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anghimalaaynasapuso · 2 days ago

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DISCORD BOYFRIEND KÖNIG

sfw + nsfw. this is just an amalgamation of all my ideas

könig has never been one for putting his face on social media. even before the scars that pull at the skin of his cheek, reshaping his expression in ways he’s never fully grown used to, the idea of being seen, really seen, has never sat right with him. there’s a certain comfort in anonymity, in keeping the world at arm’s length. easier that way. safer.

that unease, paired with what some might consider his more nerdy interests, means he gravitates toward spaces like discord rather than the highly curated feeds of instagram or facebook. there, he doesn’t have to worry about photos or videos— just a username, and a presence in text.

his handle is simple: king 👑. a nod to the name he’s carried for so long, stripped of rank, stripped of weight.

even in the server where he’s most active, he keeps things vague, blending into discussions about games, military history, or whatever niche interest has caught his attention that week.

every now and then, he’ll let something slip— a mention of deployment, an offhand comment, disappearing for months at a time, only to return with a sudden burst of activity. some put the pieces together. most don’t. and könig prefers it that way. it’s easier to let them think he’s just another guy with spotty internet.

your first interaction is rather simple in retrospect.

he’s back after weeks of recon, shaking off the mission like dirt from his boots, easing into the familiarity of a gaming server he’s called home for years.

it’s not a small server, so new people come and go. he does his usual routine— an automated, slightly impersonal welcome but what he doesn’t expect is the sheer enthusiasm in return.

“hi!!!!”

he stares at the message for a second, counting the exclamation marks. three. four. five? a small smile tugs at his lips before he even realizes it.

it doesn’t take long before you’re at his metaphorical side, sending a friend request before the conversation even shifts from your college courses.

the older members tease him. something about his last deployment scrambling his head enough to take a newbie under his wing. he lets them talk. he doesn’t mind.

soon enough, you’re in his private messages, dramatically lamenting your latest loss in a game he’s only vaguely familiar with. könig listens— well, reads— as you rant, words spilling out at a rapid-fire pace, interspersed with keyboard smashing and increasingly incoherent frustration.

he’s not much for new releases, preferring to sink his teeth into a single game for months on end, grinding away until mastery is muscle memory. still-

one evening, without preamble, he sends you a link. his profile. in your game.

the response is immediate. ‘king!!! 🥺’ you type, followed by an onslaught of keyboard mashing that takes up half his screen.

he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. he wonders if you know how easy it is to make him grin like an idiot.

the calls are… an unexpected development.

könig doesn’t make a habit to join server calls. ever. it’s not even about anxiety, not really, just preference. too many voices, too much noise. he never expected to be comfortable enough with anyone to want to be in a call, let alone initiate one.

but when you start gaming together, it becomes a necessity. typing mid-match isn’t exactly efficient, and you’re the first to point that out.

“okay, listen, king, i am not about to lose another ranked match just because you take five years to type ‘behind you.’” he huffs, amused, but relents.

soon enough, calls become second nature— no longer tied to gaming, no longer requiring an excuse. you always ask first, polite thing that you are, and könig always agrees. sometimes it’s an unspoken invitation, a simple “call?” sent in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he beats you to it, pressing the button before he can think too hard about it.

one time, it’s you who calls. he answers on the first ring.

“are you- wait.” you pause, listening. there’s a distinct, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the background. not footsteps, but something heavier, more controlled. “are you on a treadmill?”

“mm.” his voice is steady, unaffected. a quiet confirmation.

you gasp, and he can practically hear the amusement brewing in your tone. “oh my god! you actually work out? i thought you were lying.”

he snorts, breath hitching slightly as he adjusts his pace. “why would i lie about that?”

“i don’t know! you just- i mean, you sit at your desk all day, playing the same game for hours, and you’re always online at weird times-”

“you are describing yourself,” he points out.

“shut up.”

there’s a pause, and then, with the kind of mischief that only comes from knowing exactly how to push his buttons, you add, “prove it.”

he slows to a walk, swiping open his phone. a moment later, you receive a picture. him, flexing. the lighting is dim, but you can still make out the cut of his forearm, the solid shape of his bicep. just to humor you, he throws up a peace sign.

“not stolen from pinterest.”

you burst into laughter so sudden and bright that he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

you learn what it means to miss könig pretty early on.

it happens suddenly. one day, he’s there, active as usual, sending the occasional meme, idling in voice chat even if he’s not talking. the next? radio silence. not even a ‘typing…’ indicator.

at first, you don’t think much of it. maybe he’s sleeping in. maybe he’s busy. time zones are weird. it’s fine.

but then a whole day passes. then another. you check his status— nothing. not offline, not do not disturb, just… gone.

curiosity turns into concern, and before you can think better of it, you ask in the server.

“hey, anyone heard from king?”

the response is casual. unbothered. “oh, dude’s probably deployed again.”

you blink. reread the message. “deployed?”

“yeah, king’s military.”

there’s no warning for the way that statement knocks the air from your lungs.

military? as in, real-life combat? as in, war zones and danger and actual life-or-death situations?

you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to even say to that.

he doesn’t resurface for weeks.

you don’t realize how much you’ve come to rely on his presence until it’s gone. his absence is loud in the quiet moments of your day, in the spaces where a message from him would normally be.

you check the server out of habit, catching yourself before you can search his username. it’s stupid, you think. you barely know him. he’s just some guy from a discord server.

but the worry lingers.

and then, one day, just like that— he’s back.

his return is as unceremonious as his disappearance.

no dramatic entrance, no fanfare. just a simple “hello.”

you see it the moment he sends it. your stomach flips.

before you can stop yourself, you send a private message. “you’re alive.”

a moment passes. then— “yes.”

you frown. “you were gone for weeks.”

“i know.”

frustration bubbles up. “you could’ve said something.”

“i couldn’t.”

you hesitate, fingers tightening around your phone. you don’t know what you were expecting. an explanation? reassurance? but it’s clear you’re not getting one.

but then, a follow-up message. one that feels heavier, more careful. “i’m sorry.”

and just like that, the irritation dissolves.

it’s strange, the way things slip back into place after that.

he doesn’t talk about it, and you don’t ask. but something shifts. after that deployment, könig starts telling you when he’ll be gone. nothing in detail, really. just a simple, “i’ll be away for a bit.”

(it means everything.)

slowly, you get used to it. the rhythm of his presence and absence, the way your conversations pick up right where they left off, as if no time has passed at all.

it goes on for months. this… thing between the two of you. könig doesn’t hesitate to call it friendship, though he knows, knows, it’s something else entirely.

something with edges softer than companionship, something that lingers in the pauses between conversation, in the way you had whispered his real name under your breath when he revealed it to you.

he doesn’t rush to name it. doesn’t push. he lets it simmer until it feels inevitable.

in the end, it’s you who breaks first. technically. not that he’s keeping score. not that he would ever rub it in your face, especially when he was a mere day away from asking the very same thing.

it starts with a message. no preamble, no buildup. just a simple: hey, what are we?

könig sees it and reacts before thinking. presses the call button so fast his thumb practically smashes the screen. it rings once, twice—

“you didn’t even ask.” your voice comes through, half exasperated, half amused.

“didn’t want to give you time to unsend.” his own voice is steady, but his heart is anything but.

you huff. “bold assumption.”

“not really.”

a pause. he hears you shift, fabric rustling, the sound of you settling in. something warm and slow uncoils in his chest at the familiarity of it.

“so,” you start, hesitant. “what’s your answer?”

könig exhales, tipping his head back against his pillow. “do you want the truth?”

“obviously.”

he hums, considering. in reality, he’s known the truth for a while now. probably before you even realized it yourself.

“i like you,” he says, simple, sure. then, because he knows you, because he knows your deflections, your habit of teasing when you get nervous, he adds, “and i’m very aware you like me back.”

you sputter. “that’s a bold assumption-”

“not really,” he repeats, smug this time.

you groan, but you’re laughing, and it sends something bright flickering through him.

könig doesn’t ask for nudes. not once. he flirts, he teases, but never pushes. he knows your boundaries, respects them, never even hints at wanting more. if anything, he’s careful. too careful, sometimes. like he’s afraid of crossing a line you haven’t even drawn.

so when you finally send something, it’s your choice.

the first picture is tame. barely anything. it's a shot of your thighs, soft and warm in the low light of your room. nothing scandalous. nothing too revealing. but the second you hit send, your stomach twists with nerves.

könig sees it immediately. you watch the typing bubble appear, disappear, then appear again. and then— “fuck.”

you grin. “good?”

“you have no idea.”

it only escalates from there.

könig never requests more. but when you send it, when you want to send it, his reaction is worth it. he worships you through the screen, tells you how beautiful you are, how much he wishes he could touch you.

“pretty,” he texts once, attached to a voice message.

you press play. his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a mile. “pretty thing,” he repeats, voice tinged with something almost reverent. “you’re going to ruin me, love.”

the first time he sends you something, it takes him forever to work up to it.

you don’t ask for it. wouldn’t dream of pushing him into something he’s not comfortable with. könig isn’t shy, necessarily, but he’s private. you know that by now.

so when, out of nowhere, a picture pops up on your screen, your brain short-circuits.

it’s cropped carefully, but there’s no mistaking what you’re looking at— bare skin, broad shoulders, his stomach flexed just slightly.

“you like?” he texts after a minute.

you swallow hard. “yes.”

“good.” and then— “more?”

you bite your lip. “please.”

könig gets bolder after that.

he sends more. never too much, always teasing, always just enough to leave you wanting. sometimes it’s his hands, sometimes it’s his abs, the sharp cut of his hip bones, the waistband of his sweatpants hanging just low enough to make your mouth water.

one night, he sends a voice message instead. you press play.

at first, all you hear is his breathing. then, slowly, softly— your name, whispered through a noise that makes heat bloom low in your stomach.

“wish you were here,” he murmurs. “wish you could see what you do to me.”

the actual nudes don’t take long. not ar all. you’re both desperate. buzzing. könig’s the one who caves first.

it starts with your text. 10 p.m., the hour where inhibitions slip through grasping fingers like sand.

“wanna see your cock so bad, könig…” you murmur to your propped phone, cheek pressed to your pillow, another one stuffed against your chest like it might replace the hollow ache between your ribs. a distraction. a poor substitute.

on the other side of the screen, he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. fingers tensing, then flexing, like he needs something to hold onto. “love-” your whine cuts through before he can even think. instinctive. needy. his stomach clenches. “okay, okay. as long as you're sure.”

his heart pounds as he opens his photos. he doesn’t exactly collect dick pics, but there are a few kept locked away, private albums, a passcode he suddenly fumbles to enter.

three minutes. that’s how long it takes to choose the best one. the right angle. the right lighting. enough to make your breath hitch when you see it.

he hits send before he can overthink it, then leans back, phone balanced on his thigh, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

your phone buzzes. the photo pops up. you blink, breath hitching sharp in your throat.

“oh my god.” the words spill out of you before you can even think to stop them. “könig…” you stare at the screen, gaze locked on the thick, heavy length of him. the way it curves slightly, resting against his thigh like it’s weighed down by its own sheer mass. your breath stutters.

“you're so fucking big.” it barely registers that you've said it aloud.

“yeah? you like it?

“like it?” you shoot back. “i want it inside me.”

his breath leaves him in one harsh exhale. he shifts, hips rolling involuntarily like he can feel your words on his skin.

“can i see you too?” he sounds so polite. and then, as if that wasn’t enough to twist the knife deeper— “please?”

your stomach flips. you bite your lip, already reaching for your phone camera, the need to show him everything burning through you like wildfire.

your breath comes shallow as you slip your hand lower, phone steady in the other. the need is a pulse under your skin, throbbing, insistent. you pull the covers back just enough, the cool air prickling against the heat between your thighs.

the camera catches everything. your slightly parted thighs, your swollen clit, the wetness gushing out of your hole. it feels like baring a secret you’ve never told anyone. you hesitate for half a second, heart racing, then hit send.

the second the message disappears from your screen, it hits you— you just sent that to him.

on his end, könig freezes. the photo loads slow, torturous, and when it finally pops up, he feels his whole body tense, blood rushing south so fast it’s dizzying. “f-fuck, i need to be inside of you-”

sex with könig, if you can even call it that, at first, sneaks up on you. you never thought you’d be the kind of person who got into this. sending texts that made your face burn, leaving voice messages you could barely listen back to without cringing. but with him, it’s different. easier. less embarrassing because it’s him.

still, going from nudes to actual phone sex takes some time.

“gonna sleep,” könig texts you once, attached to a blurry photo of his bed.

“alone?” you send back, teasing.

the typing bubble appears. then disappears. then— “obviously.”

you grin at your phone, satisfied. but then— “but i could use some company.”

you stare at the message longer than you’d like to admit.

didn't tell him that you had woken up panting, arousal between your thighs, könig’s name on your lips too many times. didn't tell him that you had pressed your hand against your clit during your calls, to the sound of his voice, to his laugh, to the quiet, wrecked groans he sometimes lets out when he stretches after a workout.

in the past, you hadn't told him how many times you’d dreamt of him because you thought you'd scare him off, kept your mouth shut about the images that haunted you at night, of his hands pinning you down, his mouth at your throat.

but you wanted to.

and tonight, you would.

the conversation turns slow. lazy. heavy with something unspoken.

“you sound tired,” könig murmurs, voice warm. he’s always like this late at night. soft, unhurried, like he’s sinking into the sound of you.

you swallow hard. your skin feels too hot, too tight. “i’m not.”

a pause. then, lower— “what is it, love?”

you hesitate, pressing your lips together. it’s too much. too embarrassing. but he knows something is different.

“talk to me. tell me what you’re thinking.”

you let out a shaky breath. “i had a dream about you.”

the silence stretches.

you can hear him inhale. you bite your lip. force yourself to continue. “i think about you. when i-” you stop. you can’t say it. can’t admit it.

könig exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to steady himself. “when you what?”

your stomach is a knot of nerves. but you want this. want him. so you take a breath, close your eyes. “when i touch myself.”

his breath stutters.

“fuck.” the word is almost a groan. your pulse hammers, blood rushing through your ear as heat pools in your stomach.

“könig,” you whisper.

he exhales, whispers his next words like a beg, “say it again.”

you swallow. “i touch myself to you.”

“i do too.”

your stomach flips. “what?”

“i-” he cuts himself off with a quiet curse, like he's frustrated with himself for hesitating. “i touch myself to you too.”

your breath catches. heat blooms in your chest, spreading down your spine. “könig-”

“all the time.” his voice is lower now, raw, like he's aching with it. “when i can't sleep. when you're on call with me, laughing, teasing me. when i wake up hard in the middle of the night and can’t stop thinking about stuffing you full.”

your body is burning again, despite the aftershocks still rolling through you. you're about to choke out a reply when you hear it— the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of bedsprings, the wet slide of skin on skin.

“are you-”

a sharp inhale. “yes.”

“let me hear you,” you whisper, thinking about his pretty, pretty cock. uncut, soft skin stretched over the flushed head, the way it would slide back when he’s fully hard, revealing the deep pink of his leaking tip. the veins that wind down the length, standing out against the pale skin

there's a pause, a hitch in his breath. then, slowly— “okay.”

there's a small rustle, könig adjusting himself on the bed. the faint sound of him pumping lotion on his hand. a quiet sigh. and then, a low grunt as the warmth of his palm wraps around his cock.

könig looks down at his hand, eyes half-lidded, hips bucking up in small thrusts. he imagines your pussy instead of his fist, hot and tight and so fucking warm, fluttering around his length as he pushes in, spearing you open with a cock too big for your little cunny.

he knows you’d cry for him, little gasps and hiccupped moans, squirming beneath him as he bullies his cock deeper, past that tight ring of muscle into the slick, warm clutch of your cunt.

“a-ah- fuck, ah-”

your breath stutters at the sounds, hips grinding against your palm. “wish i could see you.”

“on cam?”

you groan, squeezing your thighs around the pillow in-between your legs, grinding your clit against the material softly. “yes, please..”

fuck, you're so polite.

#könig #könig call of duty #könig x reader #call of duty #x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod x y/n #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x reader #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig x you #konig x y/n

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shego1142 · 10 hours ago

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I think it’s important to add to this a discussion I was having with my friends about how those in power are currently operating.

Regarding the sort of hypocrisy you see among the elitist politicians who propose bills like this.

When bills like this are proposed we need to stop using the term “hypocritical” as some sort of gotcha.

Everyone is hypocritical from time to time, it’s a part of human nature, we all contain multitudes and facets of ourselves, of wanting and being.

That’s not the winning argument against these sorts of situations, and will just prove to alienate those out there who do feel bad about having minor hypocritical views from time to time

But these rich fascists do not feel bad for being hypocritical.

They know that their views are hypocritical.

That’s the whole point.

They are openly, blatantly hypocritical.

Because they think they’re better than others.

These rich assholes are the sorts of people who do millions of dollars worth of drugs one day and then lobby for even the most banal and non harmful drugs to be criminalised and looked at as a moral failing the next day.

Not because they feel some sort of obligation or “remorse” or whatever

Not because they’re worried or they had a change of heart or

Any other aspect of “accidental hypocrisy” that a typical person might feel

But because they’re actively promoting “greedy hypocrisy”

They want to ban it for us, and promote it for them.

These people are frequently known to be sexual offenders in one way or another, and they have been proven to be hyper sexual (not usually a bad thing but in their case often is) and to have consumed porn at a rate most people can’t match

Yet they want to ban porn

It has nothing to do with porn being morally wrong, it has nothing to do with them being progressive in any way.

Porn is pleasurable for 90% of those who engage with it, and yes I’m including most of the actors and crew. Most people who make/star in/watch porn are having a fun good time, getting paid a fair wage, working with their friends, enjoying their body, etc

The rich want to distance themselves from poor people

The rich m want to take the fun and joy and pleasure away from poor people.

This is hypocrisy based on wealth.

It’s feudalism.

And I think we need to be very loud about that.

They don’t want it to be illegal for everyone, they just want it to be illegal for us.

They want to defund the arts, while still enjoying art, they want to criminalise learning while still wanting their children to be educated, they want to raise grocery prices and restrict access to ebt and tell us all to eat cereal for dinner, while they sit at home and dine on fresh vegetables and meats and lobster and caviar.

Not because they truly think these things shouldn’t be done.

But because they truly think these things shouldn’t be done by us.

Their attempts to control the narrative and make moral arguments are just their way of saying:

“Only the wealthy deserve to be happy and entertained and fed. The rest of you should be working in factories and mills to make us richer.”

No war but class war

"porn brain" is a far right conspiracy theory, misogyny in porn is a result of structural societal misogyny and not the cause of it, the way to help sex workers is decriminalization and worker's rights, banning sexual expression is fascist. i will not be taking questions at the time.

#fascism #us politics #politics #political

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hanniebaeee · 11 hours ago

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Without you

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: lots of tears

Genre: established relationship, angst, fluff

Summary: When Hyunjin comes home after a week away for work, he finds you gone. And he's furious because you didn't say a word, just packed and left. And he knows it has everything to do with the dinner you had with his parents just before he left.

a/n: writing my pain away. I'm sorry if this is too angsty.

Hyunjin’s knuckles rapped against Jisoo’s front door with such force you feared that it might come off its hinges. You glanced at Jisoo, your face streaked with tears, your heart racing.

“Y/N!” His voice came through the door, sending a jolt of panic through your chest. “Open the damn door, or so help me, I’ll kick it down.”

Jisoo shot you a glance, silently asking if you wanted her to handle it. You just shook your head. You had to face him at some point.

“You sure?” Jisoo asked, her protective instincts flaring.

You nodded, and she sighed before walking towards the door.

Memories of that night flashed through your mind painfully. Dinner at his parents’ place. Everything was going fine until his mum cornered you in the kitchen as you helped her put things away. She was so polite as she suggested that her son was very impulsive, and rarely thought things through.

You heart nearly stopped as she said that, because you had a feeling where this conversation was headed. And then she told you with a smile that if you really loved him, you'd stop holding him back, and let him have the life he truly deserved - a life with a Korean girl who'd fit better with his family. With him.

And she had proceeded to pretend like everything was ok the rest of the night, while you had to do everything in your power to not break down. He was their only son. You didn't want to ruin his relationship with them, considering how wildly protective he was of you.

The man loved you with everything in him. And Hyunjin literally wore his heart on his sleeves, and you would never knowingly do anything to agitate him. And so you'd gone home silently that night, spent a long time silently sobbing in the bathroom as he packed for a one week trip. He had multiple shows scheduled for the week, all outside Korea.

Obviously he knew the minute you emerged from the bathroom with a smile. He had stared into your eyes, his mouth opening and closing like he desperately wanted to talk. But he had to leave in another hour, and he didn't want to start a conversation that he knew he couldn't finish before he left. So he engulfed you in a hug, kissed you deeply and told you that he loved you. And that you're his entire world.

But sadly, that didn't make your aching insecurities vanish. Because after he left, you'd packed your own bags and called Jisoo, panicking.

He called out again, this time a little softer, but his tone was dripping with frustration.

“Jisoo, I know you’re in there. And I know she’s with you. Let me in.” he said. “Please.”

“Fine! But if you make her cry again, I'll make you suffer.” Jisoo opened the door, shooting him a glare as she moved aside. “She's in the guest room.”

Hyunjin stormed in, wearing his travel-worn hoodie and sweatpants, looking so tired, but furious at the same time.

His sharp eyes locked onto you immediately as he stepped into the guest bedroom. Hyunjin stood there for a moment, staring at you. Your face was nearly unrecognizable - eyes swollen, skin blotchy from crying for days. You could barely keep your eyes open.

Hyunjin’s chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and you could see the tension radiating off him.

“You wanna explain to me what the hell is going on?” he asked finally, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.

You tried to hold his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes was unbearable.

“Hyunjin, please don’t do this right now,” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your oversized sweater.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” he said, stalking toward you like a predator who’d just spotted its prey. He crossed his arms, towering over you. “Start talking. Now.”

You folded your arms, a weak attempt to put up a barrier. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about?” He scoffed, letting out a humorless laugh. “That’s rich, considering I came home to our apartment looking like a ghost town. All your stuff gone. My gifts left behind like they were trash. And you dodging my calls?”

His voice was rising, and it was clear that more than anger, he was hurt.

“I didn’t dodge your calls,” you countered weakly, your voice breaking.

“You didn’t answer them. Or my texts,” he fired back. “What the hell, Y/N? I want you to tell me why you thought it was okay to pack your things and leave without a word."

You tried to muster the courage to stay firm, to push him away like his mother had suggested.

“I… I think we’re too different, Hyunjin.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. “It's for the best…”

His jaw clenched, his angelic features hardening. “Bullshit.”

Your eyes widened at his bluntness, and how he took another step forward.

“You don’t get to pull this ‘too different’ crap on me now,” he snapped. “If you don’t want to be with me anymore, fine, say that. But don’t lie to me. Is that it? You don't love me?”

“No, no,” you insisted, though your voice was shaky. “Hyunjin, please-”

“Then tell me why you cried your eyes out after that dinner,” he challenged. “Tell me why my mom’s been calling me nonstop asking if you’re okay.”

Your heart sank. Of course, he’d piece it together. He wasn’t stupid.

Hyunjin exhaled, running a hand through his short hair, his frustration giving way to something softer. “Baby, what did she say to you?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Hyunjin, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” he said, his voice cracking. “It matters if it’s enough to make you leave me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, and your eyes burned as you blinked them back.

“She loves you, Jinnie…whatever she wants for you, it's for the best…you do deserve better,” you admitted quietly. “Someone who fits into your world better than I do.”

Hyunjin let out a low curse, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He turned away for a moment, running both hands through his hair as he paced the room, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

“You deserve someone who won’t hold you back.”

He froze, his gaze darkening as he asked, “You think you hold me back?”

“Hyunjin -”

“I don’t care what she said,” he snapped, cutting you off. “I’m asking you. Do you think that?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

“Y/N,” he whispered, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “You’re my world. No one else fits better into it than you. My mom doesn’t get to decide who’s good enough for me, baby. I do. And guess what? You’re it. You’ve always been it. Don’t you see that?”

“I just…” You shook your head, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to cause problems for you. I love you too much to -”

“To what?” he interrupted, stepping closer again. His hands found your face, his touch firm but gentle as he tilted your chin up to make you look at him. “To stay? To fight for us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice.

“And if my mom can’t see what we have, that’s her problem,” he continued, his tone fierce. “But you don’t get to decide for me. You don’t get to run away without even talking to me.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, your walls breaking down under the weight of his words.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, trying to push him away.

“Like what?” He smirked, his confidence creeping back. “Like I’m madly in love with you?”

“Hyunjin…” Your voice was barely audible as you mumbled, “I don't want you to regret this. Ever.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t you dare say that. Because it's bullshit. You’re everything to me.”

The tears flowed freely now, and you couldn’t stop them even if you tried. “But your mom -”

“I’ll handle my mom,” he growled, cutting you off again. “You’re my choice, Y/N. My family. My life.”

His words shattered the last of your resolve, and before you knew it, you were sobbing into his chest, clutching at his hoodie. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you so tight.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your hair, his voice trembling. “And I’m yours. Don’t ever forget that.”

You nodded against him, too overwhelmed to speak. A small tearful laugh escaped you, despite the tears still streaming down your face.

“There’s my girl,” he teased, brushing a thumb over your cheek to wipe your tears away. “Now, grab your things. Let’s go home.”

You hesitated, still unsure if you could ever face his mother again.

“Don’t worry about her,” he added, as if reading your mind. “I’ll handle it. This is not your battle, okay?”

And just like that, the weight on your chest began to lift. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just you and Hyunjin - two souls refusing to let go of each other.

And you knew, deep down, that you never would.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world

#skz #stray kids #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

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yunholic-jongholic · 3 days ago

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Paused for Passion | J.WY x Reader

SUMMARY | You and Wooyoung are watching a movie when a sex scene appears on screen. Wooyoung glances down at you, resting comfortably on his shoulder. Without a word, he pauses the movie, leaving you confused—until he pulls you into a passionate kiss. One thing leads to another, and soon, the two of you are tangled together on the couch.

PAIRINGS | Wooyoung x Fem!Reader

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | One Shot, SMUT, NSFW, Explicit Content, Dirty Talk, Cursing, Hair pulling, Oral sex, Unprotected sex (don't do that), Orgasms, Creampie, Teasing, Porn-watching, Praise Kink (I might be missing some, sorry if I am...)

WORD COUNT | 1.2k

AUTHOR NOTE | Wow, I keep feeding Atiny.. Anyways this is to all the Wommys out there! I was going for some soft hours at first as you read, but I hope you all enjoy! Thank you again for supporting me! <3

•

You and your boyfriend, Wooyoung, were cuddled up on the couch, watching TV together. As the night went on, you started feeling drowsy—it was getting late, and you had work in the morning. Noticing your sleepiness, Wooyoung tried to keep you awake by chatting during the show and explaining what was happening. Eventually, his efforts worked, and you perked up, deciding to keep watching with him.

"Anyway, when the main character decides to be with his girl, you can tell he’s really happy," Wooyoung says with a smile, his words carrying a subtle hint that he feels the same way about you. You smile and blush a tiny bit calling him cute.

"Me or him?" Wooyoung teases, pointing at the TV with a grin. "Obviously him!" you joke back, causing Wooyoung to pout dramatically at your response. "Why do you like a TV guy more than me?" he whines, playfully slapping your arm in mock offense, his touch gentle and harmless. You laugh at his attempt to hit you, and you hit back same pain level. Wooyoung lets out an exaggerated whine and clutches his arm like he’s in pain, even though you both know your playful hit was barely a tap.

"Oh, you’re so dramatic, Wooyoung," you say, rolling your eyes and tsking at his over-the-top reaction.

He grins and leans in to kiss your cheek before you settle back down, resting your head on his shoulder. As the show continues, Wooyoung shifts, lying down across your lap. You smile softly, running your fingers through his hair and twirling it gently, enjoying the comfortable closeness.

At some point during the show, a scene unfolds where the couple starts making out, escalating into a heated moment. You notice Wooyoung sit up straight, his attention now fully locked on the screen. The couple on screen is now taking their clothes off and it full blown turns into a sex scene. You continue watching not really caring about your surroundings, but you lean your head back on Wooyoung's shoulder as you both continue watching.

The sex scene gets too heated for Wooyoung which you don't notice, who is now shifting oddly on the sofa. Wooyoung lets out a soft, deep exhale and suddenly pauses the show. You glance at him, confused, as he shifts his gaze down to meet yours, a look in his eyes you can’t quite read.

"Are... You okay Woo?" You ask him, lifting your head up from his shoulder. He doesn't say anything and immediately attaches his lips onto yours. You pull away for a second trying to examine what just happened and Wooyoung just pulls your body onto his lap as he goes back to kiss you passionately. You are confused yet aroused sort of knowing that the show was turning him on.

"I need you right now." he huffs out dis-attaching both of your lips again. He kind of laughs it off as you can tell he might be slightly embarrassed of how turned on he is. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens, fully giving in to him. Wooyoung's hands move with purpose, lifting your shirt and unhooking your bra in one smooth motion.

Gently but firmly, he presses you down onto the sofa, laying you on your back. Your cheeks flush with warmth as you look at him, and without hesitation, he begins sliding your pants and underwear off, his gaze never leaving yours. He softly caresses your inner thigh and leaves feathery kisses on your skin. Wooyoung does soft kitten licks on your cunt causing you to moan very lightly. You tangle your fingers in his hair gripping it softly as he fully dives into you.

"Wooyoung!" you moan, your head falling to the side as his tongue works magic on you, teasing and twirling in all the right ways. Lost in his own desire, Wooyoung starts grinding his hips into the sofa while continuing to devour you. A soft whimper escapes your lips when he presses his thumb against your clit, circling and rubbing it gently, sending waves of pleasure through you. You grip onto his hair tighter as he lifts your leg over his shoulder and pulls away for a second to catch his breath.

"You taste so good," Wooyoung breathes, his voice raspy, and eyes dark with arousal. He’s completely lost in the moment, clearly enjoying every second. Without hesitation, he sits up, quickly pulling off his pants and tossing them carelessly onto the floor, his movements full of urgency. He moves upwards towards you as he slowly pushes himself inside you. You whimper at the feeling and grip onto his arms as he rests one hand over your neck softly grazing it.

"Woo..." you moan his name as he thrusts into you. You felt your body slowly melt on the sofa as he was working on you. "You are practically melting on the sofa darling..." Wooyoung let out a soft chuckle as he leaned in, his lips gently meeting yours. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his breath and the arousal closeness between you.

"Shut up..." You hissed at his remark, as he went down to your neck and started kissing your chest. You felt his tongue twirl around your nipple and popped it in his mouth sucking on the sensitive bud. You moans got higher, your arms still wrapped around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He moaned thrusting deeper into you feeling your walls getting tighter around him.

"You are going to kill me Y/N..." he moaned out hot breathing on your body. He sat up again adjusting your legs to his waist wrapping them around him. You finally felt his tip hit your sensitive spot, which caused you to moan even louder now. Once he realized he found the sweet spot he didn't stop. thrusting harder and watching you from above, his eyes practically drooling and so deeply aroused.

"You are so beautiful..." Wooyoung groaned caressing your body as he rammed his hips into you. "Fuck." he cursed as he felt his cock twitch inside you.

"I am so close Woo..." you moan throwing your head to the side moaning nonstop slightly letting small whimpers out due to sensitivity. "Then come with me." Wooyoung groaned giving one final thrust before pushing you both onto the edge. You both reach your highs together. Wooyoung was panting like crazy as he flopped down beside you pulling himself out. You whine at the loss of his touch, but your body is trembling with how sensitive you are anyways.

"Can we watch the show now?" You pant out trying to sit up, but you can't. "It will just want me want to have a second round with you if we continue the sex scene." Wooyoung giggled kissing your cheek. You roll your eyes and sigh, "then I will just skip the scene." Wooyoung whines clearly suggesting he wants a second round.

You see him sit up ready to pull you onto his lap again. "I promise, this will be the last one and I can still do all the work!" Wooyoung held your hand caressing it softly smiling at you already too far too deep into his lusty head space.

•

Wow I am INSANE. that is all. Good night!

#wooyoung smut #ateez x reader #ateez smut #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung fanfic

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brawberryz · 1 day ago

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Please don't leave me alone

Batfam Yan! × Eva Pilot! Reader

Note:English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error

You were a normal student

Or well almost nothing was normal in this world, but in your life it was pretty normal

You were a first year student, you weren't very sociable but it's not like you didn't have friends either. You were the middle point of being someone extroverted and introverted

But that's not the main issue, a few days ago you had received a letter from your father, father...

Years ago you hadn't heard from him, well when you were younger you remembered him but since the incident you haven't seen him anymore

Since then you have been living with your teacher, he was a good guy and he was a good father figure for your depressed self

You didn't imagine that after so much time your father would want to talk to you although you didn't complain

You were in front of a telephone booth, you were trying to contact the boy in the photo which your father had sent to look for you

Richard "Dick" Grayson

But your attempts failed, all the telephone lines were cut so it was impossible to have some kind of contact, apparently it was because of the attack of something, you didn't know very well what but the streets were empty so it must be something serious and dangerous

"Ugh, I shouldn't be here..."

You said as you left the phone and picked up your bag, you were still in your school uniform, they hadn't even given you time to change, now you were here in the middle of an abandoned city with no signal

"I guess it won't make it in time, I should go to some shelter"

You said letting out a long sigh, you knew it wasn't a good idea to listen and come to this place, but your desire to be able to see your father after so long won but you were slowly regretting that

You put your bag on your shoulder and began to walk through the abandoned streets trying to find some kind of shelter to protect yourself

But before you could do anything a loud explosion was heard near you made the whole city shake like some kind of earthquake or schism, that explosion could have easily damaged your eardrums and made them bleed

"What's going on..."

You said scared looking up right where like some "airplanes?" Strangers came out of a place

And there you saw it... a giant thing maybe bigger than a 30-story building, it was too scary you had never seen anything like that before, your body was in shock and you weren't able to move

You tried with all your might to make your body react in some way but it was impossible, it was as if your feet were stuck to the ground

Some large missiles passed close to you and you instinctively crouched down protecting your head, whatever that thing was was too dangerous

You saw how those missiles barely did any damage to that creature, what kind of strange monster was that creature, the only thing you could do was watch in a daze as the fight developed

The creature threw something from its hands causing one of the planes to fall and to your bad luck it fell right next to you, you could barely react when the plane fell in front of you, you were lucky not to be crushed

But it seems luck was not on your side today (if it ever was) You were lucky) there was another explosion and the creature staggered towards you causing its foot to step on the plane causing a huge explosion, you fell to the ground and tried to cover yourself with your arms accepting your end

But you didn't feel anything, you heard the sound of a car braking hard in front of you and the door opening, you looked up and saw it

"Come in, sorry for being late"

The boy said giving you a sad smile, you could barely process everything that was happening it was too much for your poor teenage brain

"What are you waiting for? Come in now!"

The boy spoke again, it felt more like an order than a request, you quickly came out of your state of shock and quickly climbed into the passenger seat, buckling your seat belt tightly.

"Hold on tight, this is going to be a bit of a dangerous ride."

Before you could respond, Richard accelerated the car as fast as he could before the car was run over by the creature.

He drove as fast as the car would allow him until he reached a more remote place, you felt like you were about to die from the car flipping so much.

After a few minutes, Richard stopped on a small hill in the distance, he let out a sigh of relief and then turned his gaze to you.

"Sorry about that, I know it was too much to process but- wait a minute."

Richard stopped talking in the middle of his sentence as soon as he saw something in the window, he quickly took out a pair of binoculars from a small drawer in the car.

He quickly moved closer to the car window to see more clearly.

"Wait a minute, are they going to use the N-2 mine!?"

Richard said in surprise before grabbing your arm and pulling you against him to use his body as a shield.

"Bend down and hold on to me!"

You barely had time to react when a huge explosion was heard making everything nearby shake, with so many explosions you heard today you swore you were about to go deaf

A strong gust hit the car causing it to fall and spin around on the ground, you felt Richard hug you tighter, he wasn't going to allow you to get hurt in any way and if that meant he had to be some kind of human shield he was going to be

After a few minutes things calmed down and they were able to get out of the car unharmed

"Hey little one, are you okay?"

Richard asked worriedly looking at you on the ground trying to calm your labored breathing

"Yes...yes I'm fine"

You gave him a half smile, so many things had happened in less than 1 hour and your head was only full of doubts and more doubts

You just wanted to go home and have that monotonous life

"Okay, now help push the car"

You just nodded getting up from the ground and shaking off your uniform, you helped him push the car with all your strength

It was difficult the car was too heavy but after a few minutes they were able to do it

"Thanks for the help, (name)"

He gave you a grateful smile, he gave you a small pat on the head

"Don't worry, I should be the one who should thank you, thanks grayson"

You said shyly, in a way you were grateful that he had risked his life to protect you

"Just call me Richard, there's no need to be so formal"

You just nodded and then got into the car with him. It was going to be a long trip, but you felt a little safe with him. It was like having an older brother.

"This place is so big!"

You said in amazement walking through the large facilities, you had never been in a place like this

NORV was an amazing place, you couldn't believe that you were going to have something to do with this place

"Too big I would say.."

Richard said as he looked at a map of the place, he hadn't remembered that the place would be so confusing and giant

The two of you were going down an escalator, you were too focused on reading the manual that Richard had given you to pay attention to your surroundings

"I wonder where Barbara is..." he said in a small whisper "I'm sorry, I don't know the place that well"

The boy said embarrassed, you just nodded without paying much attention to what he was saying

You were walking for a few minutes until you reached a hallway

"I think it should be here, follow me"

He said grabbing your arm, you weren't going to tell him out loud but it bothers you a little that you touched you so freely, you felt that he had gained too much confidence in such a short time and that made you uncomfortable, he barely gave you your personal space and treated you as if he had known you all your life

You just made a small sound of acceptance and then continued walking, you got into a small elevator and you were there for a few seconds

Just when the elevator opened a red-haired woman appeared with a serious expression looking at Richard

"Ah!, hello Barbara, how long?"

Richard said greeting her with a smile, you just kept your eyes on the book pretending not to pay attention

The girl just nodded and got into the elevator with you

"I could say the same..."

She said in a monotone as she leaned against the wall of the elevator, Richard let out an awkward laugh as he adjusted his uniform

You just pretended not to feel the awkward atmosphere that the two of them radiated together

"Is this the girl Bruce was talking about?"

Barbara pointed at you, you just shrank further into your book

"Yes, the institute reported to us that she is the third kid chosen"

Mmm, I see, well it's nice to meet you"

He gave you a small smile as he gave your shoulders a small squeeze

"Likewise"

You nodded nervously, you returned your attention to the book at this moment you felt that your only safe place was this manual on the NORV facilities

"You and your father look so alike, it seems that neither of you are able to smile or show your emotions"

Richard let out a small laugh as he said that, Barbara simply nodded at Richard's poorly made joke

They continued to go up in the elevator, they began to talk about something that you didn't really understand nor did you care

They exited the elevator and arrived at a hallway, just as the three of them arrived and entered the door slammed

"I-it's really dark!"

You said confused, it's not that you were afraid of the dark you were just afraid of not seeing your way and tripping over something

But before anyone could answer the light went out Suddenly it turned on

And there it was, it was the biggest robot you had ever seen in your life, you could only see its head but it still looked big, it was buried in a bright pink liquid you wanted to ask what it was but you decided not to say anything

You decided to flip through the book to see if you could find any information about this giant robot

"You won't find any information there"

Barbara said staring at you

"Uh..."

You looked at her confused as you listened to what she was saying

"This is the latest combat weapons system created by humans, an artificial life form called...evangelion or in a few words unit 01"

You just nodded at all the information you received, you barely understood what she was telling you, this was too much to understand for a teenager like you

"Is this what my father does?"

You asked curiously staring at Barbara

"You got closer, congratulations, (name)"

You heard A voice, one you recognized all too well, you looked up and there he was

Watching you from a window above, it seemed as if nothing had changed he still had that cold and disinterested look he always gave you when you were younger

"D-dad..."

You said in shock, so much time had passed that you didn't even know how to start a conversation with him, what should you tell the man who left you for more than 10 years

"Activate the Eva"

Bruce said bluntly as he stared at you

"Activate the Eva!? But unit 01 is still in preliminary phase, did they lose their minds?"

Richard couldn't believe what Bruce was asking, it was too dangerous for you to get on that Eva, you could easily die or get hurt

The mere thought of you being hurt made Richard's stomach turn, he wasn't going to allow another innocent child to get hurt to fulfill Bruce's whims

"We have no choice, Richard"

Barbara said dryly

"But Damian is too hurt to be able to be a pilot and (Name) doesn't even know how to fly one!"

Richard tried to get Barbara or Bruce to see reason but his attempts were only ignored

"Well today he will learn, are you ready (name)?"

Barbara turned her gaze to you, you swallowed hard you felt too scared and confused were you supposed to get into that thing!?

"What...really?"

You said confused

"Yes..."

No There was time, all the pilots they had were too injured to be able to handle any Eva, (name) was the last salvation

The angel was approaching and causing destruction in its path, it was now or never, the fate of the world right now weighed on your shoulders

"But it took Damian more than 6 months to synchronize with the Eva! She barely arrived and if it's too dangerous and she won't stand it, have you thought about that!?"

Richard got defensive again trying to get Barbara to see reason

" (name) just needs to get into the capsule and everything will be fine" Barbara said "But-" Before Richard could speak again Barbara interrupted him "defending humanity from the angels is our highest priority, we need someone to be able to synchronize with the Eva even if the chances are almost zero"

Richard just stayed quiet, he knew she was right but he didn't want to admit it, he hated the way he felt his heart tighten every time he thought about the possibility of you getting hurt or worse yet dead

"Fine, but if something happens to (name), you'll regret it"

Richard spoke in a somber tone looking at Barbara, the woman just looked at him for a few seconds before just nodding

"Okay, (name) get ready you'll get on the Eva"

You just nodded, you didn't know what was about to happen but you didn't like it

You had woken up in a hospital bed, your whole body hurt, you felt like you had a bandage on your left eye

You barely had time to react when the door opened abruptly, there was Richard

He had a worried look on his face, before you could say anything he launched himself at you giving you a big hug

"(Name)! Thank god you'are okay I thought you were going to die..."

He said hugging you tighter, you didn't know what he meant by that you could barely remember what had happened but you thought that finally you were going to be able to be calm

But how wrong you were

The days passed faster than you would like, you were accepted to be an Eva pilot

It seems that in your fight with the angel the Eva went into an aggressive mode and controlled itself while you were in a state of shock

During your short time being an Eva pilot you learned to control it better But you still hated handling it

You managed to meet other Eva pilots called Tim and Damian

Tim was very talkative not as much as Richard but he still talked a lot, you made a small friendship with him

With Damian it didn't go so well, he was too quiet it seemed as if he had no emotions, you simply decided to leave him since you thought he didn't like you

Days passed and you met more people like Jason, stehp, Cass and Duke

Some were retired pilots and others who helped repair the Evas like Jason and Stehp

For the first time you felt important as if you really mattered

Too bad that happiness ends little by little

Every day that passed you felt like each one of them became more possessive and weird

Every time you met someone other than them that person disappeared out of nowhere

Every time you came back from a fight with an angel and was too hurt Richard treated you like a fucking baby

And you hated him too much, you were old enough to be able to take care of such superficial wounds

They didn't even let you be with other people other than them, they even fought to see who would sit with you at lunch, in those cases you simply went to your room to lock yourself in and eat

But you didn't even feel safe there, the last time you checked your room to clean it you found a hidden camera among your things, and there was only one person who would be able to do that

Bruce, that son of a bitch you swore that if you saw him again you would kill him

But you knew very well that you would never You were going to be able to do it

You had no one, Bruce was the only family you had left out there you were no one, not even your mother her death was still engraved in your head, you still had nightmares about it

The only thing you could do was ignore all of that and pretend it didn't affect you

You felt like you were tangled in a spider web and every time you moved you only got more tangled

Maybe you should just stop moving and hope that maybe at some point those spider webs would loosen and you could get out

But you knew it wasn't true

You were trapped just like an insect, being the spider's prey and you would stay trapped there until your body is completely rotted

Dying there without being able to be free again

What's the point of living if you're not even able to enjoy life

If you see any similarity with Evangelion chapter 1, it is literally lol

So far I think this is the longest one shot I wrote

I hope the person who asked me for this enjoys it, I'm really happy with the result

Maybe I'll do other one shots about this Evangelion AU 🔥

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zoanzon · 2 days ago

Text

Check in with your friends. Hell, make weekly/biweekly/monthly check-ins. Maybe make a dinner of it. (Props to @amazing-spiderling for mentioning this in the notes)

Adjacent: do you have GTFO plans? Make some. Make multiple. Make a fucking game of it. Is it 'natural disaster, GTFO'? 'The govt is coming, GTFO'? 'OMG, zombies, GTFO'? Make plans, figure out where your truly important shit is - maybe make a bugout bag of it - and figure out where you go if you truly do need to GTFO.

If you haven't started already, start setting aside nonperishables. Maybe prices go up, maybe supply chains break down, maybe your existance is made illegal, maybe you 'just' need to crack these open during the next blizzard/fire/tornado/etc

Start researching what can('t) be done for compromised SSNs, and what can('t) be done to prepare for being doxxed. Maybe it's Musk and co, maybe it's 'just' some provider getting hacked and your info getting out that way, maybe it's something else entirely. CrimeThInc's Doxcare is a starting point, if not the end-all be-all.

It's gonna be bad, there's no way around that. It might help to hear they'll probably fuck up whatever they're planning as fascists always fuck up threat-estimation and the complexities of plans, but that is cold comfort to some.

So, research. Prepare. Try to be there for one another, and be ready and willing to lie for one another. Give someone you know a call. Give them a hug.

Quietly losing my mind over the fact that Elon Musk has straight up orchestrated a coup of our executive branch and like....I don't even know what, if any, system we have in place to fix this. Like... He's just taken control of the money and locked out the actual appointed officials. What the fuck.

#take it one day at a time and make them work for every inch #preparing for 2025 and after #all who live to see such times #the monkey speaks

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jejelovescats · 2 days ago

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My analysis on Spy X Family chapter 111

well uhm today's chapter was something initially I though the chapter was too short to write about, but we did get valuable information, and writing isn't only about the present, it's also about the past and future so I've been thinking about this for a few hours and here's what I've found. First point I'd like to make was way back in chapter 1, we got a very brief introduction about Anya, it was stated that she was an unintentional consequence of research experiments and that she had later escaped the facility.

Now since the chapter was quite short, many statements I make can be far-fetched. Alright now, when they said, "unintentional consequence of research experiments" they could've simply meant that the woman (who Anya refers to as "mama") could have just gotten pregnant and called that "unintentional consequence" and when stated "research experiments" they could have simply meant her mother. Now I said "the woman who Anya refers to as "mama"," because she could still be a woman who Anya has grown fond of and called 'mama', this is quite unlikely and I believe that she is her biological mother, still just a thought Now we ask ourselves, in chapter 111, was that a lab? my answer: yes, I do quite think so why? if you look closely, on the back of both Anya and her (probably) biological mother, there are strings holding the dress from behind like a lot of hospital clothing..

And one panel that really stood out to me was this one. Some people theorized previously that if Anya were to have a biological parent, they'd be the reason of her being held captive in the lab. This has been debunked after today's chapter. It seems that Anya's biological mother wanted freedom just as much Anya did, she's a victim in this too. Another point I'd like to make is that Anya's mother probably helped free Anya (as stated in chapter one, all it said was that she escaped, doesn't mean no one helped her) since she knew she couldn't escape herself. The symbolism is symbolizing 🙂‍↕️

Now this is where we ask ourselves, where is Anya's mom? my answer: Probably dead. Why else would she have cried on the interview day? She appeared to be very close to her mother in today's chapter and it would explain her tears. She could also just be trapped in the lab, but I find the first explanation more logical, even though they're both a possibility, that's just my opinion.

Something else, are Anya's powers inherited? probably, they could have messed up with the mother's DNA and passed it on to Anya, and they experimented further on Anya to further develop her powers Last thing, the hair. we saw in chapter 1 that Anya had her hair in buns, as well as today with her mother, and present Anya always has those cone shaped hairpieces on her hair, we've never seen her without them. why? no idea I've gathered a bunch of theories that are plausible 1) they have some type/form of horns hidden underneath their buns 2) scars now the scars would make sense for 2 reasons 1) Donovan, who's probably a mind reader (though we can't verify Melinda as an accurate source) has scars on his head as well, now even though the placement isn't the same, they're still scars. 2) They want to convince their selves they're normal people

hear me out. A woman and her daughter are both trapped in a lab, being experimented on, they have scars, won't hiding them give them some sense of normalcy?

And also, the fact that Anya asked Yor if she could read her mind, the poor kid is looking for anything that might remind her of her mother, in the chapter, her face wasn't shown, just like Loid's flashback. I also noticed while Anya was dreaming that she held bond quite tightly, I think that's because she was trying to hold out to her mother.

well, I did NOT expect to write this much given the length of the chapter😂 can you tell that this was VERY rushed? Since loid did mention that she was sleeping before her bedtime, that probably means that when Anya sleeps again, she'll dream of her mother once again. well, that's me rambling! hope you enjoyed! please feel free to share your thoughts or any more thoughts you might have! okay but isn't baby Anya just adorable? SEE Y'ALL IN 2 WEEKS<333

#spy x family #forger family #spy x family spoilers #spy x family manga #spy x family chapter 111

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revelboo · 10 hours ago

Note

Queen Revel i am ON MY KNEES begging for the next part of point of extinction because HOLY SHIT DUDE HE JUST WHIPS IT OUT????

He’s just trying to help in his awkward, unsettling way. 18+

Point of Extinction Pt 13

Shockwave x Reader

• You’re averting your eyes still, face reddening. “You find my lack of experience undesirable?” He’s always been quick to pick up new skills. This will be no different. And he can’t deny some purely unscientific curiosity about it. “I would be amenable to allowing you to take the lead while I gather experience.” How would those soft hands feel on him? Tracing ridges and dipping into seams. Wants to know. This is supposed to be about you, tending to your needs, not his. Wanting this isn’t logical, but that doesn’t change that he does.

• And he just keeps making this worse somehow. Risking a look and finding him just staring at you, his one hand gripping that weapon of mass destruction between his thighs and idly touching himself. The shape’s familiar enough, if the ridges and nodes are a bit Giger-esque and pulsing with ruddy biolights that draw your eyes against your will. Forcing yourself to look anywhere but at that, he’s still doing his creepy stare, antenna back. And stroking himself. “That’s a really… flattering offer,” you manage. Stop looking at it. Stop. Dammit. “Could you not do that?” It’s too distracting.

• Letting go of his spike he approaches you and your eyes dip to his bobbing spike then pointedly back up to his single optic. “Might I suggest mutual exploration to ease Thirteen’s uncertainty?” Gently catching your hand and you allow him to guide it to his spike. And your face somehow goes even redder. Shuddering at the feel of your soft palm on him. Lifting his hand and pleased when you don’t immediately snatch yours back when he cups your cheek, servos sliding against you. Thumb sliding over your bottom lip. Another mech would kiss you, but he can’t. “You can have control of this encounter.”

• Know you should get some space between you. Definitely not stroke your fingers along the ridges of his spike, thumb sliding over the head, feeling a bead of slick there. Startling when his helm gently bumps your forehead, that optic bathing your face in red light. It’s not exactly romantic, but you’re pretty sure you’d be worried if he was trying to be romantic. He’s awkward and creepy and more than a little bit messed up. “How much control?” You ask despite yourself.

• Optic brightening, his hips rock when you slide your thumb over the tip of his spike again. It’s difficult to ease himself down without just falling, but he manages and growls when your fingers slip free of him. “Familiarize yourself as necessary. I’m open to instruction.” Holding out a hand to you and waiting while you stare down at him and for a moment that dissonance swamps him. A memory of someone else standing over him, staring down at him with cold calculation. Smiling. A stranger’s memory.

• You’re not doing this. Right? He’s just staring at you, helm tipped up and his hand outstretched. Trying your damnedest to not look at his spike. Mutual pleasure. “You’re not going to lay eggs in me or anything right?” And those antenna go back in offense. You’ll take that as a no. Maybe you’re a tiny bit tempted and he’d mentioned being inexperienced. Popping his alien cherry shouldn’t be appealing. “And you’re not going to move unless I say you can?”

• “If that’s what you require.” Head tipping he waits. And you’re so small even with him mass displaced. Maybe that’s the issue? His size? And he freezes as it sinks in how illogical this all is. That he shouldn’t actually want this. Shouldn’t care about your well being. That he’s made a series of illogical decisions since he’d first interacted with you. And those phantom memories are worse since he began interacting with you, lifting through him suddenly to leave him disoriented. The logical thing to do would be to rid himself of you, but he knows that he won’t. He can’t.

• Something’s very wrong with you for even considering this. Is this just a new experiment to him? A test to see what you’ll do? Or does he actually think he’s taking care of your needs? And you’re not actually considering it, are you? Can admit you’re a tiny bit curious, but it’s the sort of horrified curiosity you’d have for a bit of particularly awful gossip. “Why do you want to take care of me?” Resisting the urge to make air quotes as you focus on his optic since it’s safer than the intimidating jut of his spike. Unable to ask why you’d been spared ending up like the deer. And those antenna go back again.

• Staring up at you, he can’t answer, because he isn’t sure. Doesn’t know why he’d culled you from his experiments. Why the idea of harming you makes him so uncomfortable. Is it only loneliness? That you’re someone to talk to even if the conversations are stilted? Fixating on you now even when he’s working in his lab. Experiments that never bothered him before now making him hesitate simply because you wouldn’t like them. Because they’d upset you. “I’m responsible for your well-being and health,” he says, watching your expression twist. Unhappy with that answer. “And because I desire to be the one to tend to you.” He shouldn’t, but he does. Maybe your illogical, emotional humanity is rubbing off on him. Infecting him.

• There’s something perverse about even considering this. This whole time you’ve been powerless to his whims and he’s giving you permission to take control. To give him orders that he claims he’ll listen to. Yeah, there’s something very wrong with you. “Can I touch you wherever?” He’s closer to your size this way and you doubt you’re going to get another opportunity like this. Want to take advantage before your common sense and survival instincts kick back in. Not waiting for his answer as you reach to cup his head in your hands, biting your bottom lip as you toy with his bunny ears as you think of them. Watching those antenna flick at your touch. And he allows it, keeping still as you gently run your fingertips over the plating of his helm, smiling when bits lift or shift at your touch like they’re sensitive.

#transformers x reader #shockwave x reader #tfp shockwave

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vixensdungeon · 13 hours ago

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Hello, my little woodland critters. Today just for fun I'm going to walk you through the process of generating a character for the original 1974 edition of Dungeons & Dragons. I'm just going to use Men & Magic for this one but might do another one later with the supplements!

First, we get some dice. Three six-sided ones to be exact. I'm actually going to grab some with pips rather than numbers because that feels more authentic. Then, we roll and record their sum, repeating five more times, generating six ability scores. Here we go!

Strength 9 Intelligence 17 Wisdom 12 Constitution 16 Dexterity 13 Charisma 13

Yippee! As a witch these make me very happy indeed.

Next, we'll pick a class to play. Based on the abilities I rolled I'm of course going to pick the magic-user (the witch class didn't exist yet, alas). And as a magic-user, I'm actually allowed to futz with the numbers a bit, removing two points from Wisdom to gain an extra point in Intelligence. This gives us our finalised array, and we can now know the effects of each ability on the character.

Strength 9: no effect Intelligence 18: +10% to earned experience, eight extra languages Wisdom 10: no effect Constitution 16: +1 to each hit die, 100% chance to survive certain spells Dexterity 13: +1 to missile fire Charisma 13: maximum of 5 hirelings with +1 loyalty

Okay, languages. The character speaks the common tongue of the continent she lives in, along with an alignment language. I'm going to pick Neutral as my alignment so that's the language I speak. I also speak eight creature languages, which I'm going to pick later.

For equipment, we're going to grab our trusty 3d6 again, roll them, and mulitply by ten to find out how many gold pieces we have. I rolled 10, so I have 100 GP. I'm going to buy a dagger, the only weapon a magic-user is allowed. In addition I will buy 50' of rope, a large sack (for treasure), a leather back pack, a water skin, six torches, a flask of oil, a small silver mirror, a bunch of wolvesbane (in case of werewolves), a bunch of belladonna, and a bug of garlic (in case of vampires, or pizza). Not sure what the belladonna is useful for but you can never be too sure. This leaves me with 48 gold pieces that I will use to buy rations when I'm heading on an expedition of some sort. To calculate my encumbrance, I add my dagger's weight in gold pieces (20) to that of my miscaellanoues equipment (always 80, though a referee is allowed to make sure this stays within reason), for 100 GP of weight. I'm well within the limit for light foot movement, which will likely mean I'll have the responsibility of hauling loot out of the dungeon. Maybe I should invest in a second sack…

As a magic-user of the 1st level, I am titled a Medium, and will require 2,500 experience points to reach 2nd level (Seer). I roll 1 die (six-sided), adding +1 for my Constitution getting a total of 2… Tha'ts how many hits my magic-user can take before death. Let's hope she rolls better on the next level, assuming she survives. She fights with the strength of one man!

I can memorise one 1st level spell for my journey. Not knowing what I might face in the dungeon, I pick something witchy that I think can really save the group's butts: Sleep. All level 1 spells are in my spellbook so I don't need to worry about which ones I can memorise.

And that's pretty much it! Now we just give the character an imaginative name… How about Naiviv?

Onwards to adventure and glory, Naiviv the Medium!

#dnd

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 days ago

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I've been seeing your post about the podcast on Octavia Butler going around and I've been wondering, why do you think people only seem to react that way too problematic relationships? I've heard an English major, book reviewer say that they should've made the girl of legal age if they wanted to write about her stepfather attempting to prey on her because it's "gross" and also acted like it was an oversight. Another one, thought a book that is famously about a predator and the author is a victim of predation and the book is marketed about predation, romanticized predation and abuse and described it as an attempt at writing romance and failing? I don't know, I've just never seen anyone get that way about murder. Anyway, hi sex witch! 🧙‍♀️

I think there are like. complex and innumerable reasons for this, but re: the murder comparisons I think for many people it's worryingly easy to imagine that someone might actually act on or want to act on #problematic sexual behaviors depicted in fiction. like, the amount of murder that most people are doing IRL is absolutely zero, so I think it's kind of easy for most folks to sequester that away in a little fantasy bubble where someone who enjoys reading about murder is as likely to actually be partaking in that interest as someone who enjoys reading about riding dragons or traveling through space. whereas, statistically, most people have sex at some point, or at least could be having sex, so it feels like a much more reasonable concern to assume that their fictional tastes might be directly reflected in their actual behavior.

which is tied to another huge issue here, which is that I think a lot of people just... never learn to engage in a healthy manner with things that yuck them out or make them uncomfortable? so they get in a headspace where it's impossible to imagine that anyone willingly engages with fiction that they don't personally 100% condone. which extends to critiques of authors like you're mentioning, where some readers can't seem to ken that there's an intention and artistry to showing something vile beyond that depiction either being the author's personal fetish or their attempt to be an edgelord. a booktuber who I otherwise like quite a lot once downgraded their review of Akwaeke Emezi's novel The Death of Vivek Oji because it features a queer sexual relationship between cousins and the reviewer found the inclusion of incest to be unnecessary, which seems to be rather missing the point of a novel that's entirely about a family being drowned by its own secrets.

and also idk many people, especially my fellow USAmericans who have a bad tendency of skewing very prudish whether they recognize it or not, are just very very very scared of any sex that falls outside of Gayle Rubin's charmed circle

and will kind of immediately start getting nervous when exposed to it without ever once interrogating why. I absolutely guarantee you someone is going to sent me an angry anon about at least one aspect of this circle asking why I'm trying to justify it, which is going to illustrate the point very nicely.

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hitlikehammers · 3 days ago

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tremolo

…what if instead of learning clarinet or percussion, you could learn to read the music of hearts? 💕

rating: t ♥️ cw: love at first sight, car crash (off-screen), SUCH FLUFF ♥️ tags: ✨magical realism au, musician eddie munson, paramedic steve harrington, kinda soulmates (it makes more sense with the magical realism part), character study, softness

for @steddielovemonth day one: "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." —Plato

It was just like learning any instrument, really.

At least what they tried to convince Eddie to believe at the tender age of nine.

But it was all about finding an aptitude, apparently. Developing a talent. Fourth grade rolls around and he fucks up blowing with a reed, manages to give himself a tongue splinter. Nearly passes out on the brass. Ends up with the choir lady looking over horn-rimmed glasses and narrowing her eyes at him less like a teacher and more like a fortune teller or something, scrying what’s to come of him, like she can see through all that he is and will be, before she goes scribbling something on his little slip of paper already marking all the failed kinds of music he’ll never get to make and telling him: go to Room 011.

But no one ever goes to Room 011.

He meets a petite woman with mousy hair and clothes that look like they belong to someone else, somehow. She introduces herself as Miss L. She looks like a Miss L., so he doesn’t think any further on the point.

You will not play much, really, she tells him, and the way she talks is kinda funny, like she learned words but not from people actually saying them out loud. Eddie kinda likes it, though. The playing is only for emergencies, and if you find your True Note.

Eddie doesn’t know what most of that means, except for the fact that the whole point of trying—and failing—at all the instruments was to join the school band with something to play. So if that’s not what he’s going to learn, then what the heck is Eddie meant to be doing down here—is what he wants to ask.

He manages a little politer version of the same, his nan’d be proud. His dad wouldn’t care even if he was around and not behind bars. His uncle might be happy that Eddie’s kept his nose clean just this one time. So he figures he does okay.

But really, he just wants an answer. He was supposed to get to learn music. It was the one thing that was keeping this whole year feeling like he could maybe, maybe survive it.

It also means he doesn’t have to take the art class that’s mostly kindergarten crafts instead of real art, so.

“You will be learning music,” Miss L. answers, more patient than most grownups; “you are here to learn how to read the songs that hearts sing.”

And that is, by far, in all of his whole nine years of living, the most fucking absurd sentence that Eddie has ever heard.

——

He’d kinda thought it was a joke, when he left that first afternoon to get back before Language Arts.

Turned out: nope. It was not.

He’d maybe thrown something slightly less childish than a tantrum, when what he got was a big set of earphones and a box the size of an Easy-Bake Oven, where apparently he’d be playing some kind of recordings to start his lessons.

“Do you not wish to learn?” Miss L. asked so simply, and Eddie…

Eddie reminded himself that no matter how foolish and stupid this was, it couldn’t possibly be worse than making construction paper collages with Elmer’s glue, so.

He put the headphones on and pressed play.

——

His workbooks didn’t look like anyone else’s in band—in fact, Eddie didn’t think he was actually a part of the class band, like, he wasn’t expecting to play at the spring concert with the flutes and the trombones, anymore. When he had sheets of staves to fill out they didn’t have straight lines. He didn’t draw different circles with little flags and bridges connecting them. He…

“When there are no keys, and there is no time signature,” Miss L. had explained, and it took time to make any sense; “you are the rules, and you feel what is a melody,” she’d tapped something that feltbeautiful, like daffodils blooming, though Eddie couldn’t say why; “and what is a warning.”

And then she’d tapped again, and it clenched in Eddie’s chest like a tornado siren, and…yeah.

That was kind of the best explanation he could have asked for.

——

It’s in middle school, when everyone else gets new band directors while Eddie sticks with Miss L., that it starts to…well.

That’s when the fact that Eddie’s alone in his lessons, and no one seems to know quite what he does—and the other kids who get that kind of treatment are usually the ones who can’t add or spell right, who have some kind of problem to work on extra hard—but it’s around then that Eddie starts being called names for it.

It’s not too bad, at first. Eddie’s worked for his two full years of elementary school lessons to get through recognizing the songs, suffers the point where recognizing becomes unbearable, overwhelming—Miss L. never left his side when he held his head in pain for all the noise, all the songs because they were everywhere, in everyone, and how was he supposed to learn what was right and what was good and what was just okay but then what was also everything the opposite when he couldn’t even think—

But she taught him the tools, the ways to sift through the chatter, as she called it. Because not all of it was a warning; not all of it was bad just because it wasn’t beautiful.

Some of the noise just was.

She showed him how to trust his own ear; his own song in his own chest as a guide, because that’s why he was here: he had a gift, an aptitude, built in and in need of development. Liked they’d said in the beginning.

He’s nearly thirteen when she teaches him how to write his own songs, in the not-notes and the no-tempos. In the nameless flow of sound.

It’s when his classmates overhear one of those works-in-progress, the taunting gets worse, starts to hedge toward unbearable.

Until Eddie asks if he can just stop: quit this. It’s not worth it. He doesn’t want to be a freak.

“It is a rite of passage, to ask this,” Miss L. says slowly, no judgement, and weirdly no pity; “but I should tell you first,” and her eyes narrow more than Eddie thinks he’s ever seen them.

“Your skill is already greater than any I have seen, and is only getting sharper, more keen.”

And hell if a teacher’s ever said something niceabout Eddie Munson, let alone something that sounds like flat-out praise.

“They cannot hear the music, this is why they say those things,” she flicks her wrist less like conducting a chorus and more like shooing a gnat, like that’s the appropriate amount of consideration the comments deserve. “Your task has always been to teach them what they do not know, to show them the wonder they are ignoring as they live and breathe.”

And while it really would have been nice to know that before signing up for this…this what, calling? Vocation?

While that would’ve been nice, Eddie…Eddie can at least mostly understand he wouldn’t have understood any of it in the fourth grade.

He barely understands now.

But he can feel it. He understands how to feel the music that fills all those gaps.

“This is common,” Miss L. turns back to him, steeples her fingers while humming something from the radio: not bad, but not beautiful. That’s what she means, he realizes. The radio plays common.

“This,” and she puts a hand over her own chest and keeps time with her fingers on the tabletop as she hums a wholly novel thing out of thin air, and Eddie has never seen someone else recognize the music, has never watched someone compose in the veins where the songs that hearts sing are played, let alone in real time; maybe she never had because he had to lean for himself, first.

But it is kind of exquisite to witness.

“This,” she stops, and raises a brow pointedly in Eddie’s direction; “is human, built in your cells.”

Eddie couldn’t name why, precisely, but he feels…shamed, but also empowered. So different, but they make an almost compelling melody together as they clash.

“They will call you freak before they call you prodigy,” Miss L. says it like a fact, which…kinda sucks to hear, in all honesty.

“They will label you insane, before they recognize you as genius,” and the way she adds that part makes him feel like that was her personal burden to bear, and he aches for her in it.

“They will cry out garbage and nonsense,” and here, these words: these are the ones Eddie knows immediately he’s meant to be hearing, be weaving into notes the strongest, the ones she wants him to keep closest and never lose:

“They will cry out worthless,” she spits out with a venom he’s never heard her use; “before they will sob in the face of your masterworks, and how they will breathe magic in the soul.”

And…Eddie doesn’t know exactly what to do in the face of the conviction she says that last part with. To doubt it, as he instinctively wants to, feels vile; the most egregious disrespect. He can’t bring himself to even try. So, he asks instead, voice rough:

“When will it change?”

Because despite everything: he doesn’t want to be a freak.

“That I cannot say,” she sighs, and she does sound sorry; “and it may never change at all.”

Eddie doesn’t know if he’s built to handle that, the possibility of never.

“But even if you leave, here and now,” Miss L. cuts into his despairing; “even if you stop your learning, the songs will never leave you.”

Oh.

Oh, so did they…did they teach him to hear a endless goddamn curse, and as a fucking kid—

“You would always have come to hear them,” Miss L. must read his mind, or maybe just his face; “just never with any place to funnel the noise,” and he…guesses he should be grateful. He nearly went mad in those early years, before she taught him how to make new melodies, concertos the likes of which even the great masters hadn’t penned, because they played in a different medium. Their notes and structured time were useful, but limited.

And if they never heard otherwise, how would even the most brilliant talents know what they were passing over, leaving behind?

“Do you still wish to leave?”

Eddie turns, almost having forgotten Miss L. was still sitting there, watching him. Almost having forgotten what he’d come to ask, to give up.

There’s no question left, now.

He gets out his notebook, his pen, and starts as he always does.

With the listening.

——

It’s a genuine distraction—the songs get louder with time, but Miss L. tells him that’s a sign of his skill growing, his notice of the equivalents of key signatures and ligature notes in the heartbeats he passes every day—but it costs him passing senior year once, and then again, and almost a third time until by the skin of his teeth, he manages. While every other teacher shames him for it, derides him as incurably stupid, or at the very least unambitious to the point of embarrassment, the extra years mean more time with Miss L., and Eddie…most days, Eddie is nothing but thankful.

More time means Eddie also learns that the songs he hears are as much a public service as they are an art form, as much a defense mechanism as a craft. He knows when bullies are on the prowl, and to make himself scarce for their screeching cacophonies. He knows when he has to be less of a coward and step in when a wild rhythm makes him sick with its fear.

The more he pays attention to the not-quite-beautiful songs—especially when he thinks on them later and stumbles upon nuggets of the exquisite inside every way they weren’t—the more he remembers years ago, out of almost nowhere, but maybe…maybe everywhere, like it’d been written in his heart’s song the day she spoke it:

“My first day,” he enters the same room—not the same-same room but the one in the high school that’s as abandoned as all of them have been, always Room 011—but he enters the room close to the end of the year, the last year, with the question thick on his tongue, and woven the same in his song as he closes the door and feels his heartbeat quicken for no reason and every reason, like he’s long learned these songs always do.

Miss L., for her part, just nods; waits.

“You said,” Eddie rolls his lips together; “emergencies.”

It’s a delay tactic. They both know it.

She’s kind to play along.

“Mmm,” she hums; “the slightest bits, yes, you can shift the rules to change the song, because you made the rules to begin with,” she eyes him carefully, then. “But only by bits, and in only the most dire moments.”

Yeah, yeah, sure. He never thought he could like…write lines to coax a heart to sing itself back from the dead or some shit. He gets the point.

Again, they both know: that’s not the point he’s here for, heart pounding high in his throat.

“But then you also said something else.”

This time, she doesn’t nod at all; just stares. Eddie has to clear his throat twice to make a sound so as to ask:

“What’s a True Note?”

Because Eddie’s had a couple flings here and there. And the idea of anything real with someone else, alongside the weight of this…talent of his, this training that’s defined half his life by now: it’s really nothing more than a stray idea. But Eddie can’t really hide from the fact that, somewhere along the way, he’s suffused that idea with so much promise and potential, but with no legs for it to fucking stand on.

And he’s about to graduate. About to go out into the world and…who the fuck knows what.

He needs to either hold onto this insane, silly notion of some cosmic meant-to-be match waiting for him somewhere, that it’s at least possible, and then hold on to it like burning—or let it go, and get on with the rest of his fucking life.

“Do you know how I said you could sway the rhythm just the littlest bit, in the greatest of need?”

Of course he did. She literally just said it.

“Your True Note will sing like you have never heard before,” she tells him like it’s not something…immense; “and that song will sway your rhythm so much more than the littlest of anything.”

She just fucking says it, like it isn’t already swaying the rhythm his heart sings in. Here and now.

“That heartsong will change your world.”

And all Eddie can even think to ask, to make more plain in it, is just one thing:

“Will I change theirs, too?”

Miss L’s eyes lock to his and hold for enough seconds where it should be uncomfortable, where his chest starts to grow unbearably tight.

“Hmm,” she considers finally; “if it is meant to be that way.”

Eddie wants to scream. It’s not enough.

And still somehow, it will have to be.

——

In the months that follow his freedom, he misses Miss L. Kinda desperately.

But the lack of structure, the openness of knowing he has to find a way to piece together all the snippets of song he’s bombarded with: it is the reason he ever picks up a guitar. It’s the whole learning heartsongs thing that he has to thank for it, a roundabout journey toward the destination he’d wanted from the beginning.

Or else, that he thought he did.

It’s not just guitar, though. He eventually learns the woodwinds without ending up with a splinter in his mouth. Figures out the different harmonies at hand in making sure he tempers the way he breathes for the brass. He loves the piano, and the cello especially, alongside guitar and double bass: he makes a trip back home specifically to see her and ask—Miss L. tells him it’s probably because of their strings, like hearts have, too.

It feels right in a way things haven’t felt in a very long time.

Which is really how he comes to not only understand, but to accept in his bones: no matter if they ever call him prodigy or genius, if he ever plays a concert hall or anywhere but on a street corner with an open case for change, he was made for this; built for this. The woman with the horn-rimmed glasses who sent him to the basement music room saw it in him. Miss L. proved it to him by teaching him to prove it to himself. He doesn’t know if he’d have picked it, but he knows it was never something he could have picked or turned down in the first place at all: it’s who he is.

He is the music. He is the songs that hearts use for singing. And maybe someday he’ll meet someone who sees it in him, and hears his song, and sings ecstatic. Maybe.

He hopes.

But either way: this is his life.

This is his melody.

——

It takes years before they do sob for his masterpieces, for them to be ready for a style and cadence they don’t understand because they will never comprehend the language, that speaks deeper than the logic required for any of those rules. It takes a long fucking time before they start listening with the lens of the first song any of them ever learned. But the time does come, and Eddie is grateful, because he’d genuinely feared the maybe-never he’d been warned about. He’s glad that’s not where he is, now.

But now? Things start to happen almost unbearably fast. Shows here and flights there, guest appearances and interviews, record labels and live recordings, a book deal he can’t even begin to think about. The world tips on its axis and Eddie only really considered that happening to him for one reason: because of a song so beautiful, in a Note so True—this isn’t that.

But everything still feels upside down anyway; totally off-kilter.

He’s crossed ten time-zones this time. He’s exhausted, but he has a performance tonight, just like he did in the tonight of the place he just left. The car he’s in on his way to the next venue is sleek, like they all are now; his team is already there preparing, so it’s just him and some local hires he hasn’t even had a chance to learn the names of yet, which he hates. He hates being privy to their songs and not even knowing their names, let alone their stories.

He jots the notes he gleans from how they sing without their words on the drive across town anyway. Waste not, and all that.

Eddie has the pen in hand, cap between his teeth, when the truck plows straight into them.

What follows would be unsurprising, if Eddie could process it from a bystander’s point of view—as it is, the only thing he knows in the melee is the music.

He is devastated, as he reaches out for the slowing songs around him, knowing in the back of his mind what their slacking tempos mean, and marveling with something like horror at how beautiful each one is as it starts to fade: still unique, still something Eddie could braid into a piece, certainly one to draw tears.

His own song is ebbing, he knows, but it’s less important than the sweet melodies around him, especially—

Oh.

Eddie thinks, with what may be the last thought left to him as pressure and heat and pain tingle at the edges of the music, almost too strong now to be drowned out by the notes that are what Eddie is at his core: but he thinks he may be too far gone already, because what he begins to hear is…

Exultant. It’s…

If Eddie believed in a heaven, this would be what the hosts there sang. When the idea of divinity is bandied about, they can only ever be talking about some cheap imitation of what Eddie hears now. Luminous. Effervescent.

Beautiful in a way that exceeds the word itself so deeply that it barely fits, obliterates the notion on sight.

And what a gift, Eddie muses as everything dims to black, to hear such Notes, such perfect music as the last thing he has to hold onto in the end.

To end on something that’s True.

——

The next tones Eddie hears are mechanical. He winces—not bad but certainly not beautiful—and then winces harder because wincing itself fucking hurts.

He holds himself still, seeks the song he knows in his own veins: yes, and he’d been so sure it was gone, because there’d be an accident, a crash, he’d been thrown, crushed, songs all around him were dying and he’d heard the magnificent symphony of otherworldly perfection so—

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” a voice interjects, or no: drips in leisurely, like comfort, like honey; “because you’re a patient, and I’m,” and Eddie forces his eyes open to see the voice come out of a man, who is pointing at his chest: a uniform. Medical.

“I’m not dead?”

All signs do point that direction but…Eddie had been kinda fairly sure he was done for.

“God,” the man chokes like he’s pained, like the idea hurts him, and why; “no,” and he says that a little fiercely, protective almost; “though not for lack of an effort.”

He looks tired, as Eddie’s vision starts to clear some more. He looks radiant. Exquisite.

Beautiful.

“You saved me?”

Because Eddie clocks the uniform now: paramedic. The ones who come onto the scenes and try like hell to save who they can. Heroes.

“I helped,” the beautiful man says, like a hero would, of course. But…it still doesn’t make sense. If the man does this for his job, then Eddie isn’t special, so then why is he so vehement, and then what of all the fading songs Eddie remembers, because Eddie had heard—

“What about,” he starts, but there’s a hand over his quickly, soothing.

“Everyone’s here, different wards,” the hero-beauty tells him in lows tones; “we don’t know if they’ll all make it through the night, but,” he nods, like…this is enough.

And it is. Except…

“How?”

And where Eddie is baffled, his hero just quirks a brow.

“Don’t tell me you never covered emergencies?” he asks skeptically. “Most dire moments, greatest of need?”

And it’s with those words that Eddie’s world slows very quickly to a halt. The music swells in a way he’s never known: because it’s always present to hear.

Buts it’s never been so tangible to feel, not like this, and with such…magnificence, no lesser word could touch it. Maybe he truly is closer to death than not, maybe that’s the reason for the fervor in this man he doesn’t know—the choirs of the angels Eddie wasn’t banking on swells and is visceral, and this hero sits before him, speaks the words that have haunted Eddie more days of his life than not, and—

“This was where the music took my life,” the man pulls at his collar, indicative again: the heroism. He…he saves people, because he, he also hears…

“But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His hand on Eddie’s tightens, like gratitude, and Eddie…gapes like a fucking fish, and then—

“There’s something else.”

“Not just here to check up on the fruits of your medical miracle?” Eddie’s tongue feels heavy, thick in his mouth; he feels sluggish all over, weighted down and like he can barely move because…this man hears the music that hearts make.

Can he hear the ineffable beauty, like Eddie can? He must, that’s how it works, so why is he not in the same amount of awe—

“Not just,” the man smiles small, but real, a little hesitant. A little…shy, maybe, before he straightens, leans a little closer.

“Watch that screen,” and he tracks Eddie’s gaze until Eddie’s fixed upon the ECG, the most disappointing distillation of the songs he’s learned to find so much wonder in.

But then the man is pressing Eddie’s hand to his own chest, which…is forward, given they don’t even know each other.

Eddie is maybe still on, or at least just-recently-off, death’s door, and either way he’s fucking thrilledwith this development, warm beneath his palm.

“Now count.”

It only takes a moment, to put the gestures together into a statement.

The beat under his touch matches the line across the screen. Exactly.

But this man’s not the one attached to the monitor.

“Got it?”

Eddie nods, and the man doesn’t hesitate, lifts Eddie’s hand and presses it back to Eddie’s own chest.

“Again.”

And that’s…that’s not the same rhythm as the one on the screen; the songs don’t match at all.

But Eddie can still hear the one that does—the beauty. The exaltation.

“Can you,” Eddie asks, lifts his finger that’s got a clip on it, and the man’s a professional, he’ll understand—looks less than conflicted about disconnecting Eddie from wires and leads before clipping his own finger and letting the screen shift to a new cadence.

The same one under Eddie’s hand, in Eddie’s own chest.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” the man barely breathes, and Eddie notices now how intense his eyes are, focused solely on Eddie, and…Eddie remembers the words that came after the ones about emergencies. About how little he could help, but that he could still do something.

But with only one person, it could be—

“You didn’t just sway my rhythm,” Eddie half-gasps; “you made it your own.”

And oh: Eddie never tied the song of hearts to the song of laughter, but from this man, the huff of incredulous joy that slips from him now—they’re made wholly of the same stuff.

Symphonic. Staggering. Weeping to feel this much, in the soul, to be privy to such a…

Masterpiece.

“Worked both ways, it seems.”

“I heard you,” Eddie blurts out, because it makes sense now; “before I, when I thought I was,” dying, when he thought it was all over; “like I’ve never heard anything before.”

And now: of course this man hears the heavenly movement Eddie thought was a mercy before the end but was instead the arrival of everything he’d ever hoped to one day find, literally coming to rescue him in more ways than one; but that song is somehow commonplace to this unfathomable angel on the earth.

And what this man hears stronger, louder, dearer seems somehow to be Eddie, the song he sings from the chest, in how it’s causing those caramel eyes to glimmer, and to barely blink lest they miss something in just…Eddie.

“You never stopped,” the man says with urgency, with feeling; “your song never stopped,” and then he’s closing his eyes and laying both his hands over his own chest, where Eddie’s heartsong is ringing full and maybe changing his world, because the song in Eddie’s chest sure as hell has already changed his, and—

“It’s extraordinary.”

And Eddie, in years of ridicule, in months of celebration, in all the ups and downs and doubts and hopes this life of songs and hearts and rhythms and beats has left him with, in all of it—

Those two words rewrite his whole fucking being.

“True Note,” Eddie mouths more than speaks before he scoffs; “shit, but that seems like a really fucking inadequate thing to call it,” and his eyes lift to take in the man who he knows, he knows is going to be his magnum opus, or more: is going to write the magnum opus they will be and breathe and share from here to all ends:

“To call you.”

And there’s the clearest sense of a trip in a beat, but who it belongs to isn’t clear, and maybe that’s the reality for them both now: every subtlety of the song is now shared, now theirs.

“You could start with Steve.”

Eddie looks up, breath a little heavy, but the smile on the man’s face is broad and kind of overjoyed, kind of looks like Eddie’s chest feels:

“My name’s Steve.”

And that?

Best damn title for a symphony Eddie’s ever fucking heard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @rebellatlas @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

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pomrania · 2 days ago

Text

Here's an example that's almost certainly not a spoiler in any practical sense, since it's a webcomic from twenty years ago, that might not exist online any more, where I've forgotten what it was even called.

The first page has the main character reading about weird-to-him stuff, then deciding to go off on an adventure. His hair colour changed between the second-last and the last panel, where he gets up to do something, and that's the colour it stays with for the rest of the comic. I hadn't noticed anything at the time; if I had, I would have just thought "huh the artist made a mistake".

Hundreds of pages and a few real-world years later, it turns out an this character is a manifested thought-form, which took shape when the person (from the first few panels of the comic!) thought "huh I wonder what would happen if I left to go on an adventure". His hair didn't "change colour", he's a completely different character.

Another example, which I've decided to actually share here because the fic needs more love, and because the middle bits are worth reading even when you know one particular twist: My Dad, the Boogeyman (Naruto) by Alcadanon. Further details are under the cut, so go read the story first (24k words) if you want to see what you can maybe predict, simply from knowing what it's an example of.

It begins with a character who, in canon, died by drowning in a river while injured; he finds himself alive, uninjured in a way that REALLY doesn't make sense, washed up in the sewers that connect to that river, and wrapped in a blanket of some weird material. There's the question of "how is he alive and uninjured", but then it gets replaced with "what will he do now that he IS alive", and then "how will Shenanigans continue to unfold"; then in the last chapter there's a situation involving some other characters and a river; and it turns out the answer to the first question (which by that point I'd honestly forgotten about, and had mostly just written it off as "not relevant to the story") was "rescued and healed by river spirits".

I don't know if this is common writing advice, but: if you want to hide a twist, put it at the start.

Have it be hidden as part of the assumed status quo, because the audience doesn't yet know what's normal and what's unusual, and they won't likely come back to that bit later on until they've already gone through the whole story. Or, have it as the inciting incident, which leads to B which leads to C which leads to D, and by the time the story's gotten to Q which leads to R then people won't be thinking about A or B, they'll be too busy considering what Q or R might mean.

It can make something FEEL like it came out of nowhere, especially if the plot hasn't let you have a moment to breathe and think about what's already happened, then you get to the explanation and you're like "oh yeah that WAS a thing, how did I not remember it this whole time".

I should clarify that this is distinct from a Chekhov's Gun, where something actually IS normal at the time in-'verse but becomes important later. THIS is where something is either recognized as odd at the time, but then the story moves on and deals with other things so the audience forgets about it or doesn't believe that it's relevant; or, when the audience doesn't REALIZE that it's odd because the "rules" of the story haven't been established yet, and by the time the audience knows what WOULD be "normal", they've forgotten about what happened at the start of the story.

This is however hard to give examples for, because by its very nature it's a major twist and even saying "yeah there's something important very early on, which you'll have forgotten about by the time it becomes relevant" can be a spoiler as it "localizes" what to pay attention to.

#no fandom #added content

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steveseddie · 2 days ago

Text

‘cause it’s you and me

rating: g | cw: none | wc: 1,9 k | tags: eddie lives, hospitals and injury recovery, steve has a crush, he also knows how to play guitar, fluff

written for @steddielovemonth day one | You and Me by Lifehouse & the quote “every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know how much time he’s spent on the chair that is next to Eddie’s hospital bed.

Too long probably, if the recurrent pain on his back means anything. But not even that is enough to prevent Steve from staying glued to that chair, neither are the doctor’s mean looks or Robin’s insistence about him getting proper sleep or meals for that matter. Steve only leaves the chair when he has a shift or when he wants Wayne to have time alone with his nephew or when the nurses wheel Eddie away for surgery or tests or physical therapy. That’s it.

It makes the months that Eddie spends recovering blur together. Sometimes, Steve even forgets what day it is, only managing to keep track of it by the nurse’s schedule or depending on who shows up to visit Eddie. The kids and Wayne and Robin all come on different days, effectively balancing keeping their friend company with their everyday lives.

All of them except Steve.

Ever since Spring Break, it’s been Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Find Eddie. Get Eddie’s heart beating again. Drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. Pray that Eddie makes it out of surgery. Wait for Eddie to wake up. Comfort Eddie when he’s in pain. Take Eddie’s mind off of the murder charges that haven’t been dropped yet or the loss of their trailer or the long hours of physical therapy ahead of him. Listen to Eddie ramble on the days that he feels better about books and music and Dungeons and Dragons. Watch Eddie sleep and only then try to get a little sleep himself.

The last one might sound a little creepy but Steve thinks it’s justified considering he still can’t forget how Eddie looked when they found him– pale, bloody, dead. Watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly but steadily is the only thing that calms Steve enough for him to doze off in that damn uncomfortable chair.

Only at some point it stops being entirely about making sure that Eddie is alive– the staring. Suddenly, Steve can’t keep his eyes off of Eddie at all times.

Steve stares at his face while Eddie reads a book to him out loud and forgets to pay attention to what he’s saying. He stares at Eddie’s hands while he explains something to the kids and completely miss a question from Henderson. He stares at his mouth while Eddie slurps the extra jello cup that Robin sneaked in past the nurses and blush when she catches him and smirks knowingly at him.

It takes Steve some time to figure out why he looks at Eddie so much, obvious as it is, and when he finally does he actually leaves his chair and heads to the bathroom for a proper floor freak out.

He just doesn’t know what to do with these feelings for Eddie or where to go from there so he just– doesn’t do anything.

And things stay the same.

Except for the way Eddie keeps getting better.

The doctors are so optimistic that they announce that Eddie might get to go home soon. They have him doing laps around the hospital and start slowly tapering off his pain meds and encouraging him to pick back up things he used to do like writing and playing guitar to work on his dexterity, they said.

It’s why Eddie starts writing down plans and ideas for future dork campaigns again and why Wayne brings his sweetheart to the hospital.

(Eddie almost cried when he saw it, making grabby hands and hugging it against his chest with a happy sigh.

“I swear you’re happier to see that thing more than you’ve ever been to see me,” Steve muttered through pursed lips.

“Steve, don’t call her a thing! She can hear you!” Eddie protested, appalled. Which wasn’t a no but at least later he tells Steve that there’s enough room in his heart for two sweethearts.)

It’s not like Eddie goes back to being a rock god on the guitar right away and his writing is intelligible more often than not, but none of that stops him. He keeps trying, keeps practicing, and Steve loves him more and more for it.

Yes. Love. The first time the word pops up in Steve’s head it leads to yet another bathroom floor freak out but once he realizes it, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting it out several times a day.

He’s doing it right now while watching Eddie excitedly write down a D&D character sheet for him with his tongue poking out adorably between his lips, tempting Steve to lean in and kiss them. So when a nurse interrupts them to take Eddie away for some test, he appreciates the short break.

When he’s alone, Steve reaches for the notebook that Eddie left on the bed. It’s off limits for any of the kids, but Eddie has let Steve peek at it before. He doesn’t think he’ll mind.

He reads his character sheet, recognizing some of the nerdy words while others fly completely over his head. Then he leafs lazily through pages of notes and doodles until he pauses at what looks like an unfinished song, fragments of lyrics and melodies written messily over the page.

Steve sends a sidelong glance to Eddie’s guitar where it’s leaning against the wall.

He’s never told anyone but he took some guitar lessons back when he started high school, hoping that playing an instrument would help get him girls. He knows how to read music and can fumble his way through a few simple songs, but he never made it past that. It seemed useless when he already had Nancy, and then when he didn’t have her anymore, he had the kids and the Upside Down and playing guitar didn’t seem like a useful skill to have when fighting monsters.

He chuckles. “Guess I was wrong,” he mutters to himself, thinking about Eddie saving the world with a Metallica song of all things.

Without giving it much thought, Steve stands up and carefully grabs the guitar, bringing it back with him to the chair and resting it on his leg, Eddie’s notebook open on the bed in front of him.

He clumsily places his fingers on the fretboard and tries to play the melody that Eddie wrote down. He messes up a few notes, but for someone who hasn’t touched a guitar in years he thinks he plays it decently enough. Eddie would surely do a better job, but it still doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe he can ask Eddie for help to improve and–

“What are you doing?” Eddie’s voice breaks through the melody. His fingers slip and the guitar makes a loud, screechy sound that makes Steve wince.

He whirls around and finds Eddie staring at him from the door, his face unreadable.

Steve gulps, his cheeks pinking up at being caught. “Playing guitar?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Since when do you know how?”

“I– uh, I took lessons years ago but I stopped,” he says, tripping on his words. “I– I found your– your song and I was trying to play it–”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the notebook on the bed. Steve winces again, worrying that Eddie will get mad because he went through his things or because he touched his sweetheart.

“That sounds nothing like what I wrote.”

Or because he butchered his song.

Steve blushes brighter, reaching for the notebook and fumbling to close it. “Sorry, I– it’s been a while and I was never that good to begin with.”

With three long strides –and a lot less limping than a month ago, Steve proudly notices– Eddie reaches his side and snatches the notebook from Steve’s hands.

“Give me that!” He says, flopping down on the bed and flicking furiously through the pages, his face pinched.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry, I– I didn’t think you’d be mad–”

“You bet I’m mad!” Eddie says with a huff, patting the bed sheets, trying to find something.

Steve shrinks down on the chair. “I– I think I’m gonna go–” he says, pushing himself to his feet. Better to leave now before Eddie finds whatever he’s looking for and throws it at his head.

“Aha!” Eddie gasps, holding up his pen. Then he notices Steve standing awkwardly and frowns at him. “Wait, what? No, stay. Play it again.”

Steve blinks down at him. “What?”

“The song!” Eddie urges him but his voice is soft, gentle. “Play it again, Stevie, please.”

Stevie. Please. He’s not mad.

“What?”

Eddie heaves out a sigh, but it comes across as fond. “Dude, I’ve been trying to figure out the right melody for that song for like, half a year!” He says, shaking his notebook aggressively. A few pages fall off, but he pays them no mind. “But I just couldn’t get it fucking right, there was always something missing! And it was whatever you were doing when I walked in!”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Not at you, Stevie, no,” Eddie chuckles. “Just mad that it was you who figured it out with your secret magic guitar skills and not me.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he can’t help but let out a chuckle himself. “So you want me to do it again?”

Eddie nods enthusiastically and that’s enough to make Steve flop back down on the chair, propping the guitar on his legs and doing his best to play the song like he did before.

He must get it right because Eddie lets out an adorable squeal before using his pen to cross out something and write down whatever Steve accidentally came up with.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to dedicate this song to you now as a thank you,” Eddie says, grinning so wide at his notebook that it shows off his dimples.

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. It feels hot to the touch, probably from the pet name. “Too bad it’s a love song,” he jokes weakly, even if he wants nothing more than for Eddie’s words to be about him.

Eddie glances up, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I know,” he says softly, his eyes flickering nervously over Steve’s face.

Oh. Oh.

Stomach fluttering with butterflies, Steve stands up, grabbing the guitar by its neck to prop it up against the wall.

“Uh, you– are you leaving?” Eddie asks, chewing anxiously on his pen as he watches Steve move around silently. Little does he know that his heart is currently screaming at him to gently tackle Eddie into the bed.

But first–

“Just making sure your guitar is safe before I go over there and kiss you, Eds,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up when Eddie squeaks again, his eyes widening.

“Oh, o–okay. That’s smart. Yup,” he stammers out, his voice an octave higher, his cheeks pinking up. “Does that mean you also–”

“Feel that way about you?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to Eddie, who nods expectantly. Steve reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, Eddie, I do.”

When Steve leans in and finally, finally kisses him, Eddie lets his notebook fall to the floor so he can grab Steve’s shoulders. The urgency to write down that perfect melody now replaced by an urgency for Steve.

But it doesn’t matter, Steve thinks that melody is now seared into both of their memories forever, as is their first kiss. The first of many.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddielovemonth #stranger things #stranger things fic #i know i'm late but i left my house at 4 am yesterday and came back at midnight sorryyyy hope you all enjoy it x #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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v3lv3tsin · 2 days ago

Text

moonstruck: nishimura riki

| pairning: nishimura riki x reader

I genre: prince!niki, princess!reader

I warnings: no warnings <3

I word count: 1.8k

I stefy's note: just a little something before i actually come back and post the last part of the jungwon series (i'm really sorry it took so long to write but i was busy with uni and some resits), so enjoy :)

[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]

If anyone would have asked what do you like about Niki, you would have said before that it was his smile, but now ever since getting to know him better that answer changed and so have you. His sense of humor, especially when having guest to entertain was what made you two get close to each other in the first place.

It was easy how it happened and since none of you planned for it to happen made it even more special. But your mother never approved of him, saying that he "wouldn't be a good enough suitor for you" nor a good husband from the way he was behaving.

He was known to be more of carefree than other princes were, but maybe that's what made you notice him. Or maybe it was the sly smile he always gave you whenever you'd meet.

What came to your surprise was that although your mother seemed to be very keen on keeping the two of you apart for as long as possible it didn't seem to work all the time. And this was the case for when Niki invited other distinguished guests, such as Mr. Yang, Mr. Park and Mr. Sim, alongside you. Obviously.

To your surprise, your mother seemed to have approved of the invitation long before you could've even proposed the idea to her. Meaning that you would be accompanied by your governess. Saying that you weren't excited even a bit to see him, was a lie in itself. There was no doubt that his father approved of the party to be held at their spring residence. You heard about the stories about the fountains and their respective tricks so being able to experience it sounded perfect already.

So that is how you and your governess, Claire, found yourselves waiting to be escorted into the gardens and fountains of the residence, by Niki and his father. It didn't take long to see Nikis smile widening as soon as he saw you waiting for him and his father to be able to welcome you properly, as if he didn't plan this whole party just to see you and hear your voice. Having to go to all the trouble of convincing his father that having his others friends coming to the party it would distract him from even talking to you in the first place.

Realizing they might be busy with the guests that would have to be arriving soon or they already arrived, the butler escorts you into the gardens with a small grin as if he knew that would happen when you would enter the garden area. As soon as you enter through the gates you're met with a slight splash of water coming from the statutes guarding the fountains at the center of the garden. Although the water didn't get too much on your dress as it wasn't a lot, it made you laugh just a little bit.

One thing is for sure that this was no ordinary party. And another thing that you realized was that water will be involved.

Before being able exit being hit by the water in the first place, you finally make eye contact with Niki, seeing that he was laughing too. Coming to greet and welcome you to their spring residence, were both him and his father. "Welcome to our little house, Mrs. Choi." Mr. Nishimura, Niki's father says on a modest tone, knowing that the residence wasn't close to being little.

"Thank you for inviting me." You smile happily, knowing how much of a fuss was for him and his son to be able to have this many guests in their private residence. Smiling at Niki before to his father, you're met with the news that lunch would be served soon, as one of the butlers came to announce Mr. Nishimura.

"I see that you've already met my son." His father feels the need to point out that your relationship with his son was far from a friendship from what he could grasp at first sight. Without wanting to have more of the awkward silence that seemed to be happening for some time now, his father voices on the same tone as before, making sure to let the two of you talk in peace. "Lunch will be served soon."

"I'm surprised your mother decided to let you come alone." Niki speaks on a teasing tone, thinking it was high time that he talks about most feared topic between the two of you. Your mother. It was true that his father agreed to plan the party and sent you an invitation, and not your mother, knowing that she would never let you come to it.

"She is busy with tonight's party." You answer him giving him barely any information about your plans for the night as you were missing your mother's party instead of being there to help her organize everything. "But you knew that very well." You continue on the same tone wanting to let him know that it was his idea this party, in the first place.

"I missed you." Niki blurs out while rubbing the back of his neck, in a whispery tone as he looks at you. It was true, he did. Ever since you spent more time together he couldn't take his mind off you as much as he tried.

"Lunch should be served soon." You answer by changing the topic, not wanting to talk to him about the feelings you have been developing for him lately. Or ever since you first met him at one of Mr. Yang's parties. Heading to the stunningly looking table, that seemed to made out of stone having around it shining stone seats. One interesting aspect about the stone seats was that they all seemed to have a hole in the middle of them. It did seem uncomfortable at first, but when you saw Niki sit down next you, all of it was gone.

Usually you would be the one to complain about how comfortable or not something was, but it seemed that this was not the case. Everyone around the table seemed to be enjoying themselves, you finally make eye contact with Niki's father who seemed to be in an intense conversation with his son while you were sharing your thoughts with one of Mr. Park's date. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever you could feel something coming from the back of you.

Water. Splashes of water everywhere. Surrounding the whole table. From the front and from the back.

The delicious meal in front of you was not drenched in water and so were you. Not as much as you have except as the dress having so many layers managed to block some of the water coming from the chair you were sitting on.

"Gentlemen, i think it is better to enjoy the view somewhere else." Wearing a smirk on his face was now Mr. Nishimura, Nki's father who seemed to be enjoying the annoyed or the surprised faces of his guests. As much as you hated your mother for forbidding you to see Niki, there was one aspect that you two usually agree on.

Never, under no circumstance, piss of Mr. Nishimura. As charming as his son can be, the Nishimuras have always been known for getting their revenge, one way or another.

Getting up from your seat to follow Niki's father, who was now leading the way to what looked like to be a mechanical music-playing theatre. It was nothing you have seen before. While walking to the theatre you felt Niki's hand holding yours as the two of you followed his fathers lead. The place was beautiful to say the least, each statute had water coming from it in a peaceful manner. Some were showing scenes you have never seen before, such as a demon like face who had its tongue coming out, along with water coming out of its nose or two lovers walking together, hand in hand, in a forest.

Before you could see the theatre in its full glory, Niki whispered to you. "Come, i know a place when we'll be just fine." Just fine? Not being hit by the water again sounded perfectly so you followed him willingly. He surely knew more about the place than you, but knowing him he was surely planning something.

Sitting in front of a tower-like palace you could a court life, showing different professions, whether it is the building work-party, the daily workers who bring building materials to the foreman, who drinks, or the butchers slaughtering an ox, or the barber who shaves a man beneath his guild sign. The palace was surrounded by a three-storey building in a semicircle, partly giving a view into its interior.

Busy activity takes place on the street: a dancing bear performs, guards march past the Residence, a farmer pushes an old woman in a wheelbarrow over the road. Figures from the Commedia dell’arte are also to be seen, and if one so wishes, one can discern the social status of the figures involved. The most noble move less and more slowly that the workers.

Holding your waist from behind as you watched the now music-playing theatre was Niki, that was whispering to you new information about the palace-like theatre. "200 figurines, powered by water." It wasn't a lot of information, but thinking that these 200 figurines were moving by the help of water, was something innovative. Considering that the both of you sat pretty far in the back, for any of you to be able to see anything, you suggested moving forward to be able to watch the scene better.

Not long after the mechanical theatre stopped from Mr. Nishimuras signal, water started splashing again. Slower this time, but still a lot. Considering that you and Niki were far back, the water didn't get to you. That is when you decided to ask him, how or why did that happen. Seeing that your curiosity was peaked, Niki answers before you could open you mouth to even ask the question. "This spot is never wet. There's no water conduit here."

Taking your hand in his as his father was now leading the gentlemen to a church looking like building, Niki was leading you outside the beautiful garden. Trying to avoid the water coming from the different parts of them, he took your face in his hands and said on a loving whispery tone. "I waited so long to do this."

Before you could protest, his lips found yours and all seemed forgotten. Your mum not letting you see him again. Your governess having to accompany you to the party. The disapproving looks his father would give you from time to time.

All of it was gone.

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