#like?? It fits so well with their dynamic!

[muntitled]

Indebted

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: He wouldn't call it jealousy... He just wasn't very fond of sharing his toys.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Jealousy Language, Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Caning, Forced Orgasm, Controlled Orgasm, Dumbification, Impact Play, Blood Play, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Rough Sex, Blood Play, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

4k words

"Seriously, if it weren't for your help, I'd probably fail this module-" you meet him at the door, your Salesman, who's come to play one of his games. He arrives just as you're ushering someone else out.

"It's honestly my pleasure," you say, "You've made me feel useful."

As you speak, you open your front door to reveal your Salesman standing on the opposite end of the threshold.

You hadn't been smiling, not until you saw him standing there in a crisp, well-fitted navy blue suit. He's not looking at you. Not immediately. His eyes are trained on the boy you're standing beside. The one who's slipping on his sneakers, still murmuring about how incredibly grateful he is for your tutoring.

'It's nothing,' you replied modestly, even though it was most definitely not nothing to dedicate your entire Wednesday afternoon to tutoring. The boy is a first year and budding with the need to get better in psychology. His essay would have been flawless, had it not been for the grammatical and spelling errors that plagued the page. You'd both sat for the majority of this Wednesday afternoon hacking through the issues and improving on his spelling. It was endearing. To be in university and still need a spelling tutor.

"Thanks so much for the help." The boy tries to maneuver his lanky frame past your Salesman who takes up the majority of the space by your little doorway.

"See you next week." He shoots you a small smile before giving an uneasy glance to your Salesman.

"Hello." Says the Salesman, so painfully formal it causes a wave of unease to swell. He peers down at the boy like a tiny little thing.

"H-Hey." Your student replies before thanking you once more.

When he leaves and it's just you and the man you're paid to please every Wednesday evening, an uneasy sort of silence settles between you both.

You're smiling up at him.

And he's smiling down at you but it's different somehow. Tighter. Not a genuine smile at all.

Although admittedly, none of his smiles were genuine. His entire face was a carefully orchestrated scam, to get any suspecting victim to trust him.

And yet somehow, this smile feels more phoney.

Like a tempest is brewing beneath.

Before you're able to dissect it further, he's already stepping closer, letting his large, elongated shadow fall on you. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"The last time you came to my house, you killed someone." You lean against the door, your hip leaning against the wood as you fold your arms over your chest. His eyes zero in on the movement and a rare occasion occurs: You feel powerful. That's the last thing you've ever been made to feel in his presence.

"It took a week to get the smell of blood and death out of my room." You continue.

He lifts his hands in front of you, showing the briefcase that hangs from his heavy fingers and the blisters coating his palms. Like a magician convincing you his hands were clean, "I come in peace." That deep and gravelly vibrato veneering his voice causes a tantalizing hum to run all the way down your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You step aside, staring blankly ahead of you as he steps into your house, bombarding everything with his presence.

From his brisk walk alone, trudging into your apartment like he owns the palace (which he regrettably does) you almost immediately realize that something is wrong. You are not under the impression that you've done anything to make him angry but unease still rolls in your stomach like a tempest that's brewing. When you make it into your adjoining living that bleeds into the kitchen, you find him standing in the kitchen. He lowers his briefcase onto the counter before resting both his heavy hands there.

You move to the other side of the counter, leaning down- giving him a more than perfect view of the cleavage spilling from your dress. You hope it might appease him as you try to wrack your mind for possibile slip-ups that would've caused this terrible silence.

This little-to-no-conversation between you both makes your dynamic feel like the transaction that it actually is: a girl, who needs her university fees paid and a sadist who wants his needs met. Feelings weren't in the equation and yet, your heart stops when he asks,

"How was school?"

"School was school." You reply, sounding pathetically excited to finally hear his voice since the moment he entered your little home.

"Although," you peer down at your jittery fingers on the counter. Your nerves are shot to hell as you admit, "I don't know how proactive I'm going to be tonight-”

He was a ruthless dominant, never failing to leave you absolutely spent by the end of the night. It left you with great discomfort to not be able to perform to the greatest of your abilities during these sessions. “I'm so tired... I've got this psychology quiz and-"

"Who was that?" His questions cut through yours like the tip of a hot knife.

“Who was who?” You ask.

He only smiles before turning his back to you, frantically pulling open cupboards as he says, “Rice. Where's the rice? Do you have rice?”

“The cupboard in the bottom row- Who are you referring to?”

He pulls out your tall container of rice and you watch him round the counter with it in his hands. “This place is so fucking small.” He says, popping the lid of the container, “Reminds me of my childhood home.” He stands right in the only open space in your apartment and all you do is watch as he tips the container over, watching millions of rice grains scatter to the bare floor.

“THAT'S MY FOOD, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-”

His voice is like molten lava when he looks down at you and points toward the ground. “Kneel.”

You feel nothing but cold air slide across your exposed arms when he trudges back to your little kitchen. Your mind reels and your stomach sinks and sinks and sinks- burning a hole through the rest of your organs.

“Am I being punished for something?”

“Be a good girl and kneel on the rice.” He says and because you were nothing but a slave to the dominance in his voice, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. From behind the kitchen counter he watches your face contort into unmistakable pain as the rice grains dig into your knees. He takes a while but soon you're fully kneeling on the floor. He rounds the counter once again until he's standing before you.

“That… child that was just here,” his voice is eerily calm as he caresses your cheek, “Who was that?”

Had you been in any other situation, under vastly different circumstances, you might have looked for the urge to laugh. His blatant jealousy of some university first-year was nothing if not laughable.

“He's just a friend from class- ah.” It almost becomes unbearable but for the sake of your self preservation, you know not to get up.

He continues to caress you, loosening his tie as he asks. “Which class?”

“P-Pardon?”

“You mean to tell me you only go to one class?” He snaps and you fight off tears, “What the fuck am I paying for?”

“You're paying for me to get my psychology degree.” You reply with feeble words, trying to put away the thought of all the little stabbings plaguing your knees.

“And does that entail sleeping with your classmates?”

“What?!” You screech as he walks away. You're suddenly left without nothing to hold onto and you sway forward, your palms landing on more rice.

“Y-You know I don't do that.” You cry, feeling the sting more from the accusation than the pain of all this bloody rice, “Y-You know I don't sleep around- You know I don't talk to anyone-”

You hear his briefcase click open. From your vantage point on the lowly rice-filled floor, you cannot see what he's taking out. It fills you with more dread than you've ever experienced before. Which was utterly ridiculous.

With him, dread is a thing you ought to be accustomed to. Dread is where you live now. You ought to get comfortable with it.

“Such a shame.” He tsks as he finally rounds the corner to reveal whatever it is he's gone to go fetch. His dress shoes clack against your recently varnished floor and you breathe heavily. The pain had subsided- or perhaps you've gotten used to it- which scares you more than anything. He's messing with your pain threshold. Causing you to build a tolerance for certain things and that terrifies you.

Hidden under all that terror was unmistakable lust.

God help you.

“I thought we were making progress, you and I.” you see the cane first. Made of rattan, it hangs from his strong hand corded with tense veins. A gleaming watch is secured around his wrist and you're already shaking your head as you slowly look up at him. Now the tears are right by the doorway. No matter how much pain he forces you to get accustomed to you could never survive this. Your body still has limits.

“He just asked me to help him with his spelling- Please!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Spelling, you say?” he pats down on your head, eliciting a dizzying wave of subordination as he says, “I think you've just given us our game for tonight, Doll.” He bends down, knees bending until he's somewhat closer to your height. He's still far too big for you. Far too much. You try to crawl backwards, you try to crawl away but he grabs you by your face. You're quite literally being expertly manhandled as he turns you around until you're on your knees in the opposite direction.

“Please…” You're begging but you don't know what for. Once his games were set in motion, nothing could stop him.

Your movements still when you fill him lower his large hand onto your backside. It's so big and warm and you momentarily forget about the rice digging into your skin. He slowly lifts up the skirt of your dress, revealing your underwear beneath.

“Our little Spelling Bee,” he lowers your panties down your thighs, causing a shiver to wrack through your entire body. It's pointless to hide how affected you are by every little thing he does.

“For every word you spell right,” he lifts your leg for you, giving you momentary reprieve from the pain as he manoeuvres you out of the underwear, “You get to cum.”

You'd never felt more degraded: being forced onto doggy style onto a million grains of rice while this man lets his fingers graze over your exposed cunt. He parts your folds and a wave of embarrassment rolls over your face. It's all so normal to him though, just sticking his fingers inside your cunt. He does it with the professionalism of gynecology and all you're able to do is stare blankly ahead while he prods at you.

“We can't make things too easy, though, so you're gonna keep this little thing warm for me while we play,”

You're craning your neck back, trying to get a look. “What thi-”

You release one hoarse gasp when he inserts something round and bulbous and vibrating, straight into your cunt.

“Th-This isn't a game. It's a punishment.” You say through gritted teeth, trying to fight off a moan as the vibrator hums inside you, “I've only ever had sex with one person-”

You. That voice pipes up in the back of your head, feeble as you felt. You think back on the time you gave him your virginity. It had been a bloody affair.

The second his cock ruptured your hymen and the blood began to coat your thighs, it only made him ravage you more. You'd gone to bed crying that night, your tears soaking into your pillows. You were unable to get up and head to classes the next day. All that pain and yet you also felt so incredibly fulfilled. The pain was a godsend.

But this pain? It's angry.

He's angry and he's punishing you for it.

Silence follows your pleas.

“Are you done?” He asks and your shoulders slump as the tears begin to fall. The urge to grind down onto the vibrator coupled with the rice stabbing your knees puts you in an odd predicament. The inner workings of your body is being made a fool of and he's the root cause.

“I'm afraid you've gotten too comfortable with me-”

“Comfortable?” You scoff, whipping your head back to glare at the man watching you with calm eyes and raised eyebrows. “I could never feel comfortable around you.”

“And you've forgotten your place.” He smiles before standing to his full height, “Letting little boys over to your place-”

“We were studying-”

“I've gone soft on you as of late.” He lets his other hand drag across the length of the hard cane. “Shame on me. It's clearly deluded you into forgetting about our arrangement.”

He steps around you until he's once again standing in front of you. “You've forgotten your place as a thing.”

He grabs your face. “My thing.”

You do a very wrong thing then.

You moan.

It's soft and insecure and so dreadful but you moan

His eyes search yours. You can see the pleasure diluting them. Causing them to go as round as saucers.

He wants to lean into that sound you just made, but he's still furious with you and that sends you into a spiral.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay-”

“So you admit you're a slut?” He asks, inches the buttons of his blaze as he readies his assault. “You whore yourself out to that little boyfriend of yours.”

"Boyfriend?” It's laughable. “Me?”

“Are you condescending me?” He asks darkly and you screech in frustration.

“You know I don't talk to anyone- Why are you so angry with me!?”

“You haven't seen angry, Little girl.” His face is calm. Dangerously so. “You haven't fucking seen angry.”

A shiver wracks through your body as you look up at his cold dead eyes.

“Fine.”

Whatever it takes.

“I am a slut-” you really weren't and the words barely register as truth but you're scrambling as he steps away from you. His hands folded in front of him and he appears oh so in control as he says, “Your first word is Gorgeous.”

You breathe out as you try to refocus enough to successfully spell the word.

“G-Oh.. fuck.” Your cunt spasms around the device and your eyes roll back. You're rocking backwards and forwards, frantically searching for friction that just isn't there. He loves the show you put on for him, writhing on the floor like a puppy in heat. He barely contains his glee as he raises his hand and says, “Wrong.”

“W-What!?” you blink, trying to shake away your pleasure-filled daze, “N-no that wasn't my final-”

“G-o-r-g-e-ou-s,” he says smugly as he moves until he's behind you. Your body tenses and the world shatters when he darkly repeats, “Wrong.”

The cane cracks through the air before it ever lands on your backside. The word ‘sting��� doesn't begin to cover the utter agony that blossoms across your asscheeks. All you know for all those seconds is white hot pain. Everything is at attention, and your body vitaly tries to urge you to take care of the inflicted wound but you can't.

“Sane.” He's breathing heavily as he walks over to stand in front of you. He's getting riled up, a strand of black hair falls in front of his almond eyes. His shoulders rise and fall and rise and fall. Seeing you get caned once does unspeakable things to his resolve. “Your next word is sane.”

Too easy.

"W-Which one?" You blink through the pain, trying to will the tears away. The second you slipped into self pity, it'd be over for you. "S-Sane is a homophone.” You say thickly. The pain. The pain. The pain. “There's Sane,” you glare up at him through wet lashes, “Which you very much aren't-" that amuses him greatly. You're regrettably far too happy to hear the dark chuckle. “Then there's Seine, like the fishing variety-”

He places his hand on your head. “Clever girl. I thought you didn't have a dad.”

“I don't,” you hiccup, “I just like fish. Men aren't the only fishers in the fucking world.”

“Smart mouth.” He pulls away again until he's standing at his full posture. “You use it like that with the boy from Psyche?”

Your shoulders slump and you don't care about the desperation in your voice as you reaffirm, “I'm telling you I haven't done anything-”

“Seine as in the fishing practice. Spell it.”

“S-E-I-N-E” your eyes are squeezed shut as you take a strike from a whip that never comes. Your eyes that had once been squeezed shut, slowly flit open and you're amazed to see his grinning face right in front of you. Every wrinkle running like tributaries around his eyes. The smile lines. He's so handsome it's devastating.

“Correct.” He says. “You're allowed to cum. Congratulations.” Just those few words have your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you begin to rock back and forth. You lean into the pleasure like a warm and fluffy blanket during aftercare. It's a godsend and it has you moaning and whining into the air.

“Let me give you a hand,” he says, before stopping to deliver that signature, “My little winner.” He brings you in close, your hands cling onto his forearm while the other reaches behind you. He delivers a kiss to your forehead as his fingers find your puffy clit.

“I'm gonna-”

“Cum for me my Clever girl. Cum for me before I change my mind,” There is nothing but him. He consumes you as you fervently hump against his hand on all fours like the animal he reduced you to. Your hips move on their own accord and in his eyes, you can see his own pleasure mounting. Its in the gravel in his voice when he clears his throat and says, “Thank me for letting you cum.” your orgasm crashes down on you and it's ferocious. It's vicious. It's guttural. The rice underneath you still serves as a reminder of your punishment and that somehow has you coming harder.

“Thank you for letting me cum Sir,”

his eyes flutter shut and his chest expands as he basks in your servitude. He breathes it in, letting it settle in his bones, making him feel as important as he needs to.

��N-No more, please,” you whisper once the orgasm passes. He doesn't switch off the vibrator and soon the pleasure bleeds into a painful discomfort. the aftershocks rattle through your body as you drift into overstimulation, “Please-Done-” you became horribly useless with your words when he had you like this, and he watches you so intently as if not only turned on by your torture but so completely intrugued by it. You intrigued him.

“Stop-” You begin but he chuckles as he moves away from you. He straightens his suit and readies the cane, “Why? You’re not even bleeding yet.” He says, “Suck it up.”

“Oh my god, I need to come again,” it rolls through you quite literally out of nowhere and you gasp as you try to keep it at bay. Cumming without having won a round was a breach in the rules of the game and you didn't wanna do that.

“Well then, I guess you better spell the next word for me.” he says with a smile.

You swallow thickly. Your previous win elicits a tiny sliver of confidence and spelling is something you excel in so you steel your nerves. You breath in deeply and stare blankly ahead.

“Honorificabilitudinitatibus.”

You immediately look up at him.

“Latin words arent-” another aftershock rams through you. You're so close to cumming completely hands-free. “L-Latin words aren't allowed.”

Nothing but a dark chuckle escaped him at your expense. “I had no idea you were making the rules.” He says sarcastically. “Had no idea the cane's in your hand.” That draws your gaze to the cane, leaning in his palm.

Point made.

He could throw in whatever wild-card word he wanted because he held the cane.

“H-o-n-o-r-” you make the mistake of looking up at him then. He's gazing down at you with his head tilted slightly to the right. His cane behind his back as he leans down slightly.

“No cumming,” he tsks, shaking his head. “Disqualified.”

“B-But I didn't-” even as you say those words, you feel it. The lightning zipping through you like a phantom. A ditzy sort of smile flashes across your face as you succumb to the pleasure being forced out of you. “F-Fuck-” its so painful and so fucking good you're seeing stars. He runs a hand through his messy hair and the cane comes down on your backside. This time it draws blood.

“I'm a rusty old man, glad to see I've still got a firm grip,”

“P-Please-” You're still caught in the world of unicorns and rainbows. Your orgasm is center stage, in spite of all the pain. You didn't even know your body could cum for this long. You didn't think it was possible but here you are, riding wave after wave of pleasure induced by a vibrator in your cunt while he canes you almost mindlessly.

He transcended every realm of physical possibilities.

He's breathing heavily now as the cane falls to the floor. The end is bloody. You stare down at the floor while he moves behind you.

“Don't forget, this is a transaction,” Behind you he kneels behind you, his fingers graze your backside, “This is about you avoiding student debt for the rest of your miserable life. A life you'll probably spend married to some depressed drunk who beats you and doesn't even let you cum.” A hand pulls you back by your hair until you're seated on your haunches. Skin had broken.

Your blood drips down your backside like a marble statue in the rain. There were marks. Scars.

“You're indebted to me.” He says behind you. “Say it.”

“I'm indebted to you.”

“Thank me for hitting you, Doll.” His hands drift over your body. The softest touch after these moments of brutality.

Th-" You struggle to catch your breath as he digs his fingers in your cunt, finally freeing you of the vibrator that rattles to the floor, “Thank you… for hitting me.”

He hums into your hair, smelling you, feeling you. “You're welcome, my little winner,”

You hear the sound of his zipper, and frantic movements behind you. You're utterly spent. You'd let him do anything he wanted. Anything at all.

“You look so pretty, Baby. Look at you,” his fingers swipes down the arch of your back. He brings his hand around to show you the crimson dropping from his index. Almost automatically as if the two of you were in communication far beyond that of human understanding, he brings your finger forward the same time you dip your head lower and roll your tongue out. Until the taste of your own blood drawn from all his sadistic torture is wiped along your tongue.

He groans. “I wanna jerk off with your blood.” He admits, “Fuck-”

You gasp, beginning to rock on haunches as if you could still feel that vibrator inside you, “Please- don't say stuff like that-”

This was bad enough.

You were bad enough.

He's already corrupted you to a point where you didn't even recognize yourself.

Where is the quiet, shy girl you had been? She's drowning under all the blood he'd spilled to make himself cum. She's buried under all the pain, all the turmoil and all the damn torture.

You don't miss her

"Pl-lease fuck me, I need it." Your voice is hoarse and you realize you're making demands but still you peer at him over your shoulders. Your tired eyes plead with him.

“I never ever ask you for anything. I've let you control everything.”

While you speak, your voice deep and hoarse, his hand is already moving over his erection. He bends you forward, until you're in doggy style again. Fabric rustles. Your limbs are trembling.

“For once, just grant me th-” the words are barely out your mouth before he's shoving his cock all the way inside you.

“O-Oh God!” Your eyes squeeze shut as he fucks you on the floor like a rabid animal. You try to crane your head back, to watch him ravage you.

His hair is a mess, his tie completely undone. He's everything he tries to hide from the rest of the world. Nothing but an untamed beast.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight-” he says, resting his hands on bloody ass. He guides your movements, pulling you roughly down on his cock until you're screaming into the open air. You're both like animals. You've both regressed to the very basis of your instincts.

“I need to see your blood on my cock,” He's already pulling out of you. The sound reverberates with finality all around the apartment and you cry. It's all you're able to do as you crane your head back to watch him stroke his cock with a bloodied fist.

“Are you ready to cum for me again, baby?”

Your lips are quivering as you rock backwards urging his cock in, “L-Like you won't believe,”

“Then cum for me, Princess.” He says, sliding his cock back inside your overstimulated cunt. Your orgasm is instant and swift and it rocks through you, tightening your cunt around his cock like a vice. His movements grow more frantic as he fucks you through it, keeping a firm grip on your ass.

Your mouth falls open when you realize he's fucking his own cum and your blood back into you and its all too much. He throws his head back when he cums, letting his hips stutter against your ass and the world spins.

“You're s-such a fucking slut,” he laughs manically. You've quite literally given yourself to a sadistic monster and the post nut clarity is vicious.

“I want to take you out,” he says, way softer than he had been a minute ago.

Your body tenses. “Out? Where-”

“Dinner.” He says. “You deserve it… my little winner.”

If you knew anything about anything, you knew it wouldn't just be any ordinary dinner.

But who were you to refuse?

[volo-thereforeiam]

I’m glad we agree that everyone should handle basic responsibilities and share the load so no one is stuck carrying more than their share. I don’t think you’re a misogynist, but the circles you engage with on Tumblr dot com might have left you misinformed.

I think you’re still in the “sexism hurts men too” mindset, but what’s overlooked is that men are largely uninterested in abolishing gender roles because they still benefit from them. Sure, some men might face criticism for not fitting masculine norms, but they’re in the minority. Even these men still benefit from the expected labour of women around them.

If sexism truly harmed men as much as they claim, they’d be at the forefront of fighting it. The reality is, men as a group are willing to endure minor disadvantages because the benefits far outweigh them. If feminism succeeded in securing full equality for women, men’s lives would be harder than they are under patriarchy—because patriarchy eases men’s lives by putting women in subordinate, service-based roles. This is the dynamic of any oppressive system: the oppressors’ life becomes harder when the oppressed are freed, but that doesn’t make it unjust. No group should suffer under a system just to improve the standard of living for another.

The idea of feminism as a movement focused on equality is, as I mentioned, a postmodern rebranding. This framing is mostly pushed by Western progressives who aren’t even feminists themselves. Outside the West and its peripheral regions, feminism is fundamentally about female liberation. In most parts of the world, when people talk about feminism, it’s understood as a movement prioritising women.

"I'm not expecting any help from them nor expecting them to focus on both sides since not all social movements have to focus on all aspects of all groups, just to clarify"

But you do, and again I don't blame you since you are misinformed about what feminism is. It didn’t take much scrolling to find your reblog expressing disappointment that feminists don’t recognise male victims. But they do—far more than MRAs ever do. And while I’ll reiterate that feminism isn’t obligated to address men’s issues, it's actually already done so. Here are a few examples off the top of my head:

Fighting toxic masculinity and advocating for fathers’ rights in child custody cases, recognising that fathers are equally capable of raising children. (However, most custody decisions happen outside court, where both parents often decide children are better off with the mother.)

Classical feminism’s push for workplace safety (stemming from home economics principles) laid the groundwork for OSHA, reduced workplace deaths (which overwhelmingly affect men), and established the 40-hour workweek to combat exploitative practices like Communist China’s 996 workhour culture.

Legal recognition of rape and sexual assault as serious crimes, which protects male victims as well. (You could argue that they are not as supported as female victims but male victims had it even worse before this legal recognition. Even then, it's not women's fault. The fault is in the patriarchy that refuse to accept that men's biggest issue is violence—to self and to others.)

Improved identification of domestic violence and the creation of DV resources. While many started as grassroots efforts for female victims, many are now unisex, and even those that aren’t will direct male victims to appropriate resources.

Feminists overwhelmingly support the abolition of the draft.

When I say "men deserve something better than the current manosphere as a support system," I mean a movement that helps them see that, systematically, most of their problems don’t stem from women. A movement that encourages men to accept that achieving true equality means giving up the unearned privileges they hold as a group. A movement that isn’t so outdated and rigid that it crushes the spirits of men who already feel like failures for not fitting into traditional ideas of masculinity. What men don’t need is a movement that coddles their mistakes and blames women with myths like "hypergamy" or laziness.

Sorry for the long reblog I'm a certified professional yapper. If you're too lazy to read I won't be offended.

Some men expecting women/feminists to be the ones to advocate for "men's mental health" is so crazy to me because THEY'RE the reason mens' mental health is so awful😭 men are literally each others worst enemies yet for some reason we have to be the ones to advocate for them

[fluffydeoxys]

what if i put the stanley parable and doc/zero together. what if i did that

[sschizoid]

Hello :3 may I pretty please request like, hcs of the tulpar crew traveling together?

I mean imagine this, they gather all their last paychecks from Pony Express and decide a place to go, how, what to see...etc

I just think I'd have some fun dynamics

omg hehe this ask has so much room for fun interpretation, like where are they going, how they're getting there, etc. but I think I'm gonna narrow this down tooooo badadadadadadadadum AIRPORT! where they're going is up to you!

-- curly

he's what you would call an Airport Dad™. wakes up EARLY to pack everything into the car and to pick everyone else up. keeps worrying that they're going to be late but they end up arriving 3 hours before boarding

overpacks. has a checked luggage just barely within weight parameters, as well as a carry-on AND a backpack. he packs for every scenario, every weather type, every activity

he's the one that bought everybody's ticket and holds onto them for safekeeping. he's also got one of those airline SkyMile credit cards, so he got everyone a pretty good deal regarding expenses!

brought one of those neck pillows since he gets stiff pretty easily when sitting down for too long. also brought one of those cooling eye masks and comfy socks. bro is the plane equivalent of a passenger princess

jimmy

he was still sleeping when curly got to his house. oh also he forgot to pack the night before, so he makes everyone wait in the car for 30 extra minutes while he takes his sweet ass time shoving random shit into a backpack

probably the least traveled of the group. his family never took vacations when he was growing up, so the furthest he's been from home is just a state or two, and even then it was just for work and not leisure

takes up as much space as humanly possible, stretching his legs, spreading his elbows wide, etc. if the person sitting next to him tries to ask for a bit more space, he puts on headphones after the fact then pretends he doesn't hear them

definitely the type to glare at the mother of a crying baby in hopes of making her feel embarrassed or ashamed

anya

super forgetful and cannot remember if she packed toiletries or not. oh god, what about socks? did she pack socks ??? ends up spending $50 on various airport-priced items just in case

lowkey really scared of flying. she's done it tons of times before but still white-knuckle clenches the armrests during takeoff

brings lots of books. this is a great time for her to catch up on the reading she's been putting off with all of her work and schooling

never gets to reading said books, and instead sleeps like a log the whole trip. she's tired !!

swansea

was the only person ready in time when curly came around to pick everyone up. like, standing outside on the porch, bags at his feet ready

waits 20 minutes in line for coffee, but when he gets to the front and sees that a 12oz black drip is $5 he turns around and walks away. complains about airport prices for the next few hours, talking about "highway robbery" until they're finally boarded

"remember to pop your ears, you'll get a headache if you don't"

aisle seat. NEEDS an aisle seat. if the ticket curly bought him isn't in the aisle, he'll shamelessly ask other passengers to switch with him. he likes the extra leg room and ease of access to the bathroom

daisuke

makes the metal detector go off multiple times. "oops, forgot my belt!" BEEP "oh, man, that's probably my keys, sorry." BEEP "oh shit, my phone!" BEEP "waitwaitwait hold on hold on—"

his goal is to be that one person you see in passing at the airport that is just the most beautiful stranger you've ever seen. his hair? styled. his skin? dewy. his fit? fun, colorful, and literally insane for the setting. he dresses to impress!

checking out all the shops and food options before boarding, just straight wandering off without saying anything. comes back 20 min later with a keychain that says "I LEFT MY ❤️ AT ______ INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT" because he thinks its funny as fuck

insists he take the window seat but keeps the curtain closed the entire flight because the sun is casting a glare on his handheld

--

THANK UUUU for your request, I hope this is sufficient! if anyone else has any requests; my asks are open !! ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊωˋ )ଓ⁾⁾

[cometblaster2070]

i was watching the my little pony episode where they parody murder on the orient express (MMMystery On the Friendship Express hooray) and in it they also parody sherlock holmes and watson using pinkie pie and twilight and it was honestly such a funny episode.

and then it got me thinking that yk what ever after high also deserved a silly little mystery solving episode/special whatever and they should've played it with the same watson and holmes dynamic using either maddie and raven or maddie and apple because I'm not sure which one would be funnier.

and it would be even better if throughout the entire investigation, it seems like maddie's talking complete nonsense and asking irrelevant questions and generally having no idea about what she's doing BUT at the end she pulls a scooby doo and casually solves the mystery and further elaborates on the seemingly inconsequential trail of ridiculous clues she's found that helped her solve the case.

bonus points if the clues are actually completely irrelevant to the actual crime or mystery but either by sheer coincidence or maddie's innate eldritch powers they somehow manage to line up perfectly with the case and become the perfect trail of breadcrumbs to find the culprit.

i think it's also funny if there were a running gag of the narrators trying their absolute hardest to not give any hints to maddie or to not slip up and accidentally spoil the mystery, and at the end after the big reveal, they're just as horrified and shocked as everyone else after maddie reveals her logic behind how she solved the mystery because that is definitely NOT what they expected would happen.

[konnosaurus]

after all this time working on them, konno finally has humanisations!! just these guys for now but there will indeed be more to come. i've had so much fun with these so i hope that you guys like them :3 they Will be showing up alongside my engine stuff hehe!

i'm gonna stick some design notes under the cut in case anyone is interested!:

thomas:

actually the last of these i designed. as always, i find him Difficult, but i am happy with what i have done :3

the bracelet around his ankle was made by percy- james and percy also have them, just in different places. thomas doesn't like things around his wrists or arms in general (no tight sleeves, either!) so has his on his ankle!

originally the jacket was a non-zipped hoodie but it didn't feel Dynamic enough for him, so i decided to go for the open jacket look. it feels more active- perfect for the cheeky lad himself.

he does know how to tie his laces, he just Cannot Be Bothered.

edward:

this design came the most naturally. i didn't really have to do any second guessing or anything- edward is edward and he just felt like edward to me!

of these seven, he is the only one who wears glasses. he is NOT, however, the only one who needs glasses. gordon, james and emily should heed his advice and get some themselves (they will not.)

originally his trousers were going to be a much darker brown, but the lighter just felt a lot more old-man-comforting which i feel fits his pizazz better.

henry:

henry :3

henry is the sort of person to have a little bag that just contains like,, Anything that one could need in a situation. you require an item? henry has it!

the long skirt was initially alllll the way to the floor, but i wanted to show a bit of boot to make it just,, lightly more practical than a full floor-length one. it is a very swishy skirt.

henry has my favourite face/hair design of them all i just love how poofy the hair is and the little EXPRESSIONNNN!

gordon:

mr professionally dressed!

he wears old man shoes because i can't imagine gordon not wearing old man shoes even though he does not consider himself an old man. someone calls them old man shoes and he goes home and cries.

he's got some Muscle to him- beneath those sleeves he has got the p o w e r. also a bit of chink- not all that much, but he is noticably Wide as well as Tall.

james:

my favourite design for my favourite little lad!

i wanted him to be flashy but not Overly obnoxious- his vest is bright and his jewelry is dramatic but he also has some more muted colours. having a scheme is very important to him- the only thing that breaks it is the friendship bracelet from percy that he has on his wrist.

he has long boots because he would have long boots <3

the red strips in his hair are entirely just because he wants to be more red and more colour coordinated.

percy:

his trousers brush the floor because he is not the tallest and the ones he liked weren't quite the right lengths. so many people he knows could shorten them for him but he actually quite likes them like that.

percy gets freckles just because i wanted him to have them hehehe no other reasoning!

his green is a lot more yellowy and bright than henrys more dull and sappy greens, and his red is a lot deeper than henrys more pinky red.

his bag has his little friendship charm on the buckle. he doesn't wear it as a bracelet like thomas or james do- it stays on his bag because he loves his bag and is never without it.

emily:

despite her engine being a dark green, her main outfit piece (the dungarees) is a lighter green. this is Entirely just because i liked how it looked better.

her boots have detailing meant to be like her great race livery!

emily had one of the easiest outfits for me to design- she just feels like a dungaree sort of gal to me, and i just worked from there! the little gold patterns on her dungaree pocket are meant to reflect the big ol wheel pattern on the stirling single.

and there we have it!

[delulustateofmind]

I love your yandere fics so much!! You write them so well like how imagined them to be! Can i request a yandere!gojo with celebrity reader. Gojo is a smitten fanboy (he finally found his match a beauty that can be on par or surpass his looks) who then kidnaps reader and with somno and mindblowing smut (he is intimate and makes love, very sensual — but sometimes can be cruel when reader is not cooperative), very obsessive and possesive behavior, where reader eventually falls into a stockholm syndrome when she realizes he is the only one who can lover her like that.

Ah, anon, fanboy gojo is a horrifying gojo. I couldn't fit the somno in there my bad but I did let em get frisky. Yan!Gojo x Idol! Reader TW: Yandere Behaviors (Heavy in obsession & manipulation, stalking, trapping), Non Curse AU, Noncon / Dubcon, Stockholm Syndrome, Unbalanced power dynamic, Lifesize Doll, Gojo is just a fucking creep in this one. Reader has bad ending and is going through it. MDNI A/n: There's something absolutely horrifying about just anyone with too much money. Also, this one gave me an icky feeling, like really icky to the point where I had to go play some wii sports for some serotonin . So just fair warning on that everyone.

So this would definitely take place in a non-curse AU where the Gojo family reigns supreme over an empire of companies, including your idol agency. Satoru’s obsession with you began long before his parents handed him the keys to your career as a "gift" for his 21st birthday. By then, he already had an entire shrine dedicated to you—a collage of your debut album covers, grainy videos from your first audition, and meticulously preserved cut-outs of you in your signature frilly stage outfits.

He even went as far as purchasing your stockings and, disturbingly, a vial of your sweat from an online auction. Because when it came to you, no price was too steep, no boundary too sacred.

Satoru had been such a good boy, after all. He kept his record spotless, avoided any scandals, and played the part of the dutiful heir to perfection. So, for his birthday, the Gojo family rewarded him in the grandest way possible: a private concert (in their household theatre)  featuring none other than his favorite obsession.

Lucky you.

"Why do I always end up with the creeps?" you muttered under your breath backstage, steeling yourself for what was to come. You’d been expecting a small, exclusive audience—maybe a handful of elite guests alongside the infamous Gojo Satoru. Instead, the venue was eerily empty, save for one man sitting dead center in the front row.

Of course, it was him.

Satoru lounged in his seat, his long legs spread comfortably and his unrelenting gaze fixed on the stage. Those icy blue eyes shimmered with a kind of deranged excitement.

Still, you plastered on your most radiant smile, the same one that had been drilled into you since your debut, and stepped onto the stage. "Satoru-kun!" you called sweetly, your voice dripping with feigned delight.

That simple acknowledgment sent him into a visible frenzy. He straightened immediately, his grin stretching impossibly wide, the edges almost unhinged. His hands clutched the armrests of his chair as if holding himself back from leaping onto the stage.

"Satoru-kun," you repeated, your tone syrupy enough to mask the bitterness in your throat. The way his eyes sparkled, as though you’d just handed him the universe, made your skin crawl.

Why did he have to smile like that? Why did it feel like this wasn’t just a concert, but some kind of trap?

You swallowed hard and launched into your first song, your voice steady even as your heart raced. Through it all, his gaze never wavered, and you could swear that he wasn’t just listening—he was memorizing every note, every movement, every glance in his direction.

The worst part? You could feel that manic, suffocating grin even with your eyes closed.

The final note faded, and you lowered the mic with a practiced flourish, painting on a dazzling smile despite the tight knot in your stomach. Applause didn’t erupt—just a slow, deliberate clap from the lone figure seated in the otherwise empty venue. Each measured beat sent an icy shiver down your spine.

"Bravo! Amazing, as always," Satoru called, his voice laced with the kind of excitement that made your skin crawl. His bright grin stretched wider, his icy blue eyes fixed on you like a predator watching its prize.

Suppressing the urge to grimace, you clasped your hands in front of you and tilted your head, letting out a bubbly laugh. “Aww, Satoru-kun, you’re too sweet! You always know how to make a girl feel special!” Your voice was light, airy, laced with the charm your agency had drilled into you since day one.

His grin widened, if that was even possible, and he leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin in his palm. “Only because you are special, [Y/N]-chan.”

You swallowed back the bile creeping up your throat and gave a coy wave, bowing deeply. “Thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoyed the show!”

The second you turned and stepped offstage, the smile dropped from your face like a mask sliding off. Your jaw clenched as you made your way backstage, your mind racing. What is wrong with this guy?

Inside the dressing room, you immediately set to work peeling off your stage outfit and shoving your things into your bag. The faint hum of the mirror bulbs was the only sound as you yanked off your heels, wincing at the ache in your feet. “Just a few more minutes,” you muttered to yourself, your tone dark and venomous, “and I’m out of here.”

A sharp knock at the door shattered the momentary quiet. Your heart sank. “Just a minute!” you chirped, forcing the syrupy sweetness back into your voice. But your hands trembled as you zipped up your bag. He wouldn’t come backstage, would he?

The door creaked open without waiting for a response, and your worst fears were realized.

Satoru stepped in as though he owned the place—which, you supposed, he technically did—and shut the door behind him with a soft click. The sound of the lock sliding into place sent a chill racing down your spine.

You plastered on another sunny smile, turning to face him. “Satoru-kun! What a surprise! Did you come to say goodbye?” Your voice was an octave higher than usual, chipper and fake as it could get, but he didn’t seem to notice. If anything, it only made his smile softer, more adoring.

“Goodbye?” he repeated, tilting his head as if the very idea was foreign to him. “Oh, no, [Y/N]-chan. The night’s just getting started. I thought we could spend some time together. Just the two of us.”

You laughed, the sound forced and overly bright. “Oh, Satoru-kun, you’re so funny! I’m sure you’re busy, though, and I wouldn’t want to keep you—”

He interrupted by stepping closer, and you instinctively took a step back, your spine hitting the edge of the dressing table. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous now, something far too intense.

“I made sure I wouldn’t be busy,” he said softly, his voice unnervingly calm. “This is a special night, after all.”

Your hands tightened around the strap of your bag, but your bubbly mask stayed firmly in place. “You’re so thoughtful, Satoru-kun! But really, I’m just so exhausted from performing—I don’t want to ruin your night by being a boring old workaholic!”

His smile faltered, just for a second. The glint in his eyes shifted to something colder.

“Ruining my night?” he echoed, his voice dropping a pitch. He stepped even closer, his long fingers brushing against the edge of your bag. “Oh, [Y/N]-chan, you could never ruin anything for me. You’re perfect. That’s why I waited so long for this.”

The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. Still, you kept the mask on, even as your pulse thundered in your ears. “Satoru-kun, you’re such a charmer!” you said with a giggle, though the sound nearly cracked under the weight of your fear. “But really, I—”

“Enough.” His voice was soft but firm, and it froze you in place. The playful tone was gone, replaced by something sharper. His hands found your hips, firm but not painful—yet. “You don’t have to pretend with me, [Y/N]-chan. I know what you really need. What you deserve.”

For a split second, the mask cracked. Your smile faltered, your eyes betraying the panic clawing at your chest. But you quickly forced it back into place, stretching your lips into something resembling a cheerful grin. This wasn’t just any creep—this was the owner of your agency. The man who could ruin your career with a single word. Rejecting him wasn’t an option.

“Oh, Satoru-kun!” you said with a bright laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “You’re too kind, really!”

His expression softened at your attempt, though the unsettling hunger in his eyes never wavered. “I want to show you something,” he murmured, his voice low and syrupy as he stepped closer.

Before you could react, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. The sharp scent of his cologne—overly expensive and cloyingly strong—invaded your senses, making your head spin. You froze as you heard him inhale deeply, the sound sending an involuntary shudder down your spine.

“That’s it,” he sighed, as if your discomfort was the most intoxicating thing in the world.

You swallowed hard, suppressing the wave of revulsion rising in your chest. “Y-Yeah, sure. Anything you want,” you said, forcing another fake giggle. The bile was starting to creep up your throat, but you choked it back.

Satoru straightened, beaming like you’d just granted him his deepest wish. Without another word, he grabbed your hand and tugged you along, his grip firm but not painful. His long strides made it hard to keep up, and you stumbled slightly as he led you down a long, opulent hallway.

“This way,” he said brightly, his excitement bubbling over as he opened a door at the end of the hall. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to show you this.”

The room you stepped into wasn’t just a bedroom—it was a shrine.

Your face froze in a practiced smile, but your stomach churned violently. Every inch of the walls was covered with photos of you, from professional headshots to candid moments you didn’t even know had been captured. A glass case in the corner held memorabilia from your career: props from music videos, outfits you’d worn onstage, and even a pair of shoes you’d discarded years ago. The bed, an enormous thing with crisp white sheets, was adorned with pillows printed with your image.

And in the center of it all, on a pedestal near the window, was a life-sized figure. You.

Your knees nearly buckled at the sight. It was a doll replica, eerily accurate down to the smallest details. The same smile you forced onstage, the same sparkle in your eyes. But the longer you stared, the more disturbing it became.

“Oh, this isn’t even the best part!” Satoru chirped, oblivious—or perhaps delighting in—your horror. He dropped your hand and strode over to the pedestal, gesturing at the figure like a proud artist showing off their masterpiece. “It’s perfect, don’t you think? Just like the real thing.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you clutched your bag to your chest. “I-I don’t even know what to say, Satoru-kun,” you managed, your voice strained despite your best efforts to sound enthusiastic.

His gaze snapped to you, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. “Say you love it,” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air.

“I love it,” you echoed immediately, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you might vomit right there on the pristine floor.

Satoru’s grin returned, softening into something almost tender. “I knew you would,” he said, stepping closer until he was mere inches away. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a touch that made your skin crawl. “It’s because it’s all for you, [Y/N]-chan. All of it. Everything I do is for you.”

Your smile wavered as you nodded, the muscles in your face aching from the effort to keep it in place. Inside, you screamed.

He began to ramble, his voice drifting into an almost giddy monologue as he circled the room. “The doll is great, don’t get me wrong,” he said, gesturing at the figure with a flourish. “But it’s not you. It doesn’t feel like you.” His words trailed off into something quieter, almost wistful. “At least… not yet.”

You didn’t want to know what he meant by that, and you weren’t about to ask. Instead, you kept your fake smile plastered on and nodded along, praying he’d lose interest and let you leave.

“But…” He stopped mid-sentence, turning to face you with that same soft, disarming smile that would’ve melted hearts if it weren’t attached to someone so terrifying. He stepped closer, and you instinctively backed up, only to find the edge of the bed pressing into the backs of your knees.

“You can be the real thing for me, right?” he asked, his tone almost teasing, as if this were some innocent joke between friends. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, deceptively gentle as he guided you to sit down.

“Satoru-kun…” you began, your voice high and airy with forced politeness. “I-I’m not sure what you mean—”

“Oh, come on.” He crouched down to your level, his face just inches from yours now. The smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, [Y/N]-chan. I mean… heh…” His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating, but the threat behind it was crystal clear. “Imagine if the media found out we did something together? Your career would be over, wouldn’t it?”

Your blood ran cold. The bile that had been simmering in your throat threatened to rise, but you swallowed it down, forcing another laugh. “Satoru-kun, you’re so funny! You know I’d never want to disappoint you, but—”

“You wouldn’t disappoint me.” His interruption was immediate, his voice firm but still unnervingly calm. He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he was eager to solve. “You’d make me the happiest man in the world, [Y/N]-chan. That’s all I want.”

The weight of his hands on your shoulders grew heavier, and for the first time, the mask you wore faltered completely. You could feel the edges of your resolve cracking as panic clawed at your chest.

“I—I think I should go,” you stammered, your voice trembling now. “It’s been such a long night, and I’m so tired—”

“Shhh.” His finger pressed lightly against your lips, silencing you. “No need to rush. You’re home now. With me.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating, as he gently pushed you back onto the bed.

You felt caged, trapped beneath him as he leaned down and kissed you with a fervent passion that left no room for doubt. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that sent heat spiraling through your body, surprising you with how skilled he was. How is he this good? you wondered, a flicker of reluctant curiosity slipping into your thoughts. For someone with a room like this, you didn’t expect him to know his way around intimacy so well.

When his kisses trailed down your neck, you couldn’t suppress the small sounds that escaped your lips—tiny, breathy moans that only encouraged him. You hated how natural it felt, how easy it was to let yourself melt just a little under his touch.

His hands moved with practiced ease, unbuttoning your soft frilly blouse and sliding it down your arms. The fabric fell away without ceremony, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air. He unhooked your bra without even looking, his attention fixed on you as if you were the only thing in the universe.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “So beautiful. I can’t believe you’re real.” His voice was thick with awe, the kind of adoration that would have been flattering in another context. Here, it only added to the strange, heady mix of fear and something else stirring in your chest.

You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your mind a blur of conflicting emotions. Part of you screamed to push him away, to escape this madness before it consumed you. But another part—a quieter, insidious part—was starting to crave the way he made you feel. The way he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

When he pulled out a condom, your breath hitched. He held it up with a playful smirk, his icy blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Can’t have my favorite girl off the stage because of a baby,” he teased, the words delivered so casually it made your head spin.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, your body caught between tension and reluctant desire. “S-Satoru-kun…” you murmured, your voice softer now, less forced. You weren’t sure what you were trying to say—if you were trying to stop him or if you were giving in.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t worry, [Y/N]-chan. I’ll take care of everything. Just trust me.”

And for some reason, at that moment, you did.

His actions surprised you. For all the unsettling obsession and the manic energy that seemed to define him, he was unexpectedly gentle. Every hitch of your breath, every flinch, had him pausing immediately, his hands soothing against your skin. He pressed soft kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your jawline, as if trying to reassure you, as if trying to prove that this was about more than just possession.

Each movement was careful, each thrust deliberate, his pace slow and measured, as though he was determined not to hurt you. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but notice how his body seemed to move in perfect rhythm with yours, how his touch sent shivers coursing down your spine—not from fear, but from how good it felt. It felt almost too wrong for it to feel this good. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “So much better than I ever imagined. So much better than… than her.”

You knew exactly what he meant by her—that unsettling doll that resembled you sitting in the room. But there was no malice in his tone, no frustration, only unbridled awe. “I knew you’d feel like this,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a breathless babble. “So warm, so soft… so real.”

His hands caressed your sides, trailing down to grip your hips with a reverence that made your chest tighten. “You don’t understand, [Y/N]-chan. I’ve waited for this. For you. I’ve dreamed of having you here, like this, for so long.” His lips found yours again, and this time, you kissed him back. Perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of obligation—or perhaps something else entirely, something you weren’t ready to confront.

“I’m so happy,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and steady against your skin. His hips ground against yours with a practiced ease that sent shivers through your body, small, involuntary moans slipping from your lips. You weren’t even sure anymore if they were fake.

His icy blue eyes softened, a vulnerability shining through that you hadn’t expected, a strange mix of desperation and adoration. “So happy you’re finally here with me. You belong here. With me.”

The words sent a wave of unease crashing over you, yet his touch—so deliberate, so intimate—made it harder to hold on to that feeling. His pace quickened, his rhythm building into something that pulled soft cries from your throat, cries you weren’t sure belonged to the person you thought you were.

And then it was over, leaving you breathless, your heart pounding in your ears. You stared blankly at the ceiling, the tension in your body refusing to dissipate even as the room fell silent.

Silently thankful for that condom.

Satoru, however, seemed perfectly at ease. He snuggled into you with a satisfied sigh, his face pressed against your chest, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. 

His white hair tickled your skin, and without thinking, your fingers found their way into it, absently threading through the soft strands. The motion felt automatic, like muscle memory from a life you weren’t supposed to be living. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts, questions you didn’t have answers to. Yet, as he murmured something incoherent against your skin, his voice content and heavy with sleep, you found yourself continuing the motion, stroking his hair in a way that felt far too natural.

Because even if it’s love from some creep, maybe that’s the kind of love you crave.

The thought sat heavy in your chest, an unwelcome truth that made your stomach twist. You’d never had someone hold you like this, never had someone look at you the way he did—as if you were the entire world, as if you were the answer to every question he’d ever asked. It was overwhelming, suffocating, and yet…

It was something.

Your fingers paused in his hair for a moment, hovering as if they’d been burned by the thought. But then his arms tightened around you, his face nuzzling deeper into your chest, and a soft, contented sigh escaped his lips. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

Maybe you didn’t deserve something better. Maybe this was all there was.

So, you let him hold you. You let your fingers tangle in his hair again, let yourself relax just enough to make it through the moment. Because even if it was wrong, even if it wasn’t the love you’d dreamed of, at least it was real. At least it was something.

[ailoda]

ᯓ★ favourite writers

@luveline

@whirlybirbs

@pellucid-constellations

@aquaticmercy

@wkemeup

@intrepidacious

ᯓ★ favourite fics

Undisclosed - @pellucid-constellations

Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.

I remember this being one of the first series I read after coming back to Tumblr. I wasn't one for Marvel AU’s at the time, as I preferred to read canon or adjacent fics, but I took a chance on this one and it completely changed everything. I absolutely loved it. It has the perfect amount of fluff and angst, and a plot to rival some of my favourite published work. The story and background are so well-placed and developed that it was too easy to fall in. I devoured this in I think two days - non-stop reading until I finished. It completely opened me up to AU’s. I come back so often as a sort of comfort read, and no matter how many times I’ve read it, I still get excited and devour it like I’ve never read it before. One of the first fics I thought of when compiling my 2024 favourites.

Just One Kiss - @sarahwroteathing

Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss?

This was the first 40s!Bucky fic that I read and is to blame for my 40s!Bucky obsession that has lasted all these months. I was completely enthralled from the first paragraph, and it stands as my favourite 40s!Bucky fic and easy my top 3 series overall. I religiously come back when looking for a comfort read or for getting my 40s!Bucky fix. It's amazing how well the characters (both canon and not) have been interpreted and developed, and as simple as the plot feels, it just works so well. There's no need for any plot twists or big moments to push the story along; the characters and the way they all naturally feed and contribute to the overall plot are more than enough. It's written so well that, despite reading it well over 10 times, I still feel all the emotions and feel just as empty finishing it as I did when I first read it. I really wish this was a printed book that I could have on my shelf; that I can always reach for and never be deleted (pls don't ever delete it!). It’s the cutest fic that has me laughing, crying, and kicking my feet no matter how many times I read it.

Twin Flames / Two Sides of The Same Coin - @anonymityisfunwriter

Grumpy x Sunshine Series

I couldn't decide on one - they both HAD to be included. These are to blame for my falling completely in love with fan fiction after a decade away. I hadn’t had Tumblr in so many years and decided to re-download during my Masters for some escapism, and boy did this deliver. The dynamic is amazing - the way they bounce off each other is a testament to the amazing writing and character development. The way they manage to create a sunshine!reader with so much backstory without it feeling childish or forced is, again, a testament to the amazing writing and planning, and just…*chef’s kiss*. Despite taking some plot points from canon films, I really enjoyed how these scenes didn't feel boring or repetitive. Similarly, I love how the reader is able to fit in seamlessly into scenes that we had already seen and bounce off an already established dynamic between Sam and Bucky. The thought and effort that must have gone into the reader's character development, never mind the series as a whole, is so evident. I have re-read and re-read these for months and will continue to do so until the end of time.

By Any Other Name - @wkemeup

When Agent Barnes is assigned undercover within Hydra, he finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife to the head of Hydra… you. 

I re-read this quite recently and it felt like finding an old song that you loved hidden in your playlist. I've now re-read it twice in the span of a week, it's just so good. This fic stood out to me partly because of its writing and interesting and well-thought-out plot, but also because of how well-written I feel the reader is. The reader is multi-faceted and far from one dimensional, which I've found is a barrier for me reading these types of fics. While the reader embodies typical traits associated with feminine protagonists in this genre - such as submissiveness and other conventionally 'feminine' attributes - these are not portrayed as weaknesses in the typical sense. What I mean is that they are reframed to be strategic strengths. She wields her femininity and perceived lack of power in a wholly make-dominated environment to her advantage. At the same time, her 'true' strengths compliment these qualities, creating a balanced and complex character that also has room for the development we see throughout the fic. A defining aspect of the reader's personality that I really enjoy is her self-awareness; they know when and how to act, and when to hold back, making her a compelling and empowered figure in a story and genre where that is so difficult to achieve.

From the Void, with Love - @whirlybirbs

Watch two forever-lovers fall in love again. 

This was my first Loki series, and boy was it a good one to start with. I'm not one to read Loki fics usually as I can never usually find ones that entice me, but I was so happy to have stumbled upon this! A testament to the planning and writing ability was the way the reader’s involvement in the TVA storyline was interweaved without it feeling unnatural or forced. I love how the inner-workings of the reader's mind is included, and how their thoughts and feelings are so seamlessly interwoven into scenes without it feeling clunky or taking away from what's going on. I also really enjoyed the comedic elements, particularly the thoughts and reactions the reader had to things happening and how they bounced off Loki's dialogue so well. I found myself laughing so many times. It's one of those fics where you wish you could go back and read it for the first time again.

When It All Falls Apart - @bucky-bucket-barnes

The fate of the universe was in your hands. Bucky and you had been sent to retrieve the soul stone, a seemingly simple task. Unbeknownst to you, there was a hefty price to pay for such an exchange. You’re able to return to Earth, but it’s soon apparent part of you was left in Vormir.

This has to be one of my favourite fics of all time, but I also hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It feeds my deepest, most love-deprived soul. I personally feel that angst is so challenging to write and write well. Part of why I feel that way is because I feel that good angst needs to convey emotions and feelings effectively because it's about expressing the character's inner world and guiding how they feel to drive and guide the plot forward. A difficult aspect of this is ensuring the reader feels and understands the character's emotions rather than letting their own feelings cloud their perception and misinterpret the character's rationale and journey - keeping the story's emotional trajectory clear and true to the characterisation you have set. This is something that this writer can do so so very well. I cried the first time reading it, and the emotions still hit me after reading it over and over again. If anyone watches K-Drama’s, this has Uncontrollably Fond vibes. Such a good read if you’re looking for that heart-ripping angst.

My Own Soul’s Warning - @aquaticmercy

You, an immortal being, fall in love with the very mortal Bucky Barnes. You would do anything for him, even if it meant you had to strike a deal with Death herself.

This is another fic that I wish I could go back and read it again for the first time. I fell in love immediately. It's the fic that cemented @aquaticmercy one of my favourite writers. Well, that and the fact that they have some of the most intriguing and well-thought-out plot ideas that I've seen. It's difficult to choose a single fic really, but I cannot not choose 'My Own Soul's Warning' - it's a difficult one to compete with for me. The writing is one of the best I’ve read and the flow and feel of the story is second to none. It seems that with every new addition to this story, it just gets better and better (which I thought was impossible). They are able to narrate feelings and emotions so beautifully that it's impossible to not feel what the reader is experiencing. One of my favourite aspects is how they are able to think of things I would never have even thought of, and how they are able to write and explain these things and communicate feelings so well. Another aspect as to why this is so beautifully written, and why @aquaticmercy is a favourite, is when a writer can - without being explicit in their writings - craft a story where the depth of emotions is palpable without needing to be spelt out, leaving readers to grasp and feel them on their own. Where the reader is feeling more than their own emotions and feelings in response to the story, but also what the writer has curated and intended them to feel. Being able to do this without explicit writing is so difficult, and part of the reason why they are one of my favourite writers in general. I've tried to explain my deep feelings for this fic in a way that hopefully makes sense, but it's difficult to write everything I love because there is just so much to say. I am in love and we are married.

[gunsatthaphan]

.₊ ⟡ ݁ 🏆 2024 Top 10 🏆 ⟡ ݁₊ .

hello! I got tagged by a few people for various kinds of tier-list-posts for this year, so instead of making separate posts that will probably end up being repetitive, I decided to combine them all into one Top 10 list of my personal favorites in 2024. My watchlist was not very lengthy this year, partly because I was busy with work and partly because the quality of many shows was not to my liking. I started a bunch of things and dropped them shortly after, which also included more widely popular ones, for which I did not share the general public opinion. In the course of that, I have become more hesitant to share my thoughts online, as with every mildly critical POV came a number of anonymous people breathing down my neck. Which isn't new for me but by the end of the year I have gotten tired and was debating whether or not I should make this post but then I decided that this is my blog and idgaf about butthurt anons lol. I'm trying to carry this mindset into the new year.

So here is my Top 10 of BL/GLs that I have started and finished this year. A very special shoutout goes to The Heart Killers which owns my ass 100% and I totally would have added it but since we're only on ep6, I feel like it wouldn't be fair to include it in this list - also because I sort of consider it a category of its own lol.

I had no trouble picking this as my number one, simply because it's an outstanding production with an S-tier cast and a very powerful and well executed script. I've always loved Up but Poom took the cake for me in this, I was absolutely starstruck by him and his screen presence, he's a big surprise for me and has become one of my personal favorites this year in terms of acting. I could fill books with reasons why I love this show.

I had to include this even though it's not finished but I'm really blown away by it. The GLs I previously watched were okay but did not strike me quite as much as this one. I knew I would love Film and Namtan together from the moment they got paired as they're both insanely skilled and I was not disappointed. They understand the assignment 100% and so does Snap25 and it really shows. I'm obsessed.

Speaking of masterpieces, this is another one. It didn't get much attention sadly, mostly because TayNew did not deliver the dynamic the general BL population was hoping for. Their loss. This is an amazing production from start to finish, the 4 of them are the best possible casting choice for their characters, the found family trope is one of the best I've seen and especially TayNew delivered another gem with this one. I shall never doubt them again. This is how you do bromance. Certain other shows could never. send tweet.

Ah yes. No year goes by without the obligatory Mame guilty pleasure lol. What can I say. FortPeat as annoying southern scuba boy meets snobby whiny writer on a beach. How can I look away. I genuinely enjoyed this, it feels like the story was written for them, it's a perfect fit for them and their range I think plus I'm glad that Aya finally found a GL partner that matches her energy lol. I loved both couples and even though the plot did lack sometimes, you can count on MMY to serve S-tier chemistry no matter what. A+.

This is my personal hidden little gem, a small production with not a ton of attention, let alone good reviews but sometimes those are the best ones. The beginning was a bit slow but it quickly picked up. I decided to give it a watch mostly because I was curious about Charles' followup bl role and ended up getting very attached lol. So much softness and deep emotions and mutual healing that happened here and that I appreciated a lot. This was also my first Taiwanese BL in I think 3 years(?) I loved it.

I was very excited to watch this and see what Change 2561 came up with after Pit Babe and even though I'm not the biggest fan of cooking plots, I ended up enjoying this a lot! I've been a SailubPon and GarfieldBenz connoisseur since Pit Babe and it was so nice to see them in the spotlight in this. I saw a bunch of people drop it because they found Plawan annoying but I disagree lol. I had a very good time.

I initially tuned into this for Seng and Best, just to see what they're up to these days and it ended with me eating the whole thing up lol. The unapologetic approach to topics like sex education mixed with the sweet love stories that came with it is one of the things I appreciated + enjoyed a lot. I was a big fan of Peak and Thanwa and would definitely watch another show with Seng and Best as I really love their dynamic. Latte and Almond had a good start but fell a bit flat towards the end. Still a very deserving 7th place for me.

I was sooo excited for this and overall it did not disappoint, though I think it could have been better in some aspects. The comprehensive vibe was juvenile but not in a bad way. I anticipated gmmtv would choose a trope-y plot for their first GL to test the waters and it seems they succeeded. The main reason I put it as number 8 is the AylinLuna side story which I very strongly disliked for multiple reasons I won't get into here. But MilkLove did a fantastic job and this was a very nice debut for them. Thumbs up!

This might be the most unexpected gem for me this year. I started watching it because I was bored and nothing else was on and I was curious to see Dunk in his first solo gig. Surprisingly he did a big leap forward with his acting in this and White was by far my favorite character. Lune on the other hand was my least favorite which was another surprise as I previously loved Phuwin as Peem in We Are so I'm not sure why Lune was so unlikable. But anyway this was a very nice combination of different cute little stories, LuneStar were very trope-y but White saved a great deal of it by being the third wheel lol, plus the BL sideplot was pure sugar. I'm sad we won't see Ryu and Java together again and I resent them not giving us that well deserved WhiteIvy endgame but overall I enjoyed this a lot!

Never thought I would put a Siwaj production in my Top 10 but I'm tired of pretending I didn't secretly love this lmao. So much chaos but so much fun. It's a typical ensemble show, mostly aimed at a domestic audience with lots of slapstick and horseplay comedy, but I ended up being quite fond of all the couples. The main crystallization for me was that this is PondPhuwin's territory, this is the type of show they belong in imo. They excel at this kind of comedy and they seemed very careless and joyful in this, which I enjoyed and which made them a decent main couple. The QToey plot was a bit draggy and even though it's a big cast, 16 episodes were not necessary, which is why it gets the 10th place. But overall it still deserves to be in this list.

Thanks again to everyone who tagged me; in this and other things over the year, I appreciate you thinking of me!! 🥺🧡 I didn't manage to reply to every tag but know that I see them all and I try to do as many as possible! Also a big thank you and much love to all the lovely people I talked to this year, especially @lattexalmond, @mayalunas @bl-recs-and-reviews and @my-wandering-rabbit, I love and cherish each one of you! 🧡 Happy New Year to everyone who read this far, here's to a kind and successful 2025 with groundbreaking shows lol. I'm hopeful.

xxxx

[justbelievinginmagic]

like a waltz⎯ part 3: emboîté.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter is heavily woosan x reader with some reader x yeosang & reader x hongjoonnngggg. series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: Having a patron for the first time in your ballet career, you knew things would change but certainly not so fast. With your dues paid, extra change in your pocket, you are slowly pulled into Wooyoung and San's orbit - outside of the ballet opera house! warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e if i think itd be cool to include, this world has it earlier than irl), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, MATURE topics, allusions to sex work in ballet, allusions to exploitation in ballet, implied sexual themes, stalking, voyeurism kinda, guns, strong language, angst, fluff, flirting, suggestive topics, lies, manipulation, medical drugs, traumatic foot injury, unequal power dynamics, injuries, alcohol, smoking, lots of smooches, threatening situations, pain, reader discretion advised, +18 readers only. let me know if there are any more tags i should add. a/n: hi! another chapter im posting and running away from lol. it took so long to edit this chapter and i am so sleepy. this chapter had developed far from its timeline. im happy with the beats butttttt i had wanted to add in more yunho and jongho by this point but it was feeling a smidge rushed. next chapter will have some yunho for sure!! let me know what you thought!! word count: 15.9k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

emboîté ; french pronunciation: [em·​boî·​té]; ‘fit together’

Things had changed after that night.

Not only were her ballet company fees paid each week with a check bearing the prettiest signature from San’s hand, but, soon after, Wooyoung had invited her out on an outing. As in, outside.

Outside of the ballet. Outside of work. Outside of being the role of patron and protégé.

“He asked you to go out of the ballet house?  Julia with the red hair queried with a cocked brow, uncertainty in her tone.

It made a flicker of worry cross over the YN’s face as she stretched, preparing for the triple show they had that day. But, that was short lived as one of the loudest gossipers known to man chimed in with a screech.

“You’re going on a date?!” Tiny exclaimed, sliding into the conversation in a dramatic splits.

Her eyes were lit up like spotlights, loving the new development for her favorite ballerina to bug. The young girl kicked her feet in excitement, the noise drawing the attention of the other ballerinas warming up – if they hadn’t already been drawn in by her screeching.

A date she had said.

No, no, no. Dates were for romance and this wasn’t … Was he seeking romance? He was her patron… or well, he and San were. In itself, that was odd according to the other proteges. Sharing a protégé… never ended well. Typically, it failed within a few days. Jealousy, envy, annoyance, lack of money. Usually, they have all of that as they leave the budding ballerina in the dust, without a penny.

But Wooyoung did flirt with her. Wooyoung hadn’t suggested being her patron, not really, even if he had visited for nearly a month and a half religiously. San had. Wooyoung did press the occasional kiss to her cheek. He did… like her, he had said so. But didn’t all patrons say that. Was it more? Could it even be more if she wanted it to be? Why did the idea of a date with him send butterflies fluttering in her stomach, icy hot excitement coursing through her veins. Giddy.

But, she’s seen each ballerina with a patron fall into this. The idea it was something more. Julia, Mina, Imara, Lali, even the current belladonna of the ballet – the prima ballerina – had once thought her patron was her love. And it had always been proven wrong.

“It’s an outing,” she insisted to the others. For her own heart.

“It’s a date!” the younger screeched again. “What are you wearing?” her hands slapped to the wood floor.

She hadn’t even thought of that! Oh gosh. What did she have that could even impress? She’d wear her pearls, of course. But what of her dress? What was the newest thing nowadays? Was it rouging your knees? Or the Gibson Girl hairdo? Was that out of style? Was she out of style once she was out of her scandalous costumes and caked on make-up? Most things YN had were upcycled from scraps, occasionally the old costume the costumier discarded, or her mother’s old dresses revitalized by embroidery. It wasn’t anything like the ladies of the upper class with their haute couture from far beyond here. She could doll a dress up with some flowers she supposed. 

“Don’t wear anything red!” another girl exclaimed, revealing herself to be listening in. “Red is bad luck.”

“No, its good luck,” one ballerina said aside.

“Wearing black will look like you’re mourning,” said another older girl while applying her rouge.

“But he always sees you in white, so don’t wear that,” chimed in another.

So, the entire ballet knew apparently about her date now and all of them were listening in and giving advice. Theirs words overlapped one another in conflicting, contrasting advice.

“Wear what you like,” Imara insisted from nearby. The long-featured ballerina offered a reassuring nod.

“Is this normal?” YN queried quietly towards her, although, it wasn’t for an attempt of privacy. Every girl was listening and watching her now with keen eyes.

The few girls with patrons glanced at one another, brows raised.

“I’ve never been invited out of the boudoir,” Julie said firmly, glancing aside as she leaned into a stretch. “And its not wise to be out and about with them.”

“Nor I,” Mina agreed.

“So, it’s…” YN trailed off with a furrowed brow. “Strange?”

“Kid,” Julie sighed out; her tone making YN feel like a child, begrudgingly and uncomfortably so. She hated not being trusted to make choices. Belittled. Underestimated.

“Everything about you and your new patrons is strange. Their appearance in town, them both sharing you… you.”

It felt backhanded; like she wasn’t anything special. It reminded her about how so many thought she wasn’t worthy simply because she was the eldest of the ensemble, simply because she hadn’t risen to starlet yet.

Yet now she had two patrons. No one had that. For once, she nipped that feeling of oddness, of nervousness, of embarrassed scrutiny about her relationship with Wooyoung and, now, San in the bud, and refused to let it bother her. She’d embrace it she said. She was special. She was special. This was special. Even if it wasn’t a date… It was just an outing. He hadn’t said date. It was an outing, she proclaimed. Not a date… an outing. Or was it a date? It drove her mad, her thoughts going in circles just like her own pirouettes on stage. Just like her stomach when he touched her oh so sweetly.

He wanted to see her more though… that’s all that matter, right?

-

San and Wooyoung were attached at the hip when they were in the boudoir. They walked through the Opera House like they owned the place. And while their movements weren’t in sync, they flowed into one another easily like they could read one another’s minds. Wooyoung would flitter this way and that around San, talking about anything, but San would redirect him, hands on his shoulders or lithe waist, and smile in agreement.

As they approached her in the boudoir, she heard the very-end of their conversation.

“I swear, if it were you, it’d be done like that,” Wooyoung encouraged as he snapped his fingers in emphasis.

“Wooyo,” he hummed low, smiling at him fondly. Dimples pierced his cheeks. His arm swept over the other’s shoulders, squeezing him close. “I’m done with all that. Captain’s orders.” It was a firm reminder. Steady.

“Captain’s orders,” Wooyoung mimicked back, sneering a bit. “Captain is keeping his best fighter ou-“ his words trailed off as his sights were set on his ballerina. No longer in her tutu but in her ordinary clothes. “Swanette! You’re already in your dresses.”

“Disappointed?” she teased and flirted.

She had hurried tonight – hoping to finish wiggling out of her costume before their arrival. San swinging by the bar to grab his customary drink had given her a smidge more time. Her body ached more than ever. Her legs felt crackly and pained. Her head pounded with worry. It’d been a long day and, with the ever-present chill in the boudoir, she worried she was getting sick. And she couldn’t get sick… ever.

Wooyoung insisted on her to spin, gesturing in reverence, as if she was still dressed up in dripping fake jewels. Her day-dress was a simple frock – a dark black drop skirt with embroidered berries at the hem. Her hair was still in it’s too tight bun, but she had grown used to it now after two shows. It didn’t help her headache she was sure but, alas, she did what she could in the time she had.

She spun in a gentle circle, only to easily get swept into Wooyoung’s arms.

“Gorgeous as always,” Wooyoung whispered, his cheek pressed against hers almost like a cat nuzzling their owner to claim possession of them. His warmed cheek squished and nuzzled, hot minty breath wafting over her.

“And disappointed? Never, because we can steal you away for the rest of the night now,” he hummed into her ear before pressing a quick peck to her temple, nearly catching the corner of her eye. She shivered in surprise. Kisses were still new and sent her heart racing and body trembling.

He pulled back, hands rubbing up and down her goosefleshed arms. “Chilly, baby?”

Baby! Her eyes widened in surprise. If only he knew! San laughed nearby, drawing her eyes.

“Hel-Hello, San,” she greeted, flushed and smiling.

San nodded, smiling so sweet that his dimples remained on display. They looked like cat whiskers in the golden gas-light of the boudoir.

“Hello, honey. Beautiful performance… You tired?” he drawled out.

San always asked these questions since his arrival in the boudoir. He was utterly observant. He was caring and kind and all things sweet despite his looming almost dangerous aura. It made her feel safe as Wooyoung shifted her this way and that, half dragging her along to a nearby settee. San followed along, hands reaching into his pockets to pull out and light a cigarette. The flame of his custom lighter illuminated his face for a brief moment before he pulled the cigarette away, eyes shut as he inhaled deeply.

His brows furrowed; his face statuesque. Beautiful. He was so beautiful. Her heart thrummed as she felt Wooyoung’s chin rest on her shoulder, bringing her back to her body.

“I’m okay,” she replied, voice forcibly light. She was tired; he had hit it on the nail. But, the other ballerinas warned against telling their patron that. Any truth about exhaustion, sickness, health. Tired ballerinas get hurt. Hurt ballerinas are a waste of money.

Blowing smoke out aside, he watched her carefully as Wooyoung plopped down, dragging her down to sit beside him. He took another puff of his cigarette.

“Honest?” he pressed once more, smoke billowing from his mouth.

She didn’t answer him, but instead pressed hand to the spot next to her.

“Join me?” she asked as he stood hovering above them, almost protectively shielding them from view.

Wooyoung watched their interaction with intrigue. He knew his San. He knew how strategic he was – in different ways from the rest of his ‘brothers.’ San’s gaze was a force of nature, his form accompanying it as he leaned over them ‘til he and she were eye and eye. Slow and steady. He did not sit yet. He pulled the cigarette from his lips. YN flinched gently, preparing for him to blow his smoke in her face. Some boys got a laugh out of that, rude and crass. But the smoke seeped from his nose like a dragon, slow and controlled, as he kept eye contact with her sincerely, if not a bit intense.

“YN. Honesty, please.” San encouraged. “If I’m asking, I am interested.”

Wooyoung squeezed her waist. “Sannie doesn’t pull punches; he likes no nonsense. He’s…soft like that.”

It was a tease.

“I’m not soft,” he retorted to Wooyoung, smile returning, before his gaze settled back on YN. “I care.” He emphasized.

Her lips pressed together, glancing about the boudoir. The other girls had warned her not to. Everything – even in the boudoir – was a show, just as much as the ballet was a show. But here he stood, staring with soft brown eyes. Gentle yet burning brown eyes.

He says he cares.

When had she and her patrons followed the unspoken rules anyways.

“I’m a bit tired; my--,” she admitted, quietly before glancing aside. “The cold doesn’t help the joints.”

His eyes warmed, pleased, as he ground out his cigarette into the polished wood floors without a care in the world before he sat, sandwiching her in-between him and Wooyoung. Closer than he had ever been. He was so warm like a furnace.

“Our girl is so cold,” San frowned. “We can’t have that.”

Her cool skin worried him, and he joined Wooyoung in warming her up with soft touches and a close embrace. Her cheeks were a rubied red at their shared attention. Wooyoung and San’s eyes locked above her head. Wooyoung had a flare of surprise in them before he smirked.

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung jested, glancing at her rosy cheek. His finger rose to stroke it delicately. “She looks warm to me.”

Her cheeks warmed ever more and she hid into the one she was more comfortable with after weeks of meetings. Her face pressed into Wooyoung’s expensive suit that smelt of a tangy-woodsy mix of Wooyoung and San’s colognes intertwined. San grinned at her actions. He liked her blush. Like how she let them make her blush so helplessly.  

“We’ll just have to warm you up, honey.”

While the rest of the night was full of fleeting touches, they maintained one truth: respect. San was careful with her, always meeting her gaze before touching over her arms, her waist. Wooyoung was more lax, pressing kisses to her cheek every so often; each one sent her stomach into a whirl, and heat burned at her face.

They certainly warmed her up.

-

Walking home was always a cautious event. Performances took hours and, after entertaining San and Wooyoung in the boudoir, it was late into the evening. Even if they encouraged her to leave earlier than usual, it was deep into nightfall.

In the chill of winter, the walk felt longer. Previously, on some nights, Wooyoung would insist on taking her home, but, once San joined him in attending the shows, it seemed they left together most times. She wondered if they had an automobile… or did they take a carriage? She imagined a car. Something sleek and metallic. Leather interiors with that new polished smell.

And warm.

Her body trembled as she continued her path, hugging her old coat closer to her body. She was hyperaware, glancing this way and that as she exited the prettied town-center with their big banks, busied offices, shiny nickelodeons, and grand opera house. Her side of town was less glamourous with its stacked upon stacked apartment buildings, looming factories suffocating the last remaining cozy homesteads, and broken cobblestone streets. The scent of smoke and smog and gasoline overpowered the light aroma of winter breaking through the city of Cromer.

While the town center quieted in the evening, the streets around home never did. There were folks walking to and from work; some went to the mines or docks for early shifts; others were crawling out of darkening bars with the reek of alcohol on their mouths. Alley-ways shifted with figures and shadows. It wasn’t unusual.

So, she had to be aware as she wandered between flame-lit lamp lights and crossed busied streets. When there was a commotion that sounded frightening, she’d jump and quicken her steps. But, even she eventually grew lazy, grew comfortable, as she saw her apartment front. Quaint despite its chipping paint and old bricks.

A wrought-iron fence kept the small shared garden of the multistoried complex private; the dirt was barren with the chill of winter inching in and less time from the occupants of the apartment to spare with their new jobs in factories. Not many were able to work from home, like her mother had once done with her mending business. Still, it was weeded and prepped from spring when it did come.

The newest edition was the mismatched, criss-crossing collection of wires and cords that decorated the exterior of the building. Trailing in and out of each apartment’s windows and down its façade in a haphazard mess. With those ugly wires came electricity. Electricity, that admittedly was a new cost that was difficult to find the coin for and was often unusable from blown fuses across the crowded streets. But, seeing her bedroom window lit with an electric lamp, warm and waiting, made her sigh out in relief. Home. Comfort. Warmth.

Distracted, she never noticed the tall figure trailing her. Not close, no, he was far from her, but he was watching her. A sparkle in his grin grew as he saw her own smile light up at the sight of her house.

Cute.

Finding a home with the shadows, he tucked his hands into his pockets, hiding his expensive rings and Rolex watch from view as he leaned against the brickwork and kept his dark gaze on her. Watching her closely. He watched as she unlocked her front door and shut it tight behind her. He watched as the movements of her cast shadows of her feminine form against the curtained windows of what was her living room, her kitchen. Lights one by one flickered off as she climbed the interior of the flat to her room. He waited. Watching.

He stayed until he saw her dark silhouette, one that matched his in the shadows, reach her bedroom, taking off her coat, her dress. He watched her undo her hair, one pin at a time. Eyes looking up and down her illuminated skin whenever she got too close to the window. Drinking her in like a fine whiskey. Until the curtains were drawn tight, and her electric light extinguished.

She was safe at home, only then, he proclaimed as he crept towards the docks of Cromer.

-

Wooyoung hadn’t come to the ballet that night, the day before their ‘outing’, their ‘date’, their whatever you’d call it. And at first, it sent a zing of fear. It reminded her of the weeks without contact. But, when she entered the boudoir, she saw the little letter resting on the vanity. Waiting for her patiently.

Wooyoung’s handwriting wasn’t as neat or as pretty as San’s. It was clunky, a mixture of uppercase and lowercase. Nothing like a typical upper-class man’s hand. But it was his. In his way, he reassured her that he’d be there on her doorstep, tomorrow afternoon at golden hour, 5:30 pm sharp, to pick her up for their adventure. Wait in anticipation to see him once more, he had written. She swore there was even a spritz of his cologne; the paper seemed to ache of him.

Cocky. Ever so Wooyoung.

San had come to watch her regardless, watching attentively from Box Number 8. She liked sneaking peeks at him during the performance. Like Wooyoung, his gaze rarely left her form, but his eyes were different. It was an admirable look. Wooyoung was entertained by her she knew that. But San… she wasn’t sure what was different, but it was.

That night after the show, he came to the boudoir and, rather than approach her with boldness in his step, he sat upon a settee – a pristine gift box sat beside him. And waited. It was a startling difference to Wooyoung’s eagerness. And at first, YN’d scurry to him, but he simply smiled up at her, almost cat-like with his eyes shutting in content.

“Take your time, honey.” He encouraged. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A small yet somehow powerful hand encouraged her to turn on herself, almost doing a small pirouette with him pulling her strings, and was urged to go back to the vanity across the boudoir with a gentle pat on her lower back. Uncertain eyes jittered towards him; pouty lips licked in confusion. A ‘but’ was about to tumble out of her lips when he let out a soft rumble. His hands urged her again like a mama bird nudging a birdling out of its nest.

“Go; it’s late and chilly,” he cooed out, soft and slow. “Get dressed into your skirts, get comfortable – then we can talk, honey.”

Honey. That was what he was like. Slow, tantalizing, sweet. Comforting like a drizzle of honey in your tea. There was a patience in him that Wooyoung didn’t have. He was okay with waiting.

YN was still unfamiliar with his behavior, so used to Wooyoung’s familiarity to balance her and guide her with San. Back at the shared vanity, the other ballerinas looked between her and her patron. A touch judging, a lot confused. Still, she obeyed him. Her dress was shrugged off to reveal her bared shoulders and cinched corseted waist for only a moment as she tugged on her dark skirts and matching blouse. Her makeup was thick and cakey from sweat and reapplication but, with no running water in the boudoir unlike the private dressing rooms, she was forced to keep it on or risk smearing it about unattractively. If she was alone, she’d attempt it, but her eyes flashed to see San once more through the mirrors. Waiting. Her head ached with the pricks of a million-and-one hair pins. Her fingers prodded at them, scratching satisfyingly, but she didn’t let her hair down. It’d take too long. He was waiting.

Waiting.

That wasn’t normal.

Her eyes kept glancing into the looking glass, in any of the mirrors that framed the entire boudoir in. Everywhere she looked he was there. Tapping his glass with his finger, licking his delicious looking lips. At every turn, as she returned her costume and as she slipped her pointe shoes off and replaced them with sensible heels, she was always looking to see if San was still there. And he was.

Lounging back, broad-shoulder and broad-chest, making the settee look smaller with his large muscular form. His eyes shut as he swirled his drink in a crystalline tumbler. He hadn’t left. Was he bored? Was he going to leave if she wasn’t quick enough? Why was he so odd compared to the other patrons who were all up on their protégés as soon as the performance was done?

In the mirror, she could see Julia in the arms of her Lord, still dressed in her costume. Mina’s was buried in the side of her neck, leaving whispers and hickeys, as she tried to wriggle out of her outfit. Some new patrons, young men with some money to burn, were talking to the youngers. All the men were occupied. Except for hers.

But San still sat, waiting patiently.

He was going to leave, he had to, he had to. The men would get frustrated. Why wasn’t San? She sped up, buttoning her blouse up and tying the ribbon in a bow on her front as she walked his way. A smile painted on her face.

“Two minutes, and 8 seconds,” San recounted, his head tilted back unmoving, as she came to stand in front of him once more.

Her chin shifted a mimicry of defiance as she swallowed. San sighed out through his nose as he shifted up. Feline eyes opened to meet hers with their burning warm. Like embers in a fireplace. Was he angry? Should she had stayed? Been faster?

“Honey.” He cooed the sweet nickname for her once more with warm affection. His hand reached out for hers, pausing until she shifted her hand to rest into his gloved one. A thumb rushed over the back of her hand soothingly. “When I say take your time, I mean it.” He raised her hand up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she said in divergence. He steadied her with a gentle gaze. He squeezed her hand again.

“I mean it, YN,” he insisted seriously. “And yes, I did. You did beautifully.”

She nodded softly. His hand tugged her closer with a questioning brow, his other hand shifting to make sure her skirts didn’t tangle as she sat beside him.

“I’ll take it slower next time.” She promised as she crossed her legs.

“Good girl.” He praised.

His words sent a zing through her.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Better now that I’m with you.” He flirted.

“You and Woo have the same flirts,” she teased.

His eyes crinkled. “Well, we both flirt with one another often.” He admitted.

Her cheeks flushed at his comment – did it mean what she thought? They were awfully close for best friends. “Where is Woo?” she asked.

“Sad to see just me?” he prompted.

She shook her head quickly. “I’m happy to see you. Just wondering where or what he could be off doing.”

He smirked, adjusting how he sat to wrap an arm around her waist. “You looking forward to your date?” he teased.

Date. He said date. It was a date! When was the last time she went on a date? Her stomach danced with butterflies. San’s smile grew, cat-like, as if he could feel the excitement bounce around in her bones.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Good. He’s excited, too.” San reassured, thumb going up and down her waist. “Would you like to go on a date with me too, honey?”

Her ears burned at the thought of two men sharing her, but she nodded softly. Because she did want. She wanted San and Wooyoung. San was intriguing and kind and attractive. Different to Wooyoung but not better or worser. Her shame burned her ears just as red as her blushing bashfulness.

He grinned wider.

“What would we do?” It was strange to be asked these things as if her time wasn’t one he paid for, as if she wasn’t going on a date with his best friend tomorrow.

Still, she replied.

“I’d want to get to know you more,” she said truthfully.

He was interesting but she knew so little of him. He leaned forward, a different sort of magnetic energy pulled her closer.

“Ask me, honey.” He urged. His dark eyes met hers. He pulled her a smidge closer. “I’ll answer most anything.”

So, she did. 

She asked about his favorites, things that she had learned at first about Wooyoung. Safe things, easy things. He liked purple. He liked cats. He favored sweets over savory things. He liked the seaside. He said he’d take her to a pier when it warmed up. He favored dancing over singing. Eventually, she asked:

“What’s in the gift box?” She eyed the box beside his feet.

San grinned. “It’s from our Wooyo – and me.”

Our. Our. Our. He liked saying that, she noticed. His hands left her form to hoist it up, onto her lap. It was heavy.

“Is it for tomorrow?” she asked tentatively. One of the ballerinas said their patron liked getting things for them to wear.

“Open it and see,” he encouraged instead of answering.

So, she did. And inside was the most soft, warmest dark jacket she had ever seen. It was fluffy and furry on the inside. It looked like it was made of the darkest midnight black fabric she had ever seen, a soft metallic shine to it. There was no tag or name brand. Was this custom made to her?

It was large, but not oversized. It smelled of warm pineapple, something sweet like jasmine flowers, a musky woodsy oak, and a hint of sea-salt.

“Oh, San, it’s beautiful,” she cooed.

“And warm,” he said with a chuckle. “Let me help you.”

He stood, offering his hand like a gentleman to her, before sliding the dark coat over her shoulders. He fixed her hair delicately.

“Beautiful; fits you like a glove.” He hummed appreciatively, fixing the top button so it was snug. “Perfect for cold nights walking home.”

That night she walked home warmer than ever with a tropical scent engulfing her. But it was also the first night she had felt frightened in a long time.

There was fighting in the streets. Figures punching and spitting and yelling. No, the city had never been perfect. There were rougher parts and her side of town was certainly not protected from turf wars between adolescents and old families claiming land.

She was used to walking fast and not looking down alleys in case there were things she shouldn’t be seeing. But it felt different today. She was used to punks fighting between themselves. That was normal, but today they were all frightened it sounded. The group all cowering and whispering and biting out words, scared.

“Please, please, I promise – I’ll--!”  

YN was in the wrong place, wrong time, she knew it deep in her stomach as she peered around a corner only to see a tall figure pressing a gun against another’s jaw. Shadows cast over him, hiding their face from view, but when she heard the shadowed figure asking ‘where the fuck his money was’, she quickly looked away and scurried away. Unknowing, that there was a shadow figure of her own trailing after her, glancing down the alley way at the scene for a moment too long.

The equally tall figures’ gazes rose and locked for a moment. One with his ringed fingers holding a lit cigarette, the other with his ringed fingers gripping the gang member’s hair harshly. The man on his knees whimpered, pleading for help as the barrel of the gun pressed deeper into his temple. Her shadow man glanced nonchalantly at the crying man before looking back at his captor. A glitter of a smirk shined as the man with the cigarette raised his fingers to his head in a casual lazy salute. The captor snorted out a low rumble of a laugh before her shadow-figure left the alley.

“No, no, please help, please!” He didn’t listen; his sights were back on his doll. His long legs allowed him to catch up easily, always keeping her in his sights once more. He abandoned his cigarette once he came to a stop in his familiar alley-way. A polished boot crushed down on the cigarette butt as he fixed his rings casually, tracing over one in particular.

He watched as she entered her home and locked the door with a click. He watched until he saw her in her window once more, like he had most nights now. But there was one difference. She, in her sweet little nightdress with her hair pooling around her so temptingly, came into view of her window. He pushed back into the shadows, dark eyes drinking in her figure. How did San and Wooyoung control themselves around her? He wasn’t sure.

Looking out onto the dark, foggy streets of Cromer, she swallowed nervously. YN hoped she hadn’t been spotted as she entered her home. She closed the curtains with a swish as if they’d protect her. Stretching her limbs this way and that in nervousness, she tried to push those images of violence from her mind and keep her mind focused on something better.

Tomorrow. Her date.

-

It was Friday, a rare day off for the opera house. And the day of her and Wooyoung’s date. Date, date, date! It was all she could think of since her eyes flickered open. Last night’s fearful encounter nothing but a nightmare compared to the excitement buzzing through her.

“Do you think he’ll bring flowers?” she asked her mother as she dusted herself with powder.

“He should,” her curt-mouthed mother chimed. “It’s only proper.”

“Oh, I hope so!”

She had been dolling up for most of the day (after aiding her mother in some sewing assignments for the factory; they gave her way too much to handle YN thought…). First, she had a scalding hot bath where she splurged and used a long-saved gifted bottle of floral body oil. Her hair was washed and dried by the fireplace. Her closet was a proper mess as she chose between this dress and that. She debated going to get fresh flowers from market to help spruce up her old linens, but, after counting her coins, she realized she didn’t have enough to spare. Her pearls would have to make due.

Her new jacket from WooSan rested on the sofa beside her.  It still smelt of that strange cologne, not San’s nor Wooyoung’s. She wouldn’t need it today. Luckily, there was no snow outside. She’d know after all. She kept peering out her windows, waiting, waiting, waiting. When sunset began to peak over the buildings, she held her breath. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

She was oddly excited. She hadn’t expected the genuine excitement. Would he be romantic and bring a bushel of flowers? Or would he see this as nothing? Where would he take her? The park-side, a restaurant… what if he was joking, what if he didn’t show?

No, no. San knew she was excited. Wooyoung was excited, too.

When she heard the knock at the door, she jumped from her spot on the sofa, abandoning the book she was barely reading.

“Coming,” she called as she crossed the small living room to open the door, the locks clinking and clattering as she did so.

Wooyoung’s outfit was more casual than she had seen at the opera house, but he still reeked of expensive fabric and his heavenly cologne. Dark linens and his hair slicked back attractively; he smiled at her with a boyish expression. The same one she remembered him flashing the day they met. Somehow it did more to her heart now than then. Perhaps, because this one felt genuine. This one felt like a boy she had met and was trying to win her heart, jittering with nerves. His hand went to fix his perfect hair and she smiled a megawatt smile.

And while this wasn’t the first time he’d seen her bare-faced, hair-down, in her drop-waisted day-dress, he stared at her like it was. The pale sky-blue dress complimented her faintly rouged knees and white silk stockings. Her hair rested in carefully done wave-curls – her mother had sat with a red-hot curling iron helping form the curls one by one into pretty sections.

“Hi,” she greeted.

“Hello, my beautiful swanette,” he breathed, enamored. He reached for her hand to press a gentle kiss to her gloved knuckles. Gentlemanly. Her heart swirled like it was a record in a player, swooning for him ever more. It felt like a romance novel; it felt like a dream.

“Hi,” she said again, sweetly.

He smiled against her knuckles, eyes flashing to meet hers with a Wooyoung-coyness.

“This is him?” she heard her mother crow from behind her.

YN’s shoulders jumped a bit. She hadn’t thought her mother would want to meet him. Despite her help with preparing, her mother was oddish. A mixed case of approving and disapproving. She liked that her daughter danced but didn’t like that she didn’t work. She liked that she was going on a date but didn’t like it was with a man from the boudoir. She didn’t quite approve of the boudoir’s politics, but she knew he was paying for her fees now. It made her worry.

Wooyoung’s grin only grew as he peered over YN’s shoulder.

“Hello ma’am,” he greeted politely, bowing his head. He kept a hold of YN’s hand, guiding her a step hi way to face her mother with him.

Her mother, firm-faced, glared at him before diverting her eyes to the bashful looking YN.

“You take care of my YN?” she queried, crossing her arms.

“I do,” he said easily. “I think she’s wonderful. Talented, too.”

She made a hmph noise in the back of her throat, glancing between the pair again.

“Be safe,” she pressed with a hand pushing YN forward. “Be smart.”

“I’ll take good care of her,” Wooyoung promised as he squeezed YN’s hand in his and pulled her towards him fully. His hand swept her arm into his properly as he offered a smile to her mother once more as the door closed.

There were no flowers she noted, not even a single rose, and she couldn’t help the buzz of disappointment from fizzing over her. Still, the smell of him and the excitement she had brewing with her kept her optimistic.

“Let’s go, my swanette,” he beamed, patting her arm linked with his as he led the way.

“What are we doing, Woo?” she asked, and her excitement made him beam.

 “It’s a surprise,” he teased before stealing a kiss on her cheek.

He took her to a cinema, a nickelodeon where they looked at the moving pictures from viewing boxes. It was mostly excuses to huddle close together and giggle at the provocative films. One even featured a couple kissing on a train scandalously – he quickly tried to mimic it, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Scandalous for the public eye but sweet for her heart. He loved to hear her giggles ring out. 

As they sat in the darkened theatre of the cinema, the black-and-white film jittering as the projector rattled along. A live band played a lively tune, a made-up soundtrack to the film. Still, he held her hand and kept whispering in her ear. Sweet things, compliments, comments about the film. He was talkative even in the fairly-full theatre. He didn’t mind the curious glances or the whispers. In fact, it was like YN was the only thing in the world for Wooyoung. Everything else was secondary. The film barely held his attention; only she did.

“Woo, are you even watching?” she whispered to him, giggling undertoning her words.

He grinned at her, leering down at her as he fussed with her pretty hair. “I’m watching you.”

She smiled glancing aside, her gaze leaving the film about a train. So many things in film were about trains apparently.

“Pretty,” he chimed, tucking a curl around her ear.  His hand cupped her jaw and redirected her gaze. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Wooyoung was intense in everything he did. But it was a pleasant intensity. Like gravity. The magnetic pull between him and her felt natural. Like she was his Earth and he was her moon.

He leaned close til their noses brushed, til they shared the same hot breath.

“It’s fun,” she whispered to him. “Being with you.”

He smiled and leaned ever closer. 

“I like being with you. I like you, YN.”

Their mouths locked for the first time beneath the loud clink-clanking of a projector of the cinema, highlighted by its glow.

It wasn’t anything hot and heavy, but she could taste him on her mouth for the first time, breathe him in so close. His hand cupped her cheek, pulling her ever close like he could devour her. He wished he could. He wished he could lick into her mouth, pull her over his lap, muss her hair and make her lips flush as red as the lipstick she wore at the ballet.

But Wooyoung knew it wasn’t the time yet.

Still, each press of his lips to hers felt addicting to her and made her body hotter than the projector’s lamplight.

-

“Extra, extra!” A newsie cried as she passed him on the streets; his voice piercing her ear with its loudness. “Man shot dead after sports match – conflict uncertain! Suspect jailed.”

“Who’s the suspect?” a woman with a much too large hat babbled at the boy.

“Buy one and see, Miss!” he encouraged.

Such a good salesman, YN snickered as she passed by. She wondered if maybe one of the girls at the ballet would buy an edition. A man killed at a sports match… must’ve been a rich man if it was being reported about. She wondered what happened. A bet gone wrong perhaps?

A breeze made her shiver and pick up her pace towards the opera house.

-

There was a large bushel of flowers on her vanity the next performance. Wooyoung’s handwriting graced the letter.

‘Thanks for the date, beautiful swanette. See you later.’

She nearly melted. How did he know she had wanted flowers? It was fate, romance, everything. He was such a gentleman.

He and her were different. San, her, and him.

Yes, she felt it.

-

Wooyoung and San were interesting when they were in the boudoir together. They had their own magnetic energy that couldn’t be denied. They were close. Closer than normal men. But when it came to her, it felt like their interest on her was equal. A shared obsession – their eyes would lock onto her and never falter once in the boudoir (unless it was to give one another knowing looks.)

She was looking forward to their visits. Some of the girls asked if the date led to more, but it hadn’t. Wooyoung was the perfect gentleman. San was the perfect patron, paying her fees for the pair of them. For the first time, she had money to spare in her pockets. More days trickled by and each visit brought her closer and closer to them. Nights of whispers about the city, the gossip Wooyoung loved to hear about, about her, and shared embraces that left her buzzing.

She’d dreamt about them a few times. San’s touches became more teasing, daring as he kept his bespectacled gaze locked on her as his hand grazed over her waist. Right after Wooyoung pressed a kiss to her. Burning eyes, burning hands. Her dreams were wild that night.

-

Box #8 was full once more. It had Wooyoung and San in clear view, but it was harder to spot the others. When she could, it was only blurred visage. A strong nose peaking from beneath opera glasses. Sparkling rings on someone’s hands. A gleam of a smile.

At intermission, it was just Wooyoung and San; walking side-by-side as San whispered something, a grin forming on Wooyoung’s face. Wooyoung was mid-reply when he approached her.

“I said it should be something less known, so it’d be—” 

“Hello, you two,” she greeted, her skirt a full thing of feathers for the next act.

“Swanette,” Wooyoung lit up, easily swooping her into an embrace per usual. Except now, he pressed a kiss to her lips, sweetly.

“Wooyoung!” Her surprised cry of his name came out muffled against his lips.

He giggled before turning so they faced San. “Sannie, I think we should go out all together.” He argued.

“Soon,” he agreed before he greeted her. “Hello, honey.”

“Who’s with you tonight?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Wooyoung chuckled lowly, swaying her this way and that.

“I told you she’d ask,” he hummed. “She’s a jealous vixen.”

He buried himself in her neck and she let out a giggle knowing he was simply teasing her. Teeth grazed over her neck, and she jolted in his arms, shrieking quietly. Her hands raised to her mouth.

“She’s not; she’s inquisitive.” San corrected, watching the display with a pleased expression.

“Curious about a lot of things,” Wooyoung whispered tauntingly. As if he knew her brain. Her cheeks flushed red.

A low rumble of twin laughter mingled in the air as San stepped towards the pair in embrace.

“They’re our friends,” San countered. “Yeosangie wanted to visit you, but he has a match tomorrow. He insists on practicing the night before. He could only stay so long for the performance.”

“And the others?” she asked, curiosity lingering on her face.

San’s gaze flickered to Wooyoung’s for a long moment. Wooyoung nodded. “Seonghwa is in attendance. He won’t be able to visit. He sends his warmest regards.”

“Which one was he?” she queried, brow pursing.

“On my left,” Wooyoung commented. “Yeosang and San are like two peas in a pod around one another. Can’t unglue them from each other”

He hushed Wooyoung’s comment by coming close and squeezing his best friend’s neck and crowding her in pleasantly. There was a faint smell of coffee and vanilla… and popped champagne.

“He’s jealous,” San teased. “He likes attention almost as much as you do, hm?”

Her cheeks flushed and San smirked. Sighing out, he wrapped a hand tentatively around her waist, squeezing reassuringly.

 “They’ll visit soon, I’m sure. They’re busy is all.”

Wooyoung pressed a kiss to her temple and she swore she saw San inch forward to do the same before he stopped himself.

-

“Imara?” she asked during practice between plie-ing on the barre and stretching their legs.

“Yes?” the other girl replied, offering a smile.

Ever since she’d gained patrons, she had noticed a change. A nicer tone towards her. Not quite respect but something more. It was strange. Still, YN smiled and continued her question.

“Do you know of a Seonghwa in society?” she asked.

Despite all their shared experience with the upper-class, some were more aware than others. Most ballerinas acted on the edge of the rich, floating like asteroids in their orbit. Some were comets, pretty to watch for a moment but a fleeting fancy. The only ones with more insight, a more hands-on experience with the rich were those with a patron. Proteges particularly were informed about high-society, usually due to the drunken rambles of their patrons.

Imara paused, leaning further into her stretch. “Last name?” she prompted.

“Kim? Or-or Jung?”

YN had yet to find out why Wooyoung had given her a false name… or how the newspaper had a false name.There was a low hum as the woman shifted this way and that.

“No to both… but-“, she clicked her tongue. “I’ve heard of a Park Seonghwa from Dohyunnie—I mean Mr. Kim.”

“Oh, what have you heard?” YN queried; intrigue piqued.

“Nothing that amazing,” Imara snorted. “Just that he was doing business with him. Dohyun sounded frustrated though. But he’s frustrated most days now.” Her face fell into something of concern, of care. One might even say love.

Park Seonghwa? Hm…

-

“Hey, honey.”

San was waiting for her outside of the Opera House back against the wrought-iron street lamp. Snow dotted his perfectly coifed locks like it was salt-and-pepper hair - a sneak peek of what was to come down the line for him. It made her think of things too domestic and too fantastical for a dancer. Waking up to him, children running between their legs. Home. Love. Family. Things that were too taboo to think about considering their relationship.

Her dancer friends were always quick to remind her that he was paying for her.

But now, on a non-show day, she was surprised to see him waiting outside for her. Rehearsals weren’t too long or intensive, especially once they were performing a show for as long as they had been, but still YN wondered how long he had been waiting.

“San!” she exclaimed, padding up to him with a grin. “How long have you been out here?”

Her hand went to wipe at the accumulation of snow on his coat. He smiled at her fondly.

“Not long,” he reassured.

“You’re covered in snow,” her voice relented, pouting at him. “If I’m to be honest, shouldn’t you be?”

She teased him easily and he grinned, almost a side-smirk as he fixed her, their, coat to make sure it was buttoned up all the way.

“I guess so. That’s how these things work, hm?” he teased back.

“What things?” YN couldn’t help but clarify.

“Relationships.” He replied back. “Right?”

It made her heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. Relationship. That meant… not just a business relationship, right? But what of Wooyoung? Did he know? Was this alright? Her stomach bubbled with nervousness, worries but also a wave of excitement.

San had always been straightforward, so the fact he danced around the topic made her nerves only grow. But… she wanted it. She wanted him. Guilt and intrigue and want clashed in a whirl. Like snow tumbling in the air.

“Right,” she replied, her voice soft. There was a gentle tremor of excitement, nervousness, anticipation.

His fingers that had just made up her coat’s buttons shifted to tuck hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch at his icy touch. “And in relationships, they can… kiss,” he stated, warm fingers trailing up her neck to cup her jaw.

It was then she realized his face was blushed not from the cold, but bashfulness. Shyness. Him – shy! It baffled her, but the more she was around him, the more she learned how soft he was. Like Wooyoung had warned. He was soft and caring and gentle. Loving.

San leaned in closer, head ducking and shadowing her from the flame-lit lamp light. His breath was visible in the chill, fanning over her face in a whirl of warm mint and medicinal rosemary.

“They do,” she replied equally gentle at his touch.

He cupped her cheeks, his hand surprisingly small and yet she felt so sturdily safe in them.

“May I?” he asked, eyes meeting hers.

She nodded, a quiet noise of agreement breathed out as he got closer and closer.

Their kiss was something slow, not like Wooyoung’s and hers. Hot and eager beneath the equally warm projector a cinema. San’s kiss was slow like he had all the time in the world. It was cold out in the snow, but the icy chill felt nice mixed with his hot breath fanning over their locked lips.

They kissed for far too long beneath that lamplight, a figure across the streets watching on as he always did.

-

She barely slept a wink that night. Her worries about her and Wooyoung and her and San… and honestly San and Wooyoung! Was she wrong for kissing San? He had seen Wooyoung press kisses to her cheeks. They both had manhandled her and stroked her and tickled her. They had been closer in some ways than a simple kiss already. Her body was comfortable with them; she liked their attention, their warmth, their presences.

Oh gosh, what if this ruined everything?

But, they – San and Wooyoung - had to talk? San didn’t seem like someone who would go behind his best friend’s back. And Wooyoung had never objected to San’s careful gaze and wandering hands. Wooyoung could never keep his mouth shut either! She tossed and turned in her bed, obsessing and worrying, until she simply stood and switched on her lamp.

Her shadow, watching from the alley way with a lit cigarette in between his teeth, twitched. What was she doing awake? She’d be exhausted. He frowned. The shadow of her form paced this way and that in the dark of night. Worrisome.

And he worried for her. He worried for his doll, biting at his plump lips, chewing on them before bringing his cigar back to his lips.

-

In front of the grand Cromer Opera House, a newsie cried out. “Disappearance by the docks! Four workers never check out of their shift! Details are shocking!”

“How shocking, kid?” one of the ballerinas countered as they approached the building, arms crossed.

“Extremely so, Miss.” He exclaimed.

“You said that last time and there was barely anything added to the story!” cried out the ballerina beside YN, her arm interlaced with hers. “Just a stupid name that we didn’t even know – some Yunho fellow!”

“I don’t make the stories; I just sell them,” he argued, hands raising.

“Sell them that’s for sure,” she huffed. “Not today, Jack. You aren’t getting any of my coins.”

It almost made YN laugh if only the content the boy had cried out about wasn’t so alarming. Disappearances? There had just been a man shot a few weeks ago and now disappearances. Mother had mentioned disgruntled workers at the factory as of late too. With pay being as it is, some of the younger girls got into worser things, her mother said.  And the gangs had been acting up. Memories of the man’s deep voice in the alley way threatening the young boy made her shiver.

Even if her mom didn’t quite support her as a ballerina, always saying it was an easy way up to fame despite the many nights of pain and many, many years of empty pockets, she had to admit now that she was relieved YN wasn’t working beside her in the textile factory. It seemed like things were up to no good in this town.

YN sighed out tiredly as she walked up the steps of the opera house only to blink in surprise. On the framed poster outside the opera house, there was a new notice. Swan Lake’s performances were coming to a close – so the ballet could prepare a new show for its patrons of the arts. What could it be? No one, not even the girls knew yet.

-

The show had been canceled for the day and for tomorrow! A shock for the ballerinas already prepared for the early afternoon matinee performance. It was then they were dismissed, claiming there was a gas leak.  Some said they were being kicked out for a new owner to tour. Other girls said it was for deciding the leads for the next show.

Nonetheless, YN felt herself sag in relief. Maybe she’d get some shut eye.

-

A surprise day off was rare. In fact, she couldn’t remember an unplanned day off since she was 10. But it didn’t mean lazing around all day. No, she was prepared to help her mother with extra orders.

Bright and early, she was awake, more rested but certainly still worrying about her patrons. Her lips had been bitten raw in anxiety, but her mind was set to try to not think of them today. Not getting to talk to them yesterday felt strange and it didn’t help her worries still ate at her like a leech.

Her hair was tied back in a pretty braid, her outfit simple, as she exited the front door with a large basket of orders from her mother, ready for delivery.

“I’ll be back, ‘ma!” she called. “I’ll try to be back before you leave for your shift.”

There was a call back in agreement, hard to hear over her mother’s sewing machine whirling with her steady foot-pedaling. Turning, she was met with a surprise.

“Swanette,” Wooyoung crowed out from the nearby sidewalk, his hands wrapped around the gate as he grinned up at her.

“Woo!”

“Are you free today?”

It was still strange to see Wooyoung outside the ballet. Her bare face burned and felt sticky, wrong. She was used to the stage-makeup hiding her flush of nerves. Her hands fiddled with her outing gloves, half shifting her basket to her arm. “Today, I was supposed to-“

“She is, Mr. Wooyoung,” her Mother crowed out from the window – pushing it open.

“Mother,” YN insisted, looking her way.

“I can handle the orders for today; go – before you’re old and grey,” the woman tutted.

Wooyoung laughed out, hyena-like, as his hands banged against the gate in excitement. “Mother’s orders, sweet swanette.” He added.

Her sharp look only made his bright grin grow.

“Go,” her mother pushed once more. “Leave the delivery by the door.”

Huffing, YN hopped up the steps of the apartment. She placed her orders down and grabbed her hand bag. She slid her nicer heels beside the door on, leaving her old shoes there in its wake, and tip-tapped down the apartment’s steps.

“Thank you, Miss,” Wooyoung chimed out to her mother. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“You better,” her mother replied before snapping the window shut.

“She’s lovely,” Wooyoung said to YN with a grin that she could only describe as a cat who got the cream.

“You like her, because she played into your plot,” she teased.

“And she raised a gem like you,” he flirted back.

A gem… was she? She felt her multiple days of anxiety cling to her back like a sleep-demon on someone’s chest. Heavy and painful.

With grandiose, he offered his arm her way. She took it with ease. It surprised her how even in her worrisome she felt comfortable so close to him. A part of her wondered if the neighbors were watching as she walked along their rickety pathways with a man who could buy their land twice over.

“What are we doing today?” she asked quietly.

A date was something she could predict. A visit to the cinema, or a diner, or even the sea-side pier amusement park. But a day outing…

“I must attend something dreadful,” Wooyoung sighed out dramatically, his arm squeezing tighter around hers. In this open public, he was the picture-perfect man, no wandering hands up and down her waist. No cuddling embraces. No kisses that left her breathless. It was strange that she missed them.

“What?” she feared.

“A tennis match featuring my dear Yeosang.” He sighed out. “Tennis is so boring, you know?”

She did not know, unfortunately.

Glancing over his dresswear, she noted his fine linens; was she not dressed enough for this? Her outfit was a sensible attire, not at all as seductive as her costumes at the ballet and not a smidge high-end. It wasn’t even like her day-dress she wore the last date with the ultramodern drop-waist and frills. She was in a simple deep purple skirt, down to her ankles, sensible heels, and her dark blouse was high necked with his pearls looped around it as an accent. The only whisper of wealth. Would they think she was some whore? Wasn’t she? She was jumping between patrons, jumping between San and him.

“Little swan,” he nudged her with his hip. He had been yapping along and she hadn’t caught a word.

“Sorry,” she apologized quickly, shaking her head as she tried to push down the feeling of being used. Wooyoung didn’t think that. Didn’t look at her like that.

“Sannie will be there, too. But he may be preoccupied.” he continued. “Tennis just doesn’t have the thrill of other sports - don’t tell Yeosang that.”

That made her chuckle.

“What sports do you like, Woo?” she asked, trying not to think of San and his warmth and his medicinal cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and his slow kisses.

“Boxing.” It was an immediate answer. “And horse-racing. I’m starting to like baseball, too. Aurora had no stadiums, but Cromer’s is nice.”

All brutal in her mind. She knew of a few girls who dated boxers; their lovers’ faces were bruised and beaten most days. At least with tennis, there was no gore.

“I’ve never been to a tennis match,” she admitted. “Or many sports games.”

He wouldn’t judge her; he hadn’t yet. Instead, his eyes lit up.

“Lucky girl,” he hummed. “You’ve got me as a perfect guide then.”

“What should I expect?” she asked.

“Long boring minutes,” he lamented. “But it’s less sports-focused for us. Think of it like a show.”

“In what way?” she retorted.

“The audience, us, are all there for different reasons, right? Some are there to watch the performance; some are there to watch the audience, hm.” He added.

“Do rich people do anything except people watch?” she mumbled.

Wooyoung crowed out a laugh. Her face burned. She shouldn’t have said that in front of him. “Some,” he countered. “But we are here to people watch today. That’s the fun of sports like this.”

-

She was sandwiched between Wooyoung and San – who had met them at the gates of the tennis court. One of Wooyoung’s hands pressed on her knee as he turned in to face her, occasionally whispering things in her ear. San’s arm was warm around her shoulders.

What she couldn’t ignore were the looks. On stage, she yearned for the attention, the limelight. But now with the elite’s gazes all zoomed in on her and her patrons… her face felt hot. A hand fiddled with her pearls. She looked away from their repeating blank stares.

“Shh,” San cooed after a few moments.

Her eyes flashed to him. He looked cool and casual in his dark fitted vest and pinstriped pants. A white silk shirt was open beneath it and rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tan skin. San’s glasses were absent from his nose for the first time. It made his attitude seemed stronger; the flat planes of his face sharp. But his eyes were still a soft brown, soothing her as his hand rose to rub at her shoulder blade.

“You’re okay.”

Her stomach whirled. Was she so transparent? Her tongue peeked out to lick her lips.

“I’m okay,” she tried to reassure him.

Her fingers played with a pearl, tip tap tapping it. San smiled at her, encouragingly patient. His other hand placed his drink down; the crystalline glass clanking onto the table as he did so. He reached for her hand, fingers caressing down her phalanges and stopping her fussing.

“Honey,” he hummed. “Don’t lie to me.”

Her face felt warm.

“I’m not,” she whispered, eyes flickering to watch as he stroked up and down her fingers soothingly.

She could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on them; he lifted his drink to his curled mouth. His fingers tightened on her knee, almost warningly.

“I’m not,” she repeated looking over at Wooyoung.

He cocked a brow as he swallowed down his liquor; his gaze directed her back to San silently. San’s gaze had hardened enough that she pouted. His grasp was still ever gentle as he tugged her hand away from her necklace and interlaced their fingers with a questioning tickle of his fingers against hers. She let him.

“I can read you like the back of my hand,” he told her, squeezing their entwined hands. “Ignore them. They don’t matter.”

She glanced up at him, questioningly. How easy they could say something like that? Approval meant everything.

He sighed out a bit, leaning closer. “They don’t. I promise.”

All that matters is them; a subtle reminder. She nodded mutely; his eyes crinkled at her before he raised the back of her hand up to press a fond kiss to it. Her eyes flashed to Wooyoung to see his expression but he barely blinked at the action, his thumb going over and over her knee.

San had begun to ask a question: “What’s wrong—”

Thwack! The sound of a black-leathered tennis ball hitting the clay-court’s floor dragged her eyes away from her patrons and back to the action for a split second.

Yeosang swung and made another point with ease. Wooyoung cheered from her side, excitement lighting up his face as the Chair Umpire announced Yeosang’s point. Her gaze was drawn back to his visible excitement. Despite Wooyoung’s dramatics, he seemed eager when there was winning on the line.

Her gaze shifted from her patron back to Kim Yeosang. The athlete was lean; his muscles only showing when he made a swing. Bulging from his white tee, his triceps and biceps were built. His hair was long, half tied up in a small ponytail. Even so, there were strands of dark-brown hair that flickered in front of his face. Every now and then, he’d blow the tresses away with a huff.

“The other opponent hasn’t even made a point,” YN commented. 

“Yeosangie hasn’t lost a match in a long time,” Wooyoung revealed. “He’s the Champion of Ateez.”

San snorted out as if Wooyoung had said something funny. His hand adjusted hers in his as he took another long sip of his drink.

Yeosang had turned to grab a cup of water presented to him; theyd reach a pause in the game apparently. He took a deep sip of the drink. His biceps flexed, drawing her eyes over the muscle down to his elbow up his forearm to his pretty mouth. His Adam’s apple jumped every so often beneath his damp tawny skin as he swallowed over and over. Stray droplets dripped from his pouty lips, carving rivulets down his chin, down his neck, over his chest. She had to stop herself from looking him up and down even more.

YN wondered if this was how San and Wooyoung felt at the ballet. Watching another so intently, she took in everything of Yeosang. The tousled look of his sweeping hair, sweat that dripped down the side of his face, the way the sun glinted off his bared collarbones, the way his eyes looked as he opened them from drinking.

His eyes weren’t like San or Wooyoung’s – even from this distance, she knew that. He had a strange forcefulness in them, an intensity she usually only saw when someone furrowed their brow at you. A darkness, a cruelty, a seriousness. He glanced back at his opponent. His face was unsmiling. Cold, cruel, calculated.

“How long has he played?” she asked her duo. Her eyes hadn’t left him as he returned to his spot on the court.

“A while,” San answered. “He had been training since childhood and quickly rose in competitions.”

She hummed. There was a trickle of envy in her veins; she wanted that. She bet he hadn’t had to play up to men and women; he didn’t have to feel like an object. Even if the men with her insisted she wasn’t.

“Go Yeosangie!” Wooyoung cheered, almost disruptively. All eyes flashed to them. Yeosang included. But instead of annoyance like YN had expected, he smiled.

Wow, his smile. Her breath was stolen at the sunshine bright grin that he offered. He looked sweet then and there before turning to face his opponent once more. The grin fell and he was once more a cold calculating persona. A star turned icy.

The game began again with the opponent whacking the tennis ball towards Yeosang’s side. Yeosang was quick, agile, as he slid to hit the ball back.

Back and forth, back and forth.

After some time, she realized how Wooyoung could find this boring. He had grown antsy, already. He’d shifted in his seat, glancing around the stadium with intrigue. His mouth began to chatter once more, especially when all that was left in his glass was ice.

“Do you know anyone about, swanette?” he asked.

His hand had shifted from her knee to rest around her waist, casually. Occasionally, he fiddled with her skirt’s belt loop teasingly, but was mostly stagnant. He tapped her waist at his query; his many rings clinked delicately against one another with the motion.

Licking her lips, she felt San squeeze her fingers softly, almost reassuringly she realized. Gazing across the tournament’s audience, she recognized some familiar faces.

Henry Young, the police chief of Cromer, sat across the court in the shade, discussing something with a tall suited man. The bespectacled man looked red-faced, puffy cheeked as he argued with the other.

Her gaze shifted from him over the sea of folk. Her eyes widened at the sight of Julia, red hair piled upon her head and dressed in some gaudy purple dress. Lord Frederickson was returning to her side with a sly smirk. What the fuck? She said she never went out with her patron. Her brows crinkled, her lips frowning as she glanced away.

Why did she lie?

There was Kim Dohyun who often was all over Imara at the boudoir. He now stood beside his wife, a bedazzled silken lady with two small children tugging on her arm as she drank her champagne.

“Yes,” YN admitted. Her chin gave a soft nod towards the bank conglomerate of Cromer. The man had smiled brightly at a friend before leaning in to whisper something to his wife. Who smiled at him with glee and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Did she know that he was pressing kisses to Imara’s cheeks just a few nights ago? Did she know that he spent nearly a fortune for Imara’s dues? That she almost had enough to have her own dressing room? Her own solo?

“He’s cheating on his wife,” she said coldly under her breath. “Yet she doesn’t even know.”

Dohyun chuckled at something another one of his cohorts said as he adjusted his wife’s hand on his arm. YN glared.

“They all do it,” she muttered, glancing aside. For once, she wished she had taken up Wooyoung’s offer for alcohol.

San sighed out lowly. “I don’t understand men who do such things,” he admitted, taking a sip of his drink. His thumb rubbed soothing circles. “Unless she is aware.”

“I doubt it.” she admitted. “Imara would be in on it; she knows everything about high society.”

“I’d never do that to the ones I love,” Wooyoung said solemnly. Seriously.

His grasp tightened on her waist as he shifted to sit closer. San hummed in agreement. They watched as the man captured his wife’s mouth in a kiss, curt and aggressive. They’d seen him do the same thing to the pretty featured dancer at the boudoir.

There was a flicker of a question in the back of her head. How were they okay with sharing her then? Was it not the same thing? When Wooyoung kisses her under the glow of a cinema’s projector, was it not cheating when San pressed a warm smooch to her lips beneath the lamp post outside the opera house?

She licked her lip and tentatively tried to phrase her dangerous query. “San kisses my hand,” she stated. A simply edge into her question – a question that held more gravity than a simple kiss to her hand.

There’s a pause.

Wooyoung laughed out, his eyes crinkling as his attention shifted from the crowd to her. His affection burned in his chest. He wished he could press kisses over her cheeks. He was tempted to do so despite being in the public. San hummed in his chest, almost purr-like as he shifted his position to sandwich her tighter between them.

“I know that,” Wooyoung laughed. His eyes flickered to San and back to her. “I know everything, pretty girl. I thought we made it obvious. We know and share everything.”

Her cheeks burned a bit at the thought of them talking of her but San simply grinned.

“You are so sweet, honey.” He cooed close to her ear. “Wooyoung knows of our shared kisses. I know of your little rendez-vous at the cinema as well. Everything is alright.“

Her burning cheeks were only tripled as they both chuckled and daringly pressed twin kisses to her natural-rouged cheeks.

“Cute.” Wooyoung fussed.

She giggled out as they continued to tease and flirt under their breaths; half paying attention to the match and half paying attention to the folk watching their fancies. Soon, there was a chiming bell, ringing out to signify the end of the match. Their attention was stolen once more, letting YN breath out a shaky breath. San chuckled mischievously. The Umpire rose from his seat, declaring Kim Yeosang the winner.

“Finally,” Wooyoung sighed out, his arm leaving her waist for a moment as he stretched in his seat before rising to his feet.

“Let’s go visit our beloved Yeosang,” San encouraged, patting her hip before rising as well.

The two men walked ahead of her, pushing between the crowds easily. In fact, she realized that the crowds practically parted for them and half-swallowed her. It isn’t until her fingers slip from Wooyoung’s that they paused.

“Baby!” Woo chimed out, looking her way to catch her getting squished between men and women who wouldn’t even glance her way. Rough jabs and pushes made her huff out.

Wooyoung pushed back at a figure who had just shoved past her, losing the edge of respectability and gentleman flair. When the fine-suited man turned in outrage, his face paled at the sight of Wooyoung’s furrowed brow – the picture of an angered god in a Renaissance painting but the man who was shoved looked at him with wide eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sorry,” he pleaded, bowing his head.

“You better be,” Wooyoung’s voice was unlike anything she had hear. Scolding, firm, and unwavering. Gone was his boyish charm and instead was a soft of cruelty she saw Yeosang carry on the court. But when he shimmied over to her, an arm went to her bicep ever so gently. Wooyoung’s dark eyes grazed her up and down with care. He couldn’t care less about the groveling man except to send him another dirty look. His darkness faded as he looked back at her each time.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Just lost you,” she said simply, a smidge shell shocked.

“Never,” he whispered back soft as cotton candy, taking her hand in his again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reassured with a furrow of her brow.

He smiled at her, warmly, squeezing her hand. “I’m your guide, aren’t I?” he teased. “I’ll keep you closer this time.”

He tugged her close to him, almost inappropriately so for high society, but he only let out a crow of a laugh at her surprised face. Just as suddenly, he had her arm in his, polite and proper as always.

“C’mon, let’s catch up to Sannie,” he encouraged, squeezing her arm.

Now, he kept her by his side, close and tight. The ocean of people parted for both of them to reveal Yeosang, patting his forehead dry with a pristine white rag and San smiling and cooing over the athlete.

“You did a good job today!” San beamed, cheering the other on.

Yeosang nodded, almost timidly, but offered the larger man a close-lipped smile.

“It was a good day.” Yeosang agreed. “You win anything?” he asked, offhandedly.

Yeosang’s voice matched his face; not dainty but tender. It held a deep tone that seemed warm and pleasant despite its quietness. He spoke not with a booming haughtiness but a humble hum. His very voice encouraged people to shut up and pay attention – just in a different way.

San rubbed his neck, adjusting his suit a bit. “I wasn’t in charge of betting today,” he admitted.

Yeosang’s eyes widened, his brows jumping with the motion. “Oh. Who else is here?”

He leaned in close to whisper something that she couldn’t catch as they approached the duo. Wooyoung’s arm was strong around her.

“Congratulations,” Wooyoung praised.

“I lost you both,” San crowed out as he pulled away from Yeosang – the athlete flinching at the noise. At that sight, San cooed out an apology, a thumb pinching the other’s ear affectionately.

Yeosang tried to dodge away from the other but couldn’t and he succumbed to his babying. She hadn’t seen San baby someone so much – even with Wooyoung, it was a different sort of coddling. Like a firm hand keeping him on track.

“How dare you leave us?” Wooyoung dramatically whined.

San played into his dramatics, apologizing for abandoning them. It made her giggle a bit at their shenanigans, their comfortability. It made her nerves lighten at meeting a new person. Yeosang’s gaze had laid solidly on her the entire time, calculated, and intrigued.

“Yeosangie,” San started, his hand going to pat the other’s back. The well-awarded athlete’s brows raised as if at attention, flickering his gaze between him and her. “This is Miss YN LN.”

“Hello,” he greeted, properly. His hand outstretched and she shook it politely. His hands felt rough against hers but not unpleasant as he squeezed her hand as he pulled away. Yeosang smiled.

Yeosang looked at her like he did his opponent – despite his smile shining brighter than any paparazzi’s camera flash. He looked at her like she was a challenge. Butterfly wings fluttered against her rib cage and she wasn’t sure if it was excitement or red flags warning her to stay away. With her rose-tinted glasses, she ignored it and continued talking to him. Wooyoung’s comforting form was still with her even if San had disappeared at the beckoning of a bulky gentleman she had never seen before in a pin-striped suit bearing a firm facial expression.

Their discussion was led by Wooyoung; babbling on about the game, about the winnings that had been announced via the loudspeakers, about how Yeosang deserved much more. He went on bragging about the athlete, much to his blushed cheeks. His cheeks so red made her only find him more charming. The sun shifted in the sky as they all talked.

“I’ll be right back, Swanette,” Wooyoung promised, arm vacating her waist and leaving her feel exposed. “Yeosang here will keep you company while I try to find our Sannie. He’s been gone for far too long.”

Both Yeosang and YN had little to no time to say anything before Wooyoung had disappeared into the throngs of the upper-class.

YN chuckled faintly, her hand raising to tuck hair aside. “He did this during San and I’s first meeting, too. Left us alone.” she admitted bashfully, a sense of déjà vu crashing over her at the thought.

Yeosang’s laugh felt false, a distict “het-he” of a giggle. “He’s like that. But he’s right,” the tennis star reassured. “You are safe with me, YN.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you,” she praised. Licking her lips, she tried to push down the anxiety of talking to someone new. Despite the boudoir teaching one to say ‘yes and-‘ to any requests, she wasn’t quite sure what was appropriate outside in upper society.

“You were the first tennis match I’ve seen,” she admitted, searching for something to discuss.

“Oh?” his eyes lit up. “And what did you think?”

“You are very good,” she chuckled. “The other man had no chances of winning.”

Her praise seemed to make him stand taller, proud of his accomplishments. “Thank you.” He waited a beat. “I feel like we are similar that way. Skilled, dedicated, caring. I’ve never seen someone perform like you do. Forgive me for never greeting you before or after a show; things have… been untimely.”

“You mean your games,” she added nodding. “Wooyoung told me you’ve had to leave in order to prepare – I understand. Especially after today’s performance --- match… game?” she corrected herself from using ‘show’ terminology.

Gosh, she felt like a fish out of water. Especially without her Wooyoung and San. Hers… she had never thought of them like that… but it felt like second nature.

Her Wooyoung and San.

He laughed again and this time she realized his giggle was not forced but natural. A little het-he escaped him and his hand rose to cover his mouth, muffling his giggle. It was cute. She let out a giggle of her own, laughing at her own mistake.

The initial awkwardness faded away as they both laughed and sighed out their nerves.

-

Far into the crowd, Wooyoung felt a form press against his back, firm and hot. If it wasn’t for the wave of medicinal herbs burning at his nose, he would’ve elbowed them in the gut.

“Sannie,” he cooed out, wriggling a bit. “I was looking for you.”

“Yunho had a lot more to talk about than business,” he sighed, his nose buried into Wooyoung’s shoulder.

Wooyoung gave the other man’s hands a squeeze, reassuringly. Silently giving him support.

“About YN?” he guessed. 

“Yunho wants to meet her,” San said into Wooyoung’s ear. “Alone.”

“Why?” Wooyoung countered with a frown.

Shifting in his lover’s embrace, he glanced over San’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of Yunho walking away from the tournament. Jealousy clung to his bones like a disease. He already was getting used to sharing his swan with San – and while it wasn’t unfavorable or irregular for the men to share things, he liked having his dates and time with YN.

“Not that he’ll take away the coins we use; Captain would never let him, but -” San reassured, massaging the back of Wooyoung’s neck reassuringly. He leaned forward, whispering into his ear.

“But he is curious why we are spending money on some doll.” His lips pressed to the shell of Wooyoung’s ear.  

Wooyoung didn’t like that, teeth baring and eyes hot. “She’s not some doll.”

“I told him that,” San retorted quick. “She ain’t.”

Wooyoung settled at that and shut his eyes, head twitching as San’s fingers dug into a tight muscle deliciously painful.

“Not Mingi?” Wooyoung tried to pitch. Mingi, despite his cold demeanor, was the softer of the duo.

“Captain’s orders,” San stated, resolute.

He sighed out at that, growing limp in his San’s embrace reluctantly. San continued to massage the fine knots at the back of his neck. 

“How?” Wooyoung followed up after a few moments.

San glanced over at the sight of their dancer, talking to Yeosang easily as the man covered his mouth in a giggle. He had an idea.

-

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Wooyoung asked as they strolled along.

She smiled over at him, bright, as she hugged his arm. “I did. You made it seem like it’d be like pulling teeth. Yeosang was nice!”

More than nice, he was charming. After WooSan left them alone, they had kicked it off, falling into conversations about their childhood devotion to their individual crafts. She learned how he began playing tennis at age five and was shipped from Aurora to Hala to Paradise growing up to compete and train. He was in the limelight alone for so long and while he was good at conversing and playing his part he was dreadfully shy. He admitted it bashfully to her and she felt a wave of comradery.

She liked him. Almost immediately.   

Wooyoung huffed dramatically, liking how close she was as she teased him.

“It is when you aren’t there,” he lamented. “I swear, it’s a boring affair once you do it a couple million times. And Yeosang isn’t always trying to impress us, pretty girl.”

She laughed and he smiled. There was a comfortable lull in the air as they continued their walk. The sun was beginning to set and, while the sky was a frosty shade of grey, there was no snow on the ground or in the air. Few folks were out braving the chill but, with Wooyoung closer to her and San’s oversized coat over her shoulders, she was warm.  

(San had chastised her about forgetting the gifted jacket, but she saw as he preened as he took off his over-coat with much dramatics. Flexing and shifting his tie around his neck to tempt her, she swore. His jacket swallowed her up pleasantly and she saw his ears burn red. He liked her in his things. He imagined her in a fur coat; he fixed his tie again, swallowing hard.)

“Thank you for inviting me.” She breathed after a moment. Her chest felt lighter after everything. “It was better than sewing and delivering things all day.”

“I’m glad I did,” he replied gently. Even if his mind was circling over how he was going to have her meet Yunho, he decided to do what he did best: live in the moment. He’d figure it out how to handle his lovers’ piqued interest. “You seem happier. I can always get you out of trouble, or into trouble.” He jested his arm tugging from hers to wrap around her waist, inappropriately for the public eye (But, there was no one about, Wooyoung decided. Besides he wasn’t for rules anyways.) His fingers tickled over her ribs making her laugh out and cry out his nickname in giggles.

A picture-perfect snapshot of young love, so the figure from the alleyway thought. Ducking his head, he crept out of his spot after the couple passed by. His dark coat blended in with the brick walls and the steam that pillowed out of the nearby apartments’ heating unit hazed him. The dark silhouette of a man watched as they continued along for a moment before turning on his heel and walking the opposite direction. The only evidence of him ever being there were his footprints in the snow with the impression of the name brand emblemed into the snow.

Faith.

-

San looked like some statue from the Renaissance. Carved in ivory. Laid back on a gold-gilded sofa, he was draped in an all-white attire, long pants with an open-vested shirt that revealed more golden skin than it hid. Ever since their kiss, she swore he wore more tantalizing outfits – was this his way of flirting?

He grinned at the attention of the other ballerinas; each one eyed him up, but were unable to approach. If they did, they learned he would openly ignore them. The only one he had an eye for was her. Only YN could approach him. And that’s what he wanted in the end.

Unlike Wooyoung who would wait at her vanity, San wanted YN to search him out in the boudoir. Willingly. And when she did, he had a flare of butterflies dancing in his chest. He took a deep swig of his drink, eyes half-lidded as he watched her in her little feathered tutu.

“Hello honey,” he smiled, resting the drink on his outstretched knee as she approached. “Looking gorgeous as always.”

“Thank you,” she said. With a gentle hand outstretched, he encouraged her to join him on the velveteen sofa. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, sweet and warm.

“How much time do you have to spare?” he asked, feline-like eyes not even glancing at the nearby grandfather clock in the corner of the foyer de la danse.

“As much as you’d like,” YN said. The words were what the other girls insisted their patrons adored. Attention and control.

San’s lips twitched.

“Do you have other things to attend to before Act 2?” San queried.

“I’ve changed already – with Wooyoung, it takes twice the time,” she admitted.

Wooyoung, while he kept his hands to himself and his eyes averted when she changed, loved attention. He loved to talk talk talk about nothing and when he caught her attention shifting to things such as her makeup or her hair, he’d insist to doing it. While applying her lipstick, he’d steal a kiss, staining his mouth red more often than not. While charming and kind, it slowed her process down. With San, she had been prepped for Act 2 in a matter of minutes and now well had all the time in the world (approximately twenty minutes.)

San chuckled lowly, his thumb brushing over her waist gently almost questioningly. Behind his spectacles, a brow raised. Tap, tap, tap. May I? She’s learned his silent questions; his gentle ways to check with her what she was thinking before initiating anything. She scooted a bit closer. His smile was genuine, soft, and warm as his arm wrapped around her waist more. He pulled her half onto his lap; the smell of his cologne encompassing her. He smelt warm, like a forest on fire, with a hint of something medicinal biting at the back of her nose. Familiar yet dangerous.

If there was one major difference between her two patrons, it was this; San always asked of her rather than did for her. His touches were always slow and deliberate and never pressing. Not that Wooyoung was overtly so, but he was less careful. He’d leap before asking, taking her rouge pot into his hand to dab it on her cheeks softly. San would ask, would lean close, and would smile his sweet smile. “May I?” San’s voice rumbled and she couldn’t help but feel her heart tremble in her chest. He’d pull his leathered gloves off with his teeth before warm fingers would smear the red over already-blushed cheeks. He’d always take pride in her flush.

As they sat, he liked to listen to her. He’d take sips of his drinks, occasionally offering her a sip. Sometimes she’d take a gentle taste, her lipstick leaving a red halo on the rim. His lips would cover that ring with a smirk as he took his next gulp.

“Wooyoung distracts,” he admitted. “He used to distract me a lot when we worked together.”

“How did you two meet?” YN asked, legs slung over one of San’s legs.

San’s hand stroked over her waist. “We met as kids. Got into trouble together, but we ended up alright.” He hummed. “Yeosang was there, too. We weren’t as talented as him… skilled.”

YN still smiled, trying to imagine a tiny Wooyoung, Yeosang, and San running through the streets… would Aurora have the layered upon layered apartments like Cromer or was it open sands? Their skin was a tawny gold in the gas-light of the boudoir, but were they even warmer in the golden sun of Aurora’s beaches?

“How did you get into all of this, honey? Woo said your mother is a factory worker?” He didn’t mention her father. “How did a pretty girl get looped into the ballet system?”

It was a shame it was seen so negatively in his eyes but, after their discussion the night they met, she assumed San saw all of this as false glitz and glamour for the obscene. Even if he did compliment her talent and strength often.

“I started at the age of three. My mother was a seamstress for the Opera occasionally. I’d cause havoc… bug the performers. It was then I started to practice with the others. I thought it’d be easy to become like the Prima Ballerina. She seemed so beautiful and happy and strong.” YN commented. She wondered if the childhood hero ever suffered under her Madame or a patron. She tried not to imagine so. Her childhood dream could remain spotless for now.

Flexing her toes in her pointe shoes and lifting her leg from his lap into an arabesque, she giggled temptingly. “It’s much harder.” Her leg was at eye-level with his gaze. She was sure the others were glaring daggers at her back. She was acting scandalous, but with him there was nothing to scandal. He’d look at her with reverence, regardless.

If he looked close at her leg, he’d see bruising from practices or whacks from the Madame’s cane. Like always, he proved himself to be observant, more observant than Wooyoung she thought. Giving her a single glance, his fingers wrapped around her ankle, encompassing it. She didn’t jolt or yelp or shift. Her eyes stayed locked on his as he placed his glass down to press a supportive hand over her back now. His fingers danced over her leg; his hand glided up her calf, over her knee, and barely grazed her thigh. Just a faint tip, tap, before his gaze settled back onto her. It sent gooseflesh over her in a whirl. Intimacy. He was stroking her skin with such teasing lightness as if it was any more respectable.

His eyes were intense. Intriguing and magnetic and kind. Despite his bulky form, despite the hint faint scarring she could see over his masculine face, he didn’t frighten her. 

“Your pretty skin bruised is the last thing I want to see,” he commented lowly, thumb brushing over a particularly large splotchy patch of green-purple skin on her knee. Guiding her leg higher and higher, his gaze watching hers as he pressed a soft kiss to the skin, as if his lips could heal her. It made gooseflesh burst forth on her legs obviously now. He took in the sight with silent approval.

“Do you ice your legs?” he asked as he lowered her leg to his lap.

“I try,” she admitted, voice trembling from her wooing. “We all do, but when practice or a performance goes over, I can’t ice them until late at night or in the morning.”

He frowned at that. His thumb brushed over her knee again before lifting his hand to grab his icy drink once more. “If you need to ice while we talk, you will,” he insisted. “All I want you is healthy and happy, honey.”

He tutted, eyes glancing aside as if remembering things he didn’t share.

“You need to ice it as soon as the injury happens.” He added. “From now on.”

He raised his glass, finishing his drink. The ice clinked against the crystal as he lowered it to the sofa before he reached inside to grab the ice cube with his bare fingers. Picking up the large ice cube, he pressed it against her bruised skin suddenly. YN jumped against the cold, against the sudden chill that made more goosebumps rise to her skin. Her arms and legs were covered, on alert. Yet he didn’t even flinch as the frost bit at his fingertips.

He hummed, watching as her eyes squinted shut in shock from the cold. As she shivered… maybe in pain. San had smiled, shifting the now-melting ice cube over her large bruise in a slow circling motion.

“It’ll feel better soon,” San reassured.

-

Pain crashed up her legs in an icy cold torment. Stabbing, hot yet chilling pain. Both ankles were in casts, elevated by firmly place pillows, but, in her agony, she shifted this way and that. She couldn’t help the whimpers that overtook her. Like an ocean, she was swallowed up by the pain as she was thrusted awake.

“Oh, angel,” there was a soft, almost sing-song of a voice.

A cool hand brushed over her hot forehead soothingly. In her delirium, she could barely make out his face. Just a blur of familiar slicked hair and familiar eyes. Sweat tumbled down her face; baby hairs sticking to her skin. Tears poured of her flushed cheeks, over-heated and sticky. Everything was blurry. She was all sweaty. He swept them away with deft hands.

Somehow in her whirlwind of pain and tears, she could still smell him despite congestion in her nose.  That tropical aroma that followed him around like Aurora was chasing after him. Hot pineapple sweet and pungent, thick jasmine blossom rotting in the summer sun, the stink of sea salt tangled around her throat. She let out a cry as a particular sharp pain shot up her left leg; she curled inward, moving her legs. It only forced out a wail as they stung with agony. Any movement hurt. How could the pain be that bad? Something had to be wrong. It hadn’t been like this before.

“Yunho.” His name was spoken firmly, almost a bark.

“He’s on this way, Captain,” Yunho’s voice reassured. A hand pushed aside the covers over her feet. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Someone rearranged her legs, whispering apologies as they did so. Her cries made their chest ache.

“She’s on medicine,” San’s voice was a sob. “I gave her it myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” the soft voice of their Captain cooed to the distressed muscle of the gang. There was a sniffle.

“San, Mingi.” his tone was one of a leader; solid and firm and focused. “Go to Seonghwa; he’ll need you. Keep Wooyoung away.”

He hadn’t stopped caressing her forehead. Her eyes blinked blearily up at him. Full of tears, full of pain, his face remained cool and collected. Almost clinical in the way he looked over her. Pain was no stranger to him.

Yet in her eyes, he looked angelic, she swore. Like something from a Renaissance painting, haloed by the light of the roaring fire. Her delirium painted him in a cherubic way. An angel coming to save her. Protect her as he tugged her into his arms, cradling her broken burning limbs. Soft round cheeks she had loved to press kisses to. She couldn’t process his furrowed brow, his dark eyes. Just her Hongjoong.

“Joong,” she murmured, her voice cracking.

Even now, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m here,” he reassured, voice loving.

She felt aflame, a woman on fire. A fever crashed through her.

“Hurts.” She whined out.

“I know, I know,” his gentleness felt foreign. He was always gentle with her; why did it feel like a farce? How did she end up here? Her mind was a blur. She heard him bark out another order, another command. “Bring me that damn doctor now! Jongho, do you have it?”

Her throat closed up in a gasp as she trembled in his arms; a sharp stab to her waist was barely felt compared to the pain radiating up her legs. Blink, blink, her eyes could barely make out Hongjoong staring down at her. A look of disappointment, fear, and anger hazed any love for a moment even as she tried to find his name in her mouth. Lips moving in the shapes of his vowels and consonants failingly until exhaustion washed over her once more.

“Joo—n—ng” His nickname faded from her consciousness as she felt her entire body, sluggishly slow, fall into a honeyed rest.

“I’ve got you, angel. It’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

[guabie]

Here so you guys know them babysitter x child their minding dynamics. It’s often in like Christmas movies like for example (idk the names so stick with me)

* that one hockey big brother that has to become his little sisters Girl Scout mom cuz their one died and dads busy or sum and all that. It’s very cute and all and sad too but ygm

* Another is Steve fucking Harrington with all the Stranger Things kids and especially Dustin.

*Adventures in babysitting the one that has Sofia Carson and Sabrina carpenter in it.

* Also that one movie from that popular clip of the babysitter and the child at some adventure park spinning some teacup yoke and they both look so out of it idk how to explain it but people always say shit like oh when your young and wanna be all grown up and when you grow up and just want your childhood back or sum like that.

ANYWAYS——

I need fics or something of himbo babysitter Jayce and posh lil dipshit kid caitlyn getting into ludicrous shit and having wild adventures as he takes care of her growing up.

Idc if it’s in the cannon universe or whatever, but people sleep on their friendship too much cuz that’s literally annoying big brother and spoiled little sister right there ESPECIALLY considering their big ass age gap like cmon people make use of that.

I’ve seen someone (bless their heart cuz it was amazing) make fanart on like Jayce being sponsored by the Kirammans but he’s literally being treated like caitlyns babysitter where he has to mind her all the time and he takes her to his lectures and deals with common child sass and questioning from her and it’s the funniest most heartwarming shit ever and I love it. He literally gets a reputation as “the kirammans dog” or something like that and that shit fits like a glove, I love u person who made this 🫶🫶🫶

But like YALL FEEL ME!!! Like give it to me racheallllllll

Like just imagine

Jayce trying to be responsible and all and he’s so tired of caitlyns constant yappatry and caitlyn always tryna get him to show her the world or take her out to places since she’s stuck at home all the time

Caitlyn just being her brutally honest self (cuz let’s be so fr that girl needs a filter sometimes especially in s1 😭😭 “you don’t have parents” - caitlyn babes stfu) and roasting the living shit out of Jayce even unintentionally

Imagine Jayce being partners with Viktor working on whatever hextech project and caitlyn being all like “you going to see your boyfriend today too?” Or “can I come too?” and her getting along with Viktor but also behind Jayce’s back being defensive of him like “you better not hurt my brothers feelings or ur dead meat” type shit

Also imagine wholesome stuff like in a modern au where Jayce is the first person caitlyn comes out to and it’s super sweet yk

Even better if it’s teen caitvi or just caitlyn having a crush on a girl at her like private school or whatever and she rants to Jayce about it and asks for advice but he has no knowledge at that point about relationships cuz he’s a mad scientist stuck in his lab all day so he gives horrendous advice 😭

Her forcing him to take showers cuz he’s stinks and dragging him out his lab to photosynthesis or acc interact with another person for the first time in weeks (basically making him touch grass)

Caitlyns ass always getting into other peoples business and Jayce dragging her away

Caitlyn going on adventures investigating shit like she’s Sherlock Holmes’s and she drags Jayce with her (he follows her to make sure she’s safe but then gets really into it)

Tooth gap siblings

When Jayce pisses caitlyn off in public she’ll go out screaming “HES KIDNAPPING ME”

Caitlyn has her own little corner in jayces lab with her investigation poster board that only she really understands and Jayce doesn’t let anyone else touch it

Jayce: What friends have you got don’t say me

Cait: You! Well what friends have you got? don’t say me

Jayce : You!

Cait: Well neither of us have friends

This whole shabam 👆

I have a lot more in mind but yall get the vibes I’m tryna put out right?

Also I need whole plot lines for crazy babysitter stories like them movies above cuz interactions alone ain’t doing it. I need them to get into DEEP shit and try to get out only just barely scraping that edge out. Also I need baby caitlyn being jayces wingwoman for either Mel or Viktor or hell anyone and Jayce being caits girl crush confidante

Pls to them fic writers out there and artist make my dreams come thru or ima have to pull thru 🙏

[homestuckreplay]

🏡 Nine Best Homestuck Moments of 2009 🏡

It’s the end of 2009, and Homestuck is currently sitting at 1088 pages – pretty huge for something that hasn’t even been going for a full year. So as we close out the year and enter what’s sure to be the Homestuck Decade, I thought I’d count down my favorite Homestuck moments of 2009. I’ve loved it all, so it was really hard to narrow down, but when I reflect on this first year of the comic’s existence, this is what sticks in my mind.

9. Rambunctious Crow. (p.350-356)

This is my favorite Dave moment because it’s his irony in action, turned against him by the narrative now that things are getting real. Already knowing that Dave’s losing the betas is a ‘stupid’ and ‘embarrassing’ story (p.294), it still comes as a surprise just how stupid, embarrassing and out of nowhere the reality is. I’m on the crow’s side – it saw something cool and colorful in a grabbable position, and it went for it. It had no idea it was going to get accidentally sylladex-murdered, and I can’t wait to see its new life in Dave’s kernelsprite.

8. Peregrine Mendicant Delivers Justice. (p.844; 892-897; 921-925)

This one is cheating because it’s really ‘everything about PM’. I will give my heart to a paladin character with a big sword and strong ideals, any day – she will kill without a moment’s hesitation if it helps her fulfil her oath to the mail, but she’ll also reward a loyal follower who helps her cause, and this applies to robotic worms as much as it does to other people. She’s a minor character who’s out here behaving like a protagonist and one of her packages could be the thing that saves all the kids.

7. John’s Clever Disguise. (p.45-89)

I wish he was still wearing it. I really do. John acknowledges on page 46 that it’s a really shitty disguise and continues to wear it for several dozen pages. He adds the pipe, switches out the hat, considers a second pipe, and overall tries to perfect it. And he does it all the time too, because Rose calls him out on it! Whether he likes it or not, the spirit of the clown is within John, and I love this section as both a funny surface level gag and when thinking about the deeper meanings of a kid disguising himself in his own home.

6. Rose-Jade Flashback. (p.441-442)

This is my favorite Pesterlog in the comic so far, and sets up a really cool dynamic between Rose and Jade. They’re both talking circles around each other, Rose because she has to sound smart, detached, and in control, and Jade because she has to sound sunny, cryptic, and also in control. But Rose clearly has a lot of respect for Jade, and Jade clearly has a deep understanding of Rose, and those things are surprising – I expected Rose to be more skeptical of Jade’s powers, but instead they’re like light and dark counterparts with similar values of understanding the world around them.

5. Zazzerpan the Learned. (p.358-359)

This might be the one thing that holds Rose back from being my favorite character. How can she possibly ‘find this grisly abomination utterly detestable’. It’s a 20 foot tall statue of a mighty wizard and if you don’t think that’s the sickest shit in the entire world then WHAT is even the point. And the glimpses on page 715 and 757 showing the broken, future Zazzerpan indicate that something is going to happen to him; probably Rose with a giant bludgeoning weapon. Unless I cause a time paradox by appearifying him and putting him in MY house. (He would not fit).

4. Act 1&2 Title Cards. (p.82; 307)

The jokes are excellent, but to me Homestuck is at its best when it lets itself be serious, and page 82 is our first real glimpse of this. These pages let us sit with John and Rose’s mental states for a moment, and they let Hussie stretch their writing skills and play with words. My hope is that these pages will age really well and have a lot of foreshadowing in hindsight, but even if not, they create atmosphere better than any other moments in the comic so far, and they read like prose poetry.

His riddle is Absence itself. It is a mystery dispersing altogether, like the moon's faint reflection, with even one pebble of inquiry dropped in its black well.

Somewhere a zealous god threads these strings between the clouds and the earth, preparing for a symphony it fears impossible to play. And so it threads on, and on, delaying the raise of the conductor's baton.

3. FreshJamz and the Beta Kid Band. (p.77; 222; 337; 822; 830)

All four kids being musically gifted in a comic that incorporates sound is a great move, and the reveal that John can play piano beautifully after he’s spent 76 pages messing up his sylladex and house as he struggles to pick things up was a huge surprise at first. The four kids sharing an interest in video games would have been too obvious, but all of them loving music pokes at the fourth wall and gives them a way to connect on a deeper emotional level even while they are all hiding parts of themselves. It’s a big act of trust to share creative work with people, and seeing all the collaborations on Jade’s FreshJamz page is the best evidence of how close they all are.

2. Rose Adopts Vodka Mutini. (p.926; 1002)

Alright, I love cats. And I know that introducing a cute animal character is a cheap move for getting an audience to fall in love, but cmon, THIS kitten has FOUR EYES that BLINK SEQUENTIALLY and was made in a SLIME CHAMBER as a failed PARADOX CLONE. They CURL UP AND SNOOZE on Rose’s desk and become a TINY VOID CREATURE. I can’t be cynical about this. I am not immune to a tiny sweet face blinking up at me from an anachronistic teapot. I am screaming and crying with how badly I want this cat to curl up with me.

1. [S] WV: Ascend and [S] Jade: Pester John. (p.757; 1073)

I know I’m not alone in loving ‘WV: Ascend’; I’ve read several forum threads where people wax as rhapsodically about it as I do, and I was sad not to see as much love for ‘Jade: Pester John’ (maybe because it does similar work, so isn’t as unexpected). Both these pages are an expansion of what webcomics can do, they perfectly tie up existing plotlines, they’re really well scripted to the music, and it’s both rewarding and enjoyable to watch them several times in a row. ‘Explore’ is one of my favorite Homestuck tracks so far, and Skaia/Prospit during the eclipse is my favorite location visually. I know there’s a lot of skill and technique that goes into creating animations like this and making them feel emotional and satisfying to watch, but sometimes I don’t want to analyze them, I just want to sit and watch and let the Flash Magic roll over me.

Honorable Mentions. A few that were on the shortlist but didn’t quite make the cut because I made myself keep it to nine: the very first page (p.1), Rose putting the bunny back in the box (p.146-147), [S] John: Take bite of apple (p.246), Rose exploring her grimoire (p.301-305), John figuring out alchemy and successfully creating the pogo hammer (p.630-635), Rose attempting to send John the Sburb server CD (p.645-647), WV becoming the Mayor of Can Town (p.685), WV drawing the Skaian cosmology on the bunker walls (p.702-704), and the Midnight Crew’s Homestuck intermission (p.831-832). Yeah, I notice the blatant favoritism towards Rose and John in this post.

If anyone has a favorite moment so far that I’ve missed, send them in!!

[elainsgirl]

Hey! Just wanted to say I love seing a strong Elain supporter on this app!

And to make a quick comment on what makes me giggle about the over blown fascination with Gwyn's character that I noticed. I see the same argument that Elain is 'boring' and Gwyn is a 'warrior'. Even while reading fanfiction I see the same pattern. Elain is usually portrayed in rather canon fashion. Demure, gardening, trying to help, getting spying lessons from Az and twins. Helping her family through non warrior strenght. You can actually see it playing out like that since its close to the canon material.

Yet Gwyn is always 'the warrior'. The savior, hero of Prythian, leader of Valkyrie. With a sword healding hand protects the world and the man she loves! And I always smile at this, cause it just proves how majority of tiktok fandom has created their own fictional version of Gwyn. Cause in the canon material we never saw her be a warrior.

They say Elain did nothing, but neither did Gwyn truly. All she did was cut a ribbon and manipulated a beast (which again begs the question - lightsinger?). But apart from that, she really wasn't written in a warrior way. According to the book she didn't even finish the rite technically. Book Gwyn is rather gentle and shy, trying to rebuilt herself from the traumatic events in her life. She's afraid of everything and if they wanted to pick a mate for Az they should have picked Emerie. She carried Gwyn up the mountain. She's an illyrian, and having an illyrian love interest for Az who hates him illyrian side would have been awesome. But no. They pretty much picked a red-haired Elain.

Awe, Thank you 💕

Elain has always and will always be my No.1 girl,

Gwyn is a sweet character. She has the perfect, likeable traits. Flawless. Little depth or complexity. Besties with Nesta. Perfect at everything. Badass. Etc etc. She has enough background to give you the general gist of who she is but not enough that her stans can’t self-insert or shape her to be the way they want which is evident in their fanfics, theories and Hcs. Fanon Gwyn and Canon Gwyn are two completely different characters, canon Gwyn is not that popular. Fanom Gwyn that Gwynriels have built up is. Thats why Gwyn is so popular, she is the ideal fmc gwynriels want whereas “boring” Elain isn’t. Lmfao, even eluciens change Elains personality to be more extroverted and fit Lucien better instead of adhering by Elains canon traits, are we suprised? No. Canon and antis do not mix well.

The hilarious thing is - People did ship Az and Emerie bcs of the reasons you listed. But then Emerie turned out to be possibly gay so anti elriels had to find another character to ship Az with God forbid he ends up with the woman he actually wants. In comes Gwyn and Ta da! You have her being shipped w gwynrieo despite neither showing any romantic interest in each other. The whole gwynriel ship is based on fanon which cool. Thats good for them but you can quite literally do that w any characters.

If Mass wanted Az to end up with a badass, bubbly warrior she would have had Mor and Az end up together. Instead of bringing in a whole new Li for Az so late into a series that too in a standalone book. There is 0 difference between Moriels dynamic and Gwynriels. Same ship, different font. Yet Mass broke up Moriel and chose to develop Az and Elain romantically and plotwise. Why? Bcs she wants the two beautiful, quiet introverts to end up together.

[feng-shui71]

after RE5 if Jordan decide to date again (which she deserves), who would she like? my favourite crackship is Jordan x Ada (Adadan) , cause Ada is the type of woman who would love to pull up and sweep Jordan while stealing her from her ex boss. just imagine in hell, (if hes actually dead) Albert sits there having to finally acknowledge his actions only to find out his ex wife is not only dating but being treated 100% better by a girl who worked for him. like damn Albert, sit in that corner and remember to treat your wife with respect!

Every time I see you in my inbox I get so happy these asks are always so whhdhwhe teeeheee

Honestly after Re5 I don’t think Jordan would even want to go near the dating scene let alone consider taking an interest in another individual after Wesker considering how much he put her through and how much of it was a toll on her mental health, it’s just easier for her to move on and live life as a widow, nobody else to worry about or stress over, nobody else to tell her what to do, it’s exhausting. Might as well spend the rest of her life in peace, surrounded by friends and family.

Although if she did start to date anyone I think the most realistic option she’d turn to is Chris (Chrisdan? Jordfield? Jordfield.) I mean, Jill is better off as a friend, Barry is a married man and Leon? too young, and that’s essentially her little brother. I think it just makes sense, they’re both extremely close, share a lot of things such as interests (and trauma) and have a pretty good dynamic going on, besides that Jordan also thinks Re8 Chris is kinda cute. They definitely confide in eachother about their resentment for Wesker after too, it’s nice to have someone who knows what you’ve been through. Also the idea of her getting with Wesker’s literal archnemesis? the guy took away his plans AND his girl? yeah no that’s got him rolling over in that volcano he is absolutely seething. He is throwing a fit at the bottom of hell and coming back to haunt Chris’ dreams every single night. Otherwise I think besides Chris, the only other person she’d be willing to get with is like .. Luis but uhh, one slight problem is that he’s fucking dead.

But I can also see that too yeah, Ada stealing Jordan LMAO, they don’t interact much in canon, really only seeing eachother due to whatever is going on with Leon/Wesker, but this idea is golden. Two bad asian bitches ditching mid white man and running off to be together, performing mercenary work as a duo (that combo would be deadly btw). Ada flirting with her and leaving Jordan red-faced, Jordan’s presence in Ada’s life adding the element of unpredictability like hey Ada let’s light our feet on fire and see how fast we can put it out. I’m such a sucker for crazy extrovert and meticulous introvert couples.

[kristea9ay]

YIPPPEEEE! A NEW UPDATE! YOU ARE GIVING ME SO MUCH DOPAMINE!

You said you didn't mind questions or thoughts, so... hope you really meant it:

First and foremost... I am THRIVING off of your Celestial Family(?) AU, I love family dynamics so much, and for Macaque to be the overly protective one fits so well. How I see it, Macaque wants to be in ARMS reach of his child and nowhere farther. It's not about seeing him. It's about being able to get to him - and otherwise save him - from any threats with how potent his energy is.

But how's Wukong? Is he more leanent? Does he want to train him himself? (Obviously, Wukong is still protective but still)

Though it might be a bit too early for training, depending on how old Xiaotian is. Actually, yeah, how old is he during this ark?

It's understandable that Xiaotian is a little frustrated at their protectiveness, but it speaks wonders how he does still comply, worrying that something else is going on. I hope he tries to bring it up to his parents because their are so many ways that would play out, being telling the truth, an argument, a brush off, a break down- no matter how it would go it would be fantastic.

I also love how the Brotherhood is still close, despite everything, and I wonder how much progress they've made, as they succeeded on the first attack on Heaven (or a second one cause Mei is alive, but screw timeline stuff) so he might be weaker, unable to help the world like he wanted to because of the strength needed.

Basically, that's what I think is happening, Azure is losing strength to keep the whole world together. AND based on the Lore Notes, Xiaotian will be the one to fix that. Azure is having a net loss of energy as he's not strong enough to hold the power of the emperor and is slowly turning to stone or might actually just start cracking and die how he did in the show.

The state of Heven itself is fascinating to me, like, what about Nezah?! Or his father?! I assume neither would be in any sort of power because... Azure.

With that being said, has the dynamic changed in the Brotherhood, even if they are all close, with Azure being the emperor, Macaque and Wukong being together, DBK being the husband of a Celestial, and Peng's whole dislike to Macaque (who hasn't shown up yet hmmmmmmm), Yellow Tusk's hesitancy in the show for Azure being emperor, things are bound to have changed at least a little.

Speaking of DBK, It seems like Redson might still have the Samadhi Fire just with the same thing they did to Xiaotian cause JTTW people didn't get Wukong on their side, but they were there to potentially help him I suppose. Anyway- Mai might not have a ring inside her, yaaaay!

Oh, and speaking of Mai, how did she and Xiaotian even meet? Redson and Xiaotian probably met cause their parents are friends, but Mai doesn't live on FFM, at least in the show.

Oh jeez, what about the Lady Bone Demon?! She wouldn't have to revive Macaque, so he wouldn't be her pawn necessarily, but in the need of power or energy for Azure, DBK could go and free her - that would be fun.

ANYWAY- Thank you for giving me an unhealthy amount of dopamine and a gourmet meal with this delicious art\story. Don't worry about the infrequent posting or even the quality of writing. The determination to make a good story seems to do wonders for many people. Know you'll have at least one fan reading no matter how the AU goes <3.

Okay byeeeeee~

Oh my goooosh 😭💕 ok first of all THANK YOU SO MUCH

This message filled me with so much joy that I literally had to call my sister and tell her about it XD

It genuinely makes me feel so happy when I see people enjoy what I make and to see how much you analyze and wonder how things work in this AU just-jdjdkdkskjee

It makes me so happy 😭

I will explain a few things, because I don't think I'll get into much detail about some things in the comic.

1. Yes, Wukong is still very protective, but he has a different coping mechanism. I wanted make him more closed off, because even in the OG series, he keeps to himself and tries to hide whatever is wrong (example: when he went on a "vacation" when he found out about LBD)

2. MK is training with Red under the guidance of Nezha, but it's more about the energy training and focus. But he does train with them some basic fighting

3. CELESTIAL REALM. OOOH boy I sure did change this one a lot. Ok so in this AU, Mac actually is successful in convincing the brotherhood to NOT attack the celestial realm and take down the Emperor.

In the OG, as far as I understand, they were unhappy with The Emperor because he didn't care about the unjuctice and didn't want to help those in need.

So Macaque convinced them not to try and take down the Emperor, but you instead try and help those in need as much as they can themselves. By this time, Mac and Wukong are already together.

DBK and PIF met in this AU because Nezha and her were sent to check in the brotherhood from time to time (Nezha and PIF are siblings in this AU)

So then Xiaotian, Red Son and Mei are born around the same time (not exactly in the same day but yk) and heaven has a BIG problem with that. They are scared, because these children are a mix of one of the most powerful beings AND their being raised by the brotherhood, their enemy. So they proclaim, that they will either give their children up and let heaven raise them (and own them) or there will be war. And ofc, there was war and the Brotherhood won and Azure became the new Emperor.

Nezha is still their friend and ally, because he did not agree with heaven and ultimately decided to side with the brotherhood. He also guarded the children and made sure they were safe when the fight began, that's one of the main reasons why he is their God-father to all 3 of them.

3. And about Mei, her father in this AU is Ao Lie and he and the rest of the pilgrims and Tripitaka ARE the brotherhood friends.

The JTTW happened, but very differently. Wukong wasn't really a part of the group, but they did come across Wukong and the Brotherhood. Tripitaka helped with the ceremony to help RedSon contain the Samadhi fire, which is how he earned their trust. He and the Pilgrims also helped them during the war against heaven.

I hope this explains some things ^^ feel free to ask if yall have any more questions or want to clarify something. If I can answer it without spoiling the comic, I will 100% answer 🫶

[angelofalls]

[OC] Tyrus Titan, Estefan

🎶You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you!🎶

("Just like you" by Three days Grace)