s one of you tied to the bed, completely spread eagle, his dick resting on your stomach while your belly is coated in his come once again.

It seems, however, that’s what snagged Sam’s attention and has his face a ghastly shade of grey because it's so pale, is the one photo Harry never wanted anyone to see. You leap and snatch it up in one fell swoop, and Harry draws you into a bear hug within his arms, kissing your temple affectionately in thanks as you stow it away for safekeeping. Though Harry naturally carries the more dominant title in your relationship, you always like to shake things up, hence why this photo (and a series of others he already has hidden) depict Harry as your submissive. You walked around as the picture perfect dominatrix in stilettos, carrying a whip while Harry lay there with his hands bound, a blindfold on in some photos (you took them so they’re not as great, but he still looks damn sexy) with a vibrating cock ring wrapped snugly around his girth. He’s never come so hard or so much after you finally removed it and cuffed his hands to the bedpost and began to ride him. You can still feel the warmth of him climaxing within you if you close your eyes and clench your thighs.

“I promise I’ll touch you later,” boy do you hope he sticks to that promise he whispers while nibbling on your earlobe, “but Sam’s coming out of his daze in 3... 2... 1...”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he remarks breathily, hazel eyes wide as he pivots, met with two incredulous stares. Tom’s cry wakes Sam up right on cue.

“Harry! What the fuck?!” Sam demands, his voice a bellow, horror and disgust and... something unattainable just emanates from him. “Why do you have three porn mags worth of your girlfriend down here? That’s fucked, mate.”

“No it’s not. We just like to have photographic reminders of all our... sexcapades.”

Sam is, unsurprisingly, retching, now finally turning his head away from the pile without even bothering to pick up.

“This was cool until you called them sexcapades,” Tom chimes, smacking Harry upside the head as he swaggers over to the bed, fishing a few photos up before tossing them back down.

Sam's horrified attitude doesn’t seem to be spreading thankfully, but you and Harry are understandably rooted to the spot, stuck to the carpet, just biding your time until this is over. Then again, you can’t really tell, since no one is saying anything. You nor Harry want to be the ones to break the silence, though, and you can tell with the furtive and expressive stares you’re sharing that his anxiety is increasing the more people are seeing this.

Momentarily, you think someone may remark about your silent communication, your fixed glances and speechless conversation, but instead, Harrison comes up to you both, a sly smirk etched onto his pretty model face as he clasps a hand around one shoulder of yours and one of Harry’s.

“Harry Holland, you kinky fucker,” he praises.

You definitely feel a swell of pride at that. And the fact that Tom is trying desperately hard not to look at you while also trying to hide how flustered he is, somehow still abhorred by the sight. Harrison’s intrigue is palpable, gnawing on his lower lip as his lithe fingers trace you on the polaroid's, whereas Sam? He can’t decide whether to cry or scream. Harry huddles in closer and cuddles you, ensuring you feel every part of him, just how much he wants this lot to leave to finally have you at his mercy once more.

“So you two are shagging,” Tom observes.

You and Harry nod between kisses.

“Dangerously.”

You nod again, though this time a little reluctantly.

You expect Harry to nestle down with you again, but instead he detaches himself, unravelling his arms, and shoulders past Tom and Haz. He gives Sam a death glare as he piles up all the Polaroids and shoves them deep in a drawer for him to organise later, away from prying eyes and judgemental comments.

“Really, though?” Sam bursts out, flailing his arms before grasping Harry’s collar. “I thought you’d just handcuff her and give her a smack at most, very vanilla.”

As much as he tries to fight it, Harry’s face flushes bright red, leaving no visible distinction between his forehead and hairline. “I think those photos, erm, tell a different story.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, tugging himself out of his brother's grasp, only to fall into another, saved by Harrison’s scowl at Tom.

“Can you lot bloody get out? Please? I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend after that sodding invasion.”

“If you’re having alone time, we’re leaving the house for a while,” Tom jokes, “how long?”

You smirk, striding over to meet Harry, eyes fixed on him as you press onto your tiptoes, wrapping your fingers around his shoulder before kissing his earlobe. He wilts into your touch.

“Two hours should be enough time. Scram.”

They do, gladly, and you slam the door shut as their scurrying footsteps down the stairs recede. Harry’s grip increases around your waist, a growl escaping him as he pushes you onto the bed. You gasp when your back hits the mattress, his lips instantly attacking your jaw.

“Which of those polaroid's do you wanna recreate first, baby?”

—

It’s hours later, and you're all around for your weekly dinner at the Holland house. You and Harry, having some ‘business’ to attend to before leaving the house, are the last to arrive, and Paddy, poor unfortunate Paddy, has the delightful job of letting you into the house.

“Sam asked me to give you this,” he says barely before you’ve entered the porch.

Harry’s face pales as he unravels the small piece of paper bundled into his hand by his younger brother, but you could swear all blood drains from him the second the words sink in.

‘You took them, you lost them, you collect them. What would mum and dad say, Harold?’

“Harry, what’s happening?”

“That utter wanker stole the polaroids as revenge for scarring him. He’s hidden them around the house. We have to find them before mum and dad go looking. You in for the ride?”

“Only if Haz can join us tonight,” you tease, and after calling a hello to Harry’s parents, you follow him around the house, detaching all the pinned photos.

Harry's learnt a solid lesson today: hide his damn Polaroids better from now on, away from the prying eyes of his bloody brothers. But, he thinks with a smirk, by no means will the two of you stop taking them.

[taeilskitty]

Hii

I noticed your request is open

I'd like to request celibate doyoung smut with arranged marriage au!

Would appreciate it if you could add a lot of nipple play!

Thanks!

Thank you so much for the request!! I really enjoyed writing this so I hope it was good enough. Enjoy love <33

You hadn’t known Doyoung for long.

He was nice enough, he was respectful and pretty funny, good company too. It wasn’t such an issue that you were going to have to be together for, well, ever.

Forever is a long time. In all honesty you’d always dreaded your wedding day because you knew there was no chance of marrying someone you actually loved; that’s a fantasy you knew you’d just have to live out in your next life. But the first time you were introduced to your future husband, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you could make the most of it.

You weren’t best friends by any means, let alone lovers, but at least you were on the same boat. Both living with parents who had a plan since before you were even born, a prophecy they’d already written out for you. Whatever.

Maybe the knowledge of your fate was the reason for it, but you were never overly concerned with love. Of course you wanted it, but you’d learned to be your own person too. And that was great. Doyoung had once admitted that he was relieved about that; “I was worried you’d be disappointed,” he’d told you, “because I can’t do… any of that.”

It sort of warmed your heart. He was fairly open with you, and for that reason was sure not to cross any of your boundaries. You liked that about him. You could certainly get used to seeing his face everyday. And honestly it helped that he was… really fucking hot.

Your wedding was actually really nice, what with all things considered. You made the most of the celebrations and he seemed really calm as opposed to you who was frankly scared shitless. His family liked you, your family liked him, and most importantly you liked each other - or at the very least you tolerated each other.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband,” you laughed once it was all over. “Thank you for making the day a little less scary.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Y/N. Honestly.”

You smiled at Doyoung and looked back out across the moonlit sky. It was proving to be an emotional night, a surreal one at that.

“Before we met I was scared you’d be some creep, like, a total weirdo.”

“You seriously think your parents would let someone treat their kid like shit?” Now he was the one laughing; you both knew your parents were a lot of things, but they’d never want to see you get hurt.

“Okay, fair,” you agreed, and turned back to face him. “I’m surprised they didn’t dump me with someone crazy ugly though.”

Doyoung smirked. “Oh?” His eyes darted away momentarily. “So you do like me. Huh.”

Something told you he was only half kidding, but the giddiness in your gut made you wonder if this was the feeling all the blockbuster romance movies tried to convey. You weren’t in love. But you sure were glad it was him next to you right then.

“Don’t get so cocky.” He gasped sarcastically in response to your playful rejection. “I’ll put up with you.”

“I give it a week before you’re head over heels in love with me.”

Standing up, he looked back sort of expectantly.

“You wish. I think you just want me to be in love with you.”

“You’re married to me,” Doyoung scoffed. “C’mon. Let’s head inside.”

You stood up and looked at him for a moment. He still had that glint in his eye that suggests something isn’t quite right, like he’s waiting for something.

His beauty is… almost unfair. There’s no way your parents’ taste in men was this good, especially when picking some guy out for you. It made no sense - how was he so attractive? You knew it wasn’t just the light because, let’s face it, anyone can see how hot he is.

You sighed, and you shook your head when he asked if something’s wrong.

Doyoung placed a hand on your shoulder. He seemed far more nervous than he did before, particularly when you stepped in just a little closer. He could practically feel your breath mixing with his; your lips almost brushing against each other.

“What?” You ask when he breaks eye contact. “Never kissed anyone before?”

“Actually, no…” He let out a nervous chuckle. “I wanted to wait till I was married. It just feels weird that now I am…”

You weren’t sure why this shocked you, but it kind of made sense. Of course he’d waited, he was so angelic. Not even necessarily innocent by any means, and honestly it wouldn’t have bothered you if he’d slept with 1 or 100 people before. But somehow this made him… cuter?

You vowed not to laugh. You wanted to, not because it was funny or anything, but because it was just kind of endearing. You smiled at him.

“That’s okay, I’m no expert at it.”

Doyoung was silent for a second, but he looked back down at you with confidence in his eyes.

“My parents made a good choice with you.”

The space between your lips finally closed.

-

Despite having no experience, Doyoung knew how to draw whines out of you and kiss you in a way that sent butterflies to your stomach. He tugged on your bottom lip and held you with just enough force to make you feel the perfect amount of helplessness. It came naturally. The kissing, the touching, the clothes coming off. He even took the time to admire your body. How the fuck did he get so perfect?

“You’re really gorgeous, Y/N…” he muttered against the skin of your neck, your hands wandering into his hair. “I’m so glad we found each other.”

“Mmh-” A gentle moan escaped you when he grazed his teeth over your sweet spot. “You’re - you’re so hot.”

Doyoung chuckled a little bit and lay back on your now-shared bed. You’d clambered on top of him nervously, adrenaline coursing through your body, excitement chasing after it. He couldn’t hide how hard he was, not in those boxers - and there was no way you could ignore how big his cock felt strained against you.

“I - are you okay with this?” He asked, pulling away for a moment. The look in his eyes was sincere.

You nod. “God yes.”

That’s when he pulls you back into the depths of his kisses and hisses when your hand tugs at his boxers. He’d waited so long for this moment, and it was happening with someone he couldn’t believe he was so lucky to marry. The pair of you were nervous of course, but the mutual understanding you had was enough. The fact that Doyoung had already asked if you were comfortable made you want him even more for some reason.

“Ride me,” he breathed. “Please.”

Doyoung’s cock felt so fucking good. It stretched you perfectly, which hurt a little more than you’d like to admit but the feeling of him inside you just felt… wow. He threw his head back as you moved on him slowly.

“God, fuck, keep doing that baby,” he moaned.

Baby. The pet name sounded incredible coming from him.

“Yes sir,” You mocked, but the way he cursed under his breath when you said that told you he was into it. “Oh you want me to call you that, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” He was blushing just a little, and brought your lips to his again. “Don’t try and tease me, I can’t take it. Not this time. Seriously.”

Something in Doyoung’s voice sounded desperate. You wanted to taunt him so badly, but despite the fact that he’d never done this before, it made you wince with pleasure to think of all the things he could do to you when you get more comfortable with sex. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed up and down your collarbones, bucking his hips up into you. He mentioned how tight you were, how good you felt around his cock and how bad he wanted to cum in you. The rasp in his voice sent you reeling, and you tried to reply but when he took your nipple into his mouth you almost started crying with pleasure.

“F-fuck!!”

It was one of the most incredible sensations, his tongue lolling around the bud paired with his cock deep inside you. The way his teeth nipped against the sensitive skin was enough to make you both cum. You felt… amazing. Clenching around his cock, you dug your nails into his back and whined far louder than you intended; a hand began to play with your other hardened bud and sent your mind into oblivion.

“So good…” He moaned, kissing along the width of your chest to switch sides. The sudden cold air against your spit-sodden nipple made you shudder but the coolness was a part of what made it feel so much better. Doyoung’s tongue flicked and played with you to an unconscious rhythm played by the fingers opposite, not at all in tune with his hips now snapping against you but fuck it felt good. He sort of whimpered, not in a submissive way but in a way that sounded overwhelmed with pleasure. He was clearly enjoying what he was doing, his cock buried in your hole and his mouth on your chest; it was like he’d dreamt of this moment. He’d never admit that he had, not yet anyway, but the anticipation leading up to him finally getting to fuck was a lot for him. As for you… you were no stranger to fantasising. You’d wanted sex for a long time. It felt so much better than you could have hoped; it sure helped that Doyoung actually took the time to focus on how you felt too, but really you were perfectly happy grinding on his huge cock alone.

It slowly built up. The friction was unbearably good. The sensation of his mouth against your chest, his hand gripping your waist for dear life, his cock sliding in and out of you -

“Fuck, fuck--”

You came, hard, clenching and panting and grabbing fistfuls of his hair as you did so. “That’s it,” Doyoung breathed, “cum for me baby.”

You rode your orgasm out on him and tried so hard not to let your entire body jerk with each thrust he made after you came, until finally he followed suit. He moaned into your skin and god, he sounded perfect. The noises that came from the man’s mouth were nothing short of beautiful. This was heaven, or at the very least Earth’s closest replica to it.

“Ah,” he panted, still inside you, allowing the both of you to come down from your high. “Thank you, love…”

“No, thank you,” you laughed. “That - I didn’t think it would feel so good.”

The smug look on his face was pretty hard for him to hide. “Hah. Well. Me neither, to be honest.”

The two of you looked into each other’s eyes once more and you just felt so comfortable. A kiss came so naturally once again, and you realised that maybe, just maybe, spending the foreseeable future together wouldn’t be so bad.

You hadn’t known Doyoung for long.

But it would be a lie if you said you couldn’t see yourself falling for him.

[suau-raised-by-corrupted-gems]

Meet our Corrupt Gem pack!

Up first; Fluffy Quartz!

Of course she's our stand-in for Garnet, as she's the "leader" of our little pack! If you've read anything about her; she's pretty got some pretty strong maternal instincts. She's very protective of just about anything smaller than her, but her main protection is her squishy son, Lil Quartz Steven! He makes her corruption a lot more tolerable...

Now since she's a (Y/N) [reader character], everything about her physically is based on the Reader's visuals. So, the fur color, skin color, eye color, horn color and shape, and even TONGUE color is upto the reader. As for the gemstone, it's a quartz by default, but like I said; Reader's choice. Same for the location. [Nowhere inappropriate]

She herself is a weapon. Her brute strength, energy beams, horns. And her temper when her cub is hurt.

May the diamonds have mercy on your soul.

Next up; Tri-Tongue! Our ameythst stand in!

Or Tri-T for short.

Anyway, I couldn't think of a better Amethyst stand in than this thing; it's three-pronged tongue is perfect for dragging in food, and it's chaotic energy it displayed [I.E. "The Kindergarten Kid" where it seemed to just be dancing and vibing to nothing, and how it was quick to trample peri after a brief kick to the face and running around like the road runner] so it only seemed proper to make her a stand-in to our spunky purple sister gem.

She still has this chaotic spunk, and is more then willing to give lil Quartz a piggy back ride or two, and may or may not be responsible for raiding the big Donut dumpsters on a regular basis. Since lil Quartz loves to tag along with her on uncharted adventures, she's gotten under Centi and Fluffy's skin a fair amount of times, but they remain patient with her since she's long since forgotten that she was corrupted.

...yeah, I didn't know what to change about her. I plan to have her covered in flowers, have her legs strung up in various accessories n' junk, all of that stuff.

Her "weapons" are her tongue(s) and her talons. Her speed may also be an effective ability; since she could either break your legs, or evade you.

Finally, our pearl stand in: Centipeetle!

Aside from the beaks, she seemed like a pretty good fit.

She's anxious like pearl was, and is always on the look out for the Crystal Gems Gem Poofers, and as a result she doesn't sleep often. She enjoys her time sunning, naps and teaching lil Quartz how to defend himself.

And she might have some feelings for Quartz Reader. And since reader is still present; there's no hard feelings towards lil Quartz. If anything, he's just not too good at listening.

Now, the only drastic change about her is her face. Trust me, I tried to keep to the eye-in-beak design, but I couldn't do it. It kept coming out more uncanny than it already is, because the beak would be uneven and crooked. It's also easier to convey emotions with this style, because i can't exactly draw proper emotions when the face is inside out(?)

Of course her "weapons" are her acid spit and pincers. And the fact she has the ability to scale walls and change her size might throw a person off. And with her speed and multiple legs, she has the ability to run you over like a freight train.

Team ethic! (Kinda...?)

Centi's responsible for the night watch and training.

TM's responsible(?) for keeping him entertained, curious and cheery.

Fluffy Quartz is responsible for the mothering; feeding, cleaning, making sure he's safe and happy, all of that.

The whole team works together to care and protect the small squishy gemling, only wanting him to live the best life he would with corrupt gems. Being corrupted, they really only expected him to live. No leadership. No fighting big monsters. (by himself) Just... remain alive and happy. With their assistance, of course.

I mean, if they have no sense of direction/purpose with themselves, why should that pressure be on him, right?

[wolf-and-bard]

So, I wrote a Lambert x Aiden thing because of a conversation I had with @littoraly-art, so here we go. It’s hurt/comfort, but very much on the angsty side.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: explicit language, (brief) mentions of self-harming behaviour

You can also read it on AO3 if you want to

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hunt didn’t go according to plan. Lambert underestimated the amount of ghouls that would crawl out of that shithole and fought them well into the night, dodging and striking, dodging and striking for hours on end. They chased him through the forest and branches whipped at him. More than once, did he narrowly escape their bites and when they were dealt with and he stumbled back to light a bomb in the nest, he wasn’t fast enough on the retreat. His ears still ring and white spots dance at the margins of his vision. Lambert only notices that he’s overdosed on Thunderbolt when he’s already back at the inn he booked for the night, two ales down, and his muscles are still taut, ready to strike, while his sense of self-preservation has plummeted. Fuck. His fingers shake as he gestures for another drink. Sweat gathers at his collar, at the small of his back. He wants to sleep and rest, but he won’t be able to, not with the residue adrenaline.

“Lambert?” someone says and Lambert hunches his shoulders. Maybe if he hides his face, he won’t be recognized. But Aiden’s already emerged from the crowd and, anyway, he would have smelled Lambert the moment he set foot into the building.

“It is you!” Aiden saunters over, all neat bun and scandalously tight gear, his brown hair looking almost black in the downcast light of the inn. His smile is brilliant as he takes the chair opposite Lambert. Takes Lambert’s hands and inspects them for wounds before bringing them to his lips. “Hey, there, pup,” he murmurs against Lambert’s knuckles. Lambert’s heart does skip a beat, but with that comes a flare of anger. Aiden doesn’t get to be lovey and cheerful when Lambert wants to crawl out of his own skin. He hums something indiscernible.

“What is it? Talk to me.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, really? Alright, if that’s how you want to play it,” Aiden says mockingly, letting Lambert’s hands go. “What? Oh, yes, it is good to see me, isn’t it? How I am? I’m so glad you asked. I managed to haggle a big fat fee on a rock troll couple that were mating up in the mountains and causing avalanches and now I’m drowning in coin. Pretty crazy, right? If I made it okay? Aww, sweetie, there’s no need to worry. Haven’t got a scratch on me. You wanna hear more about it? No, of course it isn’t too much to ask, I will happily oblige.” 

"Just... leave me alone," Lambert cuts in, and lifts his tankard to veil his face. He's good at hiding his emotion, but in the face of whatever this is and with the day he's had... well, his boundaries are more than probed.

“What? So, you can give yourself a sorry hand-job and cry yourself to sleep? No, sir, that would be incredibly pathetic and a crime against humanity.” Aiden smiles and before Lambert can keep drinking, he’s snatched the tankard away and emptied it himself. Great. Now there isn’t even that to hide behind. Lambert likes Aiden, he really does. On most occasions, he’s so overjoyed to see him that he doesn’t recognize himself. Aiden makes him feel… too many things to think about right now. Today though, Lambert’d rather be alone.

“None of your business.”

"Fine, have it your way" Aiden says with a good-natured shrug and, humming, stands. He makes a beeline for the nearest table full of average-to-handsome soldiers with the Temerian blazon on their chests, and slams a hand down on the table. His hips are cocked out, his smile sly, exposing overly sharp canines. They all look up at him with varying degrees of surprise, realisation. “Any of you boys down to fuck a mutant?” Lambert's blood runs cold, he’s had enough of this. He hurls his empty tankard across the room, angling just so he doesn't hit anyone - though no guarantee on the rebound – and leaves.

His armour, clothes and swords are scattered across the small room he rented by the time he makes it into bed, wearing only thin cotton smallclothes. He sits not two minutes, contemplating whether to go asleep or order himself more alcohol to dull the edge of his frustration even further, when Aiden comes into the room, no knock, no courtesy.

“Aren’t you off sucking flaccid cock? Or are you already done the whole lot of them?” Lambert spits, and crosses his arms over his bare chest. Aiden’s eyes darken and he shuts the door behind himself, forceful enough that it rattles, then slips out of his own armour and boots without much ceremony. “Go get your own room, asshole.”

“You know what? Go fuck yourself,” Aiden replies in a measured manner. All his earlier aloofness is gone, replaced by a gravity Lambert has a hard time looking at. Aiden sorts both their stuff into neat piles, then takes Lambert’s swords to the corner chair. Lambert stares at his own knees, but he can hear every tiny movement of Aiden’s hands as he cleans Lambert’s swords, inspects them for chips, pulls out a whetstone to restore their edge. The amount of care this alone conveys almost brings tears to Lambert’s eyes. Aiden could be deep-throating handsome soldiers right now, but instead he’s here, doing for Lambert what he doesn’t have the energy left to do for himself.

When he’s done the swords, Aiden does the same to his own pair, then examines the two sets of armour plating for tears or gashes that need mending. He lines up both chests of potions and counts out what’s missing, takes notes for ingredients. It’s a normal routine, only that usually, each witcher does it for himself. Lambert feels a mixture of embarrassment and affection heat his cheeks, but he doesn’t look up, not yet. Only when Aiden finishes with a soft exhale and wanders over to the bed which dips under his weight, does Lambert uncross his arms. Dares to take a peek. Fuck. He shouldn’t have. Aiden’s pupils are wide in the starlight that falls through the single window, the moon painting him in blues and silvers. Some of his hair has escaped his bun and his lips part on a sigh that expose his teeth. He’s a fucking vision, too gorgeous to be sitting here.

For once, there is quiet, so rare with the two of them. If Lambert lets go of consciousness a little more, it almost feels like a dream. If it were, he would reach out, draw Aiden onto his lap, lose himself in the familiar glide of their bodies against one another. As it is, the silence hangs by a thread and Lambert cuts it, edges fraying into dust between them.

“What,” he barks and Aiden sighs again.

“The only cock I want to suck is yours, idiot. Flaccid or not.

“Is that so?”

“Yes? I thought I had made that abundantly clear.” Aiden has. There have probably been more blowjobs than nights they shared a bed, altogether. And maybe that’s the problem. Aiden might not seem it now, but one day Lambert’s cock will not be enough to make up for his mouth.

"Why were you so obnoxious then?" he asks.

"Because you need to learn not to push me away, Lamb. I'm here, I understand, I'm yours." Three quick sentences that puncture Lambert like barbed arrows. I'm here feels like sparks of an off-kilter Igni that eat at his fingertips. I understand goes right to his gut and makes him feel like he is out on the rocky sea, in a rickety boat all by himself, at the storm's mercy. I'm yours is the lightning that strikes then and short-circuits his nervous system into small spams. He takes a deep breath and the soft kiss Aiden places on the corner of his mouth when he leans over helps quell the panic. "I can't change how I am," he says. Prickly, loud-mouthed, mean.

"You really aren't... no, that's not gonna work, is it? C’mere." Aiden crawls over the bed and settles next to Lambert, draws him against him, his strong arms wrapped firmly around Lambert's bare chest. Lambert's head is throbbing lightly, heartrate kept accelerated from the alcohol, but he deflates a little. Notices the small vial with almost clear liquid Aiden is holding between his index and middle finger. “You didn’t drink it, did you?”

Lambert shrugs. So, maybe he forgot to take the White Honey, fucked-up as he was. So, maybe he didn’t want to take it, stay fucked-up a little longer. He has days like this, where the lingering toxicity of the potions stokes some dark flame deep inside of him, kindled by his hatred for what he is, what he has become. Lambert isn’t prone to self-harm, but this, well. This he is prone to and Aiden is seeing right through him. Fucking cat, fucking.... is this love yet?

“I didn’t.”

“So, do it now.” Aiden uncorks the bottle with one hand and his grip on Lambert tightens so that he would have to struggle to escape it. For a moment, Lambert thinks about refusing. He wants to wallow, dammit, he wants to pity himself and maybe have Aiden pity him too. “Don’t think about it, pup. You can bullshit your way around other people, but not around me,” Aiden continues and holds the vial to Lambert’s lips. Lambert snatches it away and empties it in two long drags. Immediately, his vision sharpens and his lungs clear. His muscles stop trembling and his heartrate settles into its normal, mutated rhythm. “Better?”

“Better,” Lambert agrees sulkily. He tosses the vial aside and sinks back against Aiden.

“You’re really stupid sometimes, you know that?” Aiden says with a sharp edge to his voice, but he noses at Lambert’s ear, under it, breath hot over the skin of Lambert’s throat.

“You’re the one that’s stupid…” Stupid for caring for me. Stupid for still being here.

“Will you stop it already? I’m trying so hard to be patient and you keep pushing me away. Did you forget who I am? What we share?”

“I didn’t,” Lambert says. He is weak and tired. He lets Aiden tug at his chin and half-turn him for a kiss that lingers even after their lips part for breath.

“Then drop the farce. Fuck, I don’t know what to say to you,” Aiden whispers against his mouth, chasing each word with a kiss to Lambert’s lips, the corners of his mouth, his nose. “I love you, Lambert, I love you so fucking much, but I can’t keep prying you out of your shell. Don’t you trust me?”

I want to love you too, Lambert thinks.

With my life, Lambert thinks.

You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Lambert thinks.

But he isn’t ready for that yet and so he settles for the next best thing: “I’m sorry.” The rest of it he pours into their next kiss, one that feels frozen in time for how slow and indulgent it is, the world reduced to the drag of their lips and the scratch of Aiden’s canines, the stuttering of his breath. Lambert wriggles around until he straddles Aiden’s lap with his thighs and frames Aiden’s tanned face with his scarred, pale fingers. Even paler next to his lover. Aiden fucking glows and Lambert is less a man, more a phantom next to him.

“Fuck, puppy, you’re so beautiful, do you know that?” Aiden gasps when they part once more. His hands are splayed over Lambert’s upper back and they are both half-hard against one another, but Lambert doesn’t feel like sex. He feels like curling up and having a good cry. He feels like kissing Aiden again, and so he does.

“And here I am, trying so hard to hide it so you peasants don’t feel bad about yourselves,” Lambert says, on instinct more than anything else. He wants to slap himself, this is exactly what Aiden meant, isn’t it? But Aiden laughs, the fucker, a clear sound that sets loose something fluttery inside of Lambert. Shit. It is love. “I thought the scar would have done the job.”

“Joke’s on you, I adore the scar.” Aiden presses his lips to the bottom of it and drags them along, skipping Lambert’s eye in favour of nuzzling his forehead. It’s ridiculous. It tickles. Lambert laughs and hides his face in Aiden’s neck. Aiden sighs and his hands wander up to Lambert’s head, cradling it. “Promise me something, pup?”

Anything, Lambert thinks. He grunts.

“Allow yourself this. I don’t need you to fall onto your knees and profess your love in some grand gesture, but… don’t shut me out. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you.”

Lambert falls asleep like that, tucked against Aiden’s chest and he wakes in the morning facing the sunrise with an arm slung around his bare torso and Aiden’s nose pressed against the nape of his neck. He allows it to last.

[janeyseymour]

I saw the second preview of six and here are my thoughts (along with a few fun stories at the end):

My heart literally fell out of my ass when the queens started walking out They changed a few small little things here and there and it was perfect If six doesn’t win best lighting at the Tony’s I will sue Ex-wives was WOW I literally could not stop smiling Some of the poses were different 

ADRIANNA FREAKING NAILED NO WAY

I am convinced she just is beyonce always

She’s just fantastic in that role and that’s what I have to say about that

Ig abby danced a little too hard during no way because she kept messing with her wig after

Actually she lowkey played with it throughout the whole show and it was adorbs

Britt was helping her fix it and like pointing out where it was a little cray (also abby’s wig looks so good omf)

ANDREA IS- WOAH DURING DLYH

Her delivery throughout the whole show was a bit more mature, but it was still so babey I love her

(On a side note someone today told me I look like Andrea, which is very kind but so untrue because I literally look like a broken thumb and she is gorgeous)

Her “IM NOT SORRY” was amAZING

She like low-key cut made the whole head joke short and im kinda sad ab it, but it was still fantastique

Through the “Wearing Yellow To A Funeral Bit” abby looked confused through the entire thing and I was cracking up

HEART OF STONE HOLY SHIT

She was INCREDIBLE and her dress was so pretty and sparkly and I just wow 

Shes just so pretty in general like ma’am how do you do that please drop the skin care routine 

The emotion that was conveyed was enough to make me tear up BUT I DID NOT CRY AND I AM VERY PROUD OF THAT 

she did the “you lift me high” line and kinda went into this airy place in her voice and it was angelic and heavenly and all the good things

HER RIFFS WERE JUST DFJDHJLFH

She was just fantastic and thats all I have to say 

Thats a lie I have so many things to say about that woman but the time will come

HOH was a whole acid trip there was a point during this song where I literally just took it all in and then thought “Janey, you really spent your hard earned money to go on an acid trip for a solid few minutes good job”

Their dancing is hilarious and thats that

ABBY SAYING “BUT WE CANNOT GUARANTEE THAT YOU’LL STILL WALK AT FORTY” I had to stifle a laugh because my queen is indeed 40

THE GERMAN ACCENTS HAD ME QUAKING

Brittney Mack is… all bad bitch energy and I was living for it

She is a queen

When she did the “my horses can trot up to twelve miles an hour”- in the boot (not that I watch those…) abby is always making a 😳😶😲 kind of face and this time she just couldn’t stop smiling and it made me laugh

WOOF

Her reveal was SO GOOD she literally just started checking out her nails while everyone just applauded… AS THEY SHOULD

When britt told the person to get up, this person full on WENT and britt was like shook it was hysterical

THE INTERLUDE BETWEEN GET DOWN AND THEN KAT’S ROAST WAS ICONIQUE

i dont think it was here but I cant remember where it was but BRITT WAS PLAYING WITH ABBY’S WIG AND IT WAS REALLY CUTE SHE WAS LIKE PLAYING WITH THE ENDS OF IT AND AWH

justice for the beheaded cousins 

BOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOO BABY MARY HAD THE CHICKEN POX AND YOU DIDN’T GET TO HOLD HER HAND… YOU KNOW ITS FUNNY BECAUSE WHEN I WANTED TO HOLD MY NEWBORN SON…. IIIIII DIIIIIIEDD. Abby lowkey went feral and I loved every second of it and then her pose after got so many laughs it was truly amazing

THE K HOWARD ROAST WAS JUST SO GOOD IT WAS SO GOOD

Aywd destroyed me

I also teared up here but I did not let those babies fall because I was not about to ruin my look

justice for my pink queen

Her delivery is insane and honestly its gotten better and I didn’t even know that was possible because WOW SHE WAS ALREADY STUNNING BUT DAMN MY HEART GOT RIPPED OUT OF MY CHEST

The whole “Catherine not singing” bit was fantastic

Abby looked so confused the entire time 

Andrea’s “hahaha what” was perfecto 

when Anna said “should we really be doing this” someone in the audience went “yes” very loudly and made the queens break for a solid second abby almost forgot to say her line and you could barely hear it because the audience was laughing at the rando 

Anna acknowledged it and just went “I know” before turning to the queens and saying “I know” it was hysterical 

“I’m Catherine parr, I draw the line in arbitrary places bLaH bLaH bLaH”

THE CLAPPING- BRITT GOT IN HER FACE AND JUST *CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.”  It was the funniest thing oh my gosh

“Are you sure Catherine? I-we don’t mind if you wanna sit this one out… I mean you must be exhausted from all those backing vocals”

IDNYL WAS INSANE AND ANNA UZELE IS WICKED TALENTED LIKE DANG

I dont know if this was intentional or not but when they all start to understand the purpose of parr’s thing- abby is the last to stand up and in my head im like “no yeah that makes sense because shes “the one he truly loved” and shes still trying to get to a point where shes realizing he wasn’t all that great and I dont know I just really like that minor detail

The whole “remember that I was a writer…” part got loud cheers, especially from abby it was very cute

She did a new riff on the “we all disappear” line and WOW my eyes went so wide it was so good I was genuinely shook

the “i dont get it” was sooo good

“My sixth finger” was said so casually and so determinedly that it was a whole new joke and I loved it

“Everyone notices Jane cant dance” -abby just looking so sad

“Yeeeaaaahhhhh. I read!” Was so cute and she sounded so proud of herself it was adorbs

The way they just stood there awkwardly was amazing and got so many laughs it was so good

When sam said the line about competing, abby really almost cut Anna’s line out but she caught herself and it was funny I dont know if anyone else noticed it, but I did and it was glorious

REMIX

“Rise abo-o-o-o-ove” WAS BEAUTIFUL THEY WERE IN SUCH GOOD HARMONY

AGAIN, ANNA’S RIFFS HOW DOES THAT WOMAN DO THAT AT THE END OF THE SHOW LIKE SHIT

After it was over, of course it got long applause and the entire time abby was doing her like “sparkle hands” but also awkwardly moving her arm kinda like a noodle and then going back to sparkle hands and it gave me a good chuckle

Six

The slow acoustic part was so soft I died

The harmonies was delicious

The audience was so hype

Megasix

Super hype

Amazing

Fantastic

All the good things ever

Basically it was just adorable and amazing and absolutely stunning

The new costumes are gorgeous and the lighting is wild if they don’t win best lighting for Tony awards I will full on riot

Aragon and Boleyn interacted a lot and so did Seymour and Cleves and it was very very sweet

Abby interacted with the band a lot to the point where she almost missed a cue and it was very endearing

AND THEN THEY DID THE CURTAIN UP THING AND FIRST OF ALL WOW THEY ARE ALL SO CUTE AND IT WAS SO SWEET SEEING THE WAY THEY ALL WATCHED EACH OTHER WHILE THEY WERE SINGING AND I JUST JDKFDJLA

abby’s hair is SO LONG but I am here for it

So I was looking for my friend when I hear “Make some room, make a path!” From a security guard, and the queens legit walked RIGHT PAST ME

I wanted to go to the theatre anyway to take pictures, but when I saw them, I did follow them back to the theatre because wow I wanted to bask in their glory I didnt even want to talk to them I just wanted to be in their presence

So im like, walking behind them when this happens:

I guess abby saw someone she knew because I heard this “abby!” And then she was like “OH MY GOD” and like RAN to hug them and i legit almost walked right into her/got stepped on but i freaking stopped like a noob i should’ve just let her run me over but I did not I just stopped in my tracks and let out a soft “aH” and then went around her

And then I got to meet a friend and apparently toby heard us squealing and watched us hug for a solid however long so that was awkward

And Julia schade was like talking to him and stared at us for a good amount of time

And then I was walking away and passed Julia again and she kept looking at me, but she was talking to someone else and I think she thought I was going to stay to talk to her (and I would have loved to) but I didnt I just gave her a smile, a nod, and a little wave because I can not do confrontation like if I could not confront abby ma’am I cannot confront u either I am SHY

And that is a very detailed run down of my time in nyc at the brooks

[the-bau-quinjet]

And I confess, babe

Part 6 of In Breakable Heaven!

Summary: Feelings are confessed... sort of.

Warnings: none 

Word count: ~2400

“There’s something I haven’t been completely honest about.” You blurted out taking a break from cleaning. It had been a few months since Halloween, and you and Spencer have hung out whenever possible, but never calling anything a date. You had both gotten pretty busy with the holidays, but still made time. He is basically your best friend, but you want more than that. You just aren’t sure he feels the same way. 

Spencer turned from where he was reading on the couch immediately mirroring the nervous expression he could see on your face. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything. That’s what friends are for.” Ugh, friends. This is so confusing. As he walked up to you, you thought you noticed a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but you brush it off. You need to focus.

You have never told any of your friends about this. It’s almost like you were living two lives and all the sudden you wanted them to merge. Well, really you just wanted an excuse to sing love songs to the man standing in front of you without completely freaking him out. “You know how much I love Taylor Swift, right?” You could see the confusion growing on his face 

“Um, yeah. That’s not exactly a secret…” he chuckles as he searches for the truth in your eyes. 

“Well, um... I kind of... well… it’s not really a big deal, but I… you see…”

 “Y/N, just tell me. I promise not to freak out.” He interrupted, the confusion evident on his face.

“Okay, just… I’m inaTaylorSwiftcoverband…” You blurt, the words rushing from your mouth. You cover your face with your hands. Of course, boy genius understood the mess of a sentence you just said, realization slowly dawning on him.

 “Y/N, why were you so nervous to tell me?” He sounded shocked. “You know I would support you no matter what. When’s your next show? I would love to go see you perform.” The sincerity in his voice made tears well up in your eyes. 

You rushed to hug him as you said “I don’t know why I was so nervous. I guess people can be really harsh when you are a Taylor Swift fan. Nobody takes you seriously, ya know? I started the band because her music made me better at conveying my emotions. It was actually a kind of therapy for me at first, but then I fell in love with performing. I actually wanted to tell you so I could invite you, and the rest of the team, to my next show. It’s Saturday night.”

 He ran his hands up and down your back before pulling away to look you in the eyes. “I will be there.” He said, matter-of-factly. 

“Yay!” You were practically jumping with joy that the conversation went well. It felt kind of stupid to be so worried over other people’s perception of your music interests, but you’ve always been self-conscious of being the “weird” girl. It made even the smallest decision so hard for you. “I want you to invite the rest of the team, but keep it a surprise. I haven’t told Penelope, and I’ve known her 2 years longer than you.” He laughed as you realized how comfortable you must have felt with Spencer to be inviting him and his friends to see you perform. Usually the only way you made it through was knowing there was nobody in the audience that would recognize you enough to make fun of you. But, it was time for a change. You have always been proud of your accomplishments, and the people you called your friends should be a part of that.

 “You should know there’s always a theme to the show. I like to tell a story with her songs, pulling from all the albums helps make it more cohesive.” You wanted him to be a little bit prepared for what you had planned. 

“What’s the story for this show?” Spencer asked, curiosity brewing in his mind. 

“Well Doc, I’m afraid that’s a secret. You’ll have to wait and see.” Spencer kept pestering you to find out the theme, but you refused to tell him. Finally, he returned to reading as you cleaned the rest of your apartment.

--

 Saturday came much faster than you were expecting. The nerves you felt kept growing as you tried to finalize the set list you would be performing in just a few hours. The stories you usually tell don’t normally rely so heavily on your own life experiences. But, that’s why you fell in love with Taylor’s music in the first place. The songs are so relatable. It’s incredible how well she can convey emotions and stories with her lyrics. Plus, this is your chance to tell Spencer how you feel without having too much pressure. If he doesn’t say anything about the obvious theme, you could just pretend you made up the story for the audience. It would be fine. No pressure at all.

 The hours until your show drifted away as you got ready and arrived at the venue. You were actually playing in an auditorium instead of a bar for the first time in a few months. The night had been heavily marketed for couples since Valentine’s day is next week, but you knew your friends would all be there to support you. Going over the set list with the band, they knew exactly what mood you were going for. It was clear there were three sections to the night: 1) the break up, drawing heavily on your experience with Drew, 2) moving on from the failed relationship as you form a new crush, possibly on an incredibly hot doctor, and 3) where you wanted this new relationship to go. That storyline is what made the marketing so good. Couples could come and just be in love, relating the music to their own lives. Plus, people were itching for something to do since no real artists were touring in DC right now.

 You glance out at the audience as the lights flicker, indicating only a few minutes until show time. You find Spencer and the rest of the crew, barring Hotch and Rossi, easily as you put them in the front row. You wanted to be able to see their faces, or completely look over their heads. It all depends on the expression of the one and only Spencer Reid.

 “Hello, and welcome to the show!” You try to hide the nerves. You’ve done this plenty of times, but knowing who is in the audience is taking a toll. “In case you didn’t know, with every show I do, I try to tell a story. Usually, it is based on a movie or a book, but today I am trying something a little bit new. No book, no movie, just a story. It’s got three parts to it. Part one sucks.” You laugh along with the audience. “It’s about a breakup and learning to move on. So let’s get started!”

 You immediately jump into the first song Babe. Technically it features Taylor Swift, but she wrote it so it counts. Plus, it is the perfect song to describe your feelings to finding Drew cheating on you, and she did write it.

 This is the last time I’ll ever call you Babe.

 “Now, I know how hard it can be to get over someone who you’ve been with a long time. Especially when combined with the pain of them cheating on you. This next song describes that mentality of recognizing that someone won’t change because you want them to. Sometimes, the best thing to do is cry and scream and move on.” The instrumental to You’re Not Sorry begins to play as you calm you’re nerves.

 This is the last straw. Don’t wanna hurt anymore. And you can tell me that you’re sorry, but I don’t believe you baby like I did before. You’re not sorry. No, no, no no.

 “I know, I know. No more sad songs! After you break up with someone, it can be pretty hard to not miss what you had. But eventually, you’ll get to a point where when they call you in the middle of the night, all you have to say is We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. Like ever.”

 You make it through the next song without a hitch. The crowd is clearly enjoying the show, which is actually helping with your nerves. You’ve glanced at your friends a few times, but nothing that lingers. You’re not quite mentally prepared to look at Spencer yet.

 “With every breakup, there is some amount of time afterward where you can’t help but think about them. No matter how badly it ended, there is at least a day. It could slowly fade out or it could just disappear one day, like magic. Either way, this song is how I personally feel once that window of time ends.”

 I forgot that you existed. It isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it‘s just indifference.

 This song really helped turn the mood around. Everybody is dancing and singing, clearly enjoying themselves. As the song ends, your nerves return a bit. This is the scary part.

 “And with that, we move on to part 2! As the saying goes, the best way to get over him is to get under someone else. Well, that’s not exactly where this is going, but it follows the same general logic.” The instrumental to Enchanted has already started as you finish the intro “Meeting someone who helps take your mind off the bad by making new memories.”

 All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you. This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go. I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home.

 This is the first song you are singing directly to Spencer, even if you can’t even look at him. You glance at every other member of the BAU, but you just can’t bring yourself to admit it to him. Not yet.

 Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.

 You can feel the sting in your throat that comes from thinking of Spencer being with someone else, finally making you look at him. He seems happy. He’s not dancing as much as everyone else, but he is swaying. You count it as a win.

 “Now, I’m not saying the only way to get over a breakup is a new relationship. Sometimes, you just need a friend.” You clear your throat to go right into the next song.

 Wanna hang out? Yeah, sounds like fun. Video games, you pass me a note. Sleeping in tents. It’s nice to have a friend.

 This is where it’s supposed to be obvious who you are singing to. None of your newly formed friends really know the extent of your relationship with Spencer. But, you’ve convinced him to try a lot of new things. It started small, with hiking, but eventually you got him to agree to a short camping trip over a long weekend. It was freezing since it was November, but you just cuddled together around the fire. That is what makes this so nerve wracking. You are terrified of messing up your friendship.

 “Friends are the best resource post breakup. They always know how to put a smile on my face, no matter what I’m upset about. You could go so far as to say I’m Only Me When I’m With You.” You laugh at the corny joke, knowing that’s the next song you’re singing. “To be completely honest, this is kind of a story of the past few months of my life. I had a pretty bad breakup, but I met some new friends who really helped me through it. It’s nice to be completely honest about yourself with someone else.”

 I don’t try to hide my tears, my secrets, or my deepest fears. And through it all, nobody gets me like you do.

 “Now, we move onto the third and final part of the show. We’ve covered the past and the present, so all that’s left is the future! The future is unknown, which is kinda of scary when you think about it. So, it can really help to have someone who makes you feel Fearless.” So many lyrics make you want to stare at Spencer.

 I wanna ask you dance right there, in the middle of the parking lot.

-

Run your hands through your hair, absentmindedly making me want you.

-

And I don’t know why, but with you I’d dance in a storm in my best dress, fearless.

-

You’ve decided against looking at Spencer and the rest of the profilers. If you make eye contact you know they would 100% be able to see right through you. Just two more songs to get through. You don’t even pause to talk before the next song is playing.

 Cause all I know is you said, “Hello” and your eyes look like coming home.

 You’ve spent so long thinking about Spencer and his perfect freaking eyes that you subconsciously glance at him right then. The second you realize, you look away again, missing the look of complete adoration on his face.

 And meet me there tonight and let me know that it’s not all in my mind.

 “Alrighty folks, I’ve got one more song for you. You probably could’ve guessed it by now, part 3 is about a future relationship, one I’m not currently in. But that’s the thing about the future, you never really know what it holds.” This is where shit goes a little bit sideways. You didn’t plan on changing the lyrics. Most of the profilers seem to miss it, not recognizing that you switched one very crucial word in the song. The one profiler that notices the mistake has spent the last four months listening to every Taylor Swift song ever written because he’s spent so much time with you, and you are always listening to something.

 Dark jeans and your converse, look at you. Oh damn, never seen that color blue.

 Oh damn is right. You somehow manage to make it through the rest of the song, but now Spencer knows you were singing to him. You can’t decide if you’re glad it’s out there or if you are going to puke the second you run off stage.

 “Delicate is about the beginnings of a romance. It’s that point where you are scared any sudden movements will shatter everything you’ve built so far.” You take one final deep breathe. “It’s about admitting your feelings because you can’t move forward without taking the next step. That’s what the future is all about. Thank you all for coming, goodnight!” And with that, you left.

 tag list:

@mac99martin​ @goldeng1rl8​ @eevee0722 @l0ve-0f-my-life @haylaansmi @dinonuggets15 @laurakirsten0502 @green-intervention @burnin-passion @takeyourleap-of-faith @secretpickleprofessordean @awkwardnesshabitat @loveheathens @fan-girl-97

[brawltogethernow]

So, I don't think I've ever asked you this... what IS the whole point of the Spider-Sense? It really seems like something that only exists for writers to ignore or work around when they want to inject Legit Tension into a story.

I’ve thought about this power so much, but never with an eye to defend its right to exist, so I needed to think about this. The results could be more concise.

Ironically, given the question, I have to say its main purpose is to ramp up tension. But it’s also a highly variable multitool that a skilled creative team can use for...pretty much anything. It does everything the writer wants it to, while for its wielder always falls just short of doing enough.

I went looking through my photos for a really generic, classic-looking example to use as an image to head this topic, but then I ran into the time Peter absolutely did not reimburse this man for his stolen McDonald’s, so have that instead.

A Scare Chord, But You Can Draw It

That one post that says the spider-sense is just super-anxiety isn’t, like, wrong. It’s a very anxious, dramatic storytelling tool originally designed for a very anxious, dramatic protagonist. I find it speaks to the overall tone of the franchise that some characters are functionally psychics, but with a psychic ability that only points out problems.

Spidey sense pinging? There’s danger, be stressed! Broken? Now the lead won’t even KNOW when there’s a problem, scary! Single character is immune to it? That’s an invisible knife in the dark oh my god what the fuck what the fU--

Like its counterpart in garden variety anxiety, the only time the spider-sense reduces tension is in the middle of a crisis. But in the wish fulfillmenty way that you want in an adventure story to justify exaggerated action sequences, the same way enhanced strength or durability does. Also like those, it would theoretically make someone much safer to have it, but it exists in the story to let your character navigate into and weather more dangerous situations.

For its basic role in a story, a danger sense is a snappy way to rile up both the reader and the protagonist that doesn’t offer much information beyond that it’s time to sit smart because shit is about to go down.

Spidey comic canon is all over the board in quality and genre, and it started needing to subvert its formulas before the creators got a handle on what those formulas even were, and basically no one has read anything approaching most of it at this point, so for consistent examples of a really bare bones use of this power in storytelling, I’d point to the property that’s done the best job yet of boiling down the mechanics of Spider-Man to their absolute most basic essentials for adaptation to a compelling monster of the week TV series.

Or as you probably know it, Danny Phantom. DON’T BOO, I’M RIGHT.

DP is Spider-Man with about 2/3 of the serial numbers filed off and no death (ironically), and Danny’s ghost sense is the most proof in the formula example of what the spidey sense is for: It’s a big sign held up for the viewer that says, “Something is wrong! Pay attention!” Effectively a visual scare chord. It’s about That Drama. And it works, which won it a consistent place in the show’s formula. We’re talking several times an episode here.

So why does it work?

It’s a little counterintuitive, but it’s strong storytelling to tell your audience that something bad is going to happen before it does. A vague, punchy spoiler transforms the ignorant calm before a conflict into a tense moment of anticipation. ...And it makes sure people don’t fail to absorb the beginning of said conflict because they weren’t prepared to shift gears when the scene did. Shock is a valuable tool, too, but treating it like a staple is how you burn out your audience instead of keeping them engaged. Not to go after an easy target, but you need to know how to manage your audience’s alarm if you don’t want to end up like Game of Thrones.

The limits of the spider-sense also keep you on your toes when handled by a smart writer. It tells Peter (everyone’s is a little different, so I’m going to cite the og) about threats to his person, but it doesn’t elaborate with any details when it’s not already obvious why, what kind, and from what. And it doesn’t warn him about anything else-- Which is a pretty critical gap when you zoom out and look at his hero career’s successes and failures and conclude that it’s definitely why he’s lived as long as he has acting the way he does, but was useless as he failed to save a string of people he’d have much rather had live on than him.

(Any long-running superhero mythos has these incidents, but with Peter they’re important to the core themes.)

And since this power is by plot for plot (or because it’s roughly agreed it only really blares about threats that check at least two boxes of being major, immediate, or physical), it always kicks in enough to register when the danger is bearing down...when it’s too late to actually do anything about it if “anything” is a more complex action than “dodge”.

Really? Not until the elevator doors started to open?

That Distinctive, Crunchy Spider Flavor

The spider-sense and its little pen squiggles go hand in hand with wallcrawling (and its unique and instantly identifiable associated body language) to make the Spider-Person powerset enduringly iconic and elevate characters with it from being generic mid-level super-bricks. Visually, but also in how it shapes the story.

I said it can share a narrative role with super strength. But when you end a fight and go home, super strength continues to make your character feel powerful, probably safer than they’d be otherwise, maybe dangerous.

The spider-sense just keeps blaring, “Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong! God, why aren’t you doing something about this!?”

Pretty morose thing to live with, for a safety net! Kind of a double edged sword you have there! Could be constantly being hyperattuned to problems would prime you for a negative outlook on life. Kind of seems like a power that would make it impossible for a moral person to take a day off, leading them into a beleaguered and resentful yet dutiful attitude about the whole superhero gig! Might build up to some of the core traits of this mythos, maybe! Might lead to a lot of fifteen minute retirement stories, or something. Might even be a built in ‘great responsibility’ alarm that gets you a main character who as a rule is not going to stop fighting until he physically cannot fight anymore.

Certainly not apropos of anything, just throwing this short lived barely-a-joke tagline up for fun.

One of my personal favorite things about stories with superpowers is keeping in mind how they cause the people who have them to act in unusual ways outside of fights, so when you tell me that these people have an entire extra sense that tells them when the gas in their house is leaking through a barely useful hot/cold warning system that never turns off, I’m like, eyes emojis, popcorn out, notebook open, listening intently, spectacles on, the whole deal.

It also contributes to Peter Parker’s personality in a way I really enjoy: It allows him to act like an irrational maniac. When you know exactly when a situation becomes dangerous and how much, normal levels of caution go out the window and absolutely nothing you do makes sense from an exterior standpoint anymore. That’s the good shit. I would like to see more exploration of how the non-Parker characters experiencing the world in this incredibly altered way bounce in response.

It’s also one of many tools in this franchise hauling the reader into relating more closely with the main character. The backbone of classic Spidey is probably being in on secrets only Peter and the reader know which completely reframe how one views the situation on the page. It’s just a big irony mine for the whole first decade. A convenient way to inform the reader and the lead that something is bad news that’s not perceivable to any other characters is youth-with-a-big-exciting-secret catnip.

Another point for tension, there, in that being aware of danger is not synonymous with being able to act on it. If there’s no visible reason for you to be acting strange, well...you’re just going to have to sit tight and sweat, aren’t you? Some gratuitous head wiggles never hurt when setting up that type of conflict.

Have I mentioned that they look cool? Simultaneously punchy and distinctive, with a respectable amount of leeway for artists to get creative with and still coming up with something easily recognizable? And pretty easy to intuit the meaning of even without the long-winded explanations common in the days when people wrote comics with the intent that someone could come in cold on any random issue and follow along okay, I think, although the mechanic has been deeply ingrained in popular culture for so long that I can’t really say for sure.

It was also useful back in the day when no artists drew the eyes on the Spider-Man mask as emoting and were conveying the lead’s expressions entirely through body language and panel composition. If you wiggle enough squiggles, you don’t need eyebrows.

Take This Handwave and Never Ask Me a Logistical Question Again

This ability patches plot holes faster than people can pick them open AND it can act as an excuse to get any plot rolling you can think of if paired with one meddling protagonist who doesn’t know how to mind their own business. Buy it now for only $19.99 (in four installments; that’s four installments of $19.99).

Why can a teenager win a six on one fight against other superhumans? Well, the spider-sense is the ultimate edge in combat, duh.

Why can Peter websling? Why doesn’t everyone websling? Well, the spider-sense is keeping him from eating flagpole when he violently flings himself across New York in a way neither man nor spider was ever meant to move.

How are we supposed to get him involved with the plot this week???? Well, that crate FELT dangerous, so he’s going to investigate it. Oh, dip, it was full of guns and radioactive snakes! Probably shouldn’t have opened that!

Yeah, okay, but why isn’t it fixing everything, then? Isn’t it supposed to be why Peter has never accidentally unmasked in front of somebody? ('Nother entry for this section, take a shot.) That’s crazy sensitive! How does he still have any problems!? Is everything bad that’s ever happened to characters with this powerset bad writing!? --Listen, I think as people with uncanny senses that can tell us whether we are in danger with accuracy that varies from incredible to approximate (I am talking about the five senses that most people have), we should all know better than to underestimate our ability to tune them out or interpret them wrong and fuck ourselves up anyway. I honestly find this part completely realistic.

*SLAPS ROOF OF SPIDER-SENSE* YOU CAN FIT SO MANY STORIES IN THIS THING

The spider-sense is a clean branch into...whatever. There is the exact right balance of structure and wishy-washiness to build off of. A sample selection of whatevers that have been built:

It’s sci-fi and spy gadgets when Peter builds technology that can interface with it.

It’s quasi-mystical when Kaine and Annie-May get stronger versions of it that give them literal psychic visions, or when you want to get mythological and start talking about all the spider-characters being part of a grand web of fate.

Kaine loses his and it becomes symbolic of a future newly unbound by constraints, entangled thematically with the improved physical health he picked up at the same time -- a loss presented as a gain.

Peter loses his and almost dies 782 times in one afternoon because that didn’t make the people he provoked when he had it stop trying to kill him, and also because he isn’t about to start “””taking the subway’’””’ “‘’“”to work”””’’” like some kind of loser who doesn’t get a heads up when he’s about to hit a pigeon at 50mph.

Peter’s starts tuning into his wife’s anxiety and it’s a tool in a relationship study.

It starts pinging whenever Peter’s near his boss who’s secretly been replaced by a shapeshifter and he IGNORES IT because his boss is enough of an asshole that that doesn’t strike him as weird; now it’s a comedy/irony tool.

Into the Spider-Verse made it this beautiful poetic thing connecting all the spider-heroes in the multiverse and stacked up a story on it about instant connection, loss, and incredibly unlikely strangers becoming a found family. It was also aesthetic as FUCK. Remember the scene where Miles just hears barely intelligible whispering that’s all lines people say later in the film and then his own voice very clearly says “look out” and then the room explodes?? Fuck!!!!

Venom becomes immune to it after hitchhiking to Earth in Peter’s bone juice and it makes him a unique threat while telling a more-homoerotic-than-I-assume-was-originally-intended story about violation and how close relationships can be dangerous when they go sour.

It doesn’t work on people you trust for maximum soap opera energy. Love the innate tragedy of this feature coming up.

IN CONCLUSION I don’t have much patience for writers who don’t take advantage of it, never mind feel they need to write around it.

[btsmosphere]

Blessing and a Curse | PJM

~summary: You are the unlukiest person you know. Park Jimin seems to be the exception to the rule. But when strange dreams start haunting you, Jimin begins to piece together the events that have followed you your whole life...

~word count: 12.7k (anyone know if this is too long for a oneshot haha)

~college!au, magic!au, fluff, angst

~Warnings: nightmares, house fire, knife injury and blood, mentioned homophobia/biphobia, swearing

~a/n: happy (almost) halloween! welcome to my new oneshot, I really hope you enjoy it! -if you’re worried about the warnings, all except the nightmares happen near the end and are probably skippable, but if you might be triggered then please be on the safe side and save this for later 💜this story isn’t primarily about those things, it’s about jimin and yn being cute hehe

In the darkness of the room, only one face is visible. A woman with age-worn skin is looking at you.

She is talking.

She is: you can see it in the way her mouth moves, but she is articulating without sound.

Your ears are plugged with water, you can hear it in the way it rumbles. Maybe that same water is what is drowning out everything else, blurring the edges of this scene. Yes, the room is dark, but surely something is in the shadows.

Why would she be here alone?

There is a fire: of that you are sure. Nothing else would light the lady’s face in a scarlet glow, deepening her wrinkles until they seem carved of wood. Only her continued movement shatters this illusion.

In the glimmering light, her eyebrows sink in the middle, fixing you with a stare.

She is approaching.

Her eyes are all you can see, a flame visible within them and they rush to you. The heat of fire is no longer merely imagined. No, you feel it crawling over you as you watch her mouth move without sound.

It can’t be water around you, because you can’t move. Fire can’t survive in water. But here it is, pinning you down, smothering you.

Maybe you are dying.

She is talking.

The woman with age-worn skin is looking at you. Only one face is visible in the darkness of the room.

The room was still dark. Something was different, you thought vaguely as you blinked.

And then suddenly, everything was different.

No face is visible.

You can hear: you cough, and the sound of it reaching your ears startles you. No water, then.

More evidence of this is the fact you can see, even in the dark, the glow that fights its way around your curtain from the street lamp outside illuminating your bedroom. You can move.

You certainly aren’t dying.

That’s a relief.

Morning comes, the streetlamp has turned off and you pay no mind to the dream hovering just out of your memory’s reach. Plenty like that have come before, and plenty will follow.

Anyway, it’s just a dream.

Now, you are more preoccupied with checking and double checking your bag. Your laptop, notebooks and folders are in there. First aid kit, check. Pencil case, check. Five memory sticks, check.

On your way to campus, you dodged a ladder leaning against a house and walked right into the path of a van splashing muddy water up your jeans. Sighing, you pulled out some tissues to dry it off as best you could, backing into a wall to get out of the splash zone again.

Of course, you backed into a pile of dog poo.

Scowling, you scraped the bottom of your shoe furiously against the pavement and hurried on.

Today was one of the rare occasions when Yoongi had arrived before you. On any normal Monday morning, he would slink in after about half an hour into class, but there he sat in the entrance hall, looking blearily round at you and licking his lips as he set his coffee down.

However, your attention was drawn away by the boy sitting with him.

Park Jimin.

As you slid into the third seat at the table, you widened your eyes at Yoongi, hoping to convey your panic.

“Hey, I was just going to grab a coffee, would you like one?” Jimin smiled at you, standing.

You swallowed, quickly turning back to him.

“Oh-um, er, no, I- it’s okay. Thank you.”

“Okay,” he smiled sweetly again and walked across to the little bar across the space.

“God, just let him buy you a coffee,” Yoongi groaned, “or do you really expect anything to happen if you never say yes?”

“They always give me shit coffee here,” you sighed, glancing back at Jimin waiting in the queue.

“You say that about everywhere,” Yoongi said. He let his head fall into his hand so it covered half his face.

“That’s because it’s true!” you protested, but he had heard it before. “What are you doing here anyway? You look half asleep.”

“Jimin dragged me,” he mumbled into his palm.

“Woe is you,” you laughed, slumping back on your seat and swinging your feet. You had given up tipping your chair long ago.

When Jimin came back, it was only to scoop up his bag before heading off to his class. That was the most you ever seemed to talk to him, as much as you would like to get to know him more. Being flatmates with your closest friend in your department saw him at plenty of the same parties, but you were too scared to approach him.

Something would go wrong.

With you, it always did. Yoongi said you were just a pessimist, which held a lot of weight coming from him.

Class went smoothly. A pen had leaked in your pencil case, and promptly ran out of ink when you tried to use it, but other than that, you came out unscathed.

It wasn’t until that afternoon that the wind picked up.

After a long day of classes, you parted ways with Yoongi to go to the library, while he left for basketball practise. Tugging your scarf tighter around you, you fought against the weather on the short walk between buildings.

On reaching your refuge, you tiptoed through the rows of books to the study area. Luckily, one last spot was left by the window, where you could see the grey clouds rolling by, the odd leaf whisking past and the branches tugged by the wind.

Smile spreading over your face, you marched towards it, setting your things down. But the moment you sat, the chair’s back leg buckled, a snap resounding through the silent space and drawing glares from the other students.

Mentally cursing, you pulled yourself up and settled for the most hidden table you could find. Sure, you could handle the dust and the flickering light in this corner.

To be fair, you did get a good amount of studying done, satisfied by the time you pulled on your scarf again and set off home.

The few trees dotted around campus creaked in the gale when you passed them. Head down against the wind, you pressed on, not looking up until you heard a familiar voice. What they were saying wasn’t quite audible, but you would recognise it anywhere. Maybe your little crush was getting a little out of hand.

Looking around, you saw Jimin with a couple of friends coming out of the gym across the courtyard.

Okay, he hadn’t seen you yet. Maybe he wasn’t coming this way?

No such luck.

Their voices drew closer, so you picked up the pace, digging your face deeper into the wool around your neck. Park Jimin was behind you, no big deal. Just don’t embarrass yourself.

But the moment you took a deep breath, a scraping sound came from above you. Frowning, you looked up distractedly. There it came again, a gravelly noise somewhere overhead. This time, though, it didn’t stop, only growing louder, and there-!

A shape, sliding off the roof, right over your head. In the blink of an eye, you scrambled to move, but your feet were caught and you tripped, inelegantly face-planting the ground as a smashing sound deafened you.

A stinging pain flared in your calf.

“Oh my god! Y/N?”

From your front-seat view of the floor, you groaned, taking a moment to close your eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Inhaling, you finally pushed yourself up to sit just as Jimin rushed up to you, his two friends close behind. Forcing a grimace, you tried to ignore your burning face as he knelt down, discarding his bag.

There, right beside your leg, lay a cracked roof tile.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, bending your leg to get a closer look. The source of the pain showed itself; your jeans were torn, a deep graze on your skin underneath where the tile must have caught you.

Beside you, Jimin’s hands hovered, twitching as he debated what to do. He watched as you twisted your ankle experimentally and winced.

“You should go to the doctor,” he told you. He was right, too. At least there was one on campus that you could hopefully reach on an injured leg-

“I’ll take you, come on,” he pushed his bag into his friend’s arms and threw yours over his own shoulder. Before you could utter a word, his shoulder was under your arm, helping you stand.

“Thank you,” you spluttered, “I-I think it should be fine though-“

Right on cue, you stood on you bad foot, which instantly gave way as you choked back a cry.

“It’s just twisted!” you exclaimed, though your full weight was pretty much weighing down on Jimin.

“Best to get it checked,” one of his friends chimed in, clapping you on the shoulder as he set off walking in the direction of the health centre.

Sighing, you gave in and allowed Jimin to help as you hobbled next to him.

“That’s Hoseok,” he said, smiling again, “and that’s Tae.”

Holding up a hand, Tae bobbed his head at you with a grin.

“Hi,” you panted.

It was likely that your attempt to return a smile failed, with the bugging pain in your ankle. Either way, Tae had turned back around now, walking beside Hoseok just ahead of you two. Before long, you had resorted to hopping. It wasn’t efficient.

“Would it be better…” Jimin said, “I mean, I could- I think I should carry you.”

Managing a weak smile, you slowed beside him. Maybe you didn’t have to go far, but it felt like a marathon at the moment.

Eyes creasing in his own smile, Jimin gently let go of your arm and stepped in front of you, crouching to let you put your arms around his neck. Surely he would be able to feel your heart hammering at your ribs, pressed up against his back like this?

If he did, he didn’t let on.

Sliding his arms behind your knees, he scooped you up and you were off at a much more reasonable speed this time.

“Tae!” he yelled.

When the black-haired boy turned around, Jimin tossed him your bag.

By some miracle, you heart had chilled out by the time you entered the doctor’s reception. Maybe a short trip on someone’s back had healing effects in itself.

You were handed an ice pack and some paperwork and told to wait. Taehyung and Hoseok said they would leave you to it, but Jimin assured you he could stay. And who were you to turn him down? This wasn’t coffee.

The silence was companiable as you sat side by side, Jimin sitting forward, elbows on his thighs while you put your feet up on a chair he had dragged over. He didn’t speak until you had nearly finished writing.

“Maybe you could sue the college,” he joked, gently nudging you with his elbow.

Laughing, you signed off the last box quickly before setting the form down and giving him your full attention.

“Thanks for staying, you didn’t have to,” you squeezed out a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he assured, “I’m just glad you’re not more hurt. It was crazy, what happened.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not the first time that’s happened to me,” you admitted. A small laugh brushed by your lips.

At your words, Jimin turned to you fully, bringing his chin off his hands. For a moment he only stared with his eyebrows raised, smile faltering, unsure if you were kidding.

“You’re being serious?”

You grimaced.

“A roof tile fell on you? More than once?”

“What are the chances, right?” you sighed, “But yeah. I’m definitely the most accident-prone person I know.”

“At least you managed to get out of the way… I thought it was going to hit your head or something,” Jimin looked genuinely terrified. You were sure your heart melted as he said this with his big eyes and such sincerity.

“If by getting out of the way you mean falling on my face,” you smiled softly.

Thankfully, he saw the funny side and laughed along with you, shaking his head and sitting back. You were glad the worry had left his face.

Only one other person sat in the waiting room, a mother holding a small baby, who now turned around to glare at the pair of you, although were only laughing quietly. Either way, you both closed your mouths, noticing her child was asleep.

A screaming baby was not something you wanted to add to this situation.

“So… what do you study?” you muttered after the woman turned back around in her chair.

“Protective magic,” Jimin dazzled you again with his smile, “it’s my second year now.”

“Same,” you replied, “well, as in, I’m in second year too, but I’m not gifted. I’m doing literature.”

“With Yoongi, right?”

“Oh, yeah, of course you knew that,” you laughed, but you were cringing inside. Time to change topic. “But, umm, what’s your favourite part of your course?”

Magic was definitely fascinating to you, even though you weren’t gifted with powers and therefore were unable to study it. Less than half the population had magic, so it was just your luck to be in the boring majority.

“I’m enjoying studying curses,” Jimin was saying, “last year was mainly the basics, warding and stuff like that, so it’s nice to do something more interesting.”

“It sounds really cool,” you agreed, “I’m so jealous, I didn’t get any of my first-choice modules.”

Just as Jimin opened his mouth to respond, a doctor called your name.

“Ah,” Jimin stood, raising his hand to alert the doctor you were there as you struggled to your feet. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“If that’s okay?”

Gladly accepting his arm for the second time that day, you let Jimin help you over to the doctor and followed her down the hallway to her office. As she checked you over, Jimin sat patiently behind you. Your frequent glances at him were definitely less surreptitious than you intended, but he didn’t seem to mind, smiling reassuringly when you caught his eye.

In the end, she bandaged up the graze and ordered you to avoid using your ankle as much as you could for a couple of days. You had just avoided spraining it, so it would be fine.

“How are you getting home?” she asked you, not looking at you as she typed up her notes.

“Oh, uh-“ you stuttered. You hadn’t thought of that. Walking all the way home would be too far when you could barely make the walk from the waiting room.

“-I’m driving her,” Jimin spoke.

Snapping your mouth shut, you stared round at him.

“Excellent,” the doctor smiled before you could say anything. She spun back to you in her chair, “that should be all. Remember to rest it, I’m sure your friend will help you out.”

Quietly smiling and thanking her, you hobbled out beside Jimin. Outside the door, he lifted you onto his back again for the short walk to the parking lot.

By car, your house was barely ten minutes away, but you chatted some more to Jimin. As he reached your street and you pointed out where he could stop, you were startled by how fast it seemed. You found yourself not wanting him to leave.

Who knew that completely embarrassing yourself in front of your crush could end up to be a good thing?

To your delight, he insisted on piggy-backing you up the stairs as well, somehow not even breaking a sweat, and waited with you at the door as you slid the key in.

“KOOK!” you yelled as you pushed the door open, but to your surprise, he had already left his room and was walking down the hall towards you.

On seeing Jimin next to you, arm around your waist, he stopped abruptly and his eyes widened. But then his eyes travelled down to your leg, bandage poking from the bottom of your jeans, and he relaxed.

“This is Jimin,” you offered, hopping over the threshold as Kook approached again, quick to slide his arm around your other side.

“Hi,” he nodded at Jimin, “thanks.”

Jimin, who let you go as it became clear Kook could take it from here, handed over your bag as well.

“Good to meet you,” he beamed, “see you, Y/N.”

From your position propped up against your roommate, you waved at him. Too soon he was gone, door falling shut behind him.

“is that the Jimin?” Jungkook stage-whispered.

“Yes…” you sighed, hiding your face in his shoulder and ignoring his excited eyes.

“Come on,” you felt the rumble of his laughter through you as he pushed you off him and pulled you down the corridor, “Jin-hyung! Y/N hurt herself again!”

“Kook…” you grumbled in vain.

The moment he dropped you ungracefully onto the sofa, Jin hurried in, already clutching a first aid bag. Seeing his concerned face, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay, I already went to the doctor.”

“Aish,” he moaned, “how do you manage to get hurt so much?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you whined, “really.”

You met his eyes as he ditched the medical kit by the sofa. Sighing, he gave you a smile which you returned. You knew he worried too much.

“She was probably distracted,” Jungkook piped up from behind the kitchen counter which divided your space. The warning look you shot him wasn’t enough to quiet him though, you could see the mischievous grin on his face.

“Jeon Jungkook-” you hissed.

“-making doe-eyes at Jim- ow!”

“Y/N!” Jin cried, snatching you and Jungkook’s attention, “give me that.”

Marching across the space, he scooped up the book you had launched at the younger boy and tucked it under his arm. Then a smile slid onto his face, letting the two of you relax. He wasn’t really mad.

“So Jimin?” he grinned.

Shoving a cushion over your face, you groaned, Jin’s laughter loud in your ears.

Yoongi offered to drive you into college before you had even told him you were injured. Jimin must have told him what happened when he got home.

What you didn’t expect was to see your saviour again this early in the morning. You looked a mess in all honesty, hair messy and most lazy clothes shoved on to accommodate your bandaged leg. Sleep hadn’t been on your side last night, and the dream had come again, but until now you didn’t care.

Now, as Jimin gave up shotgun for you with a radiant smile, you regretted your lie in.

“Are you definitely okay to walk?” he eyed you worriedly as you limped over to them.

After the inevitable teasing last night, Jin and Jungkook had cooked for you and let you pick a film so you could keep you leg up with ice. As a result it did feel much better, and you told him as much.

“I’m glad,” Jimin smiled.

You were too busy smiling back to catch Yoongi rolling his eyes.

The room was dark… the old woman was looking at you…

As the fire danced and flickered below her, she spoke to you, but you were still deaf to her words.

Come to think of it, she looked like she was shouting.

Had you upset her?

A hand entered your vision, the woman’s hand, gnarled with age and dappled with firelight.

She was reaching out…

No.

She was pointing at you.

“Y/N! Hey!”

Your whole body jolted as a foot hit your leg. It took a moment for the pain to even register as you blinked, head falling off the hand it rested on.

As you looked up, opening your mouth to complain, your eyes met with Yoongi’s. He had a strange expression on his face.

Frowning, you looked around. The lecture was still going on.

“Sorry,” you whispered, “didn’t sleep well.”

Turning away from Yoongi, you found a group of boys behind you quickly tearing their eyes away. Their snickering whispers followed you even when you turned your back on them. But though you hunched over your work, fully intent on achieving tunnel-vision to your notebook, Yoongi didn’t share your intention.

“Hey,” he murmured, digging his knee into your leg until you acknowledged him. You were greeted with the same piercing stare from before. “You okay?”

Shoulders slumping, you sighed.

“Yeah…”

“You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks Yoongi,” you rolled your eyes at his bluntness, “just tired-“

“You were dreaming,” he informed you.

You blinked.

“Sorry?”

“You were kind of… twitching,” he grimaced, “that’s why they were laughing at you. Was it a nightmare?”

Blankly staring back at him, you tried to recall your dream. Once you were awake, it always left your mind like sand through a sieve, but when you thought about it…

“It’s just a dream I keep having,” you shook your head, “it’s why I couldn’t get much sleep last night.”

His eyebrows creased, but the sudden commotion that rumbled into life around you told you class was over. And you had missed most of it. Just your luck.

Sluggishly, you packed your things away. Just as you slung your bag over one shoulder, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Slipping it out as you pushed your chair in with your thigh, you saw two messages from Yoongi.

Pictures of his lecture notes.

Fondly smiling, you looked to your friend as he shut his book and slid his own things into his bag.

As usual, Yoongi walked with you after classes were done. Except today, when you parted ways, he made you promise to meet him in time to drive home. Usually you would spend longer in the library, but you could easily check out something to work on at home.

Yoongi’s earlier lecture notes mentioned some extra reading, so you decided to go and find the books to make up for being unconscious during the class itself.

Heading towards the classics section once you were inside, you heard Jimin before you saw him.

A loud thump made you wince, evidently the sound of a fallen book. Unable to help your curiosity, you leaned around the corner to the aisle it came from.

There, Jimin’s blond hair was just visible over a mound of books balanced in his arms, some tucked under his elbows, and a couple more trapped between his hip and the bookshelves.

“Jimin?”

You were already striding towards him, hurriedly grabbing for the books in the most precarious position.

“Thank you,” a muffled voice reached your ears as Jimin was finally able to step away from the shelf without fear of dropping any more.

“Um… what are you doing?” you asked incredulously as you hastily shoved the books onto a shelf, soon reaching out to start dismantling the pile in his arms.

“I had spare credits,” he spoke as you removed the books that blocked out his face, “so I’ve ended up taking Mythology of Magic. I thought I should do some reading…”

Laughing, you turned over the book in your hand. Woozle the Warlock and other stories.

“And you didn’t want to be any more selective?”

As you tugged the books from under his arm, Jimin looked down at his shuffling feet.

“I’ve never had to read fiction for my course, so I don’t really know where to start.”

“Well, I took that module last year,” you smiled, “trust me, there are a few books Professor Bang really relies on, but other than that there aren’t too many you should know.”

“Really?”

Jimin’s eyes were so hopeful. His smile had returned, and you were happy you could give him a positive answer.

“Would you like me to help you?” you ventured.

His enthusiastic nod made your heart leap.

“Right, well-“ you turned to the shelves to scan for the books you needed, absently pushing a couple more books onto a random shelf. Jimin followed suit, now having his hands free enough to make use of them.

“Jimin?”

The book you had just laid eyes on was lost as you jumped around, finding one of the librarians at the end of the shelves.

“Joon! Y/N’s gonna help me with Mythology!” Jimin greeted the man enthusiastically, but his eagerness was not returned.

“What’s going on?” the man called Joon asked.

Guiltily glancing at the shelves Jimin had pillaged, it became clear they were nowhere near orderly anymore.

“Jimin, this is going to take me ages, you know I have a date tonight!” Joon was busy complaining.

“Sorry Joon,” Jimin sighed, “do you want me to sort it?”

“Please. I’ll come and check you’re doing it right in a while,” Joon agreed, “Y/N will just have to help you later.”

“Sorry,” you piped up, looking at Jimin, “Yoongi’s giving me a lift home.”

“Then you can come to ours!” Joon startled you by clapping his hands together. He looked thrilled, but you were still confused.

“Ah, sorry Y/N,” Jimin said, “this is Namjoon. He lives with me and Yoongi.”

“Oh! Nice to meet you,” you said.

“You too,” Namjoon smiled, “I best get back to work.”

Before he left, he sent a dimpled smirk over to Jimin.

“Do you want some help?” you asked Jimin, the two of you staring at the mess of books, a couple still lying on the floor.

“No, please go and sit down,” he told you, “the doctor told you to rest.”

He was right, so you gave in.

Later on, you glanced at the clock. You didn’t want to be late for Yoongi when he was being so nice to you. Fifteen minutes were left, luckily, so you turned back to your work.

Next time you checked, fifteen minutes were left.

Wait.

That was the same as last time!

Now you thought about it, it might have said the same time when you checked it before that too.

Oh no.

Scrambling for your phone, you saw you were already more than five minutes late. As quick as humanly possible, you rammed everything into your bag and fled. You still had to check out Jimin’s books, so you dashed across to the machines to take them out.

Toe tapping on the ground, you waited behind the guy already using the last monitor, praying Yoongi wouldn’t be mad. You decided to send him a quick text.

You: On my way, sorry :)

Yoongi: Be quick

Just then, the man in front of you turned around, setting off briskly away from the station with coffee in hand. There was only one problem. You were in the way.

He crashed into you before you had even looked up, and warm liquid was already seeping through your top.

In your shock, your phone fell from your hand, straight into the puddle of coffee on the floor. Both of you just stood there for a second, mouths agape.

“Oh my gosh, sorry!” you garbled, at the same moment as he pushed past you, muttering something about standing in the way. Perfect.

Looking down at the bundle of books in your arms, it was clear they were ruined. Coffee was dripping off them, the edges of the pages already brown. Taking a breath, you bent down to retrieve your phone, not bothering to check it just yet. You had to get to Yoongi first.

In the end, you checked the books out anyway, knowing you might be able to tell your tragic tale to your new acquaintance Namjoon, thinking perhaps he could get you out of a fine.

Stepping outside, you were soon greeted with Jimin coming around the corner.

“Y/N! Yoongi sent me to go and fetch you- what happened?” he had stopped in his tracks. You didn’t have to be a genius to know your top was ruined, coffee clinging uncomfortably to your skin from the saturated fabric.

“Some guy spilled coffee on me,” you explained, carrying on towards the parking lot, “and my phone, and the books…”

Looking to the side to check he was following, you jumped. Jimin’s head had disappeared into his sweater as he pulled it over his head, shirt riding up as he did so. When he emerged you snapped your head away.

You tried to reject the hoodie as he held it out to you, knowing you would soak it through with coffee as well, but he insisted. It was black after all, it wouldn’t show up, and people were staring at you. Since you usually left campus later, it was busier than you were accustomed to.

Eventually taking the proffered jumper, you basked in its softness, thanking him with a smile.

Since you went home to study with Jimin, Jungkook and Jin had been insufferable, knowing about your crush. You told them they were lucky you loved them already, or you would kick them out.

Not if they kicked you out first, they said.

You laughed and told them you could just move in with Jimin. Needless to say, that made it worse.

In all fairness, you spent a lot of time with Jimin now. You regretted being too scared to ever talk to him before, since you actually got on really well. Helping him study had been fun, and you had been over more times since then, for studying but also for dinner and movie nights that Namjoon and Yoongi loved to crash.

You discovered all of them wanted to go to the Halloween festival, just like you.

October was halfway done, and that meant the excitement was well and truly underway. Every year on the weekend of Halloween, there was a festival just outside the city with music, haunted houses, campfires and ghost stories. And, of course, plenty of beer. Everyone wanted to go.

That week, you sat down with your own flatmates to put your names in for the festival. Due to its popularity among students, the festival always picked its attendees at random.

Since things were going well with Jimin, you had shed your pessimistic mindset a little. Maybe things didn’t always go wrong when you were around.

But then you didn’t get tickets.

And of course, Jungkook and Jin did.

You were more disappointed than you were when the same thing happened last year. For once, you had actually had your hopes up.

At least they were as sad about it as you. And it meant they went out on a dedicated shopping trip to get you a load of candy; it made both parties feel a bit better about you being left alone at the weekend.

When you had last spoken to Jimin about the festival, you found out he had gone last year. The next time you saw him after the bad news came at the weekend, you walked into uni to find him alone at the table you usually shared with Yoongi.

“Hey,” he smiled, “Yoongi’s just getting coffee.”

“Ah,” you nodded knowingly. You were quite happy to have Jimin to yourself for the moment.

It was only when Yoongi came back with two coffees that you sensed something was up. He never bought coffee for other people. Eyebrows furrowed, you watched as he set one down in front of Jimin.

Eager to take a sip, neither boy noticed you staring at them with something akin to horror until they rose from the rims of their cups.

“What’s going on?” you demanded when you caught Jimin’s eye.

“Sympathy coffee,” Jimin chuckled, “I didn’t get Halloween tickets.”

“Oh no, that sucks,” you sighed, “I didn’t either.”

“Hey, that could be good!” Jimin placed his drink down, “we could do something on Halloween instead?”

“Okay!” you agreed, “movies or something?”

“Great, let’s do it,” Jimin grinned, “beats sitting inside getting jealous of Joon and Yoongi.”

And so it was agreed, and you found yourself walking over to Jimin’s house on Halloween. Any other Saturday night, the city’s streets would be thrumming with life, groups of students holding each other up as they stumbled out, already drunk.

Today, though, it seemed like the entire student population was on the other side of town except you.

Mind wandering to your friends, you wondered how the festival was. Next year was your final chance to go. You hoped you could. They would probably be trekking through the horror maze, before dark so Jin wouldn’t get too scared. Or maybe Jungkook had got out his guitar for the campfire circle. You wondered what kinds of sugary food they would fill themselves with.

It was a nice evening for whatever was going on, being unusually warm for this time of year. You hadn’t even needed a coat to go out.

Jin’s cooking was sorely missed especially; you were something of a disaster on your own given your clumsiness. You swore you did exactly what the recipe said, but every time without fail, something went wrong.

Reaching Jimin’s, you happily let thoughts of what you were missing slide. Your bad luck had afforded you good fortune this time around, and you were determined to make the most of it.

Inside, you emptied all the snacks you had brought out of your bag and stared at the mountain you had collectively built on the coffee table.

“I guess we had better get started,” you laughed.

“We’re never going to eat all that!” Jimin laughed, flopping down on the sofa.

Sitting as well, you picked up your first chocolate and sent him a smirk.

“Challenge accepted.”

As anyone could have predicted, you failed the challenge. Before the first film had even ended, you slumped against Jimin with a groan, stomach threatening to burst. His melodic laugh filled your ears. You only groaned more, staring at the empty wrappers surrounding you before closing your eyes.

What you didn’t expect was for Jimin to reach his arm around you.

Eyes snapping open again, you saw his hands pulling your blanket up, but his arm didn’t move away. Well, perhaps your optimistic eating habits had landed you something good, after all.

The film ended, but you didn’t move away. Nor did he push you off.

“What next?” he looked down at you.

You found yourself a lot closer to his face than you were prepared for when you looked up at him, head pulling away from its place on his shoulder.

“Horror film?” you suggested with a small smile once you had recovered.

He threw his head back and laughed, but he did pick up the remote and start scrolling through the horror films.

“This should be fun,” he smiled, shaking his head slightly.

It was.

Well, maybe not the ghosts and blood and murderers and jumpscares.

But it sure was fun when Jimin clutched you in both of his arms, or when you pressed closer to him to hide your face away in his chest. When he screamed and grabbed at you, hiding his face away in the top of your head, you swore your heart stopped for a moment.

“We are not watching a horror film next time,” Jimin decreed afterwards, “or ever again!”

“Next Halloween?” you laughed.

He rolled his eyes.

“Maybe.”

Your grin wasn’t because he agreed with you. It was because he thought you would be with each other again next Halloween.

Reluctantly, the two of you untangled yourselves from the blankets. On your way out, you told him to keep the candy, and that you could never look at another one again.

“Sure,” he smirked, “text me when you get home okay.”

“Will do, thanks.”

After a beat, you stepped back through the doorway and gave him a quick hug. Wrapping his arms around you in return, he laughed.

“Don’t have nightmares!”

“No promises!” you laughed, waving at him as you walked away.

By this time it was dark, but your route back was along main roads, so you weren’t worried. However, you had barely reached the end of Jimin’s road before you felt flecks of drizzle dotting your face.

You picked up the pace, but there was still a while to go. You were never going to outrun the rain.

It wasn’t the first time you had been caught out by a storm, but it made it no more enjoyable. Halfway home, the rain was hammering down, stinging your cheeks with the force it fell. The sky above was a solid mass of cloud, regularly disturbed by thunder.

You were most certainly alone on the streets now, everyone having retreated inside. You just had to push on a little longer, and then you could have a hot shower and warm up in your pyjamas with a hot chocolate.

Cursing yourself for not bringing a coat earlier, you hugged yourself as you marched against the rain which was now dripping down your face, hair plastered to your cheeks.

On reaching your apartment, you broke into a run. Stopping outside the door, you fished for your keys in your pocket.

Nothing.

Chest tightening, you quickly pushed your hand into your other pocket. Your phone was still there, but no keys. Quickly, you patted your jeans to no success. Your bag was just as empty. Where were your keys?

Ever since the coffee incident in the library, your phone had never been quite the same, but you nearly cried in relief when you clicked the power button and it flashed on.

Leaning your head over to shield it from the worst of the rain, although you were also dripping onto it, your cold fingers fumbled to your contacts until you reached Jimin. No one else you knew was in the city.

Pressing call, you held the device to your ear, dial tone beeping over the drumming of the rain.

The tone cut off, and you waited to hear Jimin’s voice.

But it didn’t come.

“Hello?” you spoke.

No reply.

On pulling the phone from your ear, you stared at a dark screen. This time, when you pressed the power button, it was unresponsive.

Great.

Begrudgingly turning around, you sighed heavily. You fingers were already draining themselves of feeling, every inch of your jumper soaked.

But then, a couple of streets further, you spotted something glittering by the pavement. Your keyring!

Dashing towards it, you didn’t care when your fingers scraped against the cold metal of a drain, grabbing your keys as soon as you could. But when you held them up, you could only stare.

You were definitely the unluckiest person you knew.

The keyring charm itself was intact, but the same could not be said for the mangled metal that hung off it, which had been snapped. No key remained.

Looking back to the ground where you had collected it, you could only see dark tarmac. No key. And below the drain your keyring had been lying on was a torrent of rushing water from the storm.

You were well and truly fucked, only one option left.

Your third journey that night down the roads to Jimin’s was significantly less enjoyable than before. Even your shoes were soaked now and you were shivering from head to toe. It really wasn’t the way you wanted Jimin to see you, looking like a rat that had crawled up from the gutter, but you had nowhere else to go.

Finally reaching Jimin’s road, you were surprised to see his door fly open when you were still halfway down the street, spilling yellow light into the dark. You frowned even more when you saw him step out, wrapped in a raincoat, practically tripping down his own steps before looking around.

Closer now, you were able to catch his attention as you approached. He only stared at you, his adorable face the very picture of shock, before he ran up to you.

“Y/N oh my god! The moment this storm started I got worried, and when I saw a missed call from you I didn’t know what to do! What happened? Are you alright?”

“C-cold,” you said through chattering teeth.

“Shit, yeah, let’s get you back inside,” he grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. If only you could feel where his hand held yours.

Just across the threshold, you held back, knowing you were already soaking the ground.

“Y/N, you’re freezing, please come in,” Jimin pulled you into the living room, not that you could resist when you felt the warmth of his house greet you.

Realising you hadn’t even removed your shoes, you bent to undo your waterlogged laces, but your fingers were uncooperative.

“Here,” Jimin knelt too. You watched as his fingers deftly released your laces, and you let him slide your shoes off. His face was flushed, slightly damp too from his short trip outside.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, sitting back and reaching for you jumper.

Together, you peeled the garment off you, heavy with water.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” he said firmly, “you’re staying here.”

Beyond the window, the rain had not let up.

“Okay.”

Making quick work of the rest of your clothes in the bathroom, you left them in a pile on the shower floor. Jimin had luckily left a towel on the radiator. Wrapped up in the warm fluff, you barely wanted to move, but eventually Jimin’s clothes, folded on the floor, tempted you enough.

Emerging fully dressed in the too-big clothes, you found Jimin stumbling down the stairs. Or rather, a moving pile of blankets.

“Any better?” his eyes peeked over the top, making it impossible for you not to laugh.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Following him into the living room, you stepped over the wet patches you had created as Jimin dropped the blankets onto the sofa.

“So what happened?” he clambered into the makeshift nest, patting the blankets beside him for you to follow suit.

“My keys found their way down a storm drain,” you sighed, “but I didn’t notice until I got home. And then my phone gave up.”

You let out a dry laugh. It really was ridiculous how the world seemed to be against you.

“Would hot chocolate make it better?”

Your eyes and mouth grew simultaneously and Jimin laughed loudly, head flopping back and soft hair falling away from his face. Anyone would have thought he had just given you a bag of lottery winnings by the way you looked at him.

“Yes, I take it?” he giggled.

Maybe the world was against you, but Jimin was the one thing that made everything better. Sitting next to him surrounded by blankets and sipping cocoa could only be made better if you weren’t just sitting next to him.

As if to prove his place as your personal saviour, Jimin soon snuggled closer to you.

After a few minutes of his head on your shoulder, your arm around him, you whispered into his hair.

“Maybe tonight was lucky in the end.”

“Hmm?” he twisted to look at you and your heart softened even more when you saw his eyes were barely open. Smiling giddily, you pulled back to look at him.

“I just always thought bad things happened to me. But it’s not so bad ending up here with you.”

A hand scrubbed over his face in an effort to wake up a little more. Embarrassment already began to encroach as you watched his mouth opening and closing. Had you said too much?

And then he shuffled closer, all those thoughts dissipating like dandelion seeds as his hand brushed your cheek. His lips lay in a peaceful smile, and you couldn’t take your eyes away as he silently shuffled closer.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sound barely leaving your mouth.

Then his lips met yours.

It wasn’t forceful, quite the opposite. The kind of kiss that made you lean in for more, sweet and lingering, erasing any memory of what existed outside of it. Now his soft touch felt so real, so present and so… Jimin.

Hands ghosted across skin, hungry but tentative.

Time got lost around you as you gave in, indulging in each other until you lay on top of him, breathless as you paused. His eyes were smiling. He was always smiling.

Unable to believe Park Jimin kissed you, wanted you too, you stared at him, trying to soak it all in.

Another laugh passed his lips, joy overflowing. His arms tightened around your waist, squeezing you tightly against his chest, and a kiss was pressed to your forehead.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

You had to look back at his face then, just to check those words had actually passed his lips.

“Yes!”

The room was familiar, even though it was dark. Nothing could be seen but you knew you had been here before.

The woman had not moved. Was she still angry?

For the first time, the fire shows itself as more than just a glimmer lighting the wisened face. No, it is there, bright and dancing.

Taunting.

You can’t look away but it burns your eyes. That is not all it burns.

The woman’s hand reaches out, engulfed in the fire, and suddenly your silence bursts.

The fire is deafening, cracking like a monster walking on bones, roaring in its pain. Maybe the darkness is the smoke. It gets in your eyes, but you still can’t look away, can’t blink, and beyond the red beast, the woman in still there, voice finally loud and strong, surfacing in the brief moments through the blazing fire.

You can’t understand her.

But you understand she is not a friend. You know from the way her hand rises from the fire unscathed. She must be a friend to the fire, but the fire is hurting you.

You can’t move.

You can’t look away.

Smoke is in your lungs, fire clings to your skin.

You can’t scream but you need to, you need to get out of here, but no one knows you’re here, you don’t even know where here is, or how you got here, but it hurts, and she only wants to hurt you more, and-

Someone is shouting but it’s not her this time and it cuts through the fire. Then it stops and you fall back, darkness and blinding fire side by side-

“Y/N!”

Hands on your shoulder. The room is dark. Where is the smoke? Breath judders in and out of your throat. You cough. The hands draw back. The fire is gone too.

A dim light flicks on and Jimin looks at you. Propped on his elbow, he looks down at you where you lie on the pillow, other hand coming up to stroke down your face. You were used to waking up like this, alone, but now he was there and all you wanted was his warmth.

When you dived towards him, he folded you in his arms, holding you close as you breathed in his safety.

“You okay?” he spoke into the stillness.

At first, you nodded into his chest. Then you thought he might want a bit more detail about why you had woken him in the middle of the night, so you lifted your head. Nose-to-nose on the pillow, you explained.

“It’s this dream I keep having,” you whispered, “I always forget about it after, but it keeps coming back. It was… different, today.”

“What happens in the dream?” a delicate crease formed between Jimin eyebrows.

“I’m in a dark room…” your eyes wandered to the air by his ear as you tried to picture it, “there’s this woman there. And she’s always saying something, but I can never hear. And there’s a fire. Today she made the fire grow, and I could hear her for once, but I still didn’t understand what she was saying.”

“Strange…” he murmured.

“I know,” you sighed, shuffling closer to him under the duvet, “but let’s go back to sleep.”

“Not until I kiss you better,” he smirked, voice still husky with sleep as he rolled you over and planted more perfect kisses to your lips.

Quickly circling your arms and legs around him, you eagerly reciprocated. Your bodies fit together so well, both defying sleep as the kisses continued between your smiling mouths until the dream was well and truly gone from your mind.

In the morning, your phone seemed to have resurrected itself from where it was charging at the wall, and it decided to announce this loudly to Jimin’s entire apartment. Both stirring at the same time when the ringtone blasted across the room, you extricated yourselves from each other.

Jimin reached across for his own phone, groaning when he saw that it was already eleven and promptly flopping back onto the bed. You, on the other hand, abandoned the comfort of the warm bed in favour of making whoever was calling shut up.

However, just as you reached your phone, it fell silent anyway.

Opening it and scrolling through the notifications, you found it was Jungkook who had phoned. You had used Jimin’s phone to text them in the end yesterday, and they said they would come back from the festival early to let you in, so you supposed he was back.

Taking it off charge, you opened Jungkook’s messages, of which there were several from last night.

Before you could read them, though, Jimin’s ringtone started up. Looking up, you admired his muscular back as he twisted to pick it up.

“It’s Jin,” he frowned, looking to you.

Sitting back on the bed, you just shrugged.

“Hello?” Jimin greeted.

He was leaning back on one arm, but as he listened to whatever Jin was saying, he sat forwards, face growing serious.

“O-okay, yeah,” he said.

Startling you, he pushed the covers aside and pulled his wardrobe open, one hand still occupied with the phone. When he had pulled out a random pair of jeans and a shirt, he turned to you. He crossed the room rapidly, holding out the phone for you to take.

You stared between his face and the phone, then shook yourself and hurriedly took it.

“Jin?”

“Y/N, we just got back… I think you should probably come here.”

“Okay, we can come soon, what’s going on?”

“Um, well…” for a moment your heart froze as he paused, fearing what might be wrong. Jungkook could be heard faintly in the background.

“Are you still there? Jin?”

“There was a fire.”

Now it was your turn to be silent. You were aware that your boyfriend was undressing right behind you, but all you could do was sit still.

“What?” you choked.

“Listen, don’t worry, it’s going to be okay-“

“How bad?”

Another pause from Jin, and you knew he didn’t want to say.

“Most of the apartment is fine, it’s just your room…” you heard the soft creak of your sofa as he sat heavily, “just come here, okay? We’ll sort something out.”

“Y-yeah. See you soon.”

Shakily, you stood. Jimin was fully dressed, car keys already in hand.

It was exactly like Jin had said, but that still didn’t make it any better.

You knocked on the door, greeted with a lingering hug from Jin. He always gave those kind of hugs, like he was trying to hold you together with his own arms. From the outside, your place looked the same, but you could already see black streaks on the wall as you looked down the corridor, where Jungkook nervously licked and bit his lip alternately.

Yoongi and Namjoon were also there, trying very hard to blend into the wall. They took the first chance they could to join Jimin by the door as you stepped past them all towards your room.

Black seeped around the edges of your door. You felt numb as you pushed against it, swinging it open to reveal an unrecognisable space. Everything was completely ravaged by the fire, curtains hanging from the pole in rags, dark debris covering the floor and furniture stained darker than it was ever meant to be.

Your feet disturbed the dust of what was once yours, carrying you further into the wreckage.

Until a hand landed on your shoulder, you simply stood, paralysed. But then Jimin was next to you and you broke into his arms.

“The firefighters were here this morning when we got back,” Jin said, “they told us a candle set fire to your curtain and it started from there.”

You nodded.

That’s all you had been doing for a while since the lot of you had camped out in the living room back at Jimin’s. You had been huddled against him ever since as your flatmates made calls to the landlord, insurance, repair services and so on.

It wasn’t too severely damaged.

That’s what the general consensus was, and you could go back to living there after a couple of days unless any complications were found as they cleaned up the house. But for you, it was different. It was your stuff that had burned.

Even the photos in the hallway that burned, the only victims of the flames that had escaped your room, were all of you. For the thousandth time, you questioned if someone out there really hated you so much.

At least your friends didn’t.

They hadn’t expected anything of you, letting you stay silent and sorting everything out. Now that all anyone could do was wait, a lazy day was declared and the blankets made a return appearance.

Jimin invited his friends Tae and Hoseok, who were apparently also friends with his flatmates, and Jin went shopping with Namjoon, insisting on cooking later.

You had to admit, being surrounded by Jimin and your friends did lift your spirits. Taehyung and Jungkook had instantly hit it off, goofing around as crap TV played in the background. All the sweets you had failed to eat the night before came in especially useful for such a big group.

Jin’s food was excellent as always, and you had recovered enough by dinner time to notice something different about your friend.

“Did you see my messages last night?” Jungkook whispered, digging his elbow into you. You squealed, but he shushed you, looking around at the others.

It was getting dark, and you had all piled together for a film (not horror).

When the others’ eyes left you, you glared at your youngest friend.

“I didn’t. What is it?”

Beside you, Jimin’s arm tightened around your waist as he leaned forwards, resting his chin on your shoulder to hear Jungkook too.

“Yeah Kook, what is it?” he chuckled.

“Jin-hyung was on date!” Kook’s big eyes sparkled with excitement as you sat forward with a start, evicting Jimin from his spot on your shoulder.

“What?!” you whisper-shouted.

“I know!”

Spluttering for something to say, you grabbed Kook’s hands as you both bounced up and down on the sofa, Jimin hiding laughter behind his hand at the two of you.

“Who was it? How did you find out? Did he like them? Ohmygod!” you rambled.

Jungkook laughed, but supressed it quickly, smile full to bursting as he leaned forwards, barely containing himself.

“Namjoon-hyung,” he whispered.

Now Jimin’s eyes bulged from his head along with you.

“Oh my god.”

Satisfied with your reactions, Jungkook giggled as you and Jimin exchanged looks.

“Hush, you lot. And I would be careful – Jin and I are not the only ones who seem to have got up to something this weekend.”

Three pairs of wide eyes turned towards Namjoon, who was right beside Jungkook. He simply snorted a laugh, dimples making an appearance as he turned back to the film without another word.

You stayed quiet after that.

Jimin had to admit, your pessimism seemed to be justified.

From a roof tile falling on you, people spilling coffee on you, your keys vanishing mysteriously on the very night your apartment caught fire, unlucky would be an understatement. Now he sat in the library, mind drifting back to all the time he had known you.

The first time you had come round to study, he remembered staring in surprise at all your memory sticks. You kept so many on you, as well as saving your work onto enough clouds to make a storm, on top of keeping notes on paper.

Perhaps you weren’t just disorganised as you claimed. In fact, you seemed extremely organised, but you insisted your documents went missing all the time.

He placed down another book on the growing pile beside him, pulling the next one out.

When he had taken you back to your room after the fire, he sadly placed a row of charred pot plants in a bin bag. They were all dead anyway, you had said, I can never keep them alive.

Yoongi had come to the library too, under the guise of studying. If studying consisted of forcing Namjoon to let him into the staff room for unlimited coffee, then he was being very productive.

But when Jimin confessed his fears, Yoongi had also told him about you dreaming in class.

Only a few passing paragraphs had struck him as relevant so far in his quest for research, and the sky was already dimming outside. Only a couple more books sat on his left side, the books he hadn’t read yet. Sighing in defeat, he placed yet another book across to the right and pulled the largest tome yet over to him.

This one didn’t look like it had been touched in years, leather binding groaning as he heaved it open, coughing at the dust that spewed from its pages. But finally, he saw something promising in the contents.

Turning the yellowed pages, he reached his destination, instantly knowing from the illustrations that this was it. A full moon, just like the one outside the library window. A wilted plant. A spider-web of swirling black smoke.

Eyes devouring the words on the page, he eventually sat back. For a moment, he looked at the thin air in front of him, swallowing hard.

Then he sprung into action, pulling out his phone and snapping photos of the book. It shut heavily in another cloud of dust, and then it was away on the shelf and Jimin’s thumb was hovering over your contact as he rushed to his flatmates at the desk.

“I’ve found it!”

Namjoon mumbled something that sounded a lot like finally as Yoongi turned away from him towards Jimin. He was already calling you, wanting to meet up to share his findings.

The ringtone stopped, and he opened his mouth to greet you, only for your voicemail to speak first.

Brow creasing, he pulled his phone away and hung up, pressing call again.

Nothing.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked, but Jimin was looking past him. The moon hung so innocently in the sky, but Jimin’s veins were turning to ice.

“We have to go. Now.”

The week following such an eventful Halloween had been a blur. You were pretty sure tonight was the first time you had been alone since that night.

Jungkook was at home with his family for his brother’s birthday, Jin working late at the restaurant.

Jimin had been working in the library all day with his flatmates too, leaving you at your newly repaired house all by yourself. As per a yearly tradition, Jin had salvaged some pumpkins from his work that were due to be thrown out when pumpkin pie left the menu, but you were the only one around to carve them at the moment.

But you were bored. And there were plenty, too many if you were honest, and you were always terrible, so it wouldn’t hurt to practise before Jimin had to witness your shocking pumpkin art skills.

And this was how you ended up in the middle of a storm of pumpkin innards in your kitchen, wonky face leering from the unfortunate vegetable behind you as you looked around at the mess.

Having already slipped over once on the orange goo, you decided cleaning up took priority over improving your artistry. Setting the knife down, you bent down and scooped up the largest clump, a few seeds falling from your hands as you shuffled over to the bin on your knees.

Pushing your hair behind your ear and leaving a sticky orange clump while you were at it, you leaned across to another patch, right at the base of the counter.

But as you stretched out your fingers, a shape fell down your vision. Before you could even blink, you felt a sharp, stabbing pain in your arm as metal clattered to the tile.

Recoiling, you were met with bright red. The knife that had leapt from the side was the sharpest one in the kitchen, Jin’s pride and joy. Where it had hit your arm, aided by gravity, it had easily sliced into your skin which now spewed blood at an alarming rate as you jumped up, eyes glued to the injury.

Bandages. Clean it. Stop the blood.

Minor first aid had been drilled into your head since you were younger, given all the scrapes and bruises you accumulated. But now, as red spattered onto your kitchen floor, you couldn’t seem to remember the order to do things.

Where were the bandages anyway?

No, clean it. Yes.

Ripping your eyes away, you clutched the edge of the sink as you stuck your arm under running water. It burned like fire into your cut.

Snatching your arm back, you watched the pale red splash up the edges of the sink, now falling onto the counter too. Shit. Clamping your other hand over the injury, you squeezed it and hissed in pain just as the room wobbled around you.

Scratch all this. You needed to lie down.

Eyes set on the sofa, you stepped towards it, but you never made it that far.

In the brightness of the room, only one face is visible. A woman with age-worn skin is looking at you.

She is talking.

Fire blazes all around her, throwing her face into light, nearly erasing the wrinkles that cling to her.

She is louder than the fire, words you do not recognise spilling from her lips. You’ve heard this kind of thing before, though, and you know she is gifted. Her words carry the distinct sound of the language of magic.

Though you do not understand it, you know she is not a friend.

But her words change.

Within the hostile words, there is one you know. A name.

But it isn’t yours. Why are you here if she wants Eunji? Eunji is your grandmother’s name.

Before you can ask, the fire stops burning. Silence returns.

In the darkness of the room, only one face is visible. She is lit by moonlight.

“Why are we in such a hurry anyway?” Yoongi eyed his friend in the passenger seat as he chewed his lip, looking back at his phone for the third time in a minute.

“Something bad might have happened.”

Resurfacing from his blank phone screen, Jimin watched the light turn to green, relieved when Yoongi pulled away much too fast.

When they pulled up outside your building, Jimin had already thrown his seatbelt off, jumping out before Yoongi had even turned the car off. Frowning, he followed his friend as he ran to the door, nearly beating it down with the force of his knocks.

No one answered.

He had thought you could be just napping, missing the phone calls. Letting your phone die was a special talent of yours, anyway.

But no one could sleep through the racket Jimin was making.

Joining Jimin at the door, he looked around. Since you had been locked out, Jin had given in and had a spare key made to ‘save you from yourself’. Picking up a pot plant from the doorstep, Yoongi revealed the key, which Jimin instantly dived for.

“Y/N?” Jimin was running up the hallway.

Yoongi heard him gasp before he had reached the corner himself, but it made him speed up.

It was a good thing Jimin had panicked. Because there you were, out cold on the kitchen floor, blood flowing from your arm and a knife stained red lying nearby.

Yoongi already had his phone to his ear as Jimin crashed to his knees next to you, crying out your name and pulling you onto his knees. No response came. Looking wildly around him, he grabbed for a towel, rolling it up and pressing it into your arm where the blood still seeped out.

He barely heard Yoongi talking behind him as he swallowed down the lump in his throat, free hand cupping your face, running his thumb shakily across your cheekbone.

The paramedics didn’t arrive for too long. Then he blinked and they were everywhere, hands pulling him back away from you. You got lost in the water warping his vision.

But you would be okay.

That was what they said, but he could barely believe it when he walked into your hospital room at last, greeted with your eyes, awake and alive. Your sheepish smile, embarrassed at another mishap.

It felt like air had entered his lungs for the first time since it all left him when he had seen you on the floor some hours ago.

“Thank god,” he choked when his face was finally pressed into your hair, arms holding so tight you weren’t sure you would ever escape. Not that you would complain about that.

His lips found yours desperately, telling you how much he cared, how much he worried. Eyes fluttering shut, you returned the embrace, reveling in the feeling.

A cough startled you apart.

“Get a room,” Jin complained. It didn’t quite have the same effect when his smile wouldn’t leave his face.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we are in a room,” you retorted.

Nonetheless, Jimin stepped back and let Jin hug you. Yoongi followed not far behind with a carrier of coffee for everyone. Jungkook had already called you, just before they all arrived, promising bucketloads of junk food when he came back.

“I thought I banned you from my good knives,” Jin fixed you with a stare as he sat down.

You avoided his gaze.

“The others weren’t strong enough for the pumpkin,” you muttered, aware of how stupid it sounded.

He just sighed.

“I’m just glad Jimin turned up when he did,” Jin squeezed Jimin’s knee, “how did you know to come anyway?”

“Well…” Jimin shuffled in his seat, “I sort of found something out…”

Looking to the other occupants in the room, you found their gazes just as blank as yours.

“What do you mean?”

Tugging his chair a little closer, Jimin reached out for your hand, enclosing it in his.

“I was doing some research. We all know you’re clumsy, unlucky and bad things happen to you a lot-“

“Thanks Jimin,” you said drily, eyebrows climbing your face.

“No, no! I still l- you know what I mean,” he sighed after you burst out laughing at his panic, “no, but seriously Y/N, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I study curses, and all the signs are there. Dreams, bad luck, unlikely accidents. I found a book, there was this illustration about a particular curse, it matched the scorch marks from the fire at your place exactly. It’s an old curse, elders used it to wish ill fortune on a family line, and it relies on moon magic. And tonight was a full moon, and this happened, so…”

Staring back at your boyfriend, you were glad for the grounding presence of his hand. You hadn’t understood all of what he said, not knowing anything about magic yourself, but it was clear what he thought.

You were cursed.

“But-but my family aren’t cursed,” you spoke quietly, “you said it was a family curse-”

“A family line curse,” he explained, “it only affects one person, but it’s a curse bestowed on someone else in your family. Sometimes people want to hurt a loved one of the one they curse, not the enemy themselves.”

“That’s horrible,” you whispered.

“I know,” Jimin said, “and that’s why we need to break it. I’m sure I’m right about this, it all fits. I can show you the book I found, if you want.”

Nodding, you looked at your lap.

“How do we break it?”

“That’s a little more tricky…” Jimin admitted, pushing a hand through his hair, “we need to find out who cast it in the first place. That way we can unwork exactly what was done, since it’s a highly personal curse.”

“My grandma,” you muttered.

“Sorry?”

“I think it was my grandma.”

You eyes met Jimin’s. Greeted with his full attention, you took a breath and elaborated.

“I had another dream… or, at least, I think it was a dream. It was while I was passed out. It was the same as before, but, well, it was quite different actually. But the woman, she definitely said my grandma’s name.”

“Then you’re probably right,” Jimin squeezed your hand, “shall we give her a call?”

As the dial tone bleeped in your ear, you looked around at your friends. Although Yoongi had dozed off in his chair, Jin was giving you an encouraging smile. When your eyes met, he gave you a thumbs up. Grinning, you leaned back into Jimin’s arms where he sat on the bed behind you.

“Hello?” your grandpa’s voice finally greeted you.

“Oh, hi, grandpa, it’s me,” you smiled.

“Hello sweetie! How are you?” he asked, “your dad told us you had an accident today.”

“Yes, I’m fine thank you. I was wondering if I could talk to grandma?”

“Ah, sorry love, she’s out at the moment. Bad luck.”

Not funny grandpa. Bad luck was the exact thing you were trying to shake off.

“Okay,” you sighed, “maybe she could phone me when she gets back?”

“Hold on,” your grandpa’s voice grew more distant. In the distance, a door clicked. “I think that’s her now. I’ll get her.”

Suddenly, his yell of ‘EUNJIII!’ made you jump, hurriedly jerking away from your phone.

“Hello dear?” your grandma’s voice crackled across and you deemed it safe to return the device to your ear.

“Hi grandma. I have something I have to ask you.”

“Of course,” you could practically hear her smiling, but you felt yourself growing hot. How were you meant to breach such a subject?

“Um, were you ever, I mean, how-“ a deep breath, “are you cursed?”

Wow. Real tactful, you scolded yourself mentally.

“Oh!” you grandma laughed on the other line, “I see, dear. Any reason you’re asking.”

“Um, just, that, maybe, I might be sort of… cursed, too,” you winced.

“I mean, you are quite unlucky…” she gave an awkward laugh, but offered nothing more.

“Grandma,” you begged, “please tell me.”

She sighed.

“Okay. Yes, I was cursed. I never believed it though, but ever since you came along, I started to see the truth. Your grandpa knows all this too, but I never thought it would be so bad.”

“But we can break it grandma,” you encouraged, “it can be broken if we know why it was cast in the first place.”

“You can really break it?”

“Yes, grandma.”

“I’m so sorry, I never knew anything about all this magic, I just thought… well, I can tell you what happened.

“Y/N, the thing is... I’m bisexual. And when I was your age, I had a girlfriend. When her mother found out, she was very angry. Back then, people weren’t accepting like they are now, and she wouldn’t tolerate us being together. They were from a community of magic and she blamed me for ‘leading her daughter astray’, and tried to curse me, saying I would feel her pain when I had a daughter of my own.”

“Oh,” you breathed. That made sense. Your grandma only had one child, your father. So… “I’m the next daughter in the family.”

“Yes, my dear,” your grandma sighed, “so you see why I never believed her. She was just a hateful old woman, and when your dad was fine, I thought the curse wasn’t real. I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“It’s okay, grandma,” you told her, “I still love you very much. We will break it. Thank you for telling me.”

Magic in real life was nothing like what you had seen on TV. Well, you were doing a different kind, you supposed.

Jimin had a massive book on the floor in front of him, a row of dried plants beside him. Eyeing them, you took deep breaths. Jimin’s explanation hadn’t really made sense to you, so you just planned to go with whatever the process was.

You had understood one thing, however.

“Homophobic piece of shit curse,” you grumbled, picking aggressively at the floorboards. “This would be so much better if I had to kiss a girl, just to stick it to that woman.”

Smile tugging at his lips, Jimin looked up at you.

“Do you not want to kiss me?”

“Of course I want to kiss you, idiot,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m just saying.”

Chuckling, Jimin bent back over his book.

“Well, I think we’re ready. Then you never have to kiss me again.”

“No, Jimin!” you gasped, “I want to kiss you plenty!”

“Come here then,” he laughed.

Giggling, you walked to him and knelt in front of him, returning to the gorgeous familiarity of his kiss, his hands tantalising on your waist.

“Okay,” he panted, eventually drawing back, “that was a good practise. Time to do it for real. Are you ready?”

Nodding, you climbed off him and sat, mirroring his position cross-legged on the floor. At his reassuring smile, you closed your eyes.

You felt his soft palm rest on your forehead, and he murmured something. Though it was incomprehensible to you, it did stir something in you. Though your eyes were closed, your retinas seemed flooded with golden light, while something churned low in your stomach.

The hand stayed in place as the scent of lavender engulfed you, one of the plants Jimin had prepared. He spoke again.

Suddenly, the light flashed and disappeared, the world sinking into darkness.

One face is visible.

You know her, you have been here before, and she is still talking.

But now the smoke in the room is visible, light grey tendrils rising from burning lavender. There is no fire. The woman’s voice changes then.

The language of magic continues, but Jimin’s voice is sounding through the room, and another smell meets you, a herb you do not know.

You stay there for a while. Although you do not move, you are sure you could if you wanted. You aren’t in danger here anymore.

Her hand raises. She has done that before, but this time there is no threat. You are sure of it. You know it from the way light pools in her palm, warm, innocent, inviting.

You cannot look away.

Maybe you are floating. Something is pulling at you, and suddenly you gasp, tasting the herbs in the air. It feels like something is moving inside you. You clutch your chest, feeling something curling around your heart, fighting, and then it is rising and you are choking on it.

Maybe you are dying.

Gasping and spluttering, you find no air. But something finds you. A kiss like home, sweet against your lips, and when they pull away, air spills in.

A whisper by your ears, so close the breath moves your hair.

“Open your eyes.”

The room is light, and one face is visible. Jimin smiles.

“It worked!”

Tackling your boyfriend to the floor in a hug, you press your face into his chest. You couldn’t believe it. It was really gone!

“How do you feel?” he laughed.

“Great! Amazing! Perfect!” you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, “I could do anything! I can have plants without killing them now, right! Jin might let me in the kitchen! Oh my god, I’m going to win a video game against Jungkook!”

Ecstatic, you watched Jimin laughing hysterically under you, joy written all over his face. It suited him.

Maybe now the curse was gone, you could do anything, but there was one thing you wanted more than all that.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

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