#low plot heavy shenanigans

[kingofsummer93]

Once Cursed, Twice Shy

Part 1 of my gift to @velidewrites for @acotargiftexchange!

Summary:

Don't mix vodka and magic, they said. It will end badly, they said.

Elain's never been particularly superstitious, but when a ghost from her past comes crashing back into her life, she realizes that the old saying might have been true after all.

And that she might have (accidentally and definitely not on purpose) cursed her ex-boyfriend.

Inspired by the Ex Hex by Rachel Hawkins.

Chapter 1: A Fateful Spark, an Ill-Timed Blaze

Ao3

Ten years previously

A clap of thunder rang out over the town of Maple Glen, followed by a torrential downpour so sudden it seemed as though the sky had singled out their little village to bear the brunt of its ire.

Elain sighed, burrowing further into the couch under her nest of blankets and pillows. She envied the storm, at that moment. What she wouldn’t give to be able to dump her hurt and anger into the world for a couple hours before being reborn, fresh and dewy, her broken heart melded back together by sunshine as her memories faded like a clearing sky.

She sighed, and the storm raged on as if in answer.

“Do you ever wish you were born as something else?” she asked, swirling the dregs of her bright blue cocktail around in her glass. “Like, a bird, or a tree, or, or…”

Vassa let out a noise that was halfway between a snort and a hiccup. “There it is.”

“There is what?”

“The philosophical stage of your drunk journey. I thought we passed it two drinks ago. First we have affectionate Elain, then loud Elain, followed with a brief appearance by pensive Elain, and then-”

Elain grabbed a throw pillow and chucked it at her friend, who nearly toppled off her end of the couch as she ducked to avoid it. Perhaps they were a bit drunk.

“I mean it,” Elain pressed, draining her glass. “Trees don’t have to worry about dumb boys, or school, or finding a job. They just…” She held out her arms and lifted her head to the ceiling, wriggling her fingers around like leaves in the wind. “Hang out and bask in the sunshine.”

“Babe,” Vassa said drily, “trees get cut down and then get sawed up into building materials or burned or whatever. Dumb boys are the least of their worries.”

Perhaps it was the vodka’s fault, but for some reason this seemed incredibly sad to Elain. Her throat closed up, her eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears.

“Oh no.” Vassa flapped her hands around in a panic, her mirth gone. “Oh shit, what did I say?”

“Lucien had a tree house growing up.” The words bubbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “He told me his oldest brother helped him build it. And then one day he went out to the forest and discovered that the section of the woods with his tree house had been cut down. Something about tree rot.”

“See,” Vassa said wisely as she refilled both their glasses from a pitcher. “And that’s why you don’t want to be a tree.”

Elain snorted, wiping the tears from her face with an already damp corner of her blanket. She’d shed so many tears in the past two days that she was shocked she hadn’t dried up like a raisin yet.

“Fuck him,” Vassa continued. “He doesn’t deserve a treehouse- or any house, for that matter. He can live on the streets for all I care.”

Elain pictured it for a moment; Lucien’s long fiery hair grown even longer from years of living as a vagabond, a scraggly beard not quite covering his devilish grin. Perhaps he’d live in the woods, in a little cave with a mattress made of leaves and moss. The image didn’t repulse her as much as it should have.

Suddenly she was enraged.

This had been her refrain for the past three days, ever since she had so unceremoniously thrown him out of her apartment. Moments of deep grief when it seemed like she’d never stop crying were followed by rage so intense it felt like her blood was on fire.

The same fire that ran through his veins, the flame that she had found so utterly irresistible.

Her gaze moved against her will, landing on the box sitting in a corner near the door. She’d been studiously avoiding it, torn between the satisfaction she’d get at throwing it out, and the desire to keep a piece of him close, if only for a little while longer.

It was irrational, but that box of stuff had somehow become a physical reminder of him, and getting rid of it would be like cutting the final thread that tethered him to her. Not to mention that a small part of her brain still hoped that he would come back, that somehow it would turn out to all be a misunderstanding.

That he would choose her, against all odds, in defiance of the path that had been laid out for him.

Perhaps even more humiliating than the rejection itself had been the deception. Because he had known- for the entirety of the summer he had spent tangled up in bed with her, whispering that she was the one, making her burn in a way she had never even dreamed possible, he had known it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last, because by the end of the summer he was due back in England, where his betrothed waited for him.

The fucker had been engaged the entire time and hadn’t bothered sharing that information with her.

But the worst thing of all had been the way she’d so thoroughly fallen for him. Every touch, every whispered word had seemed so sincere that she’d never once questioned his devotion. What a fool she’d been. Perhaps if he had been honest with her from the start she would have allowed him to fall into her bed, but not into her heart.

Or better yet, she would have steered clear of Lucien Vanserra altogether.

**

Elain could still picture the moment she’d first laid eyes on him during the Summer Solstice festival. Vassa had bullied her into setting up a kissing booth (a venture that had turned out to be quite lucrative) and they’d had a steady stream of customers all morning. Around midday the energy in the crowd had shifted, like a ripple in a pond. And then the crowd had shifted, parting like the sea.

And he had appeared. Tall, his golden skin practically glowing in the summer sun, his shoulder-length hair so vividly red she immediately knew he was a witch. No human could ever look like that. He had locked eyes with her from a distance, and it had felt to Elain like she was being set on fire.

“Who is that?” she stage-whispered to Vassa, who had just given their elementary school math teacher a wholesome peck on the cheek for the sum of five dollars.

“Who?” Vassa followed her gaze, and her eyes went wide, her hand clamping painfully around Elain’s wrist.

“Ow!”

“I think he’s one of the Vanserras,” Vassa whispered, slightly awed. “He’s got to be, look at that hair.”

A smile quirked up the corner of the handsome stranger’s mouth, and Elain wondered absurdly if he had somehow heard. The Vanserras were a powerful magical family, and nobody knew the true depth of their power. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had unnaturally powerful hearing.

“I’ve never seen him before,” Elain said, stupidly. She felt slightly dazed as she continued to stare into his eyes, as if she was physically incapable of looking away.

In truth she had never seen any of them before.

Hundreds of years ago, a man called Thelor Vanserra had founded Maple Glen and tied his magic to the village. Magic ran strong here- for those who knew where to look, that is. Tourists simply assumed they had stumbled upon a particularly charming village, where commerce always boomed and disaster never struck.

But the truly odd thing about Maple Glen was the fact that it never snowed, despite being far enough north that it should by all reason get buried under snow every winter. It was like the town was stuck in perpetual autumn, with only a few weeks of balmier weather in the spring and summer. Nobody questioned it, assuming Maple Glen simply existed in a peculiar micro-climate.

It was a wonder how far people would go to avoid seeing magic, even when it existed right under their noses.

Twice a year, on Summer Solstice and Winter Solstice, a member of the Vanserra bloodline would come to town in order to regenerate the magic for the coming season before disappearing back to England. They were notoriously reclusive and haughty, and were rarely seen around town- much less strolling through a crowded festival.

“I always pictured them scrawny and inbred,” Vassa had said, surreptitiously fixing her hair.

The crooked grin on the stranger’s face widened, and Elain’s stomach dropped. He had definitely heard that.

And then he started walking towards them.

Elain froze, her stomach roiling with equal parts thrill and fear. Would he curse them? It didn’t seem likely, judging from the amusement on his face, but she squirmed nonetheless.

When he was a few paces away from their booth he paused, his eyes still fixed on her. From this close Elain could make out the color of his eyes- a warm brown, tinged russet, as if kissed by the flame his bloodline was rumored to wield. His features were sharp and elegant, his wide jaw covered with the barest hint of auburn stubble. There was a thin, crooked scar running down the left side of his face that, combined with the devilish gleam in his eyes, gave him an aura of danger. It sent a shiver down Elain’s spine, and she felt momentarily struck dumb, as if by magic.

“My lady,” he said, inclining his head. The motion made a strand of his vibrant hair fall over his face, and Elain’s fingers itched to brush it back.

Vassa giggled beside her. Elain had never, in her nineteen years of life, heard her friend make such a sound. She bit her lip hard to prevent herself from doing the same.

“If I walked through fire for you, could I get a kiss too?”

Vassa made a choked sound that sounded as though she was holding in another giggle. Elain could only stare for a moment, before realizing that she was staring at him with her mouth hanging wide open.

“I- sorry, what?”

With a casual wave of his hand a wall of flame had burst to life out of thin air. Elain jumped to her feet, scanning the crowd for signs of anyone having noticed the blatant display of magic. But oddly enough, nobody at all was looking at them. It was almost as if some force was making the crowd look away.

She glanced back at the flames just in time to see him walk through them. Surrounded by flames, with that troublesome grin on his face and his eyes twinkling with mirth, it almost seemed like she was being bewitched by the devil himself.

In the end it turned out to be not too far from the truth.

The summer romance that had followed had completely knocked her off her feet. Lucien was nothing like the boys she’d dated before. There was something charmingly old-fashioned about the way he spoke, his impeccable manners and posh accent so at odds with his serpentine tongue and devilish humour. He had felt like a drug, something decadent and rare that left her buoyant and giddy. She’d been hooked from her first taste, her fate sealed the moment he’d walked through those flames and pressed a feather-soft kiss directly to her lips. She’d let those flames consume her.

But the thing with fire, she’d learned, was that it could be doused in an instant.

Elain wondered if he ever would have said anything at all, had that vision not infiltrated her dreams. Would he simply have left her apartment and gotten on a plane back to Yorkshire without so much as a goodbye, never to be heard from again?

They had been lying in bed when the vision had swarmed her senses, limbs tangled together, a lazily swirling fan doing little to cool their heated skin. There was never any logic or reason to what triggered her visions, but something about that hazy veil between consciousness and sleep seemed to make her prone to them. One unclear reality being replaced by another, images fogging her mind so that sometimes she wasn’t sure if they were visions, dreams, or nothing at all.

But that night, as she’d laid there happy and content, blissfully uncaring about anything but the present, the future had decided to make itself known to her anyway. At first she thought she was simply drifting off into dreams of him, and she had sighed, grateful to be with him even in sleep.

Her blood had grown cold as she’d realized the Lucien in her mind was not alone, and nor was his soft smile aimed at her. There was someone else, someone with long rosewood-colored tresses and hazel eyes that shone almost golden, like a cat’s. Someone who was wearing a white dress, wrapped in the arms of the man currently in her bed.

Someone who was decidedly not her.

At first she’d chosen to ignore it. Perhaps it wasn’t a vision at all, but simply her lust-addled brain playing tricks on her. But then Lucien had announced that he needed to fly back home for a while, to take care of some business.

“I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone,” he assured her, his mouth pressed to her ear. “You won’t even miss me.”

In the span of a few seconds he had managed to rip her heart out and rip it to shreds. She’d been so stunned that at first she didn’t know how ro react.

“I’m sorry, Love,” he murmured, misunderstanding her shock as displeasure. “There’s some things with…my family, that I need to handle in person.”

Something about his choice of words had made Elain want to laugh, even as she was fighting rising tides of panic and heartbreak.

“Who is she?” had been the only words she’d been able to formulate.

Lucien stared at her in shock, the color draining from his skin until she knew for certain she hadn’t miscalculated.

Then had come the accusations, the excuses, the explanations, followed by more accusations.

He was engaged.

Betrothed had been the word he’d used, like something out of those romance novels her sister liked. He was betrothed to a stranger he’d never even met, someone he allegedly had no intention of marrying. He was going back to end it, he claimed. He wanted her, he assured.

“I didn’t want to say anything at first because I didn’t know what this thing was between us, and then when it became serious it felt like it was too late, and I didn’t know what to do, and please, Elain, just look at me…”

She had, and something about seeing him like this, his usual smooth exterior replaced by rambling words and eyes wide with panic, almost made her break. But then she’d remembered the woman in her vision, the one with such unusual colouring that she could only be a witch- and a powerful one, if she had been betrothed to a Vanserra. And most of all, she remembered the joy on Lucien’s face in that vision, the way his eyes had crinkled around the edges like they did when he was happy.

In retrospect, throwing his clothes out the window had perhaps been a tad immature, but it had been effective in getting him to shut up and leave her apartment.

**

Elain shook her head, clearing away the memories that refused to leave her alone.

“You know what,” she declared, slamming her glass on the coffee table with a clang, “let’s burn his stuff.”

Vassa whooped, jumping to her feet before Elain could second guess her decision. Fuck him. Fuck him and his beautiful fiancé (bethrothed) who no doubt had the perfect pedigree and wielded some powerful brand of magic to match the Vanserra’s. Something respectable, like elemental magic, or a knack for spell work. Not something weird and impossible to understand like her Sight.

“Fuck him,” she said again, getting to her feet. “Fuck her!”

“That’s the spirit!”

Vassa upended the box into their fireplace, lifting up a cloud of dust, ash, and various herbs from an ill-advised cleaning spell they’d tried to cast the week before. “Care to do the honors?” she asked, extending a box of matches towards Elain.

Elain took a shuddering breath as she looked at the sad little pile of ashy belongings. Clothes, a few books, thin leather straps Lucien had used to tie his hair back. Straps he’d once used to bind her wrists together as he-

Elain struck the match so aggressively that it snapped clean in half. The second one lit, the little flame seeming to mock her as it danced near the tips of her fingers.

The fire was slow to catch, smoking pathetically as it tried to crawl along the pile of fabric and books. And then it grew, until their faces warmed by the heat of the flames. Elain very pointedly ignored the fact that Lucien could summon flames ten times this size without so much as blinking.

“We curse you, Lucien Vanserra!” Vassa declared, stirring the flames with a poker.

“I hope you burn in hell,” Elain mumbled.

Vassa cackled. “He’d probably be happy there. Let him rot somewhere his flame can’t catch.”

Elain might have imagined it, but just for a moment the fire seemed to grow brighter in the hearth.

“And may his betrothed be frigid in bed!” Vassa added with another cackling laugh. Once again the flames flashed hotter, almost blue.

“And may she break his heart, just like he did mine,” Elain added sadly.

It seemed like she was speaking directly to the flames themselves, and for a second they appeared to wink in response. She blinked, and shook her head against a wave of disorientation. Merlin, she was drunk.

A flash of lightning lit up the night sky outside, followed by another rumble of thunder that made them both jump. With a mechanical groaning the lights inside the apartment blinked off, leaving them sitting there in the dark.

Vassa groaned. “Damn it, power’s out again.”

But Elain’s attention was still on the fire- or, more accurately, on the space where it should have been. In the space where moments before flames had danced merrily, there was now only a fine layer of ash, all traces of Lucien’s belongings having vanished, like the flames, into thin air.

Elain gulped. “Vassa? I think we might have done something bad.”

[estellan0vella]

Han Jisung’s Panty Protection Program: H.JS Han Jisung x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 13.4K

CW: Themes of Invasion of Privacy (stolen underwear), Mentions of masturbation, sexual fluids, and references to a character using stolen underwear for sexual gratification, Jisung being dramatic, Light Violence, Discussions and depictions of crystals, tarot readings, and sage-burning rituals, Minho and reader shenanigans

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist Part I Part II

Jisung’s room in the Alpha Phi frat house is a cosy mix of chaos and comfort. His bed, large enough to hold his perpetually sprawled form, sits in the corner with tangled navy sheets and a pile of mismatched pillows. Strawberry-scented incense wafts lazily from the nightstand, curling smoke weaving through the dim light of the room. Crystals are scattered everywhere, on his desk, his bookshelf, and the windowsill, casting faint glimmers when they catch the faint glow of the TV screen.

“Jagiya,” Jisung drawls, shifting so his bare chest brushes against your arm, his voice syrupy in that way it always is when he’s trying to get your attention. “You’re not even watching.”

The screen plays Howl’s Moving Castle, Jisung’s favourite movie, but it’s more background noise than entertainment for you. You’ve seen it around forty times now. Yet somehow, the plot remains a mystery because you always end up distracted. Like right now, as you shuffle your tarot cards, your grey lounge pants soft against Jisung’s thigh and your white bralette letting the cool air kiss your shoulders. Your hair’s in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame your face, and Jisung can’t stop staring at you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room.

“Shh, I’m doing my reading,” you murmur, eyes focused on the cards. 

Zak, your two-year-old brindle Staffordshire Bull Terrier, gnaws happily on a bone in his dog bed near Jisung’s desk. His ears flick every so often, alert to the sound of your voice, but he’s content to leave you be. He loves it here as much as you do; the space is as much yours as it is Jisung’s, even if you don’t technically live here.

Jisung leans his chin on your shoulder, his dark blue hair tickling your neck. “You’ve seen this one card a million times. What’s it mean this time?”

You flip the final card, a slight shiver crawling up your spine. “The Seven of Swords,” you say, holding it up. The illustration glares at you, sharp and accusing.

“And?” Jisung prompts, though his tone is playful, his attention still half on you and half on the screen. “Good news or bad news?”

You hesitate. “It’s not great.”

That gets his attention. He turns fully toward you, propping himself up on his elbow. His sweatpants ride low on his hips, and his tone softens. “You worried about it, jagiya?”

“No,” you reply quickly, though the card sits heavy in your mind. “It’s just... It’s a warning. Dishonesty, deceit, manipulation, cheating, theft. But it doesn’t mean that something bad is happening right now. It just means to be cautious, you know? I think I just need to pick up more crystals.”

Jisung snorts, ruffling your hair affectionately. “More crystals? Jagiya, my room already sparkles enough to blind someone.”

“There’s no such thing as too much sparkle,” you quip, giving him a pointed look as you start gathering your deck back into a neat pile. The strawberry incense has burned low now, but the sweet scent lingers.

Jisung’s lips twitch into a lopsided grin. “Your eyes sparkle enough to light up the whole fucking world.”

You pause, your hand hovering over the tarot deck. “That’s actually really sweet, Sungie.”

“Sweet enough for you to give me head?”

Your hand smacks his arm before he can even finish the sentence. “You just fucking ruined it.”

“Ow!” he complains, though he’s laughing as he rubs the spot you hit. “What? I’m being honest! You said you appreciate honesty!”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Honesty and your horny ass aren’t the same thing.”

He pulls you closer, his chest warm against your back. “You love me anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that.” You lean into his touch despite the words, letting him press a kiss to your temple.

The movie continues to play in the background, a faint crescendo of orchestral music filling the room. Jisung’s hand finds its way to your waist, resting there idly as his other hand traces nonsensical patterns on the back of yours.

“So, for real,” he says after a beat of silence, “this card thing doesn’t freak you out?”

You shake your head. “Not really. It’s just a reminder to be careful. The universe has a way of sending signals, you know?”

He hums, though his tone is sceptical. “I still don’t get the whole crystal-tarot-astrology thing. But if it makes you feel grounded, I’m all in. My wallet, though, isn’t gonna love you buying out the crystal shop again.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” you tease, tilting your head to catch his gaze. “You get a kick out of hearing me rant about this stuff.”

Jisung grins, that familiar, boyish charm lighting up his face. “Maybe I just like hearing your voice.”

“Maybe you just like kissing my ass.”

“Only when it’s bare.”

“Jisung!”

He dissolves into laughter, the kind that shakes the bed and makes Zak lift his head in confusion. You roll your eyes playfully as Jisung’s laughter starts to die down, though the grin on his face lingers. His arm drapes around your shoulders as he pulls you closer, still absently tracing patterns on your skin. 

“You know,” you say, tilting your head to look at him, “you look different lately.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow, a teasing smirk already forming. “Different? Like how? Handsomer? Sexier? More fuckable?”

You snort, shoving at his chest, which is frustratingly solid beneath your hand. “I’m serious, Sungie. You cut your hair, switched the silver out for blue, you’ve been hitting the gym more with Changbin, and your arms are like double the size they were before. And your chest...” You trail off, gesturing vaguely at his torso. “I mean, I think your chest is bigger than mine now. You’re making my boobs look tragic.”

Jisung’s jaw drops, feigning absolute horror. “Do not,” he sits up, one hand clutching his chest dramatically, “and I mean do not diss my favourite titties.”

You blink, confused. “Wait, your- oh my god, you mean mine?” You burst out laughing, and he grins like he’s won the lottery. “Jisung, you’re fucking impossible.”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, sitting cross-legged now and leaning toward you with mock solemnity. He pokes your chest lightly, his finger pressing against the fabric of your bralette. “These are works of art, jagiya. They’re perfection. Fuck the gym, Changbin can’t give me what these do.”

You giggle, batting his hand away, but he’s relentless. “No, no, let me finish! These are my favourite titties in the world. The Mona Lisa of boobs. Michelangelo himself couldn’t sculpt anything better.”

“You’re insane,” you manage through your laughter, trying to shove his face away as he leans closer.

“And you’re blessed,” he says, completely unfazed, his grin wide and shameless. “Seriously, I should write a fucking sonnet about them. Ode to the Greatest Pair of Tits That Ever Graced This Earth. Shakespeare would cry.”

“Jisung, shut up,” you giggle, doubling over as he pokes your chest again, his touch playful and light. “You’re so stupid.”

From the room next door, Minho’s voice booms through the thin walls. “JISUNG, SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR GIRLFRIEND’S FUCKING TITS!”

You’re gasping for air as Jisung groans and flops back dramatically, flinging an arm over his eyes. “Why does he always ruin my fun?” he whines before sitting up suddenly and grabbing your chest with both hands. He gives them a quick squeeze. “Honk.”

The noise that comes out of you is somewhere between a laugh and a snort, and it sends Jisung into another fit of giggles. “You’re such a child,” you say, slapping his hands away again, though there’s no real force behind it. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” he repeats, looking offended before lunging forward and burying his face between your boobs. “What’s wrong with me is that these exist, and I’m a simple man.”

“Jisung!” you shriek, laughing as he starts shaking his head dramatically, his hair tickling your skin. He lets out a loud, exaggerated “brrrrrr” sound, the vibrations making you dissolve into giggles.

“Stop motorboating me!” you gasp, trying to push his head away, but he’s stronger now, Changbin’s workouts clearly paying off, and he just stays there, muffling a defiant “Never!”

“You’re fucking ridiculous!” you cry, laughing so hard your stomach aches.

“Ridiculous or romantic?”

“Neither,” you say, still breathless. “You’re just an idiot.”

“An idiot who loves his jagiya’s tits. Let me suffocate here! I’ll die happy.”

The door creaks open, and Minho pokes his head into the room, eyebrows raised in mock judgment. “Jisung, stop being a fucking freak.”

Jisung doesn’t even lift his face from your chest. He’s still making that obnoxious “brrrr” noise, his head moving side to side. You’re half laughing, half mortified, trying to push him away, but his grip around your waist is unyielding.

“Minho, help me!” you plead, waving a hand toward the door.

Minho crosses his arms and leans casually against the doorframe. “Poor Zak shouldn’t have to see this shit.” He strides into the room, bending down to scoop up your dog. Zak wags his tail, happy for the attention, and Minho cradles him like a baby. “You deserve better, little man. You don’t need to witness whatever the fuck this is.”

“Minho, I’m serious!” you laugh as Jisung lets out another exaggerated “brrrrrr,” his blue hair tickling your skin.

“Jisung,” Minho says, deadpan. “Go sit in the fucking corner and think about what you’ve done.”

Jisung groans dramatically but finally rolls off the bed, landing on the floor with a soft thud. He drags himself to the corner like a petulant child, flopping down cross-legged. But instead of sitting quietly, he presses his hands to his cheeks, squeezing them together. He starts mimicking the same motion he was doing on you, complete with another obnoxious “brrrrrr” noise.

“I have an active imagination!” Jisung declares, grinning mischievously as he shakes his head between his hands. “I’m imagining my hands are your tits, jagiya! It’s like I never left!”

You bury your face in your hands, mortified, while Minho snorts so hard Zak wiggles in his arms. “You’re fucking hopeless,” Minho says, shooting Jisung a look of pure disbelief.

“Hopelessly in love with my girlfriend’s boobs!” Jisung shoots back, unbothered. “And proud of it!”

Minho shakes his head, turning to you. “Come on, Y/N. You don’t need this shit. Seek refuge with your favourite Alpha Phi member.”

Jisung gasps from his corner, clutching his hands to his chest as if he’s been physically wounded. “Traitor!” he cries, pointing an accusatory finger at Minho.

“Shut up,” Minho says firmly, pointing back. “You’re in time-out.”

Jisung starts making the “brrrrrr” noise again, but this time he muffles it with his hands, wiggling his eyebrows at you as if to say, Look how creative I am.

“You poor thing,” Minho says to you, ignoring Jisung completely. “What were you thinking dating him?”

“I declare temporary insanity,” you reply, laughing. “All his 90s dream girl talk got to me.”

“You’re still my 90s dream girl!” Jisung exclaims from his corner, his hands still pressed to his cheeks as he wiggles his head dramatically.

Minho rolls his eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s watch something that’s not fucking Howl’s Moving Castle for the 900th time.”

“Sold,” you say immediately, sliding off the bed.

“Wait, what?” Jisung says, his voice rising an octave. “You’re just gonna leave me?”

Minho smirks, adjusting Zak in his arms. “Jisung, sit there for twenty minutes and repent or something.”

“You’re stealing my girlfriend and our fur child!” Jisung protests, scrambling to his feet.

“I’ll make it permanent if you don’t shut up and accept your time-out,” Minho threatens, raising an eyebrow.

Jisung throws his arms in the air, his frustration exaggerated. “I’m a titty fiend! I shouldn’t be punished for that!”

“Well, you fucking are,” Minho deadpans, stepping toward the door with Zak and gesturing for you to follow. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s leave the fiend to his pity party.”

“I have rights!” Jisung shouts after you as you step into the hallway, Minho chuckling under his breath. “You can’t just take my girlfriend and the dog! This is an act of war!”

Minho closes the door behind you, muffling Jisung’s continued protests. He glances at you with a smirk. “You really put up with that every day?”

You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He’s ridiculous, but he’s my ridiculous.”

“Temporary insanity,” Minho teases as he starts walking toward the stairs. “Let’s see if I can knock some sense into you with a decent movie.”

Behind the closed door, you can still faintly hear Jisung shouting, “I HAVE RIGHTS!” and you can’t help but laugh.

The living room of the Alpha Phi frat house is comfortably chaotic, the kind of space that reflects the personalities of everyone who lives there. A massive sectional dominates the room, piled with mismatched pillows and throw blankets that no one remembers buying. The faint scent of popcorn lingers from the kitchen, and the hum of an indie playlist plays softly in the background. It’s a rare moment of peace, all the chaos of frat life distilled into a lazy afternoon.

You’re sprawled on the couch with Felix, both of you hunched over his phone, scrolling through a crystal shop’s online catalogue. Felix’s brown mullet bobs as he shifts closer, pointing at a thumbnail of a smoky quartz tower. His glasses slide down his nose, and he pushes them up absentmindedly.

“This one,” Felix says, his tone decisive. “Smoky quartz for grounding. We need that shit in the kitchen after Chan melted the spatula last week.”

“I didn’t melt it,” Chan argues from across the room. He’s sitting on the floor, tossing Zak’s favourite squeaky toy toward Minho, who catches it and tosses it back like they’re playing some weird version of fetch themselves. Zak bounces between them, his brindle fur gleaming under the sunlight streaming through the windows, his tail wagging like it might fly off.

“You fucking did,” Minho says with a snort. “You left it on the stove, genius.”

Zak drops the toy at Chan’s feet, barking once, his tongue lolling happily. Chan throws it again. “It was an accident!”

You and Felix exchange a glance, both rolling your eyes in unison before turning back to the phone. “We definitely need smoky quartz,” you agree. “Also, look at this selenite wand. Cleansing energy for the entryway.”

Felix nods enthusiastically. “Yes! It’ll clear out all the shitty energy people bring in. Like when Jisung tracks mud inside after practice.”

“I don’t track mud-” Jisung starts, but you cut him off with a look. He’s draped over the armrest of the couch, his hair messy and damp from a shower, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants that make him look impossibly soft. "So have you found any good ones?”

“Plenty,” you reply, tilting the phone to show him. “We’re purifying your mud tracks as we speak.”

“I don’t track mud!” he protests again, sitting up and glaring at you. His tone is more indignant than angry, and it makes Felix snicker.

Minho quirks an eyebrow. “Jisung, you actually believe in this crystal shit?”

Jisung shrugs, unbothered, and stretches his arms over his head. “I think Y/N can believe in what she wants if it helps her. I support her.”

Minho’s eyebrow goes higher. “Support her how?”

“Like I support you and Bloody Mary,” Jisung says, smirking.

The toy slips from Minho’s hand, and he shudders so hard Zak stops mid-bounce to tilt his head at him. “Fuck no. Don’t even say that bitch’s name. No bathrooms in the dark for me. Ever.”

Jisung grins, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “That’s why at clubs, I always go to the bathroom with you.”

“Too fucking right,” Minho says, tossing the toy again for Zak. “True bros keep their bros safe from Bloody Mary.”

“I got you, man.” Jisung lifts a fist, and Minho meets it with a loud smack.

Chan, who’s been watching this exchange with growing amusement, shakes his head. “Wait, you actually believe in the Bloody Mary thing?”

“Fuck yes, I do,” Minho says, straightening up. His voice takes on a conspiratorial edge, and you know you’re about to get a classic Minho tangent.

“Listen,” Minho starts, leaning forward like he’s about to deliver the gospel. “Bloody Mary isn’t just some random ghost bullshit. She’s Mary Tudor, as in Mary the First, as in fucking Bloody Mary, queen of England. The bitch burned, like, 300 people at the stake. Protestants, mostly. She was Catholic, right? And her dad, Henry VIII, was all about breaking away from the Catholic Church because he wanted to marry Anne Boleyn, fucking messy family drama, by the way, so Mary basically spends her whole reign trying to reverse all of his Protestant reforms.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Nerd.”

“Shut up,” Minho snaps without heat, continuing his tirade. “So anyway, people start calling her Bloody Mary because of all the executions. And then somehow she gets turned into this creepy bathroom ghost? I don’t know who came up with that shit, but it’s disrespectful as hell.”

Jisung, sprawled like a cat on the couch, grins. “So you believe the ghost part?”

Minho’s expression turns grim. “I don’t fuck with mirrors. Or bathrooms in the dark. No fucking way. You say her name three times, you’re asking for it.”

Chan chuckles, tossing Zak’s toy again. “That’s a stretch, dude.”

“It’s not!” Minho insists, his voice rising. “Mirrors are a gateway. Everyone fucking knows that. And if you say her name, it’s like inviting her in. Like... like a mirror demon or some shit. It’s common fucking sense.”

Zak barks once, as if agreeing, and Felix bursts into laughter. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” Minho replies, crossing his arms. “Call me crazy, but I’m not risking my life over a bathroom dare.”

“Bloody Mary’s not gonna come for you,” Chan says, shaking his head with a grin.

“You don’t know that,” Minho fires back. “What if she’s pissed off that I insulted her? You don’t fucking tempt fate.”

Hyunjin, sprawled across the armchair like it’s a throne, finally chimes in with a shudder. “I don’t fuck with those Virgin Ghosts.”

Everyone pauses, turning toward him, and he sits up straighter, waving his hands for emphasis. “You know the ones, white dresses, long dark hair, looking like they crawled straight out of The Ring. Fuck that.”

Chan laughs, but it’s a little nervous. “Mine’s the eyeless woman. You know, the one people see in their sleep paralysis? Fuck that bitch. Or toilet ghosts.”

Minho points at him. “Fuck toilet ghosts. They’re the worst.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Why are toilets such a common fucking haunting spot?”

“Because they’re vulnerable as fuck!” Minho exclaims, sitting up, his voice full of righteous indignation. “You’re literally pants-down, defenceless. A ghost shows up, what the fuck are you gonna do? Waddle away?”

Everyone bursts into laughter, Felix smacking his knee as he doubles over. “Waddle away,” he repeats through his laughter, and you can’t help giggling, too, shaking your head.

Felix sits up, wiping at his eyes. “Y/N and I don’t worry about that shit. You know why? Immaculate vibes, sage, and crystals.”

“Exactly,” you say, holding up a fist toward Felix. He meets it with his own, both of you nodding like you’ve just solved world peace.

Minho scoffs. “I’d like to see sage hold off Bloody Mary.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, his expression calm and confident. “It would.”

“Bullshit,” Minho mutters, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed. Zak, as if sensing the tension, trots over and drops his squeaky toy in Minho’s lap. Minho sighs, picking it up absentmindedly. “Fucking sage isn’t doing shit against a pissed-off ghost.”

Felix grins, his faith unshakable. “Your negativity is why you’re a target.”

Minho throws the toy for Zak, muttering under his breath, “Fucking target.”

Just then, the door to the living room creaks open, and one of the new freshman pledges steps in hesitantly, holding a stack of papers. He’s wide-eyed, clearly intimidated, and freezes when he sees the group sprawled around like the house royalty they are.

“Uh, hi,” he starts, his voice shaky. “I was told to bring-”

“Pleb three!” Minho declares loudly, cutting him off and pointing. “Get in here.”

The poor kid shuffles in, clearly trying not to trip over his own feet. You glance at Minho, frowning slightly. “Minho, don’t call him that. You’re so mean.”

Minho shrugs, unapologetic. “What? We have six new pledges. Pleb one through six. He’s three.”

The pledge looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up, and you sigh, shooting him a reassuring smile. “Don’t mind him. He’s just... like that.”

Minho ignores you completely, turning back to the pledge. “Pleb, go make cocktails for all of us. And remember, no fucking cheap-ass shit. I want something classy.”

The pledge nods quickly, backing toward the door, but Minho holds up a hand, stopping him mid-step. “Oh, and one more thing,” he adds, his tone sharp. “You can’t look at members’ girlfriends either.” He flicks a dismissive hand. “Eyes off. Got it?”

The pledge stares at him for a second before covering his eyes with one hand, holding the papers with the other. “Got it,” he says weakly, stumbling out of the room.

Jisung, who’s been quietly observing from his spot on the couch, lets out a loud snicker. “Minho, you’re fucking insane.”

“What?” Minho says, feigning innocence. “I’m protecting your jagiya, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you mutter, shaking your head. “You’re scaring him half to death.”

“Good,” Minho says, leaning back with a smirk. “Keeps them on their toes.”

Chan shakes his head, throwing Zak’s toy again. “One of these days, Minho, you’re gonna scare a pledge so bad they’ll quit.”

“Good,” Minho repeats. “If they can’t handle me, they can’t handle this house.” He gestures dramatically at the room as if it’s a fortress rather than a mildly chaotic frat space.

Jisung leans over, resting his head on your shoulder. “You’re too nice to hang out with him, jagiya.”

You smile, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Maybe I just balance him out.”

Felix hums thoughtfully. “Y/N does have impeccable vibes. Minho, you could probably use some of her sage.”

“Fuck off, Felix,”

The sound of the dryer hums faintly in the background as you sit cross-legged on Jisung’s bed, folding the week’s laundry into neat piles. Your white blouse is tied casually above your navel, and the light acid-wash mom jeans you’re wearing feel comfortably snug. A citrine necklace rests against your collarbone, glinting softly in the afternoon light as you work, occasionally brushing back stray strands of hair that escape your seashell claw clip. Jisung sits at the foot of the bed, surrounded by a sea of mismatched socks, diligently trying to pair them up.

“This one?” he asks, holding up a lonely grey sock, squinting at it as if it might magically reveal its partner.

You glance at it and shake your head. “Nope, that’s from the gym set. The other one is probably hiding under your desk.”

“Fucking socks,” he mutters, tossing it into a growing pile of misfits. “It’s like they have a secret society or something. They plan their disappearances.”

You laugh softly, smoothing out one of his hoodies before folding it neatly. “Secret sock society?”

“Don’t act like it’s not real, jagiya,” he says, waving a pair of black socks in the air triumphantly. “These two almost escaped, but I got ‘em.”

“Hero of the day,” you tease, shooting him a smile as you stack another pile of folded clothes.

The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, his occasional grumbles about sock conspiracies mixing with the soft rustle of clothes being folded. It’s peaceful, the kind of mundane intimacy that feels almost sacred.

But then your brow furrows, your hands pausing as you sift through your stack of folded laundry. Something is missing. Two somethings, to be exact.

“Ji,” you say, voice suspicious.

“Yeah, jagiya?” He doesn’t look up, too focused on wrestling with a stubborn sock.

“My thongs are missing.”

That gets his attention. His head snaps up, and he blinks at you, confused. “Wait, what?”

You hold up your fingers for emphasis. “Two. My red lace and my black lace. Gone.”

Jisung lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you’ve just told him the worst news of his life. “Not the red lace! Lord, say it isn’t so!”

“And the black lace,” you add grimly.

“No!” he cries, dropping the socks in his hands and crawling closer to you on the bed. “This is a tragedy.”

“I’m not joking, Ji,” you say, though you can’t help the small laugh that escapes as you watch his theatrics. “I swear if I find one of your idiot frat brothers wearing them on their head again-”

“Minho did that one time.”

“One time too many.”

“Fair,” he concedes, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “But might I remind you that my idiot frat brothers are also your friends?”

“Only during the hours they don’t have my panties on their heads,” you shoot back, smirking.

Jisung sits up, grinning as he reaches out to grab your hand. “Don’t worry, jagiya. If I see one of those assholes wearing your thongs, I’ll wrestle it off their head myself.”

You shake your head, biting back a laugh. “How noble of you.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of principle,” he replies, kissing your cheek quickly before going back to his pile of socks. “But seriously, we should check the laundry room. Maybe they’re still in the dryer or something.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you agree, though you’re still suspicious. You eye Jisung as he focuses on his socks again, wondering if he’s hiding something.

“Stop staring at me like I did it,” he says without looking up.

“I’m not staring!” you protest, laughing.

“You so fucking are,” he says, grinning as he finally looks up. “If I had your thongs, jagiya, trust me. You’d know. Wait a fucking second.” He slaps the wall that separates his room from Minho’s. The thud reverberates loudly, and you flinch slightly at the sound.

“Minho!” Jisung shouts, smacking the wall again for good measure.

“What?!” Minho’s muffled voice comes from the other side, annoyed and sharp.

“Have you got Y/N’s panties on your head again?!” Jisung yells back, his tone accusatory but dripping with humour.

There’s a beat of silence before Minho replies, incredulous, “I wear your girlfriend’s panties on my head one time when I’m drunk, and suddenly I’m always the fucking suspect?! Might I remind you that you double dared me to do that!”

You can’t hold back your laugh, shaking your head as you fold another one of Jisung’s hoodies. “Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, biting your lip to keep from laughing louder.

“That is true,” Jisung concedes, nodding solemnly. “I did double dare you.”

“And I am no bitch when it comes to a double dare!” Minho fires back, his tone haughty and self-righteous.

“Also true,” Jisung agrees, shrugging.

But Minho isn’t done. “Might I also remind you that you were the one who grabbed her black and green bra, held it up to your fucking eyes, and told everyone you were a fly?”

Jisung pauses, his lips twitching. “I did do that.”

“Damn right, you did,” Minho snaps. “So don’t start throwing accusations at me, you little shit.”

“Okay, okay,” Jisung says, holding up his hands as if Minho could see him through the wall. “Do you have her thongs, though?”

“No!” Minho shouts, clearly exasperated. “Why the fuck would I want her thongs? Jesus Christ, Jisung!”

“Just checking!” Jisung calls back before flopping back down on the bed beside you, grinning.

You give him a flat look, raising an eyebrow. “Are you done harassing Minho?”

“Not yet.” Jisung suddenly gasps, sitting up straight again. “Wait! The card you pulled! Theft! Deception! Someone being sneaky!”

“See? It’s real!”

Jisung blinks, nodding slowly as if connecting all the dots. “Holy shit. You might convert me to a tarot believer yet, jagiya.”

“Finally!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in victory. “No more calling it woo-woo shit!”

“When have I ever called it woo-woo shit?”

You arch an eyebrow at him, folding your arms across your chest. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

His mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “Okay,” he admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I may have said it... once or twice.”

“Try ten times,” 

Jisung winces. “Alright, fine. But look, I’m seeing the light now, jagiya. The cards knew. They knew! Your missing panties are proof.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling at his sudden enthusiasm. “Better late than never, I guess.”

“Exactly,” he says, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. “So what does the card say we do about the thief? Do we stage a fucking heist to get them back? Interrogate Minho with a spotlight?”

You laugh, pushing his face away lightly. “It’s a warning card, Ji. It doesn’t give step-by-step instructions.”

“Well, it should,” he mutters, leaning back. “Fucking useless card.”

You shake your head, but you’re grinning as you go back to folding the laundry. “Maybe if you fully believed in the cards, you’d get more out of them.”

“Oh, I’m a believer now,” Jisung says, nodding sagely. “The cards have spoken, and I will honour their wisdom.”

You snort, glancing at him fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” 

The living room is buzzing with curiosity and chaos as the main crew gathers. Jisung sits in the oversized armchair, you perched comfortably on his lap. His hand is lazily stroking your head like you’re a cat, and he’s some villainous mastermind plotting world domination. Zak darts around the room, wagging his tail like he’s chasing invisible ghosts, occasionally bumping into people as they stand in a loose semicircle around you.

Jisung clears his throat dramatically, his free hand gesturing with flair. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his tone theatrical, “a grave crime has been committed under our roof.”

Everyone straightens up slightly, looking at each other in confusion.

Jisung points at the group, his eyes narrowing. “Someone has stolen Y/N’s lacy thongs.”

Felix’s gasp is immediate and horrified. “No!”

“Yes,” Jisung says, his expression dark and sombre. “I am heartbroken, devastated even. My jagiya’s precious thongs have been taken, and this mystery must be solved.”

Felix clutches his chest like he’s about to faint. “This is a tragedy.”

Chan sits back on the couch, crossing his arms and eyeing the room warily. “Alright, who’s the thief?”

The room goes silent for a moment before, almost instinctively, all eyes land on Minho. He sighs heavily, dragging a hand down his face. “I fucking knew I should never have accepted that stupid dare to wear her panties on my head. Now you all think I’m some panty-stealing deviant.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his voice sharp with sarcasm. “Are you?”

“Of course fucking not!” Minho snaps, glaring at him.

“Well,” Chan interjects, trying to steer the conversation, “when was the last time you saw them?”

You sit up slightly, your brow furrowing in thought. “When I put them in the laundry basket. They were definitely there.”

Everyone once again turns to Minho, who throws his hands up in frustration. “Oh, come on! It wasn’t me!”

Changbin, who’s leaning casually against the arm of the couch, tilts his head thoughtfully. “Can we just take a moment to process the fact that someone stole Y/N’s used panties?”

You shudder at the thought, hugging yourself as a wave of discomfort rolls through you. Jisung immediately rubs your back, his touch soothing. “It’s okay, jagiya,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.”

But then, as if struck by a bolt of lightning, Jisung sits up straight, his eyes wide with horror. “Oh my fucking god,” he exclaims, his voice loud and panicked. “Someone is sniffing my girlfriend’s used panties!”

Changbin snorts so hard he has to hide his laugh behind his hand, his shoulders shaking. Chan bites his lip, failing miserably to suppress a giggle, while Felix pulls his hoodie strings so tight his face disappears as he dissolves into laughter. Seungmin and Hyunjin exchange looks before breaking into outright snickers.

Jisung is relentless. “They’re smelling my girlfriend’s vagina smell! What kind of sick-”

“Ji!” you interrupt, mortified, pressing your hand firmly against his mouth. Your cheeks are burning as you hide your face in his shoulder, your voice muffled as you whine, “Oh my god, stop!”

The guys lose it. Changbin’s laughter is loud and unapologetic now, his hand slapping against the couch. Felix has nearly folded himself in half, muffled giggles escaping from the depths of his hoodie. Chan shakes his head, laughing so hard his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Jeongin, the youngest but clearly as chaotic as the rest, raises a hand like he’s in class. “What if they’re licking the panties, too?”

Jisung pulls your hand away, ready to reply. “Only I lick-”

You cut him off with a quick, desperate press of your hand back against his mouth. “Jisung, stop!” you cry, burying your face deeper into his shoulder as the group erupts into another wave of uncontrollable laughter.

Hyunjin, wiping tears from his eyes, finally manages to speak. “You know,” he says, catching his breath, “someone probably sold them. You can make bank off used panties.”

You let out a loud whine, muffled into Jisung’s hoodie, while he strokes your back soothingly. “Don’t worry, jagiya,” he says, his tone serious but with a mischievous glint in his eye. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. And if someone is making money off your panties, we’re demanding fucking royalties.”

The week passes without incident. Until it doesn’t. You’re folding laundry on Jisung’s bed, sitting cross-legged in your usual spot while he lounges nearby in nothing but his boxers, scrolling on his phone. Your blue cotton lounge pants and bralette feel soft and familiar, your makeup-free face showing off the faint freckles dusted across your cheeks. The peaceful rhythm of folding clothes is abruptly shattered when you let out a horrified gasp.

Jisung looks up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “What? What happened?”

“My lacy boyshorts! My favourite pair of underwear! Gone!”

Jisung freezes, his phone slipping from his hands. Then he leaps to his feet with a theatrical flourish. “No. No!” he shouts. “House meeting! Everyone, to my room immediately!”

The sound of heavy footsteps fills the hallway as the guys shuffle in, groaning and confused. Chan’s hair is slightly damp, probably from a quick shower, while Minho and Hyunjin look like they were in the middle of a heated FIFA match. Felix clutches a snack, shoving chips into his mouth as he walks, and Jeongin and Seungmin appear with their usual air of “why are we even fucking here?”

Jisung stands dramatically in the middle of the room, pointing at the group as they gather. “Once again,” he declares, his voice booming, “the panty thief strikes!”

Felix, who’s perched on the edge of the bed, widens his eyes. “Dude, someone is seriously stealing your panties.” 

“They stole my favourite pair, Lix!” you say, your voice a mix of despair and disbelief.

Felix gasps, his chips forgotten as he pats your head gently, then pulls you into a comforting cuddle. You lean into him, grateful for his warmth, as he says solemnly, “Don’t worry. We’ll hold a funeral service. They deserve a proper send-off.”

You laugh softly despite the situation, shaking your head against his shoulder.

Minho, leaning casually against the desk, crosses his arms and tilts his head. “You know,” he says, his tone disturbingly calm, “if they haven’t sold them, they’re probably jerking their dick with your panties.”

Jisung stiffens, spinning around to glare at him. “That is a sin! Dishonor on my good name!”

Chan raises an eyebrow, barely able to contain a grin. “Dishonor on you?”

“Yes, on me!” Jisung exclaims, pointing at himself indignantly. “Someone is probably wanking with my girlfriend’s used panties. They dishonour her, so they dishonour me! When I find this hooligan, I’m going to stick them in the washing machine and put it on a hot wash!”

The room erupts into laughter at Jisung’s outburst. Changbin doubles over, clutching his stomach, while Felix hides his face in his hands, shaking with silent giggles. You’re biting your lip, trying not to laugh, but Jisung’s dramatics make it nearly impossible.

Jeongin, ever the voice of practicality, raises his hand. “Okay, but, like, just buy new panties?”

Jisung whirls on him, his eyes wide with disbelief. “That is not the point! This isn’t about new panties! It’s about justice! Someone has stolen her used panties! A crime! A threat to my manhood! I must duel this thief to the death! With a stick! Like they did on the horses back in the day.”

Seungmin, leaning against the wall, rolls his eyes. “That’s jousting, you idiot. And it wasn’t a death match.”

“It might as well have been!” Jisung shoots back, throwing his hands in the air. “The point is, I have to defend my jagiya’s honour!”

Hyunjin lazily flips his hair out of his eyes. “Can we all just take a moment to remember that Minho is the only person in this room, besides Jisung, to have ever touched her panties?”

The room falls silent as everyone turns to Minho again. He groans loudly, swatting at Hyunjin. “It is not me, you unfairly beautiful bastard!”

Hyunjin smirks, dodging the swat with ease. “Defensiveness sounds like guilt to me.”

“Fuck off,” Minho grumbles, shaking his head. “I don’t even want your damn panties. I just wanted to win a dare. This is all Jisung’s fault anyway for making me do it.”

Jisung glares at Minho but says nothing, instead wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t worry, jagiya,” he murmurs softly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “We’re going to solve this if it’s the last thing I do. No one gets away with disrespecting you like this.”

The guys groan, already bracing themselves for whatever chaos Jisung’s plan might bring. But as ridiculous as the situation is, there’s an unspoken agreement among them: this mystery will be solved.

The Times Square shopping centre in Seoul is buzzing with life, a vibrant mix of chatter, footsteps, and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the spacious halls. You’re walking hand in hand with Jisung, his grip firm and warm. 

Your black turtleneck is tucked neatly into your black shorts, sheer tights peeking out from underneath, and the thigh-high boots you’re wearing click softly against the polished floor. The golden chain belt around your waist glimmers faintly under the overhead lights. Jisung, next to you, looks effortlessly striking in black cargos and boots, his blue and black compression top hugging his broad chest and muscular arms in a way that makes him stand out in the crowd. His messy blue hair adds a carefree charm to his sharp appearance.

The two of you turn into the Victoria’s Secret store, the soft pink glow of its signage welcoming you inside. The scent of vanilla and floral perfumes greets you, mingling with the faint rustle of fabric as customers browse the racks.

“Spend as much as you want, jagiya,” Jisung says immediately, his voice warm and encouraging. “Replace your stolen panties, get some new ones, retail therapy. My treat.” He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because, you know, I get to see you in them.”

You giggle, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you love me,” he replies smoothly, reaching out to pluck a lacy black bralette from a nearby rack. He holds it up, inspecting it with an exaggeratedly critical eye before tossing it into the basket on his arm. “This one’s sexy as fuck. It’s a must.”

The store is lined with rows of lingerie in every imaginable style and colour. You wander slowly, taking in the intricate lace details and delicate embroidery. Jisung stays close, clearly invested in the selection process. He pauses by a display of pastel-coloured sets, picking up a soft lavender bra with matching panties. “This would look amazing on you,” he says, adding it to the growing collection in the basket.

“Most guys would be standing outside right now, you know,” you tease, watching as he browses like he owns the place.

“And miss this?” He gestures around the store dramatically, then points to you. “Miss being in heaven, getting to pick out my girlfriend’s lingerie? Fuck that.”

You laugh, shaking your head as he continues to browse, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirks, picking up a red lace set and holding it up for you to see. “Ridiculously lucky. You should try this one on. Actually-” He tosses it into the basket before you can respond. “No need. I already know it’ll look amazing.”

You snort, glancing at the basket on his arm, which is quickly filling up. “Are you trying to buy out the whole store?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “You deserve the best. Should we grab boba after this? You’ve got that I need sugar look.”

“Yeah, boba sounds good,” you say, smiling. “My treat, though, because you’re about to break your bank in here.”

“Fair trade,” he says, nodding as he picks up a lacy blue set, admiring the delicate straps before tossing it into the basket with a grin. “But let’s make it a large. I’ll need it after carrying this financial burden.”

You laugh, leaning into his side as the two of you make your way toward another section of the store. He pauses by a rack of silk robes, running his fingers over the fabric. “What about this?” he asks, holding up a short, champagne-colored robe.

“For lounging around the house?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Or for seducing your boyfriend,” he replies smoothly, his tone teasing. “Dual purpose.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile on your face as he adds it to the basket. “You’re seriously too much.”

“Too much? Or just enough?” He leans down, his face close to yours, his grin playful.

You shake your head, pushing him lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you love me,” he says again, his confidence unwavering as he grabs another set off a nearby rack. The basket on his arm is practically overflowing now, but he doesn’t seem to care.

When you finally make it to the register, the cashier raises an eyebrow at the sheer volume of items. Jisung doesn’t bat an eye, pulling out his card like a man on a mission. 

As the cashier rings up the items, you glance at the total and let out a soft whistle. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Absolutely,” Jisung says, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Retail therapy works wonders, and seeing you happy? Worth every won.”

You smile, leaning into him as the cashier finishes bagging the items. As the two of you leave the store, Jisung carrying the bags like they’re trophies, he turns to you with a grin. “Boba now?”

“Boba now,” you agree, laughing as he leads you toward the food court.

Jisung swings the bags lightly, his grin ever-present. “Best shopping trip ever.”

Laundry day comes again, and you and Jisung are back in his room, sorting through freshly cleaned clothes. The atmosphere is relaxed as you fold shirts into neat piles and Jisung matches up socks. You’re wearing white lounge pants and a black bralette, your hair messily tied up in a bun with strands framing your face. Your socks are mismatched and fluffy, a detail Jisung keeps teasing you about.

“Do you do this on purpose?” he asks, holding up your feet for inspection. “Like, is it a vibe or-”

“It’s laundry day, Ji,” you reply with a smirk. “All my matching ones are in the basket. Besides, they’re comfy.”

Before he can retort, your hands pause mid-fold. You sift through the pile of freshly laundered clothes, brow furrowing. “Wait a second...”

Jisung notices immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“My new panties... they’re gone.” Then realization dawns, and your eyes widen. “No. No, no, no. My bra is gone too! They’ve evolved! They’re taking my bras!”

Jisung stares at you in horror, his mouth falling open. “The titty support?” he exclaims. “How fucking dare they!”

You laugh despite your frustration, but Jisung’s dramatics continue. He gestures wildly to the room as if addressing the universe. “Do they not understand the sanctity of a bra? The pain of unsupported boobs? Your poor back, jagiya.”

You snort. “My back is fine”

“No, it’s not!” he interrupts, suddenly moving behind you and cupping your boobs with both hands. “Your back is crying out for help. Don’t worry. I’ll hold them up with my own two hands. Problem solved.”

“Jisung!” you squeal, laughing as you try to wriggle out of his grip, but he just adjusts his hold, resting his chin on your shoulder with a smug grin.

“Perfect,” he says as if he’s genuinely proud of himself. “See? No bra needed. I’ll do this all day.”

You roll your eyes, still laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously devoted,” he corrects, giving your boobs a playful bounce for emphasis. But before he can call for a house meeting, there’s a knock at the door, and then it swings open as the rest of the guys shuffle in uninvited.

Seungmin is the first to speak, his voice dripping with exasperation. “Again?”

Jisung spins around, still holding your boobs protectively. “This creep has evolved,” he announces, his tone dark. “He’s stealing matching sets now! Bra and panties!”

Felix’s eyes immediately lock on Jisung’s hands. “Uh, why are you holding her boobs?”

Jisung doesn’t miss a beat. “Because the perv is stealing her bras, Felix! I’m protecting her spine.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Seems legit,” he mutters, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting a laugh.

Changbin crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Minho, didn’t you once say you like blue underwear?”

Minho freezes mid-step, his expression scandalized. “Oh, come on! This has been going on for three weeks. If I were the panty thief, which, let me remind you, I am not, it would’ve been one and done! Why the fuck does this guy need so many pairs?”

Seungmin tilts his head thoughtfully, but his face twists in mild disgust as he continues. “Well, if we’re going with the theory that he’s keeping them, then it probably means they’re all, uh, crusted with old jizz.”

The room erupts.

“What the fuck, Seungmin?!” Jisung shouts, gagging dramatically as he finally lets go of your boobs to clutch his stomach.

Felix covers his mouth with both hands, his eyes wide in horror. “Ew! Ew, ew, ew!”

Hyunjin clutches his chest like he’s about to faint. “Why the fuck would you say that out loud?”

Even Changbin, who rarely shies away from crude humour, looks appalled. “Dude, what the fuck?!”

Chan, who had been leaning silently against the desk, grimaces. “I’m gonna need brain bleach after this conversation.”

You stand there, stunned and horrified, before you let out a loud groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, can we not?”

Jisung, ever your champion, regains his composure first. He places a hand on your shoulder, his expression serious. “Don’t worry, jagiya,” he says solemnly. “We’ll catch this fucker. And when we do, I’m putting his ass through the washing machine on the spin cycle.”

Hyunjin clears his throat, still looking mildly traumatized. “Seungmin, you’re banned from speculating about the thief’s habits. Forever.”

“Seconded,” Minho says quickly, shoving Seungmin lightly as if to physically push the thought away. “And for the last time, it’s not me. I’m offended you guys keep looking at me like I’m the panty goblin.”

“You are still the only one in this room, besides Jisung, to have touched her underwear,” Hyunjin points out, smirking as Minho groans.

“It’s not fucking me, you unfairly beautiful bastard!” Minho snaps, swatting at Hyunjin, who easily dodges with a laugh. "Stop pointing fingers at me just because I dared to be a team player once!”

“Sounds like something a panty thief would say.”

As the room devolves into bickering, Jisung sighs, shaking his head. “This is getting us nowhere,” he mutters. Then, louder, he adds, “But mark my fucking words. We’re catching this asshole. And when we do, they’re done.”

The week has been a tense one, with every passing day filled with speculation, jokes, and frustration. But tonight, Jisung is determined to end it. He sets his trap with meticulous care, placing mousetraps inside the laundry basket in the laundry room. The basket is filled with unwashed clothes, including a decoy pair of your panties, a plain, older pair he sacrificially snuck into the mix. It’s all bait, and the trap is set.

You’re lounging on the couch in the living room with the rest of the Alpha Phi crew, dressed in sage green lounge pants and a matching bralette. Your hair is messily tied up in a bun, and your mismatched fluffy socks peek out as you curl your legs beneath you. The group is scattered across the room, chatting idly, the usual chaos subdued by the lazy hum of the evening.

Jisung sits beside you, bouncing his leg nervously, his attention divided between your conversation and his ears straining for any sound from the laundry room. The tension is palpable.

Then it happens, a sharp snap echoes through the house, followed by a loud, panicked yelp.

Jisung jumps to his feet, his eyes wide with excitement. “The panty thief!” he shouts, already darting toward the hallway. The rest of you scramble after him, the energy in the room going from zero to chaotic in seconds.

The group floods into the laundry room, and there, standing frozen with a mousetrap clamped firmly onto his hand, is Pledge Five. His face is a mixture of pain, panic, and guilt, his free hand flailing helplessly as he tries to pry the trap loose.

“Pleb Five!” Minho exclaims, his voice dripping with disdain. He crosses his arms, glaring at the red-faced freshman. “No. You’re not Pleb Five anymore. From now on, you’re Pleb Perv.”

Jisung steps forward, his expression livid as he points an accusatory finger at the pledge. “You! What did you do to my girlfriend’s panties?!”

“Please don’t answer that,” you mutter, your voice weary as you press a hand to your forehead.

The pledge stammers, his mouth opening and closing uselessly, but Minho’s not about to let him off the hook. “Look at his fucking face!” Minho says, pointing for emphasis. “He jerked it with her underwear. I fucking knew it.”

The pledge’s face flushes a deep, incriminating red, and the room collectively groans.

“I’ve been fighting accusations for weeks, you dirty little bastard!” Minho yells, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Weeks! And it was you the whole fucking time!”

Jisung’s fury flares even brighter. “Get in the washing machine!” he demands, pointing to the industrial-sized appliance in the corner.

The pledge blinks, his panic momentarily replaced by confusion. “What?”

Chan steps forward, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Jisung, we can’t put him in the washing machine.”

“Why not?” Jisung snaps. “He put his dirty, nasty, little dick on my girlfriend’s fucking panties! He deserves it!”

Hyunjin, who’s been watching the scene unfold with wide-eyed amusement, chimes in. “Let’s just get this straight.” He looks at the pledge, tilting his head. “Did you jerk it with Y/N’s panties?”

The pledge hesitates, his gaze darting around the room before he finally nods, his head dropping in shame.

“Fucking hell,” Felix mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is so fucked.”

Minho throws his hands up again, clearly exasperated. “I told you all it wasn’t me, but nooooo, everyone blamed Minho! And it was this little shit the whole time!”

Felix steps forward, his expression serious now. “Where is her underwear?”

The pledge gulps audibly, avoiding eye contact as he mumbles, “Under my mattress.”

Another collective groan ripples through the group, louder this time. Hyunjin gags dramatically, covering his mouth with his hand.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Changbin says, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Burn the whole house down,” Seungmin mutters, shaking his head.

Chan steps forward, his authoritative presence silencing the chaos momentarily. “Alright, listen. Get the fuck out. Pack your shit. We’ll ship it to your new address. You’re done here.”

The pledge’s mouth opens like he’s about to argue, but one look from Chan shuts him up. He nods weakly, wincing as he tries to remove the mousetrap from his hand.

Minho claps his hands together, his tone suddenly chipper. “Great! I’ll grab supplies for recovery and disposal.” Without another word, he disappears down the hallway, leaving everyone else staring at the humiliated pledge.

Jisung takes a deep breath, his hand sliding into yours as he looks at you with a mix of anger and protectiveness. “Don’t worry, jagiya,” he says softly. “This shit’s over. No one disrespects you like that and gets away with it.”

You nod, squeezing his hand. “Let’s just hope Minho doesn’t come back with a flamethrower.”

Hyunjin laughs softly, shaking his head. “Would anyone even blame him if he did?”

The group trudges upstairs, a tense, horrified energy hanging over everyone as they make their way to the pledge’s room. Minho leads the charge, armed with a trash bag, rubber gloves, and a pair of tongs that look like they were stolen from the kitchen. You stay close to Jisung, who’s muttering under his breath about unwashed pledges and crimes against humanity.

Chan is the first to reach the bed, and he grabs the edge of the mattress with a sigh. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

As he lifts the mattress, everyone leans in—and collective groans of disgust ripple through the group. Beneath the mattress is a stash of your missing panties and bras, folded haphazardly but undeniably there. 

Jisung recoils instantly, gagging. “Oh my fucking god. Ew! There’s- That’s- That’s on my girlfriend’s panties!”

“Jizz,” Minho declares flatly, leaning in with his tongs like a forensic investigator at a crime scene. “It’s old, crusty jizz. This is a biohazard.”

The whole room groans again, and Jisung looks like he’s going to throw up. Minho, completely unfazed, crouches down and starts picking up the offending items one by one with the tongs. “Alright,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, “trash bag open. Gloves on. Let’s get this shit cleaned up.”

Jisung points accusingly at him, his disgust temporarily overridden by a smirk. “I dare you to put these ones on your head.”

Minho snorts, holding up a particularly stiff-looking pair of panties with the tongs. “And get pink eye from old jizz? Fuck no.”

Felix, who’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, grins. “But you put Y/N’s clean panties on your head, though.”

Minho shrugs, unfazed. “Get me drunk enough, and I’d wear fucking panties. Hell, I’d rock them.”

“Good to know,” Seungmin mutters, looking like he’s trying not to vomit.

Minho waves the stiff panties around like a flag. “Look at this shit! They’re fucking stiff. This isn’t fabric anymore, it’s a weapon.”

You’re the first to crack, a loud laugh bursting out of you as you lean against Jisung for support. “Oh my god, Minho, stop!”

“I’m serious!” Minho says, grinning as he waves the panties again. “Feel this. It’s like cardboard. How many times did this dude nut in your panties?!”

The room descends into chaos. Felix doubles over, laughter muffled against his hoodie sleeve. Hyunjin is next, his laughter loud and unrestrained as he clutches the doorframe for support. Changbin starts laughing so hard he has to sit on the floor, while Seungmin and Jeongin exchange horrified glances before breaking into fits of giggles.

Jisung, however, remains rooted to the spot, his expression one of pure horror. “This isn’t funny,” he says, but his voice wavers as if he’s fighting the urge to laugh. Beside him, Chan pinches the bridge of his nose, his face twitching as he tries to keep a straight face.

Minho, meanwhile, is fully committed to his role as narrator. He picks up another pair of panties, holding it delicately with the tongs as he examines it. “Here we have Exhibit B,” he says in a faux-serious tone. “Notice the uneven crust patterns. This suggests a man who lacks precision, perhaps caught up in the throes of self fulfillment”

“Minho, stop!” you cry, tears streaming down your face as you laugh uncontrollably.

“Can’t stop,” Minho replies, deadpan. “Won’t stop. The people deserve to know the truth.”

He moves on to the matching blue bra, lifting it carefully. His face twists in exaggerated disgust. “And here we have the pièce de résistance,” he says, gesturing to the inside of the cups. “The bra. Notice the texture.”

“Don’t,” Jisung warns, his voice low and dangerous.

Minho doesn’t listen. “It looks like spoiled breast milk in the cups,” he says, shaking the bra for emphasis. “That’s how much he spaffed in this thing. His jizz looks like spoiled fucking breast milk.”

The room explodes again. Felix collapses onto the floor, wheezing as Hyunjin clings to him for support. Seungmin and Jeongin are doubled over, tears streaming down their faces, while Changbin has to lie back against the wall to catch his breath.

You’re gasping for air, clutching Jisung’s arm as you laugh so hard your stomach aches. “Minho, you’re going to kill us!”

“Hey, I’m just reporting the facts,” Minho replies, tossing the bra into the trash bag with a flourish. “And the facts are fucking disgusting.”

Jisung, still horrified, shakes his head. “I’m going to burn this room to the ground.”

“Let me grab the bleach first,” Minho says cheerfully, sealing the trash bag. “We’re going to need it.”

As the laughter dies down, Chan steps forward, his face now calm but stern. “Alright, let’s finish this and make sure this perv is out of the house by tonight.”

Everyone nods, though the occasional giggle still bubbles up as Minho lugs the bag toward the door, narrating under his breath about “the tragic tale of crusty lingerie.” You can’t help but laugh again, even as Jisung pulls you close, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and exhaustion.

“This fucking house,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The entire group makes their way outside to the frat house’s backyard, where the fire pit stands as the centrepiece of many questionable decisions. The cool night air carries the faint scent of grass, and the fire pit glows dimly as Seungmin crouches to light it. The flames lick to life, crackling and snapping as everyone gathers around.

Minho, with the trash bag of “evidence” slung over his shoulder like some deranged Santa Claus, steps forward dramatically. “Alright,” he announces, “time to cleanse this house of its filth.”

“Cleanse the house?” Hyunjin echoes, smirking. “You’re literally about to burn jizz-crusted underwear. That’s not cleansing. That’s fumigating.”

Minho ignores him, holding the bag out over the flames. “Farewell to these cursed artefacts,” he intones. “May their spirit haunt no one.”

With that, he dumps the entire bag into the fire. The flames roar higher for a moment as the bag’s contents catch, and a faintly acrid smell fills the air. Everyone groans and steps back, waving their hands.

“Fuck,” Changbin mutters, covering his nose. “That smells worse than Jisung’s gym socks.”

“Hey!” Jisung snaps, glaring at him. “Unnecessary.”

As the flames die back down, you cross your arms, staring at the fire with a frown. “You know,” you say, your tone dry, “that’s like 750,000 won worth of underwear.”

Minho, still holding the tongs like some bizarre ceremonial tool, whirls around to face you. “Why the fuck is your underwear so expensive?!”

“Because I’m classy,” you reply, lifting your chin with mock indignation.

“Fuck yeah, she is,” Jisung cuts in proudly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Classiest jagiya on the planet.”

Felix snickers, nudging Jeongin. “She’s got champagne taste in panties, clearly.”

“Alright, alright,” Minho interrupts, raising a hand like a preacher about to deliver a sermon. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right. Everyone, gather ‘round. It’s time for... a prayer.”

“A prayer?” Seungmin deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Minho says seriously. “We must honour the departed and also beg the universe to never let this shit happen again.”

Everyone exchanges amused glances, but they shuffle closer to the fire, forming a loose circle.

Minho clears his throat, holding the tongs reverently over the flames like a sceptre. “Dear holy powers of expensive-ass lingerie,” he begins, his voice deep and dramatic, “we gather here tonight to mourn the loss of Y/N’s panties and bras, taken too soon, sullied by the hands and jizz of a perv.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, hiding your face in Jisung’s shoulder as the group dissolves into muffled laughter.

Minho soldiers on. “We ask for forgiveness for burning these sacred garments, but we do so in the name of cleansing. May their spirit ascend to the great lingerie drawer in the sky, where no man shall ever nut on them again.”

Felix loses it first, doubling over with laughter. Hyunjin follows, leaning against Changbin for support as tears stream down his face.

“And,” Minho continues, ignoring the chaos, “we pray for Y/N’s future panties. May they be free of creeps and crust, and may they rest safely in their rightful place, her drawer. Amen.”

“Amen!” Jeongin shouts through his laughter, throwing his hands in the air like he’s at a revival.

Jisung shakes his head, muttering, “This fucking house,” but he’s grinning as he holds you close. You’re laughing so hard you’re shaking, and Jisung kisses the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

Minho bows deeply, tossing the tongs and gloves into the fire. “Lady and gentlemen,” he says, straightening up, “the perv has been purged.”

“About fucking time,” Chan mutters, shaking his head as the flames crackle behind him.

“Now,” Minho says, clapping his hands, “who wants s’mores? The fire’s already going.”

The living room buzzes with its usual chaos. Felix is sprawled across the couch, scrolling through his phone and occasionally showing you something funny while Hyunjin lounges on the floor, doodling absentmindedly in his sketchbook. Jeongin is perched on the armrest of the couch, flipping through a fashion magazine, tossing in sarcastic comments every few pages. Meanwhile, Minho and Changbin are in the corner, tossing Zak’s ball back and forth as your dog bounds between them, tail wagging so hard it looks like it might fly off.

You’re curled up on the other end of the couch, dressed in a black leather miniskirt and a white blouse, layered with a black leather corset cinching your waist. Your black fluffy socks provide the only hint of comfort in the otherwise polished outfit, and Felix keeps glancing at them with a mix of amusement and approval.

“I like the socks,” Felix says, finally breaking the silence. “It’s like badass on top, cosy on the bottom. Duality.”

You snort, nudging his leg with your foot. “Fashion’s about balance, Lix. You wouldn’t get it.”

He gasps mockingly. “Excuse me? I’m the most fashionable person in this room.”

Hyunjin looks up from his sketchbook, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t you wear socks with sandals last week?”

“That was ironic,” Felix defends immediately, sitting up straighter. “I was making a statement.”

Jeongin smirks, flipping a page in his magazine. “The statement was you have no taste.”

Before Felix can argue, the door swings open, and Jisung enters, his arms full as he carries a huge cardboard box. His face is determined, his blue hair slightly messy from the wind outside. “Make way,” he announces dramatically, setting the box down in the centre of the room with a loud thud.

Everyone pauses, watching as he carefully opens the flaps and pulls out a laundry basket. But this isn’t just any laundry basket. It’s metal, reinforced, and clearly equipped with a padlock.

“What the fuck is that?” Minho asks, holding Zak’s ball mid-throw.

“This,” Jisung says, holding up the basket proudly, “is the future of laundry security. I do not care if the panty thief has been ousted; I will protect my girlfriend’s panties forever now. Look!” He lifts a small key on a chain around his neck. “Only I have the key, which I will wear at all times. Just in case Minho decides to play panty hats again.”

Minho, without missing a beat, chucks Zak’s ball directly at Jisung’s head. It bounces off harmlessly as Jisung glares at him. “Hey!”

“It was one time!” Minho exclaims, exasperated. “And you dared me to do it!”

Jisung points an accusing finger at him. “You may not have been the panty thief, but you were way too comfortable putting her panties on your head!”

“They were clean panties!” Minho shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “I did not touch her used panties. That was Pledge Perv!”

“I know,” Jisung says, crossing his arms. “But this is preventative. I study criminal psych. It starts with small fires, then bam! Arson. In your case, clean panties on your head for a dare, and then bam, you’re sniffing my girlfriend’s used panties.”

Everyone groans at the sheer absurdity of his logic, except Minho, who looks utterly betrayed. “Y/N,” Minho says, turning to you with wide eyes, “I swear I will never sniff your used panties.”

You blink at him, then burst into laughter. “Thank you for that confirmation, Minho. That was actually oddly comforting.”

Felix wheezes from the couch, holding his stomach. “This fucking house,” he mutters, wiping at his eyes.

Jisung steps forward, holding up the laundry basket like a prize. “And it gets better. This thing is multipurpose! Someone starts being annoying, and we can lock them in it. Like the chokey from Matilda!”

“Jesus Christ,” Hyunjin mutters, shaking his head as he goes back to his sketchbook.

Jeongin leans forward, inspecting the basket with a smirk. “I mean... it’s not a bad idea. Can we test it on Minho?”

“Fuck you,” Minho shoots back, glaring at him. “I’ve suffered enough in this house.”

“You brought that on yourself,” Changbin points out, tossing Zak’s ball back at Minho with a grin.

Jisung grins, placing the basket down with a flourish. “Mark my words, jagiya. Your panties are safe now. No one’s getting through this bad boy.”

Minho’s eyes narrow as he steps closer to the newly unveiled laundry basket. “We can lock annoying people in there, you say?”

Jisung, completely oblivious to the brewing chaos, nods proudly. “Exactly. Multifunctional, genius, and- Hey, what are you doing?”

Minho doesn’t answer. Instead, he exchanges a quick glance with you, and before Jisung can process what’s happening, Minho lunges at him, tackling him to the couch. You’re quick to follow, snatching the key from around Jisung’s neck as he flails dramatically.

“Traitor!” Jisung yells, looking up at you with mock betrayal. “Jagiya, how could you-”

“Oh, shut up,” you say, laughing as Minho pins him down. “You’re the one who said it was multifunctional.”

Jeongin and Changbin jump into action, grabbing Jisung’s arms and legs as Minho lifts him off the couch. Jisung is shouting the whole time, a mix of curses and sputtered protests. “Put me down, you bastards! This is abuse! Y/N!”

You ignore him, grinning as you open the laundry basket. “In you go, Ji.”

The guys shove him inside with surprising efficiency, slamming the lid down before he can escape. Jisung’s voice muffles immediately as he thrashes inside the basket. “This is not how this thing was supposed to be used!”

You sit on the lid, crossing your arms smugly as you press your weight down. Jisung stills almost instantly. “Jagiya, I swear, you’re making a huge mistake.”

“Am I?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, your voice dripping with amusement. “Because it feels like I’m making the perfect choice.”

Minho leans over, snapping the padlock into place with a flourish. “Alright,” he says, brushing off his hands. “That’s done. I’m starving. Let’s go grab some lunch.”

“Wait, what?” Jisung shouts from inside the basket, his tone shifting from incredulous to panicked. “No! You can’t just leave me in here! Jagiya, don’t let them do this!”

You hop off the basket, slipping into your shoes as Jisung’s muffled protests grow louder. “Sorry, Ji,” you say with a grin, grabbing your bag. “You’re in timeout now.”

“Timeout? This is false imprisonment!” he yells. “Felix, back me up here! Someone, please!”

Felix, ever the chaos enabler, grabs his jacket and waves cheerfully toward the basket. “Bye, Jisung! Don’t worry, we’ll bring you back a doggy bag.”

“Felix!” Jisung screeches, but Felix just snickers, nudging Hyunjin as they head toward the door.

Jeongin grabs the key, holding it up like a trophy. “Think we should keep this as a souvenir?” he asks with a mischievous grin.

Minho snatches it from him. “Nah, let’s leave it here. Adds to the suspense.” He drops it back on the coffee table with a clink, turning to you. “Ready, Y/N?”

“Let’s go,” you reply, slinging your bag over your shoulder as Jisung’s voice continues to echo from the basket.

“Don’t leave me here!” he shouts, his tone shifting to his most pitiful. “Jagiya, please! I’ll do all the laundry for a week! No, a month! Just let me out!”

Hyunjin chuckles, holding the door open as the group files out. “You’ll be fine, Ji. Enjoy your new home.”

“I hate all of you!” Jisung yells as the door clicks shut behind you.

The last thing you hear before you’re out of earshot is Jisung’s dramatic, muffled voice: “This is fucking betrayal! You’ll regret this! JAGIYA!” You laugh, shaking your head as you follow your friends toward lunch, already planning how to tease him about this later.

The house is quiet, the kind of peaceful lull that settles in when everyone’s off doing their own thing. Chan stumbles downstairs after an afternoon nap, his hair sticking up in every direction and his hoodie slightly askew. He rubs the sleep from his eyes as he pads toward the kitchen, yawning loudly.

But before he can make it there, faint singing drifts from the living room. It’s woeful and slightly off-key, the kind of exaggerated misery that can only mean one thing. Jisung.

“All by myseeeelf,” Jisung wails, his voice cracking as he drags out the note. “Don’t wanna be... all by myseeeelf anymoreee!”

Chan stops mid-step, his curiosity piqued. He follows the sound and steps into the living room, only to freeze at the sight in front of him.

There’s Jisung, sitting curled up inside the locked laundry basket in the middle of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest as he continues his impassioned rendition of the ballad. Zak runs around the room, occasionally bumping into the basket with his nose, clearly entertained by Jisung’s predicament.

Chan blinks once, then twice, before bursting into laughter. “What the fuck?”

Jisung stops singing immediately, his head snapping up to see Chan standing in the doorway. “Oh, great. You’re awake,” he says, slumping back against the basket’s walls. “The key’s on the table.”

Chan snorts, shaking his head as he steps toward the coffee table to grab the key. “What the fuck happened, man?”

Jisung’s voice is full of betrayal as he explains, “I bought this thing to protect Y/N’s panties, right? And then those bastards, all of them, locked me in it and then, get this, they all went out for food. And! And! Y/N fucking helped them, Chan. My own fucking girlfriend helped them!”

Chan is already laughing so hard he has to lean on the table for support, but Jisung isn’t done. “Seungmin came downstairs half an hour ago, stood right there, laughed in my face, and then he went back to bed! He left me in here! Like this!”

Chan’s laughter crescendos into a full-on howl as he struggles to unlock the padlock. His hands are shaking so much from laughing that it takes him two tries to fit the key in. “Holy shit, Ji,” he wheezes, doubling over. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I might actually piss my pants.”

Jisung pouts, crossing his arms over his chest as Zak paws at the side of the basket, barking softly. “This isn’t funny, Chan! This is fucking trauma! I’ve been sitting here singing sad songs to myself for the last hour! I require intense therapy now!"

“Clearly,” Chan chokes out between laughs, finally managing to unlock the padlock and lift the lid. “Man, this is golden. You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Jisung clambers out of the basket with as much dignity as he can muster, which isn’t much. He straightens his clothes, glaring at Chan, who’s still doubled over and gasping for air.

“You’re the worst,” Jisung mutters, brushing himself off. “And you’re all dead when they get back. Dead. Especially Y/N. My own girlfriend betrayed me.”

Chan shakes his head, still giggling as he collapses onto the couch. “Ji, I’m gonna be laughing about this for weeks.” He wipes at his eyes, his voice still shaking with mirth. “All by myself. Fucking hell, man. I can’t.”

Zak barks again, wagging his tail as he jumps up on Jisung, who sighs and scratches behind the dog’s ears. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” Jisung says to Zak, his voice resigned.

Chan lets out another burst of laughter, leaning back on the couch. “Jisung, I’m begging you, never change.”

Jisung glares at him but can’t hold back the small smirk that tugs at his lips. “I hate this house,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat behind his words.

The front door swings open, and you, Minho, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Hyunjin pile back into the Alpha Phi house, laughing and chatting after a long lunch. The smell of fried food still lingers on your clothes, and you kick off your boots near the door, wiggling your toes in your mismatched socks. Minho grumbles as his sneakers get caught on the laces, nearly tripping himself, while Jeongin tosses his shoes haphazardly into the corner.

“Dude, how are you this bad at taking off shoes?” Hyunjin teases, neatly placing his own beside the wall.

“Shut the fuck up,” Minho mutters, finally yanking his sneaker off with a grunt. “At least I don’t look like I’m about to model for a sock commercial.”

Changbin stretches dramatically, his voice booming. “That lunch hit the spot. I could sleep for three hours now.”

“You mean your usual nap,” Jeongin quips, dodging a swat from Changbin as the group makes their way toward the living room.

But the moment you all step inside, the laughter dies. Chan is sitting on the couch, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, while Jisung is standing in front of the coffee table, glaring at the doorway like a man possessed.

“Oh fuck,” Minho mutters under his breath.

Jisung’s expression darkens further when he sees the six you. “Well, well, well,” he says, his tone low and dangerous. “Look who decided to show up.”

Before anyone can respond, Jisung takes a single step forward, and the group instantly scatters like cockroaches under a light. “Run!” Felix yells, grabbing your wrist as he bolts toward the stairs.

You barely have time to pull away before Minho lets out a loud, panicked shriek and scrambles toward the kitchen, with Jeongin and Changbin hot on his heels. Hyunjin stumbles over his own feet, laughing hysterically as he runs toward the back door, shouting, “Every man for himself!”

Felix drags you upstairs, both of you taking the steps two at a time until you reach the second floor. You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Jisung to be right behind you, but the stairwell is empty.

“Do you think he’s chasing them?” you whisper, crouching down against the hallway wall to catch your breath.

Felix nods, his own breathing ragged as he leans back against the wall beside you. “Oh, 100 percent. Did you hear Minho scream? He’s got to be Jisung’s main target.”

You stifle a laugh, pressing a hand to your mouth as you hear faint shouting from downstairs. Minho’s voice rings out, high-pitched and panicked. “Don’t touch me, you psycho!”

Felix snorts, shaking his head. “Poor Minho. He’s definitely regretting his life choices right now.”

Another round of shouting echoes from the first floor, and you catch snippets of Changbin’s booming laugh and Jeongin’s frantic “He’s gaining on us!” You exchange a look with Felix, and both of you dissolve into quiet giggles, trying to muffle the sound with your sleeves.

“Think he’ll come up here?” Felix whispers, glancing nervously toward the staircase.

“Doubt it,” you reply, adjusting your position to peek around the corner. “I think he’s too focused on Minho.”

“Smart choice,” Felix says, grinning. “Minho’s the worst at running. He’s fucked.”

As if on cue, another shriek from Minho echoes through the house, followed by Jisung’s triumphant yell. “Got you, asshole!”

Felix leans closer, whispering urgently, “We need to move. If he catches Minho, we’re next. And I’m not about to be victim number two.”

You nod, already rising to your feet. The chaos downstairs seems to have quieted for a moment, which only makes you more anxious. “He’s probably planning something,” you whisper back, glancing nervously toward the staircase.

“Exactly,” Felix says, tugging at your sleeve. “Let’s go before he decides to head up here.”

The two of you dart down the hallway, your footsteps soft against the hardwood floors. Felix glances over his shoulder every few seconds, his paranoia palpable as you reach the other flight of stairs that leads to the opposite side of the house. “Quietly,” he mutters, raising a finger to his lips as he starts down the steps.

But as soon as you reach the bottom, your stomach drops. Standing there, looking far too pleased with himself, is Jisung. His blue hair is slightly dishevelled from the earlier chaos, and his grin is both smug and dangerous.

“Going somewhere, jagiya?” he asks, tilting his head.

You barely have time to yelp before he lunges forward, grabbing you by the waist and effortlessly tossing you over his shoulder. “Jisung!” you squeal, your hands scrambling for purchase as the world tilts upside down.

He holds you securely, one arm wrapped around your legs while his free hand presses down on the back of your skirt. “Relax, I’ve got you,” he says, his tone playful. “Can’t have you flashing everyone, can I?”

From your awkward upside-down position, you can see Felix staring wide-eyed from the top of the stairs. “You’re on your own!” he shouts, bolting in the opposite direction.

“Felix, you asshole!” you yell, laughing despite yourself as Jisung starts walking back toward the living room, his steps steady and confident.

You shift slightly, trying to wiggle free, but his grip tightens. “Don’t even try it, jagiya,” he warns, giving your thigh a light pat. “You’re not going anywhere.”

With a mischievous grin, you reach down and give his ass a firm squeeze. Jisung freezes for a split second before letting out an exaggerated groan. “Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “No ass for you. You’re in trouble, remember?”

“What kind of trouble?” you tease, grinning against his shoulder.

“The kind where you’re in air jail for the rest of the day,” he replies, his voice mock-serious. “I try to protect your panties, and what do I get? Locked in a fucking laundry basket like I’m the bad guy. No, jagiya, you’ve brought this on yourself.”

“Air jail?” you ask, laughing as he gives your thigh another pat.

“Air jail,” he confirms, starting to bounce you lightly on his shoulder. “And I’ve got muscles now, so I can do that shit. Naughty girlfriend air jail, all day long.”

You shriek with laughter as he jerks his shoulder, jostling you like you’re nothing more than a sack of flour. “Jisung, put me down!” you protest, though you’re laughing too hard to sound convincing.

“Nope,” he says, popping the “p” with a grin. “Not until you’ve learned your lesson. You locked me up, jagiya. Me! Your sweet, innocent boyfriend who just wanted to protect your underwear.”

“Innocent, my ass,” you mutter, giggling.

He smirks, adjusting his grip on you as he steps into the living room. “Speaking of your ass, keep your hands to yourself. That’s part of your punishment.”

“You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head against his back.

“And you love me,” he replies confidently, plopping down onto the couch with you still slung over his shoulder. “Welcome to air jail. Population: you.”

Ten minutes pass, and the living room has mostly settled back into its usual chaos. Jisung is perched on the couch, still smugly holding you draped over his shoulder like a prize he refuses to relinquish. You’ve mostly given up struggling, half-laughing and half-groaning as he adjusts his position, jostling you slightly every now and then just to remind you who’s in charge of “air jail.”

Suddenly, Minho shuffles into the room, his trousers bunched around his ankles, one hand tugging at the back of his underwear. His face is red with equal parts rage and humiliation as he glares at Jisung. “You wedgied me so fucking hard, man! I can taste my underwear! My asshole might actually be bleeding!”

Jisung shrugs nonchalantly, which jostles you again. You yelp, slapping his back lightly. “Ji! Careful!”

“Sorry, jagiya,” he says, grinning before turning his attention back to Minho. “You started it, man. You were the first to lunge, which led to me being imprisoned in a laundry basket until the only decent soul in this house let me out.”

“That doesn’t mean you pull my underwear up so high you split my fucking balls!” Minho snaps, waddling over to the armchair. He places a cold bag of peas on the cushion before lowering himself gingerly onto it with a groan. “Jesus Christ. I might never walk the same again.”

Jisung smirks, leaning back on the couch. “That’s what you get.”

Minho points at you, still draped over Jisung’s shoulder. “You might wanna let your girlfriend up before her brain pops from all the blood rushing to her head.”

Jisung sighs dramatically, patting your back. “Alright, alright. You’ve served your time in air jail.”

Finally, he shifts, carefully helping you down from his shoulder. Your hair is slightly mussed, and you give him a playful glare as you straighten your skirt.

“You’re impossible,” you say, but the grin tugging at your lips betrays your words.

“And you love me,” Jisung replies, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you trapped. “But don’t get too comfortable. You’ve gotta earn your freedom.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup,” he says, his grin widening. “You’re helping me plan my revenge on Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, and Jeongin. They all left me to rot, and now it’s their turn.”

You laugh, leaning back against his chest. “Done. What’s the plan?”

From the armchair, Minho groans. “If there’s another trap, I’m sitting this one out. My balls can’t handle it.”

You, Jisung, and Minho exchange a glance before bursting into laughter, the kind of uncontrollable, ridiculous laughter that only comes from living in a house as chaotic as this one. Jisung’s arms tighten around you, and you can’t help but think, despite the madness, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

Proofread by the lovely @eastjonowhere

[xiaobaosnoona]

Noona's 2024 Drama Wrap-up

Yeah, so don't expect me to make sense, I just need to gush my entire soul out about the dramas that kicked butt for me this year. Also gifs.

Atomic bomb of the year: The Untamed (2019)

The show that altered the chemistry of my brain completely and threw me into an obsession so serious I pulled several people down with me (you're welcome and I am sorry). A chinese fantasy drama that centers around a young man who wants to do what's right even if it costs him everything (and it does), and his soulmate who loved him through two lifetimes. Censored bl that feels zero censored because of the brilliancy and hard work of the cast and crew. Clearly a labour of love for everyone involved. Impossible to water down into a blurb, watch it and you'll understand.

Love blorbo of my life: Li Lianhua

No one else made me fall as deeply as Li Lianhua of Mysterious Lotus casebook (2023). This cynical, too clever, highly whumpable lying liar got me in a chokehold and has yet to let go. His love language is to push people away, but thankfully some people are hard to get rid of. Deserves to be lovingly wrapped in a blanket and fed chocolate until his sadness passes (or possibly forever).

The one I never thought I would love: DMBJ/Lost Tomb franchise (2016-2024)

Hi, hello, what the hell happened? This show kinda took over my life and I am seriously confused (standard dmbj experience). One of the queerest shows I've ever laid my eyes on featuring one of china's most famous m/m ships; Pingxie. Filled to bursting with adventure, conspiracies, tomb shenanigans, snakes and the best character dynamics I've ever seen on the small screen. Don't expect everything to make sense, just enjoy the ride. It's a hoot.

I cried my face off because of this: Fangs of Fortune (2024)

This made me suffer from dehydration, flailing arms with feet kicking, and severe gif-making-syndrome. Stunning Chinese fantasy with characters that will unapologetically roundhouse kick you in the heart. Repeatedly. Very queer and doesn't even try not to be. Did I say stunning? The cinematography and costumes are so fucking beautiful that this alone brings tears to your eyes. Just watch it, I can't possibly explain what it's about without starting to cry again.

Has a dear and special place in my heart: Oh no! Here comes trouble (2023)

So well written I want to chug vinegar because I didn't write it myself. Some of the best character dynamics known to man, fantastic stories told with a supernatural twist and (you guessed it) queer vibes that will smack you in the face. Has a wonderfully dumb and grumpy ml that will make you love him unconditionally in a very short amount of time. The drama deals with heavy topics, like grief and abuse, and balances it out delicately with ridiculousness and humour.

Favorite BL: History 3: trapped (2019)

The cutest little twink police falls in love with the mob boss he's been trying to catch for four years. Adorable low-spicy Taiwanese bl that utilizes the often seen het-romance drama tropes in a low key hilarious and endearing way. Enemies to lovers? Uhuh. Grumpy/sunshine? Mhm. Catch the love interest in your arms as they trip and fall? Yup. Everything wrapped in soft romantic lighting as you stare into each other's eyes? Yesss. And do i love it? FUCK YEAH. Actually does have a pretty solid plot as well, which made it a real home run for me.

Underrated gem: 19th Floor (2024)

A less queer version of Spirealm (but watch me try and find every queer crumb in it if it kills me). Got me on the edge of my seat most of the time, had characters I loved dearly with great development, adorable bromance with cheek smooches, and het-romance that didn't make me want to scratch my face off. FL kicks serious ass and is allowed to be unapologetically herself throughout the whole show. Also this show has Bai Shu and that is always a win.

[homestuckreplay]

CLOCKS DESTROYED: 5/1000

(page 1155-1172)

SO. THIS INTERMISSION, HUH. It’s all laid out pretty clearly. The Midnight Crew are trying to rob the Felt’s vault as revenge for the Felt robbing a casino they like (which we’ve already seen on page 833), and any amount of death and clock destruction along the way is just a bonus. It’s a sort of hardboiled noir villain pastiche, nobody here has any morals or is any worse than each other, and narratively the tone is more sarcastic and mean – ‘all aboard the idiot wagon!’ (p.1165) and ‘[i]t is for little children who poop hard in their baby ass diapers’ (p.1167). Time is important, games are important, and the mysterious leader Lord English is important.

It’s a lot of fun reading the point of view of an intentional villain – the narration has that slight over the top ridiculousness that makes it easy to get swept along in these schemes and also want to see these dead green torsos, in contrast to the Midnight Crew’s brief appearances in Acts 1-3, where we saw them externally and they seemed pretty stupid.

I know as well that there’s a lot of references to Problem Sleuth here – the inventory system, the hats full of candy, the item duality, the suggestion to build a fort, etc – which I’ll be reading in full soon so I’ll talk more about that then.

While the plot seems straightforward, there’s a couple hints to the contrary, especially ‘Best to avoid DIE (6) in any direct confrontations unless you want a temporal mess on your hands’ (p.1170). The Felt engage in ‘despicable time shenanigans’, and this is probably why the mansion has a thousand clocks that all need to be smashed – including the one Slick brought in with him. Without timekeeping abilities, it’s harder to mess with time. There’s also the fact that Slick either can’t or won’t kill SNOWMAN, the potential ‘significance’ of the rules card to blackjack (p.1169), and of course the connection between Spades Slick and Jack Noir.

Slick doesn’t recognize humans – the picture beneath the rug is right-wing comedian Jeff Foxworthy, and the laptop is Bing Crosby – while Jack has intimately encountered Dad Egbert, also a human. Jack liked the name Spades Slick but didn’t recognize it as his own – although it’s possible he could have been renouncing an old name, saying he’s no longer that person. And when Slick loads mspaintadventures, he reads actual Homestuck, not just the low poly Homestuck intermission from the Midnight Crew. So some kind of parallel universe might be more likely than progression through time, or even time travel.

Just having the Crosbytop is another link to Dad Egbert, who had the Bing Crosby photograph in his room. That photo plus any laptop would alchemize the Crosbytop. I love the idea that some of the Midnight Crew’s possessions could be things the kids have alchemized that got moved around through time and space – Slick’s hat is a regular hat, but could also be Dad’s hat + some oil collected from an imp. (side note: having a backup hat is such a Dad Egbert thing to do.) (side side note: if Dad kept candy in his hat, would it be Gushers, to combine his two great loves of his son and Betty Crocker?)

Slick doesn’t understand the term ‘captchalogue’, but does have an inventory system – and he has a rules card for blackjack which has a bar code on the reverse, not unlike how captchalogue cards have captcha codes. The card is also a key, so presumably the code can be scanned to unlock something, similar to how captcha codes can be used to create items. He also has a similar bar code on his arm (p.1163) just like the one on WV’s arm (p.677), although WV had no inventory system at all besides picking things up, and he recognized humans (John) immediately.

In the heist plans, Slick’s ‘heavy muscle and expert safecracker, Boxcars, is headed straight down to the vault’ (p.1172). There’s a small image of the vault here, and if I’m not VERY mistaken, we’ve seen ‘Boxcars’ with this vault before – carrying it to contain Dad Egbert (p.957). So this vault may also have traveled in time, or passed back and forth between the two gangs, or appearified, or SOMETHING. The link between these stories really isn’t obvious to me but I’m enjoying the mystery of it.

The intermission is incorporating color into the narrative text, especially green, which is used for ‘THE FELT’ and ‘LORD ENGLISH’ (p.1155), and all the individual Felt names (p.1170-1171) besides the O in SNOWMAN. Other colors are used for the Felt’s numbers, matching the colors of their hats. This isn’t the first instance of color in the narrative text – Jade’s red ‘<3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’ to her grandpa on page 919 jumps to mind – but it’s VERY rare outside of characters’ notes and chatlogs, so stands out here. That shade of bright spring green is also very similar to the green on the Sburb logo and on John’s shirt; the only color seen on page 1. So, green in general, or this specific green, might have some overall significance. It definitely links the Felt to being Sburb NPCs, same as the Midnight Crew – could they be the inhabitants of the planet John’s on, and he’ll get to interact with versions of them in Act 4?

As further evidence for this, Sburb NPCs all seem linked to long-established analog games – WV, PM, and the light and dark kingdoms have been linked to chess (p.423-4, 721, 844; modern ruleset invented ~1500), while the Midnight Crew are linked to playing cards (modern deck invented ~1500s), and the felt to pool (invented ~1400s). This is different to the beta kids – John, Rose and Dave are all linked to in-universe video games such as Sburb, Problem Sleuth, And It Don’t Stop and Grand Snack Fuckyeah as well as John’s full collection on page 31. Jade as usual is a weird outlier who exists somewhere between the two, and is linked to real world board games, which are more modern (at least in their trademarked, commercial forms) – see page 772. Games are definitely a key motif in the story, so I’m keeping track of what games characters are linked to, and which characters don’t play games at all (Dad Egbert??)

[reddevilmcnt]

muse: dmitri [ champion mma fighter ] open to: m only / muses of color to the front! plot: just holiday shenanigans, chilling by the cozy fireplace. maybe some cuddling goes down, maybe more. can be friends to lovers, or exes trying to be 'friends', eheh~.

It was the perfect way to unwind after five punishing rounds, another grueling night spent proving why he was still the undisputed UFC Champion in his weight division. The ache in his muscles was a dull hum, his lean physique a tapestry of black bruises and exhaustion as he let himself collapse into the pool of furs sprawled across the cabin floor. The furs embraced him like a lover, warm and soft against his sore skin, inviting him to sink deeper, to surrender to the primal comfort they offered.

Across from him, his friend lay stretched out in similar manner, their presence a quiet balm in the heavy solitude of his cabin. Dmitri didn’t mind sharing his space with those who mattered most. Sometimes, it was nice to have another heartbeat in the room, someone to anchor him while the adrenaline slowly drained from his veins.

The air smelled faintly of hot chocolate, rich and indulgent, mingling with the smoky crackle of the fireplace. Flickering flames cast golden shadows that danced across the warm, dimly-lit room. For a moment, Dmitri merely lingered there, soaking it all in... the heat, the sound, the simple fact that he didn’t have to move.

But the stillness brought an ache of another kind, a craving that stirred deep and unwelcome. Maybe it was the painkillers loosening the sharp edges of his mind, or maybe it was the weariness of holding himself together for so long, but his body yearned for something softer than victory, something gentler than the roar of the crowd. He caught himself wanting to reach out, to brush his fingers against a shoulder, a hand----- anything to feel the kind of touch that didn’t demand or bruise.

Instead, he swallowed the urge and cracked an eye open, glancing lazily at his companion. His voice, low and rough from exhaustion, cut through the comfortable silence.

“Hey… you never told me what you wanted for Christmas.”

The words were casual, teasing, but his gaze lingered a fraction too long, tracing the lines of their relaxed posture. He already had a gift in mind, of course (he’d thought about it more than he should have) but the question wasn’t entirely innocent. He wanted to draw them out, to learn if they had been thinking of him, too. The thought settled in his chest, restless and dangerous, as he waited for their answer.

"If you say a fucking boyfriend, I'm done with you."

[thebrawlerina]

Hello! Hope youre having a nice dayy, may I request some Draco hcs from you?

:3

MASTER OF THE STARR PARK, RULER OF THE WORLD! SAY DRACO!

Draco HC's

Draco's start at the park was actually as a member of staff in the Ruined Castle Courtyard (Ash and Grom's arena). He was one of the staff members meant to give the various arena's and park attractions more life by playing as characters/people who lived there, and Draco's role was to play a pretend knight.

He often brought his guitar along with him to work so he can play on his breaks. One day, he played a bit too loud in a not so private area, and whoops now hes got an audience. Being himself, he just continued to play and began to adlib a song about the Ruined Castle Courtyard by taking his usual talking lines and making it a song.

The park goers absolutely loved that and upper management heard about this knight-bard. They saw a lot of potential in making him a brawler since he already amassed a bit of a fan base and promoted him to being a Brawler.

He was originally supposed to stay in the Ruined Castle Courtyard and be considered part of Ash and Grom's trio, until someone had the brilliant idea to incorporate his heavy mental affinity into another location of the park.

Because of this, the park now has new lore for these places. The Mad-Evil Manor, was the reason that the Ruined Castle Courtyard looks the way it does, thus creating a new story for fans to get invested into.

Draco is extremely extroverted. He always tries to find a way and a reason to hang out with people, even they don't have any big plans to do anything.

That being said, his favorite things to do with people is anything involving music or storytelling. He loves having little jam sessions or kareoke with people, and hes actually fond of slam poetry and of silly little writing exercises. DND will always top his favorites however.

Draco has been playing Dungeons and Dragons ever since he was a little kid. He loves playing through campaigns, but finds the most amount of joy in being the dungeon master and making other people go through plot shenanigans.

He tends to be a pretty merciful DM, unless you challenge or annoy him too much, in which case he will make your character suffer while keeping everyone else somewhat safe from the retribution.

He has plenty of characters but his favorite one is a blatant self-insert thats a Bard and Barbarian multiclass. A Bardbarian if you will.

Draco is a dice fiend and he has a LOT of fun and pretty dice. Since becoming a Brawler, hes been trying to see which ones in his collection matches his Brawler friends the most. IF he doesnt have one, he'd probably buy some more.

Yes he is trying to get an official Draco dice set to be sold in the shop. Hes having some problems convincing the managers that it would be a good merch item and in trying to pick the perfect color scheme to represent himself, but by god hes gonna do it.

Draco made his original Mad-Evil costume himself. But the higher ups want him to wear something that wouldn't fall off and break in battle so they made him some fancy proper clothes based on his design. He is very stoked about that.

Draco is very proud of his long hair and its very clean despite its messy appearance. He doesn't really know how to style it though, so thats why its all flowy and loose. The most amount of styling he does for it would probably just be tying it in a low ponytail so he can get it out of his face.

Draco has several notebooks filled with cool quotes, story ideas, and little scenes which hes collected over the years and plans to use in a new story.

He plans on writing a book. But like all writers he struggles to get his ideas on a page. Hes just way better at telling a story than writing it.

Draco is pretty friendly with Poco and they like to jam sometimes and learn about each others techniques. Draco is also willing too help pick up some of the slack on the many many performances Poco has to do, which he is grateful for.

Draco was a bit upset at first that he wouldn't be in the same group as Ash or Grom, but thinks that this new deal is way better. None of them have any beef with each other so its all good.

[rhinocio]

ROTTMNT Fanfic Recommendations

Light

You Coveted This Prison by CaveDwellers (April / Donatello - Comedy / Character Study - WIP) THE April O'Neil character study. One part excruciating (for reader and supporting cast) slow burn romance, one part introspection on being true to oneself. Rated M but only for one chapter, which can be skipped. Riddled with laugh-out-loud comedy shenanigans and heartachingly tender intimacy. Hot takes all over the place because the author wrote this with very little fandom involvement, and intentionaly chose to be contrarian in as many ways as possible. April takes down her arch-rival! Raph locks her in a freezer! Casey Junior's keeping secrets! Donatello's wall of horrible fake sciencey souveniers keeps growing and it may or may not be a sign of affection -- he's going to crunch the numbers on that. An absolute blast of a fic, cannot recommend enough.

★

Tried To Grow Up Good by Sroloc_Elbisivni (No romantic focus - Character Study - Complete)

THE Casey Jones post-movie character study. Love is stored in the found family. Casey is an accidental felon. He and Cassandra are siblings now. Anatawa hitorijaNAI let's get the entire two timeline fam in here for a reunion so I can sob myself silly. Perfection. This author's constantly pumping out new fics, and often updating multiple at a time; I've read through and greatly enjoyed Tomato Maze (there is so much serotonin in the knowledge that these idiot turtle boys will do anything for watermelon), Sorrow Is An Autumn Heart (Leo/Usagi but make it a slowburn thriller-drama set in historical Japan), and The Passionate Pools of Salamandria (a post-movie Raph/Mona bodice-ripper with an amnesiac protagonist and a B-plot where the rest of the family fight space to find their missing brother). Honestly this author has the WILDEST takes and everything they write is fascinating.

★

Give Me Something That’ll Haunt Me When You’re Not Around by Taizi (Leonardo / Yuichi - Drama / Romance - Complete)

If you've decided you're finally gonna take a dive into the leosagi crossover ship and see what all the fuss is about, do it with this fic. The author has a strong grasp on how to make a character study about characters first and relationships second, and in doing so has crafted one of THE most tender romance stories I've ever read. Starts as a character study on Yuichi Usagi and the yokai perspective on the Kraang invasion, branches into an exploration of PTSD and what it means to recover, and ends with a friends-to-lovers quickburn that says, "because of you I'm learning to love myself." Leo gets a therapy dinosaur. Yuichi gets out of his head. The character nuance and showing-not-telling is godtier. Healing starts with telling the alien invaders to go fuck themselves. Do not pass this fic up, I promise you it's worth the read. It legitimately made me cry.

★

The Old College Try by Theashemarie (No romantic focus - Action / Drama - WIP)

Donatello cloaks himself human to go to college, and drags his twin brother along. This fic masquerades as a fun, comedy-heavy action adventure story, but under the surface is a really fascinating introspection on what it means to hide your true self in order to fit in. The queer subtext is off the charts! Leo babysits Baxter Stockboy. Mikey gets eaten by a bird. One of the grad certificates is definitely going to be made out to to the wrong Hamato entirely. This fic features an autistic writer writing an autistic character, and their personal experience shines through in the excellent way Donnie's awkwardness and affection are balanced. This author knows nuance; I also highly recommend The Hibernator (apocalyptic timeline and Raph's dead........ wink) and Very Thoughtful (a Donnie-centric low empathy study).

★

Aftermath by Bronte (No romantic focus - Drama - Complete)

The boys deal with the aftermath of the movie events in whatever ways they can. Donnie gets into pina coladas. Leo harasses his brother. Look at these disaster twins bonding! There's a flippancy to all the angst that keeps these lighthearted and love-focused without skipping the rough details. I'm literally never going to recover from the belly bongos scene and will probably end up making art about it. Fantastic read, made me viscerally emotional.

★

At The Bottom Of A Duck-Shaped Crater by CaveDwellers (April / Donatello - Drama / Comedy - Complete) One part worldbuilding for the apocalyptic timeline and one part heartfelt comedy from the perspective of Miyamoto Usagi. Leonardo adopts a babysitter. Casey Junior saves the war effort from collapsing under a dick-measuring competition. April may or may not be about to kill a man. CaveDwellers is among my favourite writers for several reasons, but this fic really highlights her strength in blending several different kinds of relationships in one story and building a plot that delivers achey-breaky sentiments without having to structure everything around romance. (We're also developing projects together; keep an eye out for the "next in series" button at the bottom of the AO3 page for soft apocalyptic stories of a similar nature!)

★

Superfight by Swordfright (No romantic focus - Drama / Comedy - Complete)

An easy-reading one shot! Leo comes to terms with being a teenager, Donnie calls his disability out for what it is, and everybody plays Superfight the card game. The author writes in a very Douglas Adams-y style, resulting in a wheezing-on-the-floor-funny reading experience. If you're burnt out on fandom angst and need a pick-me-up, this is 900% the fic for you. It got me cry-laughing with just the quick refresher glance I gave it to put this recommendation together.

★

Now That's What I Call A Vacation! by WayWardWatson (No romantic focus (?) - Adventure / Crossover - WIP)

This fic's a multi-feature! It's one part infodump about Japan's culture and tourist hotspots, one part study on what it means to cloak your identity to fit into the world, and one part surprise crossover with Usagi Yojimbo. I am OBSESSED with this author's takes on Splinter as a character; several chapters are dedicated to exploring his fixation on being "human again" and trying to juggle the life he once had as a star with the life he now has as a parent of mutants. Primarily this is a feel good adventure story about the Hamato brothers getting in touch with their heritage, but it comes in swinging with several different action/adventure plot points and drama beats to keep a reader invested. Legitimately have no idea where the author's taking things, which makes me all the more excited for the ride!

★

One Step Forward, Fall Forever Back by GriffinStone (No romantic focus - Action / Mystery - Complete)

This fic is one of those slight universe alteration stories that takes a one-off thought and runs with it: what if Casey Junior died on his way through the time rift, spawned into the past as a ghost, and Leo was the only person who could see him? Promise the execution is way less daunting than it sounds -- events move along at a breezy pace and characters never spend very long lamenting the whole dead boy situation. The final battle alone is so chocked full of found family ride-or-die energy between the two protagonists that it's worth the rest of the adventure playing out pretty similarly to the movie. Definitely a treat for those of you who are big on Leo-Casey interactions.

★

A Mixed Bag by MusingWordsmith (No romantic focus - Action / Comedy - WIP)

What if I told you there was a fic where the turtles of every major tv show TMNT iteration shonen anime-style battled their way through challenges in mixed teams of four in order to defeat a team of evil overlords who may or may not know what they're doing re: evillness? Trust me when I say this story is fun -- it blends comedy and drama flawlessly, and the author totally committed to the bit in keeping each version of the turtles loyal to the genre of their individual canons. The 1987 turtles are breaking the fourth wall. The Rise kids are absolute supersoliders. 2003 Michelangelo somehow ended up as the babysitter of his particular faction and is kind of having a crisis about it. I am so beyond impressed at how well this author distinguishes each character and keeps who's who from getting too confusing, which is a common issue in TMNT crossovers. Reading this fic feels like watching literally any version of the show as a kid on a Saturday morning. It is a blast.

Medium

Young Root, Old Rock by SiryyGrey (No romantic focus - Action / Thriller - WIP)  

Shortly after the Kraang invasion a mysterious file of an unreadable format shows up on Donnie's computer, and he's driven by an intense curiosity to decipher exactly what it is and means. This author goes HARD on creating tense, muscle-tensing atmosphere, which is balanced out by extremely tender character interaction. Casey knows something he's not letting on. Donnie makes himself a robo-brain. Leo blows up his brother. You ever wanted an adventure with the blorbos that was also an ARG? Cryptic messages are sprinkled throughout the chapters for readers to decipher. Mind the tags but absolutely do not pass this fic up!

★

No Rest For The Weary by Nekotsuki (No romantic focus - Action / Adventure - WIP)

Ever thought "hey what if the movie just kept going and we found out what happened to those other kraang"? Hello and let me introduce you to THE post-movie out of frying pan and into the fire fic. I have it on good authority that this author was a big name in the 2003 TMNT fic scene, and I suspect for good reason -- this story perfectly blends heart-pounding action with A+ belly laughs and solid found family energy. Donnie hacks cute animal emails and narcs on the enemy. April fights zombies back to back with Barold Draxum of downstairs neighbour fame. Raph gets tranquilizer-darted by his brother for being too emotional. 100/10 wild ride, cannot recommend highly enough.

★

I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good by Dandy (No romantic focus - Adventure / Thriller - WIP)

Several TMNT AU competitions have made this fic a household name, and for good reason -- the author's come onto the scene with a bold, fun plot premise: after a battle gone wrong, Leo finds himself alive but unable to be perceived via sight, sound, or touch. Naturally, his family assumes he's dead. While it starts on the angstier side, this story's got a lot of heart and shoves tenderness into every possible crevice; the longer it goes on, the more tears are swapped out for laughter, and anguished dialogue-heavy interaction trades place with high-octane action. Worth sticking with!

★

Creation, Haunted And Holy by Greenglowsgold (No romantic focus - Drama / Thriller - Complete)

I lied about the romance it's Donnie x Technodrome with a twist. This fic reads like fascinating poetry, and does right by its source material by taking one of the fandom's favourite angst catalysts and turning it into a demonstration of the strength of love. Looking for something wildly different? GGG's got you. Would also highly recommend their outside-POV slice of life fic Midtown Mutants!

Dark

The Lemonade Leak by TurtleSoupSwimmer (No romantic focus - Horror / Thriller - WIP)

How do you explain to your family that your twin brother's possessed when you have no evidence, aren't sure if said brother is still alive somewhere inside the zombie, and revealing you know something's wrong could get everybody killed? There is no describing how completely feral I've gone for this fic - the author's technique of starting chapters with small, raw, seemingly unrelated scenes that segue into the current plot and enhance the tone or underlying message of the story is just incredible. They've given the turtles a fascinating mutation feature that adds layers of intrigue to the plot. The character interaction is heckin' tender, we got a nice scoop of self-worth issues from Leo to deal with, and the scary scenes are grip-your-phone-and-stop-blinking scary. The author promises a happy ending but that doesn't make Lemonade Leak any less of an incredibly tense ride. This is a fic I jump on the second I get the AO3 email notification.

★

The Smoking Gun: A ROTTMNT Tactical AU by AlienMadame22 (Donatello / April - Action / Adventure - Complete)

Agent Bishop of the EPF stole four turtle mutants away from their father as children and raised them as militia; dad's gotten back in contact and intends to break them free. This author absolutely took off running with the tactical AU prompt that various visual artists started up, grabbed a handful of canon concepts to mess around with, and mcguyvered together a wild ride of a story that continues to catch me off guard. Strap in for a fic riddled with emotional complexity and character nuance, and come prepared to cry. Fear not the ship tag, as the fic is primarily non-romance-focused and the ship elements are handled in an interesting, convoluted way that works to further the plot and add comedic value. Smoking Gun is a refreshing new concept in a very busy fandom tag and I have been eating it up like candy.

★

The Dawning of the Hour (Series) by Faiakishi (No romantic focus - Horror / Drama - WIP)

Donnie is captured and brainwashed by a pre-Vegeta-arc'd Baron Draxum, who subsequently starts parenting the kid out of guilt while using his talents to fuel the canonical Mutate All Humans takeover plot. It's been often called the Donatello version of Like Father Like Son, but that does its storytelling a disservice - this series goes much deeper in the psychological and physical horror direction, has an underlying political intrigue plot, and spends a generous amount of time with the secondary cast (plus a few excellent OCs) in order to really ramp up the intensity of the premise's whole situation. The first story is very whump-heavy, but does a lot of setup for fic two: The Drax-Daddening, which gives Donnie a friend in Cassandra Jones and finds more space for affection and comedy. The author's ramped up the sources of conflict several times over in the first few chapters of the series' second fic, making rescue by the Hamato feel ever more impossible. Despite being a very complex and interesting read (grey-morality my beloved) I cannot stress enough how VERY not for kids this fic is, so proceed with extreme caution!

[miloscat]

[Review] Sonic Free Riders (Xbox 360)

They made hoverboards fun and exciting, then the fans made it actually playable.

After Zero Gravity, Sonic Team were apparently not done with the Riders series. Not done using it for motion control experiments, that is. The next and final instalment was a launch title for Microsoft's ill-fated Kinect motion sensor accessory. This camera apparatus could track a player's full body and so you needed a large, empty area to play your games in, which has never been practical for me. So I considered this game essentially lost media as far as I was concerned, until I recently learned about a mod that reworked the game for traditional controllers that I could use on an emulator. The updated version of this patch was buggy but the original release worked a treat and I was finally able to experience this title.

Compared to previous entries, the plot is very low-stakes. Eggman is hosting another racing tournament in disguise, shenanigans ensue. The cutscenes are merely static character portraits, the dialogue nothing but banter and posturing with the framing device of Omochao reporting on the racing for a TV broadcast. But the strength this has over prior Riders games is including a broader range of the cast, with Teams Rose and Dark being involved and playable in their own story modes in addition to the usual Heroes and Babylon stories. Well, Team Dark is missing Omega and substitutes a random eggbot who is more than it appears in perhaps the only notable story development. And Team Rose is Amy, Cream, and... Vector... so Team Sonic Racing wasn't the first to randomly force him in to fill out another team, or to have a weird addition to Team Rose.

As for the racing, from what I could tell from the tutorial, there's a lot of actions you need to be able to do. It seemed complex and the pace of gameplay quite fast for something you control just with various body motions to an unresponsive IR sensor grid. In other words, compared to Zero Gravity it didn't feel as compromised by the control scheme, and translated reasonably well to a controller, so it's a shame they never officially offered that as an option. The game reviewed terribly at the time on the basis of its controls, but with a pad in hand I had a fun time. Sure it was easy most of the way through, but by the very last stages it did even offer a decent challenge.

There's no drifting, but a heavy turn assist helps with cornering. There's a boost function that drains your air meter, as well as a "lean forward (tilt control stick up) to go faster" mechanic. Stunts are done in Zero Gravity style, by jumping at the right time off a ramp, although you can spin to do a better trick (not supported in the original mod release). Arm flailing is a factor, where you can lean to grab rings that are just off the course, throw items that skew a little more Mario Kart in their effects while still being unique, rub steam or splatter off your screen, or grab poles to swing around and take shortcuts. As a power character you can punch to destroy obstacles, and flight characters have to have arms outstretched to remain airborne when necessary. It sounds exhausting but all these functions are mapped pretty well to a controller in the mod, and I got to grips with them quickly. And while it may sound overloaded with gimmicks, I thought it was a better balance than the previous games of keeping up your pace while doing them, or being ignorable entirely.

It may sound like I'm being contrary but this quickly became my favourite of the Riders games. Because it expects you to be flolloping around, it's so much more forgiving and I found I wasn't constantly struggling against the game and its demands. It integrates a mission-like structure into the campaign so most of the time you're doing various objectives and single-lap runs of the courses in story mode, which moves things along at a quick pace. It also looks gorgeous, the environments varied and ultra-colourful, helped of course by being in HD for the first time. The tracks have fun setpieces like toboggan or minecart sections, jumping onto rooftops, or surfing while being pulled by a dolphin.

Free Riders kind of fulfilled the promise of what I wanted the series to be, for the first time. Fast-paced and bombastic, not overly punishing or bland. It's such a shame that that lively energy had to be locked behind an impractical peripheral gimmick. The assets were all there for a potential conversion or fourth instalment that takes the strengths but makes it play like a normal video game that people can actually play... but alas. As is often the case in the Sonic series, it was up to the fans to fix what Sega had broken, and I'm very thankful to Rei-SanTH for doing so in this case (please fix not being able to turn right on v1.1!).

[bam-monsterhospital]

(Image is watson speaking to sherlock on the topic of the assassination plot sherlock is investigating doesn’t actually exist: “No. Well... only that you have a remarkable faculty for deduction, and pattern recognition.  And that, perhaps, if ill-applied...”)

(Image of sherlock in acquiescence: “I see things that are not there.”)

god it’s so refreshing to have smart characters written by smart writers.

the awareness that sherlock’s style of investigation hinges on making leaps and bounds, very educated guesses but still guesses all the same, and then highlighting the fallibility of this character’s m.o. not only avoids the standard ‘genius as personality type’ trap that lazy and idiotic writers fall into, but also humanizes him. and having john point it out in a way that sounds like tired lived experience and gently confronting sherlock about it like this puts both of these characters on equal footing. john watson is a smart man, a doctor, and should be more than able to keep up with whatever quick sharpness sherlock doles out.  and in this game, he certainly does.

(image of sherlock responding to watson later in the conversation: “So it seems.  Forgive me.  Without something to occupy my mind, I turn into an entirely different animal.”)

Also, sherlock hyperfixates!  It’s made blaringly clear in the previous game and this one, with multiple characters drawing attention to it.  those who know him (mycroft, watson, etc) are aware of it, he’s aware of it, and the heavy neurodivergent coding as well as the focus on mental health and illness in the holmes family fits well with this character; it makes the character’s original idiosyncrasies make all the more sense while also not demonizing mental illness/neurodivergence.   (chapter one spoilers below)

sherlock’s mother didn’t die due to her ‘madness’, she died because she wasn’t receiving proper care for her condition.  sherlock says he fears becoming like his mother (going “mad”), but he actually is terrified of the loss of self she suffered; terrified of having no control as someone else pulls the strings to utterly dissolve you as a person.  He witnessed a creative, genius woman deteriorate into something utterly devoid of the person he knew, and the trauma surrounding this (having experienced it in his childhood) and a particular incident continues to plague him. John Watson is suffering from survivor’s guilt and trauma from the war he served in.  He self-deprecates because of it, and in “The Awakened” game there are hints he is mentally at an all-time low, where later he states his friendship with sherlock and the shenanigans they get up to make him “feel alive” again.

What these characters have lived through and how their minds react to the world because of it are integral parts of these versions of the characters and not something to just get over or ‘fix’.  i don’t have to go in to how showing heroes living with mental health issues like this normalizes and puts it into a positive light, do i?

also they’re great friends and great for each other and support each other and reaffirm each other ajfksdlafsa.  good duo.

[icedbeverageenjoyer]

Am I the only one who struggles with writing slice of life? Like, sometimes you have to add low-stakes shenanigans to let the story breathe, but for me this is the hardest part of writing.

I can write a hundred scenes with complex symbolism, heavy plot implications and character study, but I can't write them going to the store?

It could be that I'm socially illiterate and I genuinely have no idea how friends act around each other, but I have seen enough friendships in media to get an idea on how to do it. Does anyone else have that problem? And how do you guys write your slice of life chapters? Anything is appreciated!

[sophisticated-creepy]

          The friends spent the next several moments cleaning up the parlor before continuing on their quest of exploring the Manor House for ghosts. With all that had transpired during the attempted séance with Lazare, and Modesta’s tarot reading, they approached the remainder of their investigation with caution. The energy in the house wasn’t threatening, per se, but the air seemed to crackle with a pent up need to release a burst of paranormal activity. It just needed a catalyst to give it the spark and ignite. As a group, they traversed into the underground rooms of the basement, exploring the reserved private party space, trying their best to capture disembodied voices and dancing skeletons. Eventually, their steps brought them outside, where they took advantage of roaming the grounds under the protective gaze of the silver moon peeking out between billowing thunderclouds. A summer’s storm brewed in the distance, the occasional glimmers of lightning leap frogging from cloud to cloud as the cooler air of the storm front fueled a steady breeze to finger through the treetops with a hint of rain scenting the wind.

          They congregated under the old, wooden gazeebo, where a spontaneous play broke out amongst them to perform an impromptu rendition of an amalgamation of fairytales both traditional and newly made up before the watchful eye of Jack’s camcorder lens. He balanced the device on the railing so he, too, could participate in the drama-filled shenanigans of playacting. He jumped into the role of bard, sing-songing his lines effortlessly, Raphael obviously playing the hero knight in shining armor, while Modesta adopted the role of town baker, Lazare, the dastardly woodsman-thief, and Lola donning the guise of duchess. Laughing almost the entire time, they muddled through their “plot” of rescuing the town baker, who had been kidnapped by the woodsman-thief to thwart the duchess’s birthday, for without a baker, there would be no cake, the play then culminating in a swordfight to the death between knight and thief with some sticks they found lying around, whereupon the duchess’s birthday was saved thanks to the power of teamwork and creative ingenuity of the silliest kind.

          Lightning flashed more frequently, and a low growl of thunder was their cue to pack up and head indoors for the remainder of the night. Despite being a haunted house in the path of an oncoming thunderstorm, the rooms felt peaceful, the previous underlying thickness of energy having abated, and the close-knit cluster of friends agreed it was time for bed. Once everyone said their goodnights, they headed towards the grand staircase, but Lola lagged behind to lean in the doorway of the main parlor, observing in the stillness the stately room where the Gray Lady met her passing. A warm arm encircled her shoulders, Raphael’s presence comforting and unhurried, patiently waiting until Lola was ready to retire upstairs. After a heavy sigh, she waved goodnight into the empty room, and hooking her arm around Raphael’s waist, the two of them walked in step towards their bedchamber.

          They showered, the two squeezing into the intimate glass cubicle to quickly wash the day’s events off of each other before the storm grew closer, but it was inevitable to start sharing sweet kisses, each press of their lips lingering longer and longer as the shower continued. Eventually, Lola darted out first, wrapping herself in one of the white, fluffy spa robes hanging on the back of the bathroom door provided by the Manor House, and tossed Raphael his own robe as he stepped out of the shower enclosure after her. The two went about their nighttime routines, Lola finishing first to wait for her love in bed. She stretched herself out on top of the plush, gilded comforter with a pleasant sigh. Absentmindedly, she held out her left hand, admiring her engagement ring around her finger, the other hand twisting the band side to side, catching sparkles in the dim room lighting.

          The jewelry was a fourteen karat white gold vintage inspired twisted band set with diamond accent stones, brandishing a cushion cut amethyst at its center. The ring was stunning, to say the least, and an unexpected surprise when Raphael proposed to her with it, the item far more beautiful than she had ever dreamed of receiving. It was too beautiful, too precious to remove from its black velvet box, but the amount of love emanating from the ring, as well as the man offering it to her, eclipsed the imagined tender fragility of the thin metal, and when Raphael placed the ring upon her finger, it felt as if the jewelry had always belonged there from the start.

          “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

          Lola turned her head at Raphael’s voice to see him leaning against the threshold doorframe of the bathroom, the terrycloth of his robe tied at his waist barely containing his broader form. He was smiling, his expression one of contentment as he had been observing her upon the bed. “Perish the thought,” she scoffed, going back to admire her ring.

          “What has you in such deep contemplations?” he asked, walking over to the bed. He sat down at the end on Lola’s side, picking up her legs so her feet rested across his lap, and began to massage one foot, feeling her body melt as he worked the muscles along her arch.

          “Did you notice what Annie called us while giving the tour?” Lola asked. When Raphael shook his head, she continued. “She called us Mr. and Mrs. Glenbrook. That’s the first time anyone has called me that, and we’re not even married yet.”

          “And how does it make you feel to be called my wife?” he asked, a smile slanting his mouth in a handsome grin.

          “Excited,” she replied easily. “Terrified,” she added after a pause. “Happy,” she continued. “Delighted…but nauseous, like I’m going to throw up a bucket full of butterflies.”

          “I didn’t know the idea of becoming my wife had your stomach in such knots,” he laughed, the sound warm and intoxicating.

          “In a good way,” she stressed, laughing with him. “I think I’m just feeling all the feels, and I know it’s technically only a ‘title’, but it’s a pretty big title. What if…I’m not…good enough?”

          “You are more than enough,” he punctuated, leveling her with a look that meant she should know better than to say something so ridiculous.

          “I’m serious. What if we get married, and it turns out I’m horrible?”

          “You have nothing to worry about, as you are already an excellent wife.”

          “We’re not married, you can’t know that,” she countered.

          “Dandelion, how would you describe the role of a wife?” Raphael asked, switching to massage her other foot.

          “Someone who’s loving, attentive, a good partner and communicator, as well as listener,” she answered, ticking off her mental checklist on her fingers.

          “You’re already all of those things and more. Firstly, you have my absolute trust. You’re kind and generous with your mind and heart. You challenge me to be the best version of myself without me feeling judged or belittled, and that’s not even beginning to scratch the surface of your many bewitching attributes in how we work together in this partnership. I have, with every confidence, no doubt that you will not only fit the ‘title’ of wife, but flourish as the already exquisite woman that you are.”

          Lola wiped unshed tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, his loving words reassuring her heart and soothing her soul. “Thank you for believing in me, Honey Love. I will be a good wife for you, and for the record, you’ll make for a pretty spectacular husband yourself, even with your cheesy albeit endearing one-liners.”

          “Naturally,” he preened, “for what good is a husband if he’s not filled with cheese? Now, no more frowns.” He lightly waggled his fingers against the sole of the foot he held, and the appendage was gone before he had the chance to acknowledge the force of her pillow smacking him across his face, the blow sending him sprawling flat on his back over the mattress. His wrists were pinned next by the sides of his head as Lola’s weight settled on top of him as she straddled his waist. Turnabout was fair play, in her mind, and if he was going to be cruel and attack her weakest spot, then she had every right to go after one of his.

          “Thou art a wretched, saucy fellow,” Lola growled as she hovered above Raphael. “Prepare for a taste of thine own medicine.” Her words were all the more satisfying as she watched the expression of his smug, cocksure arrogance shift into terror.

          “Now, Lola, wait just a minute---.”

          But she didn’t wait, she lunged, and buried her nose to snuffle and snarfle like a pig hunting for truffles against his ear. Her tufts of breath and light nibbles around the soft skin sent Raphael into a laughing frenzy, unable to control the dam of his mirthful outburst as the unbearably ticklish sensations of her lips short circuited his senses.

          “Lola!” he guffawed heartily. “Dammit I yield! I yield!”

          She relented in her attack, pulling away from his ear to plant a loving kiss upon his cheek before settling back on his hips, victorious. She released his wrists, resting her hands on the broad plane of his chest that was flushed and slightly heaving from the recent bout of play. He laid beneath her, catching his breath, his hair disheveled and robe splayed open. His eyes sparkled from his laughter, his smile wide and relaxed, and Lola’s heart cocooned in warmth as she remained observing the man with whom even the stars themselves could not compare. A glint of light twinkled in the corner of her left eye, and she reflexively flicked her eyes towards her engagement ring.

          “Are we going to change?” she asked, her voice quiet and tender.

          “Probably,” he answered, equally soft to match her tone.

          “I mean, is this going to change?” Her fingers lightly traced the edge of his chest exposed from the loosened robe. “When we’re married, are we going to eventually drift away from these games and affections?”

          Raphael’s hands came to rest on Lola’s thighs, his thumbs disappearing under the hem of terrycloth bunched up around her legs. “We are going to change,” he said, “but not in the way you’re thinking. If anything, we’re going to find even more ways to be weird. Our relationship is going to grow and evolve the more we grow and evolve to accommodate all the new ways you’ll cause mischief and mayhem and loopholes and schemes.”

          “I’m not all trouble,” she laughed.

          “It’s one of the many reasons why I want you to be my wife, because of your troublemaking talents.”

          “You’re not so innocent yourself, mister. I’ve known you to be a scallywag on occasion,” she teased, prodding his chest playfully.

          “A ‘scallywag’,” he repeated. “I wasn’t aware I had such a devious reputation." His hands moved higher up her legs, completely, now, disappearing under the folds of her robe. She gasped, shifting forward as his palms filled with the roundness of her backside. “However, you are correct. I have plenty of schemes hidden up my sleeves.” He moved his palms in soothing circles on each cheek, and she shivered.

          “Yes, but your schemes involve me more often than not usually underneath you,” she said with a roll of her eyes, the back of her mind having trouble deciding if the sensual attention to her butt was threatening or promising based on his statement.

          “And I plan on spending the rest of our lives crafting more clever and mischievous ways to find you so,” he pledged. His hands stilled when she reached behind her, stopping his ministrations, and he quirked an eyebrow in question.

          “Thank you,” she said, and leaned down, kissing him soundly.

          “I love you,” he announced as their lips parted. “Past, Present, and Future, I love you.”

          “I love you,” she declared against his lips, falling forward to kiss him again. Their mouths worked against each other’s passionately, Lola giving appreciative little moans of encouragement as his hands resumed to knead her ass before trailing his fingers in tingling, heated tracks up and down the backs of her thighs. She had to brace herself against the mattress as he yanked the sash of her robe open, pushing herself up with her hands falling to either side of his head, breaking their kiss and creating a curtain around him of her hair and now fully opened robe. She was completely exposed to him, and he savored every angle and curve and dip of her body, his eyes drinking in her supple form. He swallowed; hard.

          “You’re going to want to grab onto the headboard,” he spoke, his voice laced with gravelly lust, eyes deepening into a darkened sapphire the longer he stared at her hovering above him on all fours.

          Lost in a fog-cloud of hazy, amorous feelings, she soon found herself clutching the top of the sturdy, decorative wooden headboard, her knees still straddling Raphael’s waist, his own body sitting propped up against the soft plethora of satin pillows. She wasn’t sure how he moved them into this new position so quickly, but she didn’t care, as once again his distracting lips landed on her mouth. She moved her hands to grasp his shoulders, wanting to feel him, but he stopped her, guiding her hands back to the headboard.

          “Keep them there,” he said, his lips brushing along her jaw and neck. She nodded in understanding, and he purred. “That’s my girl.”

          “Oh, Jesus,” she gasped as his praise caressed her heart. He commanded in a way that wasn’t commanding, his guiding confidence unraveling her into a sopping puddle of pure bliss. Her head fell back, exposing the vulnerable surface of her neck, and he descended upon her, making sure to favor the fluttering pulse point in feathery kisses, his hands, all the while, exploring, teasing, whispering over tender places. He took his time, treasuring every sound and shivering tremble he coaxed out of her, savoring each pleasurable jolt of electricity that caused her breath to hitch. Her arms began to shake, and he rubbed her elbows as a subtle reminder to keep them from locking up, and she sighed, relaxing when his lips returned to hers.

          The weight of the terrycloth combined with the mingling of their tongues was causing her body to overheat, and she huffed out her frustrations, gruffly mumbling “too hot” as she released the headboard to rid her body of the too cloying fabric, never breaking stride with Raphael as he helped to remove the affronting material. A deluge of rain could be heard pattering the roof as the storm unleashed its fury, the hard staccato of water hitting the windowpanes matching the timing of her wildly beating heart, a crack of thunder rattling her bones as well as the timbers and framework of the house. She embraced him, her hands diving into his hair, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, flushing herself against him with every plane and curve molding harmoniously together of their bodies.

          “Hands, Dandelion, hands,” Raphael reminded, breaking their kiss to utter his request as he unraveled her arms, again guiding her hands towards the headboard.

          “You’re killing me, Honey Love,” she groaned, taking hold of the bedroom furniture. She shrewdly lowered her hips, slinking down his body to make contact with what she craved, but a light tweak on her backside caused her spine to straighten, a startled yelp of surprise escaping as she reared up high onto her knees.

          “Patience,” he chuckled. “I’m not done honoring your birthday.” Before she could retort, he placed his hands on her waist, holding her steady, and leaned forward to move his lips against her throat. “Happy birthday to you,” he began to softly sing. His heated breath fell over her neck, the vibrations to the low acoustics of his song creating goosebumps to explode and pebble over her skin, her mind frizzling when the kisses at her neck shifted to touch her collar bones to then graze in a devoted, revered gentleness over the tops of her breasts. His nose trailed down her sternum, inhaling her natural scent as he scooted down the mattress, following an imaginary line leading straight to her bellybutton.

          “Happy birthday to you,” he continued the song. His tongue dipped into the hollow of her navel and she nearly fainted from the touch, a strangled, rattling noise of pleasure sounding from the back of her throat as her head fell back from the sensations dancing along the tender skin. Her fingers ached with how hard she clutched the headboard, her body flinching from each delicate swipe of his tongue.

          “Happy birthday, my sweet, delicious Lola,” he sang, descending lower. Teeth nibbled her hip bone, and she could have leapt out of her skin. She was delirious, her head swimming as tiny, electric tickles skittered over every nerve ending, her body hyper aware of her lover’s intended final destination. He lingered too long at her hips, and although the attention wasn’t unappreciated, she feared she was going to collapse if he didn’t proceed.

          “Raphael…please,” she begged, the torturous anticipation of when his lips would move next leaving her breathless, teetering on the verge of her wit’s end.

          He grinned, unable to deny his love of anything. He dragged his fingers down the sides of her waist to grasp her firmly at her hips while peppering her panty line with tantalizing, breathy kisses, easing himself farther down the mattress, concluding his song.

          “Happy birthday to you.”

          All at once, she was flying, surrendering to the dreamy, euphoric weightlessness her soul yearned for, disconnecting from all earthly attachments, her body singing the ancient and sacred song of the angels. A warmth familiar as home bloomed from her chest, crawling up her neck to flush prettily upon her upturned face as every fiber of her body thrummed and pulsated with the language of the universe. Stars erupted behind her eyes in a multitude of cosmic colors as she skyrocketed higher and higher, leaving the world behind, and upon shattering through the clouds of an ethereal dimension, realized heaven had never looked so beautiful.

~*~*~*~*~*~

H-eeey, everybody! Hope you all enjoyed a glimpse into these two lovers' world. Normally, I write closed door/fade to black scenes when it comes to mutually consenting adult special fun time activities, at least, for the public, but I wanted to prop the door open just a little bit.

Plus, we've had a lot of spooky chapters back-to-back, so it was fun breaking up the pace a little bit. More spooky happenings are on the way, so keep an eye out for more of this tale!

Thanks as always for being awesome, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

[misscrawfords]

Hi, I am going to start watching k dramas, so could you recommend some good ones? Which ones do you like best?

Ooh an excellent life choice, if I may say so!

Honestly, what I'd recommend would depend on what you enjoy. My personal tastes are for:

romcoms very low angst

romances with deeper characters, a bit more realistic

thriller/spy stories, usually light-hearted, romantic subplot

fantasy, romantic subplot

For gateway kdramas, I'd recommend:

What's Wrong With Secretary Kim (romcom, a classic)

Hometown Cha Cha Cha (romcom, a few angsty moments)

Crash Landing on You (romcom... ish... angsty!)

Strong Woman Do Bong Soon (romcom with adorable female superhero and serial killer subplot)

If you like predominantly romances, I'd recommend in addition:

Her Private Life (Park Min Young (also in Secretary Kim) is basically a romcom goddess - HPL is v similar to Secretary Kim)

Because This Is My First Life (surprisingly relatable and thoughtful take on contract marriage trope)

Romance is a Bonus Book (less well known as some but just so charming if you like books and bookish people)

Rookie Historian Goo Hae Ryung (not usually a fan of historical kdramas and this is light on the romcom and heavy on the palace drama but it's genuinely interesting)

Our Beloved Summer (second chances romance, slow burn)

Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok Joo (cute university sports romcom

Business Proposal (only watch when you are well-versed in romcoms - it's hilarious because it makes fun of all the tropes)

No Gain, No Love (still airing but doing something similar to Business Proposal but a bit more subtlely)

Dali and the Cocky Prince (had some flaws and some painful moments for the FL but overall excellent)

Love Next Door (still airing and I had to stop watching because it suddenly got serious and I need to know it ends happily before I force myself through the difficult episodes but really excellent up to that point - so I'm hopeful)

If you like your romcom with a twist:

Healer (another PMY drama, lots of rom but also main plot is a thriller - really excellent)

Marry My Husband (look, I just love PMY... time travel and revenge plot and swoon-worthy rom with plenty of com)

Vincenzo (the Ultimate kdrama for me - I adore it; mafia, revenge, hilarity, romcom- got everything)

My Roommate is a Gumiho (kind of forgettable tbh but I really enjoyed it a lot at the time - fantasy romcom)

Crash Course in Romance (romcom between middle aged people, crash course in the messed up Korean education system and a serial killer - IDK what is going on with this drama but overall it worked?)

Terius Behind Me/My Beloved Terius (a rather obscure one but A+ if you like spy comedy shenanigans with subtle romance)

The King: Eternal Monarch (mixed reception for this fantasy parallel universes romance but I had a Good Time)

And finally, standing all out on its own:

Alchemy of Souls Parts One and Two: just brilliant. Pure epic fantasy. I want 10 seasons in this universe and the novelisations. Should be bigger than Harry Potter.

Something to bear in mind is that most kdramas are 16 episodes and around episode 11... bad things tend to happen! Sudden illness/death/betrayal/breakup/white truck of doom... And while some of them deal with this well, others... don't. Usually it's worth getting over the hump episodes but I have to admit I have a lot of unfinished kdramas. I do keep meaning to finish them... but then another one comes along and I start that instead!

I also recommend getting onto MyDramaList to get recommendations and read reviews and find new dramas to watch as well as keep track of your watching. My list is here.

Enjoy! :D

[catsafarithewriter]

Day 1: Musicals/Music

A/N: Day 1 of the bday bash, let's give it up for day 1 of the bday bash! This was a very late addition to my line up, and was fueled entirely by the image of Baron performing Be Our Guest from Disney's Beauty and the Beast (with Toto as the voice of reason). So this is a BatB AU, but one where Baron is a cursed bystander, not the Beast, and is set at the Be Our Guest part of the plot. Enjoy!

x

It had been nearly five years since the curse had struck, and Toto Morrigan had almost become fond of his corvid form in the intervening time.

This was just as well, since the chances of the curse being broken was dwindling by the day, thanks to the feline-shaped spanner in the works which was Baron. Toto hadn't known much about Baron Humbert von Gikkingen pre-curse, except that he had been a minor noble with a unintentionally charming smile and an affinity for light magic.

Unfortunately, the curse hadn't dimmed either. (Although Toto himself had stopped being distracted by That Damn Smile about two minutes into regularly having to deal with Baron's shenanigans, it still tended to catch the unwary by butterfly-accompanied surprise.)

"I'm surprised by you, Toto," the aforementioned noble said, in the kind of tone that made it quite clear 'surprised' was gentleman speak for 'disappointed'. The look would have been a smit more impressive had he not been a foot-tall cat in a morning suit. "Here we have Haru, a young woman in need of a meal, and you are hesitant to help?"

"It's not the meal part I object to," Toto said. "Rather it's the execution of it I worry for." He shuffled his wings in an attempt to disperse his frustration. "Need I remind you that if any of us wish to be human again, then we need this young woman to fall madly in love with Prince Lune?"

"It'll be somewhat difficult for her to fall madly in love with anyone if she starves to death first."

"One missed meal is not going to starve her;  could we please skip the dramatics?"

"Hunger rarely makes one amenable to romantic advances."

"Fine. Fine." Toto scowled as much as his beak would allow. It was one of the few privileges of humanity he regularly missed. That, and opposable thumbs. "But for all our sakes, keep it low-key, please–"

"Of course." Baron grinned. "But what's a meal without a little music?" And he swung into the dining room with a tap of his cane before Toto could stop him. Toto glimpsed a flash of Baron's light magic just as the door fell shut between them.

Distantly, he heard music rising up, and wondered how far in advance Baron had prepared this nonsense.

Deciding that he'd probably at least see what the damage was, he slipped into the room just as a trio of feline acrobatics (he was fairly certain they had originally been a couple of stable lads and the head groom) flip in time to the music, the light show shimmering through a glass stained window and bathing the room in mesmerising, geometric colours. Their guest looked suitably starry-eyed.

Unfortunately, it was aimed solely at Baron. 

Heavy padded paws, which Toto had come to know well since the curse, stepped up behind him. "You do realise we need her to fall for the prince, right?" Muta grunted.

Toto dignified that with an unintelligible grumble.

"Right. Good to know." There was a dubious pause. "Did ya think to tell him that?"

"I tried," Toto said.

"And?"

"I think he was too excited to perform his light show in front of a new audience." Toto watched as a mime appeared, a sphinx cat who had been responsible for the palace's paperwork until everyone in said palace had been transformed into various beasts. "Just how long has he been organising all this?"

"All of ten minutes, I think."

Toto looked back at his companion, and it was then he discovered Muta was wearing a magician's cape. "Oh no, not you too."

"What?"

"I would've thought you'd have more sense than to get tied up in all of this."

Muta snorted. "Well, that's a filthy lie. We both know your expectations for me are way lower than that."

Despite everything, Toto gave a quickly-curtailed caw. "True, but still – how is any of this going to help Prince Lune break the spell?"

Muta shrugged. "Maybe this ain't about breaking the spell. It's been a weird five years–"

"Four and eleven months," Toto amended, because that extra month meant all the differnce when it came to the curse's deadline.

"Fine. Four and eleven months, and folk need to blow off some steam. Show off. Have some fun. You do know what fun is, birdbrain?"

"I'm fairly certain my sense of humour was taken with the curse," Toto said dryly, but he felt a ghost of a smile his beak wouldn't allow.

"Oh, so you did have one? I'm shocked." Muta straightened as Baron motioned to him with a subtle gesture of the head. "Eh, that's my cue. Don't forget to clap at the end," he said, and winked as he swept forward to take centre stage.

Begrudgingly, Toto stuck around to witness the rest of the show, and he began to realise it was perhaps more impromptu than he'd initially believed. The song played by the two-bit orchestra (instruments and players rusty, but passable) was, now Toto put his ear to it, simply a traditional waltz sped up, with Baron apparently possessing some very impressive ad-libbing skills when it came to lyrics. Each performer was given their time to shine, and fared better than Toto would have expected in fitting their respective skill to the music. (Even if Muta's surprisingly adept sleight-of-paw left Toto wondering if he'd ever applied it to pickpocketing.)

And when the music finally wound down and Baron left the scene with a final flare of light and a bow, Haru was smiling for the first time since she'd arrived at the cursed palace.

Baron found Toto with an ease which implied he'd been aware of the crow's presence for a while. "There, you see?" Baron said. He looked far too pleased with himself. "No problems. I don't think Lune even noticed, and our guest is finally looking more at home here. There's hope for breaking the curse yet."

It was times like this which Toto missed having the ability to shake someone by the shoulders. He thought of the charming grin Baron had thrown Haru's way and her ensuing flushed cheeks, and then he decided such thoughts weren't conductive to things like his blood pressure or Baron's life expectancy.

It was just as well that Toto liked his avian form, he thought, because it didn't look like Haru was going to be breaking the curse any time soon.

[daisywords]

wip intro: The Long, Long Way to Kaminatra

An unlikely duo is conscripted to escort a princess with a target on her head to her coronation in a foreign city

hijinks ensue, the plot does some twists, etc. etc.

Adult/general, alt-world low-magic fantasy, light on the romance, heavy on the adventure and shenanigans

Featuring (from left to right):

Sahl: the weirdest human alive

Edrio: our tour guide through the narrative. Literally just some guy going through a really weird time

Zafiyah: the princess; more to her than meets the eye

First scene under the cut:

Chapter 1: A Stranger in the Dark

Edrio jerked awake to the clang of the cell door. He threw his hands up to shield his eyes from the blinding light, the shackles on his wrists sliding down his arms. 

So this was it then. They had come for him at last. He got to his feet, determined to at least die with dignity. He would face death, look it in the eyes. He squinted through the torchlight to make out the faces of the guards. There were two of them. Oddly, they supported another figure between them, a pathetic, wet rag doll of a person who dangled limply from their grasp. Without a glance at Edrio, the guards threw their cargo into the cell and slammed the door. 

Edrio nearly called after them, but stopped himself. If they weren’t here to escort him to his execution, he certainly wasn’t going to invite them to reconsider. As the guards disappeared around a corner, the last remnants of torchlight faded, and he was left completely in the dark. 

He edged away from the door, skirting the perimeter of the cramped cell to avoid stepping on the new inhabitant. He eased down the wall, pulling his knees in tight. There was no sound from the other side of the cell, not even of breathing. He held his own breath to be sure, but still, nothing. 

Maybe it was some kind of sadistic ritual, throwing a corpse in with a condemned man for his last night alive? To remind him that he, too, would soon be a corpse? As if he could forget. 

Well, if that was their game, he wouldn’t play it. He stretched out his legs, adjusting his chain to get as comfortable as he could. He couldn’t see the corpse, so he simply would not let it bother him. He would show no fear. When death was inevitable, fear was purposeless anyway. 

Edrio had nearly dozed off again when the corpse emitted a low groan. Oh. Not a corpse then. “Hello?” he whispered. 

There was no answer. 

“All you alright?” he volunteered out loud, voice cracking from lack of use. 

Silence from his guest. Edrio sighed and scooted over, feeling over rough stone floor until his hands found cloth. 

The stranger was wet through, but not dripping, as if they had gotten soaked several hours ago and hadn’t had the opportunity to dry. He patted the bundle of rags, finding the shape of a bony knee. He found his way up to the torso, feeling for any obvious wounds. The stranger groaned again. The voice sounded male, from what he could tell. 

Edrio felt his way up to the stranger’s neck, which seemed uninjured, and up to his head. Without warning, teeth snapped at his fingers. Edrio jerked back with a yell, his flailing hands rattling his chain. He brought his bitten fingers to his own mouth and tasted blood—the bite had broken the skin. 

“What was that for?” he snapped. The stranger only hissed and snapped his teeth. 

Edrio retreated, deciding that if the stranger was well enough to bite, he would probably survive the night. And he didn’t seem to be mortally wounded, from what Edrio could tell in total darkness. 

He sucked his bleeding fingers, wishing he had something to disinfect the wound. Not that it mattered. A beheading would do him in much faster than an infected bite. 

Unless they weren’t going to bother with a beheading. Maybe the stranger was rabid. 

“Do you understand Garalá?” he asked. 

Nothing. 

“Ursesh?” he tried. 

The stranger mumbled something faintly. 

“Do you speak Ursesh?” Edrio asked in his clumsy Ursesh. 

“Get away from me,” the stranger spat. That was a yes. 

“Can’t, I’m afraid,” Edrio replied, rattling his chain for emphasis. 

The stranger said nothing. A distant rattling rang from somewhere further down the hall. In the days Edrio had been here, he had become accustomed to the mystery prisoner who would stir up a racket whenever it seemed to strike his fancy, every few hours or so. One had to pass the time somehow. 

After the cacophony of rattling chains and echoing, monkey-like screeches had subsided, Edrio listened again for the stranger, but could hear nothing. It was eerie, knowing that someone else was there in the dark, but sensing only emptiness. He felt prickly, as if the stranger were watching him, even though he knew he would be equally blind. 

“What are you in for?” Edrio ventured. 

The stranger spewed a long stream of words in Ursesh, most of which Edrio was unfamiliar with, and all of which were clearly foul. 

Edrio sighed. Just his luck to receive a companion to break the utter monotony of his last days, only for him to be as close to a feral dog as it was possible for a human to be. He rested his head on his knees and tried to fall asleep. But for someone whom he could neither see nor hear, the stranger was awfully hard to ignore. 

[kneeling-for-nines]

Dirty Tease

Relationship: Gavin Reed/Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI)

Content Warnings: nonbinary afab reader (terms used are center, clit, pussy, opening, and tits), teasing, grinding, vaginal fingering, edging, very brief exhibitionism, degradation, choking, piss kink, urolagnia, gavin reed's piss kink, masturbation, aftercare, bath sex, plot what plot/porn without plot, fluff if you squint

Summary: Gavin’s had enough of your teasing, so it’s time for him to disrespect you like you’ve been disrespecting him.

A/N: This was my first time writing a fic! I’ve been meaning to add to the tragically low amount of dbh piss kink works for a while now. Do keep in mind that this is a piss fic, and if that’s not your cup of tea you don’t have to read it :)

Word Count: 1,631

AO3

The shifting of your mattress roused you from your already-light rest. As you soaked in the warmth of your boyfriend to your back, his arms loosely encircling your waist, you felt him gently rocking his hips into yours just light enough that it was clear he was still asleep. When you felt his hardness rubbing against your ass, combined with his low unconscious groaning, you knew you were doomed. So you did what anyone else would do, and carefully moved his right hand from your waist down to your center, pressing it against you. Once he was in the ideal position for your intentions, you began to rut into his fingers, which in turn caused you to grind your ass back against his dick.

Naturally, all this movement soon woke him up (and to be honest, it was a wonder you got this far with him sleeping). In response, he started laying kisses and light bite marks down your neck as he rocked into you with a renewed vigor. When he noticed where you had put his right hand, he dipped it into your sopping-wet boxer-briefs, gathering your pre and using it to circle your clit with his thumb while fucking into you with his fingers.

With incredibly unfortunate timing, your alarm clock sounded right before you could tip over the precipice of your orgasm, effectively edging you as Gavin climbed out of bed to get ready for work despite the pleading look you threw over your shoulder. After being cut off like that, all he and you could do was take a cold shower and change your underwear respectively before going on your less-than-merry way to the precinct.

---

You and Gavin had a mutual understanding that masturbating without each other’s company wasn’t nearly as satisfying as when you were together (whether one watched the other, one got the other off, or both parties helped each other), and therefore was forbidden for the sake of higher pleasure. In an effort to “convince” Gavin to find some manner of satisfaction without breaking the rules, you spent the entire day teasing him with calculated touches and motions. Things like putting your hand on the small of his back as you passed and intentionally dropping things just for an excuse to bend over in front of him.

The stunt that really seemed to set him off was after he called you over to help with a filing issue. In your defense, you did start to help him with his dilemma, but the problem lied with your inability to keep your hands to yourself once you had pulled up a chair for yourself. It started out innocently enough, just a hand on his knee as you sat beside him, but over the next few minutes this seemingly innocuous action turned into your hand slowly running up his thigh, gravitating inward until you had your hand on his crotch as you palmed him through his jeans. If the tent in said jeans and his barely contained groans were anything to go by, you had reached your goal of working him up, only to go back to your desk with a sway in your hips, leaving him hot and heavy and the filing issue long forgotten.

---

Towards the end of the day, you decided to grab a coffee from the break room to ensure you were awake enough for whatever shenanigans (you hoped) would ensue after work. As you were fixing your coffee, you felt Gavin’s warm body pressing up against you from behind, pinning your hips to the counter and pushing his pelvis against you with a clear problem pressing into your ass.

“Gavin, there’s a time and a place…”

“And anyone could walk in at any time?” he cut you off lowly, leaning over your shoulder to whisper in your ear, “That didn't seem to bother you earlier when you were showing off those tight-ass pants, emphasis on ‘ass.’” As he spoke, one of the hands holding your hips slid down the front of those pants and grasped your crotch, completely enveloping your pussy while grinding over your clit with the heel of his hand. “What I don’t think you understand is that there are consequences to your actions, and the goddamn second we get home I’m gonna teach you some fucking manners.”

As quick as he was there, he was gone. When you felt the cold wetness in your boxer-briefs, you realized it was going to be a long couple of hours before your shift ended. In spite of this, your excitement was immeasurable; your plan had worked like a charm. 

---

I definitely deserve this, you thought as Gavin slammed your apartment door, pushing you against the nearest wall by the throat. You tried to swallow your nerves, but his hold on you was too strong for it to be of any use.

“Are you really such a fucking slut that you had to tease me all fucking day,” he snarled. You nodded as best you could in response, only for him to tighten his grip and stare you down. “Well, since you’re so desperate for my cock, get on your fucking knees.” As soon as he released you, you were gasping for the air he had stolen from your lungs.

Once you’d obediently kneeled before him, you heard the tell-tale clinking of Gavin’s belt and looked up to see him unbuttoning his jeans. Expecting to be ordered to suck him off (the usual punishment), you reached to pull him out of his boxers, but he slapped your hand away.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this, saving my bladder just to teach you a well-needed lesson,” he drawled, pulling out his half-hard dick and directing it at you. At a moment’s notice, you felt a warmth spreading across your chest as his piss hit you, soaking into your white camisole and revealing your lace bralette.

A thankfulness for choosing a bra without pads that morning floated in the back of your mind as you let out a pleasured sigh while the pale-yellow fluid ran down your body in rivets, soaking through your jeans and pooling around you on the floor. The smell of your boyfriend’s essence hit your nose and you inhaled deeply, somehow more aroused than put-off by the intoxicating aroma. You found yourself sopping wet in more ways than one, aching for release as his stream tapered off and came to a stop disappointingly soon. If you thought he was finished with you, you were sorely mistaken. Gavin shook off the last few drops before stroking himself to full hardness, letting out a deep moan as he finally found relief from the aroused hell you had dragged him into. (A bit dramatic, but what about him isn’t?)

“God, you look so pathetic soaked in my piss, like the dirty tease you are. Do you actually like this? Did you get what you wanted? Fuck, you’re disgusting, but you’re mine to mark and do as I please with, and I’ll prove that to you as many times as necessary for you to learn your lesson,” Gavin groaned out. You could just barely see the tops of his thighs flexing, signaling for you to close your eyes right as he came all over your tits and face. “Stay there,” he ordered before retrieving his polaroid camera and a couple of towels, taking a photo of you in the state he had left you.

He then helped you up off the floor, wrapping one towel around your waist to catch as much of the dripping mess he had made as possible, and putting the other down on the floor where you had sat in order to soak up as much of the puddle beneath you as he could.

---

After leading you to your shared bathroom, Gavin had you sit on the edge of the large bathtub as he drew you a hot bath, kissing you on your untainted forehead in reassurance. While waiting for the tub to fill, he set about mopping up any drips you had left behind and whatever wasn’t soaked up by the towel on the floor of your foyer, making sure to plug in some seasonal air fresheners to mask any odors not removed by the cleaner he used.

About 15 minutes had passed when he came back to you, finding you stripped and soaking in the bathtub. You scooted forward, giving him enough room to sit snugly behind you. Gavin held you close as he took a soapy washcloth to you, massaging until your skin was no longer tacky and you smelled of roses.

“You’ve been so good for me, sweetheart. Do you want your reward now, or would you like to rest first?” he cooed.

“Now, please,” you responded. In turn, Gavin squeezed a generous helping of the silicone lube left by the bathtub onto his hand, bringing it down to where you wanted him most. He circled your clit before pumping his middle and ring fingers into your opening, always curling them on their way out to hit your sweet spot. After a mere few minutes, you had an earth-shattering orgasm that left you twitching in his arms even after he had removed his hand from your pussy.

“I love you so much, honey,” he murmured into your ear.

“I love you too,” you responded in kind. Gavin took it upon himself to get out first, warming the separate shower to rinse the bath water off of the two of you and clean you once more with a new washcloth. After you had both dried off, you decided to forego clothes and just lie together under the puffy covers of your shared bed for a nice cuddle session, falling into a contented sleep.

A/N: If you understand the reference to roses, I love you (shout-out to pseud for inadvertently giving me the confidence to write this) <3

Please feel free to comment, I’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts!

[zmeydeva-arch]

plots please!! please feel free to pick any from my list but off the top of my head you can spin: kell, freydís, kaghan, or adam!

▐ ⊹ ⁺ a little plotting meme ) ACCEPTING!

¹· zoya & kell: starring directly at your grishaverse for him rn i feel like there are 2 routes to take here considering i have a mess of canon verses for zoya within her universe. BUT i think having kell as a little palace instructor given his unique skillset could be an INTERESTING concept or better yet and he could be the zuko to zoya's aang and help her get a better grasp on her corporalki abilities post dragon shenanigans. ROUTE 2 would be more of a ketterdam-flavored situation. not sure how kamerov as an alter ego plays into this verse but if he is doing secret maybe evil illegal stuff for maresh family on the down low i think sapphire is a good person to have in his corner/ NOT THAT SHE WOULD BE SO WILLING!! she has to get something out of it but it compels me somehow

CONVERSELY i decide to flip the script and make zoya a black london antari because why not and i can finally get the corruption arc i always dreamed of out of her. this verse literally is vibes alone right now and i haven't thought about it until this very second but i would be willing to develop it more if it is something that interests you

²· zoya & freydís: you are gonna need to hold my hand i am so scared right now. i know literally nothing about god of war but what i gather is we are heavy on the norse mythology here (again, something else i only have surface level knowledge on ) BUT if there is some sort of way for pantheons to mingle here i have been toying with a slavic myth verse for zoya on the down low. she is champion of veles who is sent to hunt the god perun in somewhat of a rehashing of their timeless war against one another. so oops as a dragon she swallows an aspect of the storm god and gains some of his divinity and memory in the process. so this is kinda similar to having uhh memories that are not their own and having to deal with it they can relate 🤍

of course i am always down for a way to work a character into the grishaverse. obviously the concept of past lives and sainthood is a known convention already. i don't want to presume anything about freydís' status in universe but perhaps skaði was a saint of old once. they could possibly follow a similar path to zoya in terms of reawakening grisha magic prior to the establishment of orders/ when it became corrupted and cut off from its source.

we can also figure out a regular fantasy verse here i have so many Thots i am sure we will stumble on SOMETHING

³· zoya & kaghan: my little web-winged faeries my cinnamon apples. i feel like kaghan could possibly make her worse in this universe and i am 100% here for it. we threaded them a bit but i would be down to develop this concept further in terms of him coming to her aid post her father's death. i also remember me saying i thought it would be interesting if they had been childhood friends in this verse ( so very far back considering how old they both are lol ) but falling out of touch once juris decides to form his own court and essentially go rogue. the ethereal court is very much new amongst the long-standing higher courts which means this war with the spring court will either completely destroy is status and credibility or solidify it as a universal power amongst the high fae. it means a potential powerful ally for kaghan and also i know they would have mad banter am i wrong?

i was gonna suggest i make an ac.otar verse for her but do you really want that? be real with me. you would have to theysplain the universe to me and i'm pretty sure you are so divergent it wouldn't even make sense to bother with it. anyway i just want more kaghan trying to instruct her and give her council in a very volatile time. not sure what the broader implications of allying with the night court would be from a diplomatic standpoint so i would like to hear your take on that! is there gossip? is there oo'ing and ah'ing from the audience or is everyone hardcore judging her right now.

⁴· zoya & adam: witchypoos!! witchypoos!! i honestly can't see zoya working very well in a trc verse but when i figure it out i will let you know. although, so far i am enjoying them in an urban fantasy setting. we don't get to see adam interact with other witches after persephone's death so i think him and zoya forming more of a study group around magic seems NEAT. she could get into harvard i believe in her so consider a la ninth house ( you haven't read it i know but here me out ) they have their own little occult secret society where they probably tamper with dark forces they shouldn't.

they have a writing seminar 5pm but also a seance set for 7pm sometimes you just gotta bring your lavender scented candles with you to class! but for real i like the idea of them being hedge witches while they go to this prestigious university. it is formal education by day informal education by night. how very dark academia of them!