#optimized winter movement

[civilotterneerredlines]

Gonna do this when it finally snows here.

[mrs5sn0w]

Serenade of Shadows

I : A Dance of Shadows -> II : Whisper of Deceit -> III : A Symphony of Heartbreak ->IV : Fractured Reflections -> V : Shadows of Allegiance -> VI : Echoes of Decent

Series Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Warnings : Arranged marriage, HEAVY ANGST, unrequited love, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers

Reader's surname : Flare

Time frame: Before, during and after tbosbas

Synopsis : In the events of Panem's political dynamics and the 10th annual Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow and her find themselves entwined. Standing at the brink of an enforced union, 6 years later, their mutual trust unravels amidst a damaging misinterpretation, prompting Coriolanus to believe the wrong. As the glacial barriers guarding his emotions begin to melt, a revelation of profound feelings unfolds, initiating a sprint against time for redemption.

The grand ballroom of the Capitol glittered with opulence, a testament to the excesses of power and control. She, who was adorned in a gown of muted elegance, stood beside Coriolanus Snow, a man whose eyes reflected the iciness of the society that had moulded him.

The festivities, a celebration of their union, felt like a masquerade of emotions, each step a painful reminder of a love lost.

The dance floor beneath them, once a stage for shared dreams, now echoed with the hollow sounds of a fractured connection. Coriolanus, draped in indifference, turned to her with a gaze colder than the winter winds that swept through the Capitol.

"Do remember that our union is a political necessity, not a playground for your emotions." His words, sharp as a blade, cut through the remnants of her optimism, leaving wounds that bled with the anguish of unfulfilled promises.

"Coriolanus, please," she implored, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken pain.

"Can't we find a way back to what we were?"

A scoff escaped his lips, a venomous edge to his tone.

"What we were is inconsequential. The Capitol demands sacrifices, and sentimentality is the first to go."

The cruelty in his words struck her like a physical blow. She felt a chasm widening between them, a chasm fueled by the Capitol's relentless demands and his willingness to succumb to its frigid embrace.

As the night wore on, the symphony of forced smiles and hollow conversations played on, but in the private moments between the grandeur, she attempted to breach the fortress of Snow's indifference.

“Can't you see that we're sacrificing more than just sentimentality?"

Her voice carried the echoes of a heart desperate to be heard, a heart that still clung to the fragments of a love that once defied the Capitol's constraints.

He turned to her, a sneer playing on his lips. "Love is a weakness, Flare."

The words, like acid, burned through her defences. He calls her by her last name, refusing to call by his.

The balcony, once a refuge for shared dreams, now became the stage for the unraveling of her heart. Tears welled up in her eyes, the anguish of his callousness too much to bear.

"Why are you doing this, Coriolanus?" Her plea hung in the air, desperate for an answer that could stitch together the tattered remains of their connection.

He met her gaze with a steely resolve. “Don't be foolish to ask that question again and again. You know why.”

His indifference, a fortress that seemed impenetrable, shattered the last vestiges of her hope. The balcony, witness to the tender moments of their past, now bore witness to the agonizing dissolution of their bond.

"You're heartless, Coriolanus."

His laughter, cold and devoid of empathy, echoed through the balcony.

"Your sentiments won't change our reality. Accept it or suffer the consequences."

The finality in his words landed like a crushing blow. A love that had once defied the Capitol's chains now lay broken and discarded. The dance through time, a once graceful movement, had devolved into a painful and discordant rhythm, echoing the hollowness of their loveless marriage.

As the grand celebration continued below, she retreated into the shadows of her pain. The ballroom, aglow with the Capitol's decadence, became a theater for the tragic unraveling of their connection.

The night was far from over. The masquerade of their union continued, a relentless dance that forced them to confront the haunting melodies of a loveless marriage. Each step on the dance floor mirrored the jagged edges of their fractured connection.

She was a prisoner of her emotions, sought solace in the shadows. The whispers of the past intertwined with the discordant notes of the present, creating a symphony of heartbreak that reverberated through the ballroom.

Coriolanus, detached and composed, navigated the dance with the finesse of a puppeteer pulling the strings. His eyes, devoid of warmth, scanned the room with the calculated precision of a man who had embraced the callousness demanded by the Capitol.

In the quiet interludes between the grand movements, she attempted one more plea, a desperate hope that some shred of humanity remained within the man who had once been her confidant.

"Coriolanus, can't you see what this is doing to us? We're sacrificing more than just love; we're sacrificing our very souls."

He turned to her, his gaze an icy dagger that pierced through her vulnerability.

"Souls are a small price to pay for power. I suggest you learn to accept it."

The words, a proclamation of the Capitol's ruthless influence, left her breathless. She felt the weight of their union pressing down on her, a heavy burden that threatened to suffocate any lingering traces of hope.

As the grand celebration reached its climax, the dance through time descended into a chaotic frenzy of emotions. The ballroom, once a space of decadent revelry, now became a battleground for the remnants of their connection.

Coriolanus, unmoved by the turmoil within her, continued the dance with an air of indifference. The discordant notes of their fractured love played on, drowning out the music of the Capitol's triumphant fanfare.

In the dimly lit corners of the ballroom, her tears went unnoticed. The pain, too private to be displayed in the spotlight of the Capitol's scrutiny, carved deep trenches in her soul.

As the night drew to a close, she, a mere shadow of the woman she once was, found herself standing alone on the balcony. The Capitol, with its glittering facade, seemed worlds away from the desolation within her heart.

Coriolanus, his duty to the Capitol fulfilled, approached her with the calculated demeanor of a man who had shed the vestiges of sentimentality.

“Whatever it is we had it the past, don’t ever look for it, it won’t ever come back.”

His words, devoid of any flicker of remorse, echoed through the empty spaces of her heart. The dance through time had reached its bitter end, leaving behind the fragments of a connection that had crumbled under the weight of the Capitol's expectations.

With a final glance, Coriolanus Snow, now a stranger draped in the trappings of power, left the balcony, leaving her alone with the haunting melodies of a love extinguished. The Capitol's grandeur faded into the night, and she, standing on the balcony, felt the chill of isolation in the air.

As the Capitol slept, shrouded in the deceptive allure of power, she remained on the balcony, grappling with the ruins of her heart. The night, once a canvas for shared dreams, now stretched before her as an endless expanse of emptiness.

In the aftermath of the celebration, the opulent ballroom now lay silent, a stark contrast to the tumult within herself. The masquerade of their union had unveiled the harsh truth — she was entwined in a loveless marriage, a puppet in the Capitol's grand theater.

Alone in the sprawling bedroom, she found herself on the sofa, a cold and unwelcome piece of furniture that mirrored the frigid atmosphere that had settled between her and Coriolanus Snow. The grand bed, adorned with lavish silks and plush pillows, stood untouched, a stark reminder of the chasm that had grown between them.

Her wedding gown, once a symbol of celebration, now felt like a heavy shroud, constricting her movements as she navigated the unfamiliar space. Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting an ethereal glow on the elaborate patterns of the carpet, each thread whispering tales of a union strained by the weight of Capitol expectations.

As she stepped into the bathroom, the opulence of Capitol excess confronted her. The glass-encased shower stood like a transparent witness to her vulnerability. She turned on the water, hoping its cascade would wash away the residue of the day's trials.

The door swung open, and Coriolanus Snow entered with a casual nonchalance.

His eyes, indifferent to her modesty, met hers in the reflection of the gleaming mirror. The involuntary shriek that escaped her lips was met with nothing more than an eye roll from him. He faced the mirror, a razor in hand, seemingly oblivious to the invasion of her privacy.

“Excuse me ? Do you mind giving me a bit of privacy ?” she protested, the words barely audible over the rush of water.

Coriolanus, razor against his jaw, spared her a fleeting glance, his response as cutting as the blade against his skin.

"You know, Flare, the Capitol may find your attempts at modesty amusing. But let's be clear, you're not even interesting to look at, even when you're trying."

In haste, she sheathed her body in a robe, a thin shield against the rawness of his indifference. The scent of expensive bath oils mingled with the palpable tension, creating an atmosphere that underscored the compromises demanded by the Capitol's opulent facade.

As the echoes of his cruel words reverberated in the room, she chose silence.

The night, meant to be a culmination of shared dreams and whispered promises, had transformed into a haunting symphony of solitude. The echoes of distant laughter from the Capitol's revelry reached her ears, a stark contrast to the silence within the grand room.

She gazed at the grand bed, its expanse an unspoken testament to the distance between her and the man she had once called a friend.

"You're sleeping at the Sofa" he hissed

As she settled onto the sofa, the cushions felt cold and unforgiving.

She gazed at the grand bed, its expanse an unspoken testament to the distance between her and the man she had once called a friend.

The refusal to share a bed, a symbolic rejection that echoed through the silence, carved a deep wound in her heart.

Tears welled in her eyes as she replayed the events of the wedding night—the vows exchanged without sincerity, the applause that masked the absence of genuine joy, and now, the solitude that defined her first night as Coriolanus Snow's wife.

The sofa offered little comfort, its unyielding surface a reflection of the emotional distance that had grown between them. She slept alone on the sofa, the grand bed bearing witness to the ache of a connection lost.

The first light of dawn painted the Capitol in hues of gold, but for her, it offered no warmth. The reality of her situation loomed larger than the grand structures that adorned the city. She descended from the balcony, her steps heavy with the weight of unshed tears.

Days turned into weeks, and the semblance of a life continued. The Capitol, indifferent to the personal tragedies within its glittering facade, carried on with its relentless demands. She, who was once a beacon of creativity, moved through the motions with a hollow gaze.

Coriolanus Snow, now consumed by the machinations of power, remained a distant figure in her life. The corridors of their grand residence echoed with a profound silence, a testament to the emotional chasm that separated them.

One evening, as the Capitol bathed in the twilight glow, she found herself in the Academy library, a place that once witnessed the blossoming of their connection. The shelves, lined with volumes of forgotten dreams, stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time.

In the quiet solitude of the library, Her fingers traced the spines of familiar books. Memories flooded back — shared laughter, whispered dreams, and the unspoken bond that had defined their youth. She closed her eyes, attempting to capture the fragments of a time when love still flourished.

Weeks turned into months, and the grand wedding, a distant memory, held no solace for her. The corridors of their residence, once filled with shared laughter, now echoed with the hollowness of a connection irreversibly fractured.

As the Capitol skyline glowed with artificial brilliance, she stood on the balcony, a silhouette against the backdrop of a city that demanded everything but love. The echoes of their past laughter lingered, mingling with the distant hum of Capitol life.

Coriolanus Snow approached, his gaze fixed on the sprawling expanse below. The balcony, once witness to their private moments, now served as a stage for the remnants of a connection that refused to be forgotten.

"The Capitol's demands grow more strict, could you stop acting all sad, asking attention from the public ? It’s pathetic, we must play our parts better, give the Capitol what they want so-” he remarked, his voice a detached melody that echoed through the night.

“So you can get more power ?” She scoffed

“What more do you want from the people now that you’re President ?”

A bitter smile played on her lips. "Our parts, Coriolanus, are nothing more than roles in a tragic play. The Capitol demands perfection, but it has no regard for the cost."

His gaze, cold and unyielding, met hers. "Cost is not important when compared to the splendour of power. You knew the rules when you entered this dance, Flare."

The balcony, bathed in the soft glow of Capitol lights, became the theater for a final act. She was weary and disillusioned then locking eyes with Coriolanus Snow — a man she once loved, now a stranger draped in the trappings of power.

"Coriolanus, I once believed in a world beyond the Capitol's expectations. But we are prisoners, dancing to a tune composed by a heartless regime."

His laughter, devoid of warmth, cut through the night. "Prisoners, perhaps, but also architects of our destiny. Embrace the role, or be swept away by the currents of irrelevance."

The question hung in the air, a heavy cloud of unspoken tension settling over the room. Her voice, though calm, carried a subtle edge as she uttered words that dared to touch the forbidden.

"Would it be different if she was the one to marry you?"

Coriolanus Snow, his features frozen in an icy mask, felt the room temperature drop several degrees. The mere mention of Lucy Gray Baird, the elusive victor of the 10th Annual Hunger Games, was like a sharp dagger thrust into the depths of his guarded emotions.

His eyes, usually cool and composed, flared with a sudden anger that he struggled to conceal.

"You dare bring her up?" The words hissed through clenched teeth, each syllable dripping with a venomous disdain that seemed to materialize from the depths of his resentment.

Though she was well aware of the sensitivity of the topic, pressed on with a quiet determination. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as the weight of unspoken histories loomed.

"She's the one you cheated the Games for, isn't she? The girl you loved and then conveniently let disappear,"

she continued, her voice unwavering despite the storm brewing in his gaze.

A cruel laugh escaped him, devoid of any genuine mirth.

"You think you know anything about her? About us?"

The tension crackled in the air as he paced, the room feeling suddenly too confined. His anger, a turbulent undercurrent, sought an outlet in biting words.

"Let me make something clear, Flare. Lucy Gray was never meant for someone like you to understand. She was extraordinary, and you…"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over her form with a disdain that cut through the air.

"You're just a pale imitation, desperately clinging to a reality you can't grasp."

Though wounded by his words, she refused to back down.

"And yet, you married me. So, why don't you tell me, Snow ? Would it be different if she was the one standing here in this lavish room, wearing this elaborate dress, playing the part I am assigned ? "

His eyes, stormy and unforgiving, locked onto hers.

"Maybe she would have had the decency not to bring up the past to throw your own indiscretions in your face."

The words hung in the air, an unspoken challenge between them. The room, once a sanctuary, now bore witness to the unraveling of a carefully constructed facade, revealing the cracks beneath the surface of their strained union.

Undeterred by the venom in his words, Seraphina met Snow's stormy gaze with unwavering determination. She fought back, her voice cutting through the charged atmosphere.

"If Lucy Gray was so extraordinary, then why is she not here ? If she really loved you, wouldn't she have stayed ? Or maybe, she vanished because she realized what a heartless, cold creature she had involved herself with."

Her words, a counterattack fueled by the fire of her own pain, struck at the heart of his defenses. Snow's stoic facade wavered for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability surfacing in his icy eyes.

"You want to believe in a love that never wavered, but you're deluding yourself. Lucy Gray saw through you, just as I do now," she declared, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The room felt like a battlefield of emotions, each word exchanged a weapon aimed at the other's vulnerabilities. Seraphina pressed on, refusing to let his harsh words break her spirit.

"And here we are, in this grandiose room, in this sham of a marriage. You can't escape the fact that I am your wife, Coriolanus, and no matter how much you resent it, I'm not going to disappear like Lucy Gray."

A bitter smile played on her lips, a mix of defiance and resignation. The Capitol lights outside seemed to dim in comparison to the intensity of their verbal clash. The echoes of their unraveling union reverberated in the silence that followed.

The room, once a symbol of their forced unity, now stood witness to the fractures that no extravagant facade could conceal. She turned away from the balcony, leaving Snow to grapple with the lingering echoes of her words and the stark reality of their entangled fates.

TAGLIST : @randomgurl2326 @rosewine-5

[whimsimille]

THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 3: Cherry Blossoms

Jeong Jin-Man x Reader!

Ensuring the cold steel pin snapped back into the slide with a click? Check. Carefully inspecting the barrel, the recoil spring, and guide? Check. Examining the magazine, the safety mechanism, and the trigger, testing each one to guarantee they were functioning at their optimal level? Check.

“Yeah... I still got that," you murmur to yourself, the words barely audible over the soft crackling of the vintage radio playing a forgotten tune from the 60s in the background: Cherry Blossom Ending. Mom’s favorite. 

Taking another long drag of your cigarette, you savor the rich taste of a blend of Turkish tobacco that Pasin introduced you to.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, you watch it drift upwards lazily before dissipating into the stale air of the room. The sight brings back memories of foggy winter mornings back home, when the world seemed shrouded in a blanket of mist. But, unlike those mornings, there's no fragrance of dew-kissed roses or the sweet scent of mom's freshly baked apple pie to erase your nose scrunching—not when this place smells like a battlefield. The distinct aroma of gunpowder and the sharp tang of sweat mix in the air like a witch's potion, creating an unsettling olfactory cocktail.

Your eyes fall on the poster of an old concessionary you once visited, featuring a sexualized pit girl with improbably large breasts for her leather crop top. You sigh. No amount of decoration, no matter how weird or random, can erase the sensation that men in tactical gear might spring up through the gun stock’s door any minute. In your mind’s eye, they empty all the shelves as they run, their gazes wild with bloodlust, chins coated with saliva as the drugs they took to make them more alert take hold of their minds.

Yet, amidst the chaos, your eyes notice the old wooden table, scarred with years of use and abuse. Its familiar creaking sound, especially from the third leg, the one that always needed fixing. Despite its oddities, this place has a certain charm.

As a woman, you know that there are environments that society still judges as masculine. But whether you want it or not, whether you identify as a feminist or not, these judgments don't matter to you. 

Whilst memories flood back—your father patiently teaching you how to shoot, your mother cheering you on at the shooting competition—you can't help but listen to the echoes of your parents amidst the gunpowder. The rusty corner nearby the Glocks shelves reminds you too much of your old house, of mom and dad dancing across it the way they used to on Saturday nights, their laughter filling the room. Even the leftover smell of Gun's piss on the floor brings back how Honda brought home that forsaken cat that you've learned to love. 

These memories remind you that this has nothing to do with being feminine or masculine. This is about being you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated, breaking your shitty reverie. It was a muffled sound by the work table, buried somewhere beneath the scattered assortment of guns—pistols, rifles, and shotguns—in your twin's meticulously disordered workplace.

Discarding your half-smoked baby into the overflowing ashtray, you slowly rise from the creaky stool, stretching your stiff muscles. A dull ache radiates from your lower back—the result of countless hours spent hunched over the workbench. 

Ignoring the discomfort, you navigate through the maze of scattered tools and disassembled machinery, your boots echoing against the concrete floor, until you reach for the incessantly vibrating device under a pile of blueprints.

You lean against the graffiti and poster-covered wall, its coldness seeping through your top. Your gaze drifts to the multiple monitors displaying the gradually emptying streets of Seoul, illuminated by the neon glow of streetlights.

Honda always had an obsession with surveillance, with keeping an eye on every single movement outside. 

To the uninitiated, it might come off as paranoia. But in your line of work, it was a necessity. The last thing you both needed was someone sniffing around your... less-than-legal activities.

You swipe the screen, bringing the encrypted chat to life.

Younger brother by 6 minutes:

Hey, sis! Just checking in.

I trust Sukku's client came to pick up his custom order—the modified Glock 19? Did he give any trouble? Notice anything out of the ordinary? Are there any signs of suspicion that we might need to worry about?

Considering the late hour and the fact that you've been alone in this place all evening, do you want me to swing by? Gunpowder is already fast asleep. I took her to the vet earlier. They think it might be chlamydia. Apparently, it's a thing in cats.

Big sister by 6 minutes:

Chlamydia? In a cat? That's news to me. Is she going to be okay? Will she need any special treatment?

As for the client, there are no issues whatsoever. He seemed satisfied with the custom Glock. Even complimented the grip modifications.

And don't worry about me. I'm used to the workshop without you by now. Besides, I’ve been productive. Uploaded a few of our modified guns and encryption codes on our site for our initial clients to browse.

I also completed a thorough maintenance check on the old Sig Sauer P226. Replaced the recoil spring, cleaned the firing pin and even polished the slide rails. It's as good as new now. You know, just in case we need some extra firepower.

But yeah, if you're free and not too worn out, do swing by. We can grab a late-night snack from the 24-hour joint down the street. Their kimchi jjigae has been on my mind.

But for now, don't rush. I'm fine on my own. I will keep the place locked down and secure until you get back. It's not like we have a shortage of security systems.

And tell Gunpowder her noona got her back. And ask her to keep her paws off my toolbox.

Watching the gray bubble with your message pop up on the screen, you hit send.

Just as you were about to pull up the Murthehelp site on your phone—the one you had coded from scratch after many long, caffeine-fueled nights—a sudden flicker on one of the large monitors caught your attention. You squinted, setting your phone down on the table.

There, in the grainy black-and-white footage, you could make out a figure. It was vague and blurry, moving in the shadows, but their height and gait unmistakably suggested a man.

He was coming towards the workshop, his path unwavering and purposeful. You quickly glanced at his attire—a dark jacket and a baseball hat pulled low over his face. Not exactly the outfit of someone who was just strolling by, especially not at this late hour when even the nocturnal creatures had retreated to their burrows.

Keeping your nerve, you reached for the console, fingers nimbly dancing over the buttons to turn off the monitors. You didn't want the soft blue glow of the screens to betray your presence in the otherwise dark room. 

Leaving the gun stock downstairs, you entered the quiet workshop, the smell of oil and metal heavy in the air.

After tiptoeing towards the reinforced steel door, you hid behind a towering metal shelf cluttered with an assortment of spare parts, rusted tools, and half-assembled machinery, their metallic sheen glinting dimly in the ambient light.

The silence hung heavy, broken only by the steady tick-tock of an old clock on the wall. Your heart pounded in your chest as you braced yourself for a loud bang, anticipating a forceful break-in. But instead, the soft rustle of someone kneeling near the entrance reached your ears. The muffled clicks of a lock being picked followed and then the door was gently pushed up, its usual creak betraying its motion conspicuously absent.

The moment the man stepped in, you sprang into action and the workshop transformed into a battleground.

You dove under a swing. A wrench grazed your arm—a missed punch. You retaliated with a swift kick, watching as he stumbled back, barely keeping his balance. But despite your best efforts, your back soon hit the cold metal of an old car under repair.

Cornered, with no way out.

A thin ray of light from a partially opened window cut through the darkness, casting long, distorted shadows. As your eyes adjusted, you saw him—Jinman. His face was as cold as the winter wind, revealing nothing of his intent. He held a knife in his hand, the cold steel pressing ominously against your stomach.

"Complacency could get you killed," he admonished as he tossed his baseball cap somewhere in this place. "In Babylon, I trained you to be sharper, faster, but you've let yourself grow soft. One inch to the side, and this blade could have nicked an artery. It would've been a messy end."

“Damn you, Jinman! What the hell were you thinking, barging in here like some low life thug?" Your hand instinctively went to your side, where your trusty Smith & Wesson lay as you watched through hooded eyes as he leaned against you, his nose scrunching in what might be the unique signal of pain from your attacks. “I mistook you for some gangster trying to get a hand on our stash! I could've shot you, you reckless idiot!" You pushed his hand away, stepping out of the claustrophobic corner.

“Do you remember our lesson on critical injuries?”

"The intestine, when damaged, can lead to sepsis," you replied, his voice flat, your eyes never leaving his as he begrudgingly sheathed his knife. You quirked up an eyebrow as you saw blood under his nails, but you didn’t dare say a thing, you knew he wouldn't talk about it anyway. Jeong was stubborn like that.

"And if left untreated, the mortality rate is high, even with immediate medical attention.”

Ignoring his continued lecturing, you moved past him, heading towards the narrow staircase that led back to the lower level where the gun stock was kept. He trailed behind, his usually light steps now heavy and labored.

"So, care to explain your sudden, unannounced break-in, Jinman?" You questioned, the cool air from the underground level hitting your face like a welcome reprieve. Without waiting for his response, you kept talking, "And why the sudden interest in giving me a lecture on gut wounds? Planning on stabbing my twin next?

"Because you..." he began, but his voice trailed off, replaced by a pained grunt.

Alarmed, you turned around just in time to see him stumble, clutching his side. He landed heavily on the last few steps, letting out a string of curses.

"Jinman?" you called out, rushing over to him. "What's wrong?"

His response was a mere groan, his face a sickly pale hue contrasted by the cold sweat forming on his forehead. The hole in his shirt as he shed his coat could be a smudge of dirt from his shoveling chore, and the blood that has soaked his shirt is almost invisible in the dim light. He's now making a strange whistling noise each time he inhales. He'd been shot. Near his intestines.

"Oh, God, Jinman! This... this is serious," you stammered, your hand shaking as you reached out to check his wound.

You have seen injuries before. Gunshot wounds, stabbings, broken bones are occupational hazards that come with your line of work. But seeing Jinman, your former partner and mentor from Babylon, bleeding and weakening struck a nerve. A sudden adrenaline rush surged through you, coupled with a rising protective instinct. You had to act quickly, keep your wits about you. Panic wouldn't help either of you now.

"Alright, Ahjussi," you said, forcing a steady tone into your voice. "We need to get you lying down. Now."

He lets go, or maybe just loses the strength to hold on, as you maneuver him onto a makeshift bed—a heap of old, worn-out blankets and tarps that you usually use when working on cars. You pull back a little—not far. His eyes regard you from their deep and blackening sockets. They are as brilliant as ever, but you see, they are also full of terror and (this is what frightens you most) some wretched, inexplicable amusement. 

Still speaking low—perhaps so only you can hear, maybe because it's the best he can manage—Jeong says, "Listen, little woman. I can handle myself.."

 "No—you have to stop."

He pays no attention. He draws in another of those screaming breaths, purses his wet red lips in a tight O, and makes a low, incredibly nasty chuffing noise. It drives a fine spray of blood up his clenched throat and into the sweltering air.

He turns his head to the side, spits a wad of half-congealed blood onto the hot tar, then turns back to you. "I guess it's karma.”

You understand that he means it, and for a moment (surely it is the power of his eyes), you believe it's true. He will make the sound again, only a little louder, and in some other world, Bale, that lord of sleepless nights, will turn its unspeakable, hungry head. A moment later, if you don’t just move and fucking think, in this world, Jeong Jin-Man will simply shiver in this old place and die. The death certificate will say something sane, but you’ll know: his dark past finally saw him, came for him and ate him alive.

“I guess I’m getting old, huh?”

Leaning even closer. Into the shivering sweat and blood of him. Leaning in until you can smell the last palest ghost of the Prell he shampooed with that morning and the Foamy he shaved with. Leaning in until your lips touch his ear. You whisper, "Be quiet, Jin-Man. For once in your life, just be quiet. Don’t you dare make this pussy sound again.”

Looking around, you knew no bandage in your medicine cabinet would be enough, so you ended up tearing long strips from a sheet. The sheet is old, but you mourn its passing just the same—on a waitress's salary (supplemented by niggardly tips and only slightly better ones from the faculty members who lunch at Pat's), you can ill afford to raid your linen closet. But when you think of  stuffing it into his mouth to muffle his screams and grunts, you don't hesitate.

You caught sight of an old bottle of Korean whisky, a forgotten souvenir from a past mission to Jeju Island. Honda had won it in a high-stakes game of poker but never got around to finishing it. Now, it seemed like a fitting antiseptic.

Raising the bottle to your lips, you took a swig, the liquid burning its way down your throat—a twisted semblance of courage. Then, with a grimace, you drenched the wound with the help of a cloth, the sharp smell of alcohol mingling with the raw scent of blood. Jinman’s body tensed, a deep groan escaping his clenched teeth.

“I’m hot.”

"Shit, Ahjusshi." Emboldened, you rubbed your freezing, leaking hand along his right cheek, his left cheek, and then across his forehead, where drops of whisky-colored water dripped into his eyebrows and then ran down the sides of his nose. He hums in satisfaction. "You should have been more careful."

The room was filled with a heavy silence, the only sounds being the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe somewhere overhead and Jinman’s labored breathing.

You remembered a mission in Gwangju, back when you two were still new to the field. It was a stormy night, the air was so heavy with rain that it felt like you were walking through a cloud. The neon lights of the city were blurred, painting everything in an ethereal glow. There was a sense of surrealism to that night, a feeling of being detached from reality. That was the first time you had seen Jinman truly vulnerable, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to panic as a bullet grazed his shoulder.

“It’s just a scratch,” he had grumbled, his hand tightly gripping yours as you tried to clean the wound. He licked at his lips. You saw the blood on his tongue and it turned your stomach, but you didn’t pull away from him.

Now, years later, history is repeating itself. But this time, the stakes were much higher.

"Listen to me, old man," you began, your voice breaking the overwhelming silence. "We've been through worse, haven't we? Remember that time in Busan when that crazy bastard tried to stab you with a switchblade?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, his eyes half-closed, the sheets between his teeth stained with blood and saliva. "Yeah, and you broke his nose."

"You're damn right, I did," you chuckled, your fingers gently tracing the outline of the wound, assessing the damage, before rising up again in search of your purple lighter somewhere in this place. "And we made it through that night, didn't we? So, we're going to make it through this shit too. But you need to stay with me, alright? Don't you fucking dare drift off on me!"

Found it!

As you kneeled again and prepared the needles and threads, sterilizing them over a small flame, your throat felt as dry as the barren lands of the Mojave Desert. Words stuck in your mouth like cotton, but you forced them out. 

"Do you remember that pawnshop in Itaewon? The one with the old, rusted sign hanging crookedly and the fat, ginger cat named Tofu who would lazily sprawl across the counter? The owner—what was his name? Sungmin, right? He had this weird obsession with Elvis Presley. Used to play vintage vinyl records on that old gramophone he had all day long. You hated it; you said it was too 'old-fashioned' for your taste. But I caught you humming 'Love Me Tender' once."

His eyes met yours, a faint glimmer of amusement in them. You could see his chest rise and fall, each breath a little more labored than the last. But he was listening, a hint of a smile tugging at his bloodstained lips.

"And then there was that time in Hongdae," you continued, your fingers gently manipulating the sterilized pliers inside his abdomen. He hissed and jerked, the sudden movement causing the tools in your hand to clatter loudly. But a stern glance in his direction had him stilling, his jaw clenched tightly to suppress any further sounds. "We stumbled upon this cute little bakery at three in the morning. The owner was this old lady, who claimed her red bean buns were the best in all of Seoul. You were skeptical and said nothing could beat your grandma's recipe. But, after the first bite...”

You paused, recalling the look of sheer surprise on his face. "You devoured five of those buns in a matter of minutes. You even tried to flirt with the old lady, hoping to score the recipe."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his grip tightening around your free hand. "And she said... she said she had a... strict policy. No sharing recipes with… playboys."

"Exactly!" You exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you noticed the mischievous light returning to his eyes. "She definitely put you in your place, didn't she?"

“Shut…up.”

“I like you too. Please don’t die on me. I don't want to hear Honda crying in my ears at your funeral.”

As you finally found the bullet, the harsh reality of the situation loomed over you, a grim reminder of the danger he was in. But for now, for just a few moments, it felt like old times. Just you and Jinman, bleeding wounds, guns on your feet and hips. You and him.

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

The short walk from the taxi to Jin-Man’s porch had been enough to thoroughly drench you, with your clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Raindrops dripped from the brim of your hat, splashing onto the porch's wooden planks, causing the aged wood to glisten under the feeble light from an old lamp hanging precariously above the door.

A sudden gust of wind made you shiver, and you quickly pulled your coat tighter around yourself, silently cursing the weather. You couldn't help but take a moment to observe the changes Jin-Man had made to the entrance—the broken lilies and the shattered pot had been replaced by beautiful blue hyacinths. You admired them briefly before bending down to retrieve the spare keys hidden beneath the ugly cat statue.

"Hey, ugly one! Been taking care of them for me?"

As you straightened up, key in hand, the door suddenly swung open.

Jin-Man stood in the doorway, his eyes softening as they took in your soaked floral skirt, the one he had always nagged you about, and the top that clung damply to your torso. He looked spent, with dark circles under his eyes and the distinct smell of ink and gunpowder clinging to him. The stubble on his face stood out more prominently against his tired features.

"I didn't think you'd come home.” Unusually, he started to balance on one foot while his hair was too long in the back—he needed it cut badly. You know he looks in the mirror and sees a Kpop star but you look at him and see a vagrant out of a Woody Guthrie song—dust in the wind.

What Jeong didn't say was, "Why didn’t you come in earlier?" Or, "Why do you look so hurt?"

As Honda had pointed out on more than one occasion, Jin-Man had what was surely among the rarest of human talents: he was a business minder who did not mind too much if you didn't mind yours. As long as you weren't making explosives to throw at someone, that was, and in your case, explosives were always a possibility. 

You shrugged off his remark; the tension between you two is still palpable. "I'm not here for you, Jin-Man," you replied, your gaze hardening. "I'm here for Ji-An."

Stepping past him, you entered the house, your gaze scanning the familiar surroundings—a mix of vintage and modern decor. Everything was just as you remembered it; the mahogany coffee table with its assortment of vintage car magazines, the worn-out, leather Chesterfield couch that bore the imprints of countless lazy afternoons, and the rustic brick fireplace that still smelled faintly of burnt cedar—the same furniture, the same arrangement, the same scents.

As you moved further into the house, a familiar sound reached your ears: the quiet jingling of a collar. Turning around, you saw Gunpowder padding towards you, her amber eyes glowing.

"G-Pow," you called, crouching down to her level, your hand reaching out to her.

The moment stretched uneasily as she mulled over your extended hand and her new master, standing a distance away. “Betrayal alert: Hostile territory,” seemed to be the message running through her kitty brain.

Just when you were about to etch another loss, Gunpowder decided otherwise; tail held in festive high, she padded towards you, meowing a soft welcome.

A chuckle rippled through you as your fingers slid behind her ears, playing briefly, "Missed all this mess, didn't you darling?”

Gunpowder meowed in response, her tail flicking playfully.

“My good girl.” You kissed her fur before she ran away to the couch.

Standing back up, you turned to face Jin-Man, your gaze hard but determined. "Is Ji-An asleep?"

He nodded, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you remembered well. "She's had a long day. But she'll be excited to see you in the morning."

"That's good," Bidding your drenched jacket and your hat goodbye onto the nearby coat rack, your eyes danced around the familiar kitchen layout till it landed on the kitchen counter, noticing the half-eaten sandwich and the glass of milk. "Eating habits are still the same, I see."

Jin-Man shrugged, his gaze avoiding yours. "Habit is a hard thing to break."

"You should try sometimes. It wouldn't kill you to have a proper meal."

His gaze finally met yours, a spark of defiance in his eyes. "I can take care of myself, Y/N."

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. "I know you can, Jin-Man. But taking care of yourself doesn't mean you have to do everything alone."

He didn't reply, his gaze dropping to the floor. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head; his mind was probably grappling with the fact that you were back in the house after months of absence.

Deciding to break the silence, you moved towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and scanning the contents. "I'll make dinner. It's about time we had a decent meal. And while I do that, could you fetch me some dry clothes? I'd prefer the black shirt with the Nirvana logo if it's still around.”

He sighed, closing the fridge door abruptly. “Stop it,” he demanded, his voice carrying that note that you hated so much. The note of a boss talking with his partner. “Stop thinking about me and go take a shower. You’re freezing, and no shirt, Nirvana or not, is going to help with that.”

"Okay, okay, bossy much?" You rolled your eyes as you moved past him, heading towards the doorway. "By the way, I'm not freezing. I'm just a little wet."

With a sense of nostalgia, you began to tread softly down the hallway, the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards echoing in your ears.

Gliding past Ji-An's room, you lightly pressed the door ajar. Bathed in the subdued glow of her nightlight was a picture-perfect scene—a tiny human swaddled in warmth, clutching onto her fluffy bunny with all the ferocity her little fists could offer. 

With feather-light steps, you ventured further in, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead as whispers of "Goodnight, Noona" danced around your heartstrings.

Clutching your top hem, your mind began to drift back to the past as you continued down the hallway. The memories of nights you spent in this house were like a movie playing in your mind: the arguments filled with passion, the shared meals around the worn-out dining table, and the shared silence that spoke more than words ever could.

After Honda’s death, you hadn't wanted the slice of cheesecake he would bring home from the restaurant for dessert, and you certainly hadn't wanted to go to any Hollywood movie... but you had wanted all those things with Jin-Man. Yes. Because over the last couple of months, and especially over the last months, you’ve come to depend on him in a funny way. Maybe it's corny— probably—but there's a feeling of safety when he puts his arms around you that wasn't there with any of her other guys; what you felt with and for most of them was either impatience or wariness. (Sometimes fleeting lust.) 

But there is kindness in Jeong (hidden between the rusty corners and dark basement of his heart, but, yes, there was), and from the first you felt interest coming from him— interest in you—that you could hardly believe, because he's so much smarter and so talented. And he speaks a language you grasped greedily from the beginning. Not the signing language, but one you know very well, just the same—it's as if you were speaking it in dreams.

But what good is talk and a special language if there's no one to talk to? Someone to cry to, even? That's what you needed tonight. You’d never told him about your crazy fucked-up family or your past before him—oh, pardon me, that's crazy smucked-up talk in Honda's speech—but you meant to tonight. Felt you had to or explode from pure misery. 

Walking into the bathroom, its altered landscape consumed your attention. Pristine countertop occupied by practical necessities: a single toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and straight razor aesthetically laying on top screamed 'functional' compared to it once being decorated chaotically with personal effects nestled among skincare bottles alongside makeup and a carelessly thrown hairbrush—an exquisite mosaic of a life once lived.

Stepping into the shower, the hot water cascaded down your body, washing away the grit and grime of the day. Still, no water could stop you from remembering the last time you were in this shower—the last time you were in this bathroom.

"Can I join you?" Jin-Man's voice had echoed off the bathroom tiles, the door creaking open slightly.

Looking back, you found him leaning against the door frame, sleep-ruffled hair visible over the frosted shower barrier—a low-hung towel only embellishing his irresistible nonchalance.

“If you promise not to fuck me against the tiles again, sure, why not?”

“Alright, alright,” he had chuckled, opening the shower door and stepping in. The water immediately started soaking his hair, the droplets trickling down his face and chest. “I promise, no fooling around.”

You had laughed then, tilting your head back to rinse the shampoo from your hair. “Good. Because I need to get ready, and I don’t have time for your… shenanigans.”

Jin-Man simply smiled at that, his hands reaching out to help rinse your hair. His fingers were gentle as they massaged your scalp, working through the tangles. “I’ll behave. Scout's honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes at his antics but not being able to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

"But I could have been. Imagine how good I would have looked in the uniform."

You laughed at that, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls. "Yeah, right. You would have been the rebel scout. I can just see you now, trying to start a fire with a pocket knife and a piece of flint, and ‘accidentally’ burning down the entire camp because some weird boy thought it was funny to pull on my pigtails."

"Probably," he agreed. His hands moved to your shoulders, kneading the tense muscles there. "But I bet I would have been the best at telling ghost stories around the campfire."

"That's true. You do have a knack for dramatic storytelling. You could have scared all the other scouts half to death."

His hands stilled on your shoulders, and he pulled you closer, his chest pressing against your back. "I only scare people because I care," he murmured in your ear, his breath warming against your skin.

"Is that so?" You turned to face him, a soft smile on your lips, and you reached up to trace the line of his jaw. "Well, in that case, I guess I should be grateful."

"You should be. Now, let's get you rinsed off. We wouldn't want you to be late, now, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't.”

As you stepped out of the shower, you reached for the towel hanging on the rack.

Dressed in the Nirvana shirt and a pair of his boxers, you padded back into the kitchen, finding Jin-Man leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hands. He looked up as you entered, his eyes automatically dropping to take in your attire. He said nothing, but you could see the flicker of something in his gaze—the ghost of a memory, perhaps.

His other friends saw his talent and were dazzled by it at first. You saw how he sometimes struggled to meet the eyes of strangers. You understood that, underneath all his smart (and sometimes brilliant) talk, in spite of his stern expressions, you could hurt him badly if you wanted to. He was, in your dad's words, cruising for a bruising. Had been his whole charmed smucking—no, check that—his whole charmed fucking life. Tonight, the charm could break. And who could break it? You could.

Any tension laying dormant was pushed aside as you reached into the refrigerator, selecting ingredients for tonight's culinary endeavor: crisp bok choy leaves, thick udon strands slightly sticky to touch, and leftover samgyeopsal marinated with sesame oil, which filled the air with a slightly charred meaty smell while cooking yesterday. The symphony of chopped vegetables thudding on a wooden cutting board, accompanied by a sizzling pan flanked by the soft purring of the refrigerator, announced another evening feast showtime.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore.

“Stop staring and say something, Jin-Man.”

He blinked, his gaze lifting from the coffee mug in his hands to meet yours. “You look…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Okay.”

You let out a sigh of relief, turning back to the stove.

“I wasn’t going to say you look good.”

“No?”

"Nope," he said, maintaining eye contact while parking his well-loved first edition Penguin mug with a soft thud. "You've got this 'This is my kitchen' glow about you—no make-up, tousled midnight hair against your cheeks, and my shirt on your body... You look like you belong at home, in this kitchen, with me."

“Oh, shut up, Jinman. Are you sure that coffee isn't spiked? That cheap bag of Dong Suh you've been hoarding since you bought it from that old market in Gyeongju?"

He laughed then, a deep, rich sound that echoed warmly around the room, bouncing off the peeling sunflower-yellow wallpaper and the worn-out, wooden cabinets. "I promise, it's just regular coffee. But if you're not careful, I might start spouting poetry next.”

"I'd like to see you try," you challenged as you moved to add the noodles to the boiling pot.

At the same time, however, a soft melody began to fill the room. Turning, you saw Jinman’s back turned towards you. He was hunched over an old radio placed precariously on the window ledge over the sink—an old Philco with a cracked case. It had been his mother’s; he kept it out in the barn and listened to it while he was choring. It's the only thing of hers that he still has, and you keep it in the window because it's the only place where it will pick up local stations. It was secondhand even then, when Jin-Man gifted it to her after earning his first paycheck, but when it was unwrapped and she saw what it was, she grinned until it seemed her face would crack and how she thanked him! Over and over!

The tinny sound of the old device was playing a song that you recognized immediately—it was your mother's favorite song. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched him, his fingers delicately turning the knobs to get the best reception.

At the end, he cocked a thumb at the radio and said, stupidly proud of his useless knowledge, "That's Busker Busker. The original indie version."

"Jeong…I—”

You had no idea where to go from there, and it seemed there was no need. The man raised the forefinger of his left hand like a teacher who meant to make a particularly important point, and the smile actually resurfaced on his lips. Some sort of smile, anyway.

"Wait," he said.

"Wait?"

He looked pleased, as if you had grasped a difficult concept. "Wait."

And before you could say anything else, he simply walked off behind you, turning off the stove before his hands found your waist. His warm body pressed against your back, his head burying itself in the crook of your neck.

The aroma of your cooking, mixed with the familiar scent of Jin-Man and the sound of the old song playing on the radio, transported you back to simpler times. Times when life was not about surviving, not about fighting, but about living. About enjoying moments like these.

He began to sway, his movements leading you in a slow dance around the kitchen. His touch was gentle yet firm and you allowed him to lead, your body moving in rhythm with his as you danced barefoot on the cold ceramic tile floor.

Beyond the rustic kitchen windows, Mother Nature cooed her own ballad—soft chirps cushioned in cool country air under the moon's watchful eyes, dressing everything in stretched-out shadows—that played on repeat. Gunpowder was outside too busy bullying a moth under a moon-bathed silhouette, while Ji-An’s gentle snores added a comforting motif to your nighttime symphony.

It felt like you were in some sort of dream, the reality of your world forgotten for a moment. You were not a killer, not a fighter. You were just a woman, dancing in the kitchen with the man she secretly might like.

Turning you around, he looked down at you, his gaze soft and filled with emotions you could not decipher. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers idly playing with the hem of his worn-out puma shirt.

The world outside did not matter at this moment. The only thing that mattered was Jin-Man and the way he held you, the way he looked at you. You could see a mirror of your own emotions in his eyes—longing, fear, and a hint of sadness.

As the last note of the song played, you rose to your tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was filled with promise, with hope—a kiss that said more than words ever could.

As you pulled away, you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as the two of you stood in the middle of the kitchen, the smell of your cooking still lingering in the air.

"Welcome home, Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the radio.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged.

[mesetacadre]

How do you avoid becoming a doomer with politics? I want to be more politically active but the current political climate makes me feel depressed.

talked more about this here but essentially, nothing is static. Conditions change all the time, the quantity of organized people can fall and rise (with parallel but not necessarily 1:1 development of quality). What today seems like an impassable wall, tomorrow (not literally tomorrow) will more and more began to be seen as a necessary step for an improvement to happen. The fact that there exists a scientific method of analysis of history and capitalism also acts as an accelerant; how much time passed between the first bourgeois state and the first formulation of scientific communism, 50 years? That is unprecedented in the history of modes of production, and it only took another 50-60 years after that before the first relatively permanent instance of the next mode of production.

The way I see this, inaction and pessimism feed into each other, pessimism favors inaction, and inaction reinforces pessimism, by limiting your perception because it limits personal experience. And that cycle can only be broken by first stopping that inaction, since it is possible (not always) to force yourself to act against your general feelings. And then, only by working against that inaction and finding an organization/party or general line of action that works for you, can you begin to sustain an action-optimism cycle (of course, it isn't this simple and I would not call my outlook to be optimistic, but this is the best way I can think of explaining this). This cycle is, in my experience, very fragile, and somewhat often I continue to act through periods of relative pessimism by inertia and by the continuance of the responsibilities that bind me to my party most strongly. I can keep talking about the way society and the economy evolve, but at a personal and more inmediate scale, this is the only way to avoid "doomerism", at some point you're going to have to start acting if you want to avoid it, and rethoric can help, of course, but you'll only start to internalize it once you experience becoming an active part of these mechanisms. For me, it sometimes feels like a hobby, other times like a chore, and most times like the best thing I could ever do with my life. But it's crucial that you're not only driven by blind hope. The amount of effort and time you can contribute as an individual will vary wildly, depending on your own personal circumstances, and in my experience the most common type of organized person you'll encounter is the one that can only really dedicate a few days a week or a couple of hours every few days.

There is some nuance to "you have to end your inaction" too, of course. I'm not saying to join the very first group you encounter and dedicate every minute of free time to it, but you also can't be waiting for the perfect opportunity or org to come along. I contacted my ML party on a Tuesday during a winter academic break, while I was only just beginning to stabilize out of a suicidal episode but still depressed, and while considering myself mostly an ancom (I was very lost in that regard, my beliefs were not truly emergent from any proper anarchist core, but I digress). You don't need to have read x books or need to have encyclopedic knowledge of your local movement to begin to organize yourself, and you also don't need to believe 100% in the emancipation of workers. The best time to begin is the next time you have some free time to research and begin to contact some orgs/parties, that's as best as I think I can put it. I can't assure you that it'll be straightforward, but I can assure you that you can't get out of doomerism just by thinking about it.

If it's too daunting, think about those executive dysfunction "tricks". Joining A Party can sound very big an unapproachable, but you can break it down into looking, for example, for "Communist Party of [your country]". Look at their socials, see what they do and say, maybe you find an offshoot org that looks better, or run into a completely unrelated group. Then you contact them, ask when they're doing something in your area or if they can invite you to some kind of meeting, etc. Be willing to contact them if you find a couple of drawbacks too, sometimes rumors turn into the thing everybody says about x or y org, without really reflecting reality. Have criteria, of course, if some org is talking about immigrants like they're invaders, for example, it is probably not worth your time. Everything depends on what your local scene looks like. Getting experience at a mediocre org is still better than staying at home and looking on at the state of the world like it's hopeless. this isn't a very well-structured post, I've been writing this across a few days when I can, I hope it's helpful

[sadiecoocoo]

Hazel, Sweet and Dynamic Chp. 3 - Arcane Fanfiction

Summary - As Jayce spends more time trying to find a way home, Viktor grows bitter with neglect

Chp. Word Count - 2927

Total Word Count - 8,907

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

Chapter 1

Notes: I definitely tried a bit of a different writing style with this one, but I'm really proud of it! originally this chp was going to be longer, but I decided where i left it off would be a better cut-off point anyways, enjoy :)

Every few nights, Jayce cried, and Viktor held him silently. He didn’t mind.

He never shushed him, or told him things were okay, because they truly weren’t. It didn’t help to be given false platitudes just so he could feel better in the moment.

Jayce would refind his optimism anyway. He didn’t need Viktor to tell him to chin up. He just needed Viktor to be there.

He held him silently, rubbing his back and resting his chin in Jayce’s hair.

That was usually how they fell asleep. Jayce would be as pressed against him as much as he possibly could be, and Viktor would welcome it gladly.

Every morning that he woke up with Jayce in his arms, and Jayce holding him tightly in turn, was the start of a good morning. 

He was honestly starting to think that he’d be okay with this. If they didn’t find their way home, they’d at least have each other. Their only worries would be finding scraps and cooking bad food.

He knew Jayce would never give up, he left too much behind to be content with what they had now. Caitlyn, Vi, Mel, and his mother were out there somewhere, and he could never leave his mother alone.

Viktor didn’t have anyone left, only Jayce. He would be content with him, so he would follow him wherever he went.

He would work on trying to find a way back home, write equation after equation. He would go as far as the bridges and gather as many supplies as he could, watching as more and more husks seemed to follow his movements. He would make sure Jayce understood how to treat his injured leg, how to not make anything worse.

It was dark outside now, there weren’t anymore neon chemlights to brighten the night. If he looked out the boarded up window, he wouldn’t see a thing.

He supposed it made it easier to sleep. At least it should have. He could almost forget that there were the husks just outside. He could almost forget about the one that reached towards him when he walked past it.

He hadn’t told Jayce. He didn’t plan to. The man had enough worries already, and this should be something Viktor can handle himself.

It had only happened once, but the feeling of cold, lifeless fingers grabbing onto his arm haunted him. It had been forceful, and he had to pry himself away. They left indents in his strange purple skin that looked just a shade darker for a day or two.

He had abandoned the box of supplies he had found, leaving it to clatter against the ground. He only had half the mind to not barge into the house and worry Jayce.

Viktor ended up spending about an hour sitting out in the alley they had been in before, the two husks clutching onto each other his only company. He stared again at the burst of muted colors traveling up the walls like a disease. His panic had bled way to disdain after glaring at it long enough.

He knew Jayce suspected something was wrong by the time he got back. He had asked, but Viktor only shrugged him off with a half-baked excuse. He didn’t push anyway, just waited for Viktor to open up, even though he never did.

Now the two of them were curled up next to each other. Jayce’s light snores were the only sound aside from the occasional rustling of the covers.

No matter how hard he tried, Viktor couldn’t sleep. It was getting colder every day, and they were well into the winter months. It had even snowed a couple of times.

Their blanket wasn’t cutting it anymore for keeping them warm. Jayce managed fine, he had always run hot, but Viktor felt the cold chilling him down to the bone.

It was still foreign and overwhelming. The involuntary shivers racketing his body felt forceful. The way goosebumps rose along his strangely colored flesh felt wrong.

And Jayce treated it like it was normal. To him, it was. Viktor, despite how guilty it made him, resented him for it.

Beside him, Jayce burrowed himself into the covers more. He pressed his face against Viktor’s neck. The other man swallowed the lump forming his throat.

He would never get used to how easily Jayce showed his affections. It felt unfair, like he didn’t deserve it. Because despite all of Jayce’s insistences that he did, Viktor really didn’t deserve it.

Everything just seemed wrong now. He didn’t deserve any of the little peace they had found here. He didn’t deserve getting to enjoy his mostly fixed body, with his only aches being when he slept wrong. He didn't deserve Jayce.

Even so, being from the undercity, Viktor learned to take what he didn’t deserve. He hadn’t deserved to go to the academy, he hadn’t worked harder than any of the other kids that had dreamed of it.

So he would take. He would crave what little he had. He would do anything to keep it.

Viktor pressed himself closer to Jayce, resting his chin in the other man’s hair.

There was a husk standing right outside the alleyway. Viktor stared at its blank face. Its head was tilted ever so slightly to the side.

This one seemed different than all the others. It was a marionette, not a husk. It had a crown-like halo behind its head.

Viktor thought of the first person he had healed, the shimmer addict that held a knife to him and cried about how he was sorry to be trying to mug Viktor.

That man was standing before him now. Changed into something that would be unrecognizable to anyone else.

It hadn’t moved anymore than it already had, but it blocked the entrance to the alley way, trapping Viktor inside for reasons unknown.

He wasn’t sure if the marionettes were a threat or not. He had been able to control them, he might still be able to if he really tried.

He didn’t want to try. He would be happy to abandon that power and forget it ever existed.

The marionette tilted its head to the other side, almost like it was working out a crick in its neck. He heard the jangling of metal as it moved.

Viktor took a step back, closer to the entrance to their shelter.

It took a step forward.

He froze. It did too. It was mimicking him, trying to intimidate him. He took in a shaky breath.

His throat was dry with apprehension. It could get inside, they didn’t have a real door, just a curtain. It could get inside and attack them. It could get to Jayce.

It could ruin everything if Viktor didn’t find a way to stop it. He couldn’t let any of those things touch Jayce ever again. 

He took a step towards it, his fists clenched at his sides.

It took a step back. He willed it to.

When Viktor came back, it was empty handed.

Jayce had been working away at their theories again. He turned and the evident disappointment in his eyes hurt Viktor. He had been expecting new parts that they could use, and Viktor failed to deliver.

“Sorry,” He muttered, fighting to relax his clenched fists. He hadn’t relaxed since he had left.

“No, it’s alright,” Jayce assured, “I can’t expect a treasure hoard every day.” He smiled lightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He looked tired.

He heard walking outside. It was the sound of metal clanking against the ground in the rhythm of footsteps.

He stared at the boarded up window, not seeing a thing through the shadows of the night.

Then there was a small glimmer of light as it passed the window. It stayed there for too long to be coincidental.

“Leave us alone,” he whispered. Then the light moved, and the clanking footsteps got quieter and quieter.

It was there again. Viktor only stared at it for a second before moving to walk past it.

It turned its head to watch his movements as he passed. It moved no further into the alleyway.

 He would not let it.

He found nothing again. They had bled the sumps dry of useful supplies. He would have to start going further. Maybe he would have to go to Piltover soon.

The thought made him shudder. A sense of apprehension flowed through him. There was something telling him that he should not go there without Jayce, but at the same time he didn’t want Jayce there either.

He couldn’t risk putting him in danger. If he saw that the marionettes were moving, he could panic. He could get hurt. Viktor would not allow that to happen.

Said man was once again at the chalkboard, muttering to himself as he looked over the same notes he did every day. He was getting obsessive with it.

Viktor tried to tell himself that that was simply what they did. They worked and worked and worked until they collapsed or found a solution.

He thought Jayce couldn’t afford to collapse. Dark bruises became more prominent under his eyes every day, and he adjusted his weight off his bad leg more often than he used to.

“You should get a cane.” Viktor blurted, trying to use a tone that said it wasn’t a suggestion.

Jayce only glanced at him before shrugging. He crossed something off on the chalkboard with a loud scrape.

Viktor frowned. He walked up behind Jayce and peeked over his shoulder. The chalkboard seemed even more a mess than it did the day before.

“Let’s take a break, we need to eat.” Viktor said. He raised his hand to Jayce’s shoulder and squeezed it.

“No, I’m alright.” He answered, waving his hand dismissively. He tapped the walk against his chin, leaving a small white mark.

Viktor scrunched his nose in annoyance. If this was how Jayce felt all the times he couldn’t get Viktor away from the lab, he was starting to understand how frustrated he would get at times.

“Jayce,” Viktor said again, “go eat.” He ordered.

Jayce looked at him then, truly looked. It wasn’t dismissive, his mind wasn’t elsewhere. He finally looked.

And Viktor saw that he looked tired. Weary. His chest ached as Jayce looked at him. Those beautiful hazel eyes looked dull. It brought a scowl to his face. They weren’t supposed to be that way. They were supposed to be vibrant, to contrast all the muted colors that snaked around buildings and objects and corrupted everything else in this world.

“Alright,” Jayce said quietly. He glanced at the board again, his lips pursed as he didn’t want to leave it. It would be there an hour from now, Jayce was worried over nothing.

They ate silently. Viktor stole tentative glances at his partner, he watched the way he chewed slowly, like he was physically forcing himself to. He watched as Jayce stared into his stew sadly, like it had kicked a puppy in front of him.

It made Viktor angry. He didn’t know why. He felt like Jayce didn’t have the right to look so miserable. They had a good life now, no longer under the thumb of the council and no longer standing under the guillotine that was Viktor’s sickness.

Jayce didn’t have the right to be so upset anymore. It had been his choice to stay with Viktor in the first place, even though he had asked him to leave. It wasn’t fair that Jayce was leaving him now.

The thought left a bad taste in his mouth, worse than the food that still tasted like sump water. He almost apologized to Jayce, even though he had no idea what Viktor had been thinking.

That night Viktor held onto Jayce just a little tighter, like if he didn’t, he wouldn’t wake up by his side.

The lightbulb died yesterday. Sputtering once with a final flicker of fight, then flushed them into darkness like an omen.

“Why do you care so much about going back?” Viktor hadn’t meant to say it. He hasn’t meant for it to sound so bitter, so cruel. At the same time, he was glad it was up in the air, instead of simmering in his mind.

“What?” Jayce asked, turning fully to look at him. It wasn’t a side eye, or a quick glance. He looked, finally looked.

And he looked hurt.

“Why do you care,” Viktor asked again, unable to stop now that he had started. Jayce had just given him an out, a way to avoid a grievous mistake, and he ignored it. “There’s nothing left for us there!” He gestured with his hands.

Jayce blinked.

“Are you joking?” He asked. It sounded so condescending that Viktor had to fight the urge to kick the cane from Jayce’s hands. The cane that he had only just gotten Jayce to finally use.

“Does it look like I am?” He asked rhetorically. He finally stood, putting the two at equal height. Jayce had to be slightly hunched to actually put his weight on the cane.

“Don’t do this,” Jayce warned. And oh, if only Viktor heeded his warning. If only Viktor had learned to listen to Jayce when he was giving a warning. He thought he should have learned after he almost destroyed the world. He thought.

“If we go back, there’ll be nothing for us but glares. We’ll get no rewards, hell we might be sent to Stillwater!” He continued. He knew that wasn’t true. Jayce would get awards. Jayce could get a holiday after him if he really wanted it. It was difficult to talk about them without using “we,” though.

“You don’t know that!” Jayce insisted. He slammed the chalk onto the rim of the board, louder than he meant to. Or maybe he did mean to, and it just didn’t work at intimidating Viktor. “Mel would-“

That was what did it. That was what cut the line and made him snap.

“Of course, you’re doing this to see Mel!” He spat her name like a curse, tired of the woman that he felt took everything from him, “you just want to go back to her and leave your genocidal partner to rot!?” He screamed.

“No!” Jayce spluttered, he waved his hands wildly as he spoke, “no- I could care less-“

“I know what you did with her!” He interrupted, “I know that when I collapsed in the lab and was on my deathbed you had been sleeping with her! I know that when I was being transformed into the monster that I am now you went to her! I know-“

“I just want to see my mom!” Jayce screamed. Viktor stared, breathing hard. Jayce was crying. “I want to get away from this dead place that only serves to remind me of the months I spent rotting at the bottom of a fissure!”

He was crying, and he didn’t go to Viktor for comfort, not like last time, not like the countless other nights that he had. He shied away when Viktor reached a hand towards him. He scowled and looked to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m not gonna let anyone do anything to you if we find a way home.” Jayce continued, much quieter than before, but much more determined to make Viktor listen. He almost preferred the yelling. The yelling didn’t make him feel like a bad person. The yelled made him feel like they were both bad.

“I don’t care what you think I’m not gonna let you go to Stillwater, or get exiled, or- I don’t know!” He threw his hands up in the air.

“I know I messed up before, and I know I’m not being the best right now,” his voice was shaking, “but you don’t have anyone you left behind, and I miss my family.” He finished with a broken sob.

“You never should have stayed.” Viktor muttered. He was eternally grateful to Jayce for staying, but now it was causing them more pain than if he had let Viktor die alone. It was causing Jayce pain.

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Jayce didn’t say it. He didn’t go that far. Viktor could see it on the tip of his tongue, see it in the way he looked to the ground and started scratching at his wrist.

Viktor was out the door hardly a second later. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t watch Jayce break down because of him. He couldn’t be the one to keep hurting him. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't.

 Viktor didn’t turn back when Jayce called after him, because he didn’t sound mad anymore. He sounded broken. He sounded as broken as Viktor had felt all those years he worked beside someone who seemed implausibly perfect, and Viktor could never handle himself at his worst like Jayce had.

So Viktor walked away. He walked away like he always found some way to do. He walked away like he had when he found out what the Doctor did to Rio. He walked away like he did from the undercity. He walked away like he did with Heimerdinger. He walked away like the day he muttered something useless about affection as an excuse.

He walked. He didn’t hear the tell tale signs of footsteps behind him. He didn’t know if that made him hurt more or not.

End Notes: yippee cliff hanger also I have decided that this fic will have whump, but it's going to be minor

I also would like to say that the mention of Mel was not at all me being personally mad at her about that, I honestly love Meljay and Meljayvik, I just thought that since Viktor and Jayce are both tense and worried about a lot of things it’d be an easy way to set Viktor off (because bffr who wouldn’t be jealous of Mel) anyway, I always appreciate comments <3 (please someone talk to me about the symbolism and foreshadowing I added please I'm begging you)

if anyone would like to be tagged for updates please lmk, I'd be happy to do it!

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Researchers discover new mechanism to cool buildings while saving energy

With temperatures rising globally, the need for more sustainable cooling options is also growing. Researchers at UCLA and their colleagues have now found an affordable and scalable process to cool buildings in the summer and heat them in the winter. Led by Aaswath Raman, an associate professor of materials science and engineering at the UCLA Samueli School of Engineering, the research team recently published a study in Cell Reports Physical Science detailing a new method to manipulate the movement of radiant heat through common building materials to optimize thermal management. Radiant heat, which is felt whenever a hot surface warms our bodies and homes and is carried by electromagnetic waves, travels across the entire broadband spectrum at ground level between buildings and their environments, such as streets and neighboring structures. On the other hand, heat moves between buildings and the sky in a much narrower portion of the infrared spectrum known as the atmospheric transmission window. The difference in how radiant heat travels between buildings and the sky versus the ground has long presented a challenge to cooling buildings with less skyward-facing surfaces. These buildings have been hard to cool in the summer as they retain heat from the ground and neighboring walls when the outside temperature is high. They are equally difficult to warm in wintertime as the outdoor temperature drops and the buildings lose heat.

Read more.

[katatonicimpression]

For the prompts game, Sambucky and Sleep deprivation ❤️

Send me Prompts!

Thank you so much for the ask!

The Winter Soldier was allegedly able to go five days without sleep while maintaining optimum performance. This was, as far as Bucky could tell, a complete and utter lie. No human being, no matter what serums you gave him or what circuitry you put into his spinal cord, did well after missing one night’s sleep. Bucky’s personal record was three, on a mission for Hydra in the 70s, and he remembered how he felt that final day and it was not “operating at optimal parameters.”

He suspected that whoever quoted the “five days” stat was overselling to impress some higher up.

That being said, he did better on no sleep than most people did. 

He threw a glance at Sam, standing beside him and staring straight ahead but looking at nothing. He was swaying a little, just a little. 

“Hey,” Bucky said softly. “C’mon.”

He reached up and gripped Sam’s upper arm, steering him along the sidewalk. The agonising few feet between the sign for the bus stop, and where the bus had actually pulled up.

He was surprised that Sam let him, but then again he had been awake for two days straight.

They clambered onboard. Sam fumbled with their remaining Euros while Bucky negotiated with the luggage rack. These things weren’t built for supersuits, vibranium wings or shields. 

They sat down right at the back. The bus was, blissfully, empty. Not surprising given that it was three AM in the middle of nowhere. Even better, this rattling old thing went all the way into the city, and terminated at the train station. It would take about two hours, Bucky reckoned. Two hours of rest before they needed to think about how the hell they were gonna get back to the States. Two hours before they needed to make a single decision at all. Two hours before they even needed to move.

Sam seemed to have realised this too, and was settling into the very corner of the seat for a nap. His face rested against the window, which didn’t look comfortable but he was clearly too tired to care.

He looked adorable, really. Sam was at his best when he was all smiles and sunshine, or when he was flipping and flying - kicking ass and taking names. But he had his charms like this too. His soft features relaxed, his body pliant and his touch soft. Not that Bucky would normally think about these things too much, or stare as much as he was right now. Clearly, Bucky was also too tired to care.

Two straight days of fighting, of running and hiding and then fighting some more. They’d won, in the end. For once. Maybe it would feel more like a victory when they were finally home. They’d stay at Bucky’s when they got there, he thought. It would make sense to. Sam in his bed was a very appealing prospect. He liked it when he stayed over. He liked it when his sheets smelled like Sam.

Jesus. Bucky was in way over his head here.

The bus jolted, hitting a pothole, and Sam jerked away from the window. His body leaned against Bucky’s as a natural result of the movement and then there was a moment. A second where Sam could have leaned back the other way - and even though his eyes were still shut Bucky could tell he was conscious and thinking about it - but instead he shifted his hips a little in the seat, and settled against Bucky’s side.

And then it was Bucky’s moment, Bucky’s decision which he took without thinking. He gently lifted his arm and placed it around Sam, pulling him in to rest his head on his shoulder.

He shut his own eyes then, and the moment he did he knew they would refuse to open until he’d finally slept.

[15-lizards]

Hi!! First i one to say that i absolutely adore your HC's for westeros and essos fashion. They are incredibly spot on *Chef's kiss*. I was wondering if you had any ideas for the free cities like Pentos, Braavos, Tyrosh, Lys, Myr, etc. Certainly i am more interested in Braavos and its courtesans, since in the book is implied that the nobles use more dark colors and the commoners more colorful clothes (unlike westeros, that is the contrary).

Let’s go 🫡🫡 (I think I’ll focus on Braavos here but if you want more of the others just let me know!)

I think besides the classic dark dyes of Braavos, another tell on whether a person is Braavosi is the amount of detailing on their clothing. Ruffles, gilding, lace, patterns etc on a persons clothing are all a staple of a fashionable Braavosi who can afford to buy things from foreign ships at the ports. The shape of the clothing itself can be described as flowing and practical. Skirts usually stop at the ankle due to the water, and can be layered during the cold months. Jackets have detachable sleeves for optimal water dancing movement. Loose veils are worn to either keep out sun or a winter chills.

The rich obviously have more embellished, expensive clothing, but also have noticeably longer clothing. Your skirt can’t trail in the canals and your veil can’t get caught on something in the market if you’re riding through the streets on a covered palanquin. They have the luxury of clothing that is harder to move in, because they don’t really need to move around much. Also they may buy bright foreign dyes as a status symbol, but there’s some controversy over whether or not it makes a Braavosi noblewoman look like a whore

As for the courtesans themselves, they can usually be spotted by wearing bright foreign dyes as an attempt to be eye catching or “exotic” or by wearing the classic dark Braavosi colors in an effort to seem more upper class. However, courtesans can almost always be spotted due to the tighter silhouette they prefer to wear over the flat, rather shapeless lines of the upper classes. They tightly belt their waists and wear slashed sleeves and skirts to give the illusion of a longer, more willowy figure

The bravos and swords of the city definitely dress…eccentrically. High leather boots, puffed pants that stop at the knee, loose shirts and jackets that are easy to move in and can be thrown off at a moments notice. All perfect for an impromptu sword fight on the narrow streets and long canals. Men’s clothing is just as elaborately decorated, if not sometimes more so, than the women’s. For anyone living in the wealthiest of the free cities, status symbols are as important to them as breathing

[emilyssky]

Chapter 8: Maybe

PAIRING: Lee Know! X fem!reader

GENRE(S): college au, smut, angst

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence and abuse, depression, self-harm, eating disorders etc.. mentions of blood, swearing, smoking, smut [ dirty talk, oral; giving and receiving, choking, spanking, praising, degradation, pet names, sometimes Minho is a dick :)

SUMMARY: "Do you remember what you told me the first time we met?"  

"What?"

"You said; Always leave people a little better than you found them" he looked at the floor with a small smile for a few seconds and then his eyes found mine. "You really annoyed me when we first met. I envied your optimism and excitement for life. But each time I saw you, I felt a certain thrill. You made me angry, you made me laugh., you made me feel everything. Something about you made me feel a little more alive each time. I know I fucked up and I know I'm an asshole but I'm also brutally in love with you."    

Minho's POV:

I run a hand through my sweaty hair, in attempt to fix it but it's pointless, I need a shower. I love this feeling though. The sweat running down your forehead, the air leaving your lungs, the sound of your heart beating filling your ears. Mornings like these are my favorite, especially now that most of the students are gone cause of the winter break and the studio is almost empty, and I have basically the whole place to myself. I have been coming to dance more and more in the past few weeks and I admit that it did start because of her but coming here again made me realize just how much I've missed it. So now it's something that I do for myself, watching her is a plus. I gulp down half of my water bottle and pull my phone out of my pocket. I have 2 missed calls from Chan. I know that he's been suspecting something for a few days now, he's not stupid but I've been avoiding him only because I know that he's gonna go all protective over his best friend and I don't really wanna deal with a talk like that right now. He is, however, one of the closest people to me and I can't really avoid him much longer. I send him a quick text, telling him that I'll come over and put my phone back in my pocket. I adjust the strap of my dance bag as I continue to walk until I hear the all-too-familiar song playing and freeze. She has 10 specific songs that she uses, so it's easy for me to know whenever she's here. I smile to myself and turn to the opposite hall without even thinking. I stop at the door and scoot a bit to the left so she won't see me. From where I'm standing I see her from the side, her hair is in a high ponytail with a few loose curls escaping and falling down her face and neck. She's dressed in a black sweater and black boodie shorts that hug her ass perfectly. I let my eyes travel from the curve of it down to her long, toned legs and can't help but lick my lips at the sight. She usually hides her body underneath layer and layer of clothes way too big for her, so this is a rare sight that I only get to see when I'm secretly watching her practice every Monday, Tuesday, and Saturday morning, maybe Friday night if I'm lucky. It's something I look forward to after my practice. I won't ever say it out loud though, I wouldn't ever admit how I can stand hours behind the thick glass, watching her body move to the music. Watching the way her long curly hair moves when she turns on her toes or how delicate her hand movements look even from far away. She reminds me of a bird when she dances. It's like her feet don't even touch the ground with hands as delicate and light as wings and her movements so perfectly blended together, that it's mesmerizing. She is fascinating to me in so many ways, until she opens her mouth. Fuck, she can make my eyes roll all the way to the back of my head. She's challenging me in a way that I never expected and how much I'm drawn to her is something I'm not ready to admit yet. Being a dick to her didn't work, she's not the type of girl that bites her tongue, but avoiding her didn't work either. Not to mention how fucking hard it was. Her presence alone is enough to light up a whole fucking room. She carries a certain light with her that annoys me to no end, mostly because she reminds me so much of my sister that sometimes I let my walls down without even realizing it. Both hold the same light in their eyes and that vibrating smile. She reminds me of myself as well. The side of me I lost. The passion in her eyes, the energy she carries, and the determination that she has. In her eyes, I see so many things. Things that I desperately wanna forget. Things I avoid facing and run away from. I see judgment in her eyes. They're like a mirror and all I can see is my shitty ass self. I don't stand there much longer. With everything that's happening between me and her, my head is all over the place. I don't know what I want or what I am doing even but I can't seem to stay away from her. But I have to, I know I have to. I don't want her to get involved with my mess.

I reach the frat in only 10 minutes and Felix is the one to open the door.

"Hey" He offers me a bright smile. That kid is such a joy to be around.

"Hey man," I pat his shoulder. "Is Chan here?"

His nods. "He's in his room."

"How's Hyujin?" I ask out of curiosity. Hyunjin and I have an interesting type of relationship, I guess you would say. He's one of the very, very few people that can bring me to my limits in an incredibly short amount of time and have a smile on his face while doing it, so torturing his annoying ass in many different ways has become a new form of entertainment for me.

His eyes widen slightly.

"Y/n left in a hurry yesterday because something happened with Hyunjin." I clarify.

"Oh," He relaxes. "He's trying." He drags out the words.

"A woman?" I smile sympathetically.

He sighs. "Yeah"

"It'll get better." I try to comfort him.

"I hope so."

I gave him one last sympathetic look and jogged up the stairs. I knocked on Chan's door twice before opening it, not waiting for him to answer.

"I have arrived," I announce.

"I have noticed." He chuckles back. He's sitting on his bed with his laptop on his legs.

I drop my bag beside the door and take a seat on the bed. "Are you working?"

"Just some touch-ups," He says and closes the laptop, putting it beside him. "Were you at the dance studio?"

"I worked with Changbin a bit, we finished Seungmin's part, and then I went to the dance studio," I explain, even though I know why he's asking.

He nods several times and takes a deep breath through his nose, kinda like he's preparing himself for what he's about to say. "Um listen-"

"I know what you're about to say." I stop him. "And there's no reason for us to talk about this." I try to avoid the conversation before he starts talking cause I know that he will not stop.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Minho, I'm not stupid nor blind."

"But you are wrong. It's not like that-" I begin to say but he's the one to cut me off now.

"Minho" He gives me a knowing look. "She's my best friend."

"I know." I sigh, giving up, and letting him talk.

"And you're one of my best friends as well." He adds.

"I know." I run a hand through my hair not knowing what to do with my hands.

"What I'm trying to say is that I know her and I know you."

I rest my head against the wall and focus my eyes on the wall in front of me. I really don't wanna be having this conversation. I haven't even figured shit out myself. But one thing I can never do is lie to Chan.

"Nothing has happened between us." I honestly say.

"I see the way you look at her and I see the ways you guys talk and tease each other." He lifts a brow. "I haven't seen you like that with any other girl, and I've known you for what? Almost three years now?" He laughs and I can feel a small amount of weight leaving my shoulders knowing that he's not ready to cut my dick off.

I fight a smile and shake my head. "No honestly, nothing's up. She's just fun to tease."

He leans closer and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Listen you've been through a lot of shit and there are times when she's around that I can see a genuine smile on your lips, even when you're trying to hide it. You're dancing and you're not locked up in your room. I'm happy to see you like this, making progress. She has that effect on people, you know. She's such a bright person." His smile falls slightly. "But Y/n has also been through a lot. She has had ups and downs with her mental health ever since I met her but the past year she's been struggling, especially after her last relationship."

The sudden anger that spreads through my body even at the mention of her ex shocks me a bit, remembering all the things she admitted to me that Chan doesn't know about. That time at the party when I caught them fighting in the kitchen, I acted out of instinct. When I saw her against the counter with her eyes full of hidden fear I didn't even think about it, all I knew is that I had to take her away from him. It's something that I have done more times than I can count for my mother and my sister. My anger at the beginning was towards her cause she was one of the millions of women that chose to stay silent but the growing protectiveness I feel toward her now is a feeling I can't quite figure out. The night she opened up to me about him, I stayed up, debating whether or not I would go and beat the shit out of him until he physically couldn't walk. I think that was the night I realized how much power she has over me. She has changed since I met her a year ago. I don't know what about her is different but something is. I can tell cause I've memorized every single thing about her and searched for her around campus. That night hunted me. I remember everything I felt, the heaviness in my chest and the absolute numbness that had taken over my emotions. She came out of nowhere, and I remember thinking that her voice was so annoying that I just wanted her to leave. I wanted to be alone. But she stayed and would not stop talking. Her eyes; big, bright, and full of light. A shade of green, I've never seen. Her eyes that night stared at mine and I felt annoyed, judged, and fascinated at the same time. The more I looked at her the more mesmerized I became by her. Her resemblance to my sister was amazing, in every way. The way she spoke and moved was so unique yet familiar. Simply drawing. If I'm being honest, I had made my decisions and owned my mistakes. I was at peace knowing it was finally time to give up. But just like that, she stood there, like a mirror in front of me. A reminder. A clear reflection of what I had become and all the things I could be. She spoke with so much passion about life that I got jealous. Never in my life have I met anyone like her. After she left I stayed there, in the same spot for at least an hour, her words being the only thing on my mind. I realized that; that was kind of like my second chance, a reality check. She came to offer me a second chance in life. And as much as I hated her being there at the time, as much as her words were cutting through me like a fucking knife, I needed it. I picked myself up. Piece after piece and even though life's still shit, her words were a constant motivation to keep moving, and at the end of the day; I'm still here. Alive. Well, kinda.

"My point is," he continues."Whatever you do, be careful." He kept his face natural, with his usual half smile but I could hear the hidden warning in his tone. I nod my head not knowing how to reply. I don't wanna say anything. I don't wanna talk about her.

"Alright, I'll go take a shower and then you can jump in afterward, cause no offense but you stink mate." He makes a face.

"Shut up. " I roll my eyes.

He grabs some clothes. "You could join me if you want, to save water and all." He smirks.

I grab the nearest pillow and throw it at him, which he easily avoids and disappears into the bathroom laughing.

.

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Y/n's POV:

I was practicing in the studio when Felix called me.

"He could come and stay with us for a few days." I offer, not really knowing what to say or do to help.

"I don't think it will make any difference," Felix says. "I think he just wants to be alone right now."

"I can understand that" I mutter. Jackson was my first real relationship and that heartbreaking feeling that weighed on my chest months even after our break is one that I don't wish upon anyone. Even though I know that what we had was not love, I still loved him.

"It's just hard seeing him like that." he sighs.

"I know." My heart tightens at how sad Felix sounds. He cares deeply about people, especially when it comes to his friends. He, Chan, and Hyunjin are like brothers so seeing Hyunjin in pain must be hard for him. "I can come over later, maybe we can watch a movie or something. It will help him get his mind off of her." I offer.

"Yeah sure, that sounds nice."

"I'll be there around 8."

"Okay"

"Bye Felix."

I've been practicing all morning and my feet are honestly killing me. After I came home I took a shower, trying to relax my sore muscles and I've been laying in my bed ever since. I've been switching between Netflix and my book for the past few hours until I finally decided to get ready. Today is one of those days that I would want nothing more than to bury myself under my sheets and not talk or see anyone and it sucks. I take a breath, leaving the comfort of my bed to start getting dressed. I don't do much, I throw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, deciding to bury myself under the thick clothing. I don't bother with makeup or my hair besides running my fingers through them a bit and I'm out of the door. I wrap my arms around my body and fasten my walk to the frat house. I somehow thought that I'd d be fine with just my hoodie, completely forgetting the fact that it's almost Christmas and it's freezing. At least the frat is only about 15 minutes away from our apartment. I reach the door and press the doorbell. Once, twice and as I'm about to press it for the third time, the cold air pushing me to my limits, the door opens and I freeze as I come face to face with his big, brown eyes. 

Close. He's standing so close.

"Fuck," I curse, placing my hand over my heart. "You scared me."

He opens the door a bit more, leaning into the doorway. "Lovely to see you too, angel."

My heart flatters at the sight of his smile but I push the thought away and my way through the door. "Stop calling me that."  I take my shoes off.

"Why? Do you like it that much?" His smile grows along with my annoyance. I'm annoyed cause in fact I think I kind of do. Or mostly I like what it does to me, the way it makes me feel. Then again maybe I like the fact that he cares enough to have a specific nickname for me. Not that I would know if he uses it with other women as well..

"What are you even doing here?" I walk to the stairs, searching for any sight of my friends.

"I happen to have friends who live here." He follows me.

"Funny." I reach the top of the stairs and turn to him. Why is he even following me? Where's everyone? I look around the first floor.

"I am." He chuckles, standing right in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his black hoodie are lifted up to his elbow. He has such nice hands, I think to myself.

"You are a lot of things." I mumble under my breath, peeling my eyes away from his body. Heat starts rising inside me. He's standing too close to me, with a stupid grin on his face, and none else around us. My walls are shaking, starting to slowly tear down in moments like this, where I could have a playful, simple conversation with him without burning anger building inside of me at the audacity of his cruel words. But I don't let myself relax too much, it's a matter of time before he snaps back on me.

"Oh, you have no idea." He breathes out, lowering his voice and head. He takes a few steps closer to me. What is he doing? My mind starts spinning, and all the possible things I can say or do run through my head but instead, I take a step to the left, pulling away for him.

"You smell." I say quickly and turn around and down the hall, not giving him a chance to say anything back.

.

.

.

.

"Hey," I wrap my hands around him, bringing him into a tight hug. His hair is still a bit dump for his shower and the scent of his caramel body wash immediately hits my nose. "how are you doing?"

"Fine." He mumbles in the crook of my neck. "I just want everyone to stop treating me like I'm made of glass."

"We're just worried about you Hyunjin." Felix says, laying on his stomach on Hyunjin's bed. Huynjin releases me and throws himself beside Felix.

"All of you guys have been through a breakup. I guess it's my time." His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, probably from last night. Felix told me that he wouldn't stop crying. When I broke up with Jackson both Felix and Hyunjin were over at my apartment every single day, trying to make me feel better, in every way they could. There were times when I wouldn't even get out of bed so they would stay in bed with me and we would watch stupid reality shows and old Disney movies. They were there for me so now that Hyunjin's going through the same thing I wanna be there for him as much as I can as well.

"You know what?" I place my hands on my hips. "I think you did enough mopping over her cheating ass. It's time to get your mind off her." I try to brighten the mood.

Both Felix and Hyunjin give me questioning looks. "What do you mean?" Hyunjin's eyebrows frown. His face is so puffy from crying that he looks incredibly cute.

"Get up." I pull him by the hand off the bed. "Let's go downstairs, make some drinks and snacks, and watch a fun movie." I open the door, dragging Hyunjin with me. Felix follows, giggling.

I release him as soon as we enter the kitchen, his shoulders fall and he takes a seat on a stool. I pull my phone out of my pocket, I'm gonna need some help.

"You're literally in my house, why are you calling me?" Chan picks up immediately.

"Come downstairs, now." I say and hang up.

"Y/n, I don't know If I'm-"

"No," I lift my finger. "4 days after I broke up with Jackson you showed up at my door. Remember what I did?"

"You tried to slam the door in my face." He wipes his nose with his sleeve.

"But you didn't leave me alone." I circle the counter to stand in front of him. "You sat with me in my bed as I cried my heart out and you didn't say a word." I push a piece of his blonde hair that's falling in his eyes back. His eyes begin to fill with tears and his full lips turn into a thin line. I know that face. "Please don't cry." I wrap my arms around him, panicking.

"It's not my fault, why did you have to get all emotional and shit..." He mumbles in my chest.

Felix lets out a laugh from his leaning position across the counter. "You guys are so dramatic." He shakes his head. "I'll get started on the drinks and leave you two emotionally damaged people to bond over making snacks."

"What's going on?" Chan walks into the kitchen with Minho following right behind. 

"We're bonding." Hyunjin says, not lifting his head from my chest.

I giggle giving him one last squeeze before releasing him. "Okay enough with the crying, let's make some brownies." I clap my hands together.

"What are we doing exactly?" Minho asks, confusion written all over his face.

"We're making drinks and snacks, and then we're watching a movie to cheer Hyunjin up."  Felix walks over to them. "Wanna help with the drinks?" He asks Chan.

"Yeah, sure." He immediately accepts, knowing he's not really good at cooking.

"You can go too, I'm sure you wouldn't wanna spend time making brownies with me." Hyunjin gets off the stool and glares at Minho on his way to the fridge. I look between them dumbfounded. Have I missed something?

Minho takes a few steps further into the kitchen, slowly approaching the end of the counter, with his hands crossed. "Stop being dramatic." He rolls his eyes.

"You told me that I'm the most annoying person you've ever met." Hyunjin narrows his eyes.

My jaw falls open. "Minho!" I gasp.

He takes a breath. "I was joking obviously. You're clearly not THE most annoying person, have you met Changbin?" I wanna laugh at his terrible attempt to fix what he said to Hyunjin but I bite my lip to hold it and pull out a bowl to start mixing the ingredients.

"Whatever, you can stay, only cause I'm a nice person unlike you." A small smile dances on Hyunjin's lips. " I'll go look for a pan." He turns to me.

"Okay, I'll start mixing the wet ingredients." I nod, getting the sugar and a cup to measure everything in.

He nods back and walks to the small pantry that they have beside the kitchen. He stops behind Minho. "I know you like me, you can stop this enemies-to-lovers thing." He says close to his ear and Minho flinches.

I let out a laugh, that quickly disappears the minute I realize that we're alone in the kitchen. The pantry where Hyunjin went to look for a pan is just across the hall, but knowing Hyunjin it will take him more than 5 minutes to actually locate the pans. I focus my eyes on the bowl in front of me as I pour the butter over the sugar and begin mixing them, while Minho stands silently at the opposite side of the counter. I know for a fact that he will not even try to start a conversation or do anything to make this uncomfortable silence go away so I force myself to stay focused on my task and ignore him. The butter begins to blend smoothly with the sugar, which is a sign to put the eggs in. From the corner of my eye, I see him move. I straighten my back, not wanting to appear as intimidating as I am by his presence. He stops to my right, close enough for me to smell Chan's body wash; so he must have taken a shower here. I wait for him to say something, anything but he stays silent, simply observing. The side of my face feels like it's on fire from his intense staring and I being to grow uncomfortable.

"Um, can you bring the eggs?" I clear my throat but neither his body nor his eyes move. I shift my balance from one foot to another, my hand moving faster as I feel my anxiety peeking. I sigh, realizing that he's not going to help me at all so I stop mixing and turn to the fridge but before I have the time to take a single step, he moves past me, his shoulder brushing mine. I focus my eyes back on the bowl as he moves silently to the fridge and back. His movements remind me of a cat's. Soundless, precise, and confident, executed with a look of boredom all over their face.

"How many do we need?" For some reason the way he said 'we' made a smile almost appear on my lips.

"Um," I think about how many pieces will be enough for all of us to eat. " about 3."  I say and reach for an egg.

"Let me." He takes it from my hand, in a surprisingly gentle way, almost as gentle as his tone. He seems to be in a good mood, a good mood for him at least and I begin to wonder why. He cracks 2 of the eggs inside the bowl and I mix them with the rest of the ingredients.

"Do you bake a lot?" He suddenly asks. My hand slows down for a second, caught by surprise by his sudden question. I don't think that he's ever asked me a simple question like this.

"Um, yeah." I hesitantly answer.

"Hm," He nods, breaking the third egg. "It looks like you know what you're doing."

I shrug pouring the flour into the mixture. "I bake a lot when I'm stressed."

"Which is often I'm guessing." He smirks.

I try not to smile at his comment but my face warms up either way. His energy is oddly positive. He shifts his weight, leaning towards me and observing my moves. The way that my body is drawn to his is ridiculous and the thoughts that go through my head make everything worst. Silence takes over us once again and my eyes flicked to the door every 10 seconds, silently hoping for Hyunjin to finally come.

I hear him chuckle under his breath.

"What?" I turn to him.

He leans into the counter with both of his hands and shakes his half-wet hair out of his eyes. I swallow; fuck he's attractive.

He half-smiles, in such a boyish way. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

I look back down. "No." I lie

He leans back close to me, placing his hand next to my hip to my left trapping me like he did yesterday. I hold my breath as he looks over my shoulder, his chin almost touching it.

"I love making you nervous." His breath tickles my neck and chills spread down my spine and arms. He dips his finger into the mixture and brings it to his lips. My eyes follow the way his finger disappears into his mouth, his full lips sucking on it in a way that makes my legs grow closer.

His eyes lighten up. "Shit, this is good." He dips his finger again.

I let out a breath, relieved to see his attention turn to the brownies. "Really?"

"Yeah, try some." He takes some more on his finger and brings it to my lips.

I freeze. "No thanks." I awkwardly smile.

He frowns. "You made it, you have to try. " He pushes his finger closer to my lips.

"Minho, said no." I say a little louder, grabbing his wrist. I feel him stiffen, his eyes fall to my grip and then back to my eyes. My stomach drops. I dip the finger of my other hand into the mixture and drag it across his cheek, distracting him. His eyes widen, clearly not expecting that and I can't help but I laugh at his face.

"You're dead." His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek with a straight face.

He takes some more of the mixture and I turn around about to run but his hand sneaks around my waist pulling me back. My back hits his chest and I feel his finger spreading the brownie dough all over my cheek.

I bring my hands up to cover my face but he fights me with his free hand. "Minho, stop! " I try to sound annoyed but I giggle instead.

"You started it. " He laughs back and I swear it is one of the most lovely sounds I've ever heard. Even if I can't see him from my position, I can picture the smile on his face.

I kinda wish I could freeze this moment as well.

"Can you guys stop playing with my breakup brownies? " Hyunjin groans, finally entering the kitchen with 3 different pans in his hands. We both freeze but Minho's the one that moves away first. Almost too fast and sharper than I would like as if he hadn't realized what was happening until it was interrupted. His face drops any emotions that previously held and he goes to grab the pans from Hyunjin.

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"Hyunjin let's just start the movie. The brownies will be ready in a few minutes." Felix groans but Hyunjin shakes his head. Everyone has taken a seat on the large couch in the living room. Felix and Chan made Margaritas for all of us and after a lot of fighting, we decided to watch 'The Conjuring'. We were just about to start the movie but Hyujin refuses to watch anything until his brownies are ready.

"I said no." He stands his ground.

I give Felix a sympathetic look, knowing that Hyunjin is slowly bringing him to his limit, and get up. "Fine, I'll go check on the brownies." I walk back into the kitchen and kneel in front of the oven, checking if the brownies are ready. They could use a little more baking but I pull them out anyway.

"Hello, love" Kai, one of the other boys that live here enters the kitchen. There are 5 guys in total in the Frat, Hyunjin, Chan, Felix, Kai, and Jace. Kai is the one I like the most after the boys cause Jace can be a bit of an ass.

"Hi, Kai." I smile at him.

"What's going on? Are you guys having a movie night?" It's not often that either of them is home but whenever they are, they always stay locked up in their rooms. Kai sometimes comes downstairs to say hi to me or Emma and maybe hang out a bit with us so I'm definitely closer to him. He's quite tall, with messy blonde hair and the most perfect dimples I have ever seen.

"Yep." I begin to cut the brownies into squares.

"Fuck, they look delicious." He leans over the pan. "Can I have some?"

"Y/n." Both of our heads snap to the doorway where Minho is standing. His gaze moves between Kai and me. He must have a fucking radar or something. "Do you need any help?"

"Um-"

"Hey, man." Kai greeds Minho as he approaches the counter.

"How you've been Kai?" He pats Kai's back with a nod and walks past him to stand right beside me. Oh, so they know each other.

"Busy." he lets out a breathy laugh. "I'm happy that the semester's over."

Minho gives him an understanding nod and then copies Kai's previous position, leaning over my shoulder, and looking at the brownies. "They look good." He drags out in a low voice. I realize what he's doing and I have to stop the smile that threatens to form on my lips. He only seems to care about me whenever another person's involved. It does bother me but at the same time, I can't really stop myself from craving his attention in any way that I get it. I know it sounds weird but I want him to look at me, I want his eyes to search the room for me and I want him to be disappointed when I'm not there.

I take a breath and put a soft smile on my lips. I cut a small piece of brownie and move away from Minho's grip. "Here," I turn to Kai. "Try some."

He opens his mouth, taking the brownie from between my fingers with his lips. My back is completely turned to Minho, but I see Kai's eyes flicker behind me for a second.

"Oh, my god." He groans with his mouth full.

"How is it?" I place all the pieces on a large plate.

"It's incredible." He nods his head, with his eyes closed.

"What about me?" Minho puts his elbows on the counter, bringing his face right in front of mine. "I wanna try too." 

"You have hands." I take the plate in my hands and turn around, avoiding to look his way, while Kai's trying to hold his laughter but he's failing. "I'll see you around Kai." I exit the kitchen.

"Fucking finally," Hyunjin yells as I put the plate in the middle of the coffee table and I fall back to my seat beside Chan.

"I know that he's heartbroken and all but I swear I'm gonna murder him." Felix leans behind Chan's back and whispers to me. I cover my mouth with my hand trying to hold my laughter, Hyunjin can be too much when he's not in a good mood but if Felix has reached his limits the situation's bad. My laugh is cut short when I feel someone sitting beside me.

"You're not seating here." I lean a bit closer to whisper to him while keeping my eyes forward and the small smile on my lips that tries to hide the panic of Minho staying beside me for almost 2 hours. "I wanna watch the movie."

"None's stopping you, angel." Minho lifts both of his eyebrows at me before taking a brownie from the plate and popping it into his mouth.

"Okay, now we can begin the movie." Hyunjin takes 4 brownies and leans back, happily.

Felix shakes his head and presses play. I sigh and grab the blanket from the back of the couch, unfolding it.

"Are you cold?" Minho asks, without looking at me.

"She can't watch a movie without a blanket or something to cover her. " Chan explains. "She's weird like that."

"Shut up." I bring the blanket up to my shoulders. "Pass me my margarita."

I hold my hand out but he shakes his head. "Nope. No alcohol for you."

"What? Why?" I frown.

He shoots me a glare. "I think you know why."

I drop my hand, understanding. He takes a brownie from the plate and holds it out to me but I shake my head, as always.

"Then no alcohol." he shrugs.

"Guys, shut up ." Hyunjin turns up the volume. "The movie's starting."

I sigh once again and bury myself under the blanket, forcing my eyes on the tv. This is gonna be a long movie.

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Minho's hand has been resting on the back of the couch for 25 minutes straight, and the right side of his body is so close to me, that his thigh is brushing mine every now and then, so it's hard to focus on anything else. He, on the other hand, is perfectly still, completely invested in the movie. I can't help but let my eyes flicker to him every few minutes and the more I do the more I realize that he has the most perfect side profile. Everything from his now completely dry hair to his long black eyelashes that stand tall over his huge eyes to his perfectly straight nose to the curve of his full lips. His face holds no expression. He occasionally lets his lips turn into a small smile when a funny scene comes up or his eyebrows frown when something intrigues him. He doesn't smile that often, he doesn't show much emotion in general and I wonder if it's because we're not that close yet for him to open up or if that's the way he is as a person. From what Chan has told me, Minho is really closed off and it takes time for him to open up to someone. The memories of our talks make their way through my mind yet again, almost causing me to smile. I loved the way he talked; as if I wasn't even there, as if he was talking to himself, letting out all of his thoughts. I loved those moments. It was the first time that I felt understood, in a way. I've been hiding a lot of things, too ashamed to admit the real story of my childhood, the toxic and abusive relationship I stayed in for almost a year, or the sides of myself that even I am disgusted by. The mess that I grew up to be, even though I swore to myself that I would be different. I'm so grateful that I found Chan. It was a time when I really needed someone to be there for me, and he didn't hesitate a second. He was there every time. Through me screaming and yelling, crying, falling classes, not leaving my room or eating anything for days. He had the patience that none had with me growing up. He stayed by my side, waiting, allowing me to take my time but never leaving. I have opened up to him about a lot but still, even from him, I keep things. There are times when I feel like shit. I sit with all these people that are almost like family to me and present myself as someone I'm not, allowing only the side of myself that's not messed up, damaged, or fucked to be seen. So when Minho opened up to me about his childhood, I felt like I wasn't alone in a way. Maybe it was the alcohol but he didn't hide that side of him from me and that made me not wanna hide mine either.

I hadn't realized how long I'd been staring at him, drowning in my thoughts until his eyes turned to mine, and I almost choked. He looked back at the screen with a small smile and moved a bit closer to me. Thank fucking god that the lights are almost off cause I'm pretty sure I look like a tomato. I feel the hand that he has resting behind me, inching closer until his fingers brush my shoulder. A wave of chills runs through my whole body, but I try not to show any emotion on my face. He laughs under his breath and removes his hand from behind me, but just as I'm about to finally let out a breath of relief, I feel his hand moving to my thigh under the blanket and when his hand grips my thigh, I clear my throat.

What is he doing?

"What?" Chan turns to me.

"Nothing." I quickly brushed him off. "Can you pass me some water?" He grabs a bottle of water from the table and gives it to me.

"Thanks" I bring it to my mouth. I can feel Minho's eyes on me, as I'm gulping down the water. I finish almost the whole bottle and give it back to Chan. His fingers start moving upwards and he leans back. His touch is so foreign yet so relieving in a way. Like I've been starving for ages and he just offered me food. He has never touched me in such a way and my skin starts to feel hot under his hand.

"Thirsty?" He whispers in my ear.

Jesus.

I fight a smile by pushing my lips together, but when his fingers inch closer to my core, I shallow so hard that it's almost audible. My legs move closer together, almost closing his hand between them but he moves it closer and closer to where I suddenly need him to. I bite my lip finally squeezing my thighs together, trying to bring his fingers even closer. He lets out a bearly audible laugh and tightens his grip. I let out a breath in frustration, suddenly grateful for how loud the movie is.

"Patience angel." I don't look at him but I bet his lips are in a smug ass grin.

God, I haven't been touched in that way for so long that I've forgotten how it feels, the burning in my lower belly or the aching between my legs.

"I told you not to call me that." The nickname sparks something inside me I place my hand on his thigh as well, turning to look at him. His smile slowly drops and my hand moves higher. Now it's my time to smile. Deep breaths are coming in and out of his nose. His hand rests on my thigh, not moving.

"Stop." He growls under his breath.

"No, you stop." I whisper to his ear, cupping his crotch. "I'm not a doll you can play with whenever you like." He draws his tongue over his bottom lip and then takes it between his teeth.

I wanna do that.

I tighten my hand around his dick, feeling him twitch in my palm. He turns to look at me, his eyes shifting under the dime lights, it's like they sparked, and with each second passing, they challenged me more and more. His gaze dropped to my lips and my heart started pouting in my chest, as he leaned forward. I immediately pulled my hand away and turned to my previous position, facing the tv.

"That's what I thought." He smirked and returned to his previous position as well, with his hand behind my head.

I stayed quiet for the rest of the movie, too stunned about what happened. Every time I'm near him, it's like my body has a mind of its own. He makes me act like a completely different person. I get overwhelmed and every time I need more and more. As the movie was playing, I slowly came to the realization of how much I am actually attracted to him. I haven't allowed myself to recognize my feelings for him, too caught up in everything that has been happening but it's easy for me to also realize how stupid it is of me to have any actual feelings for someone like him. Minho only likes to tease and annoy me, simply entertaining his own needs, so I force myself to stop thinking that it's anything more than that.

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"That was a fucking good movie." Felix stretches his hands. I blink several times, realizing that the movie has finished.

"Hyunjin fell asleep," Chan whispers with a grin across his face and everyone's head snaps to Hyunjin.

"Aww" I lift myself off of the couch and grab my phone to snap a picture of his sleeping face.

"I'll take him upstairs." Chan gets up and I begin to clean the coffee table.

"I'll help," Felix says. We gather everything and take the plates and glasses back to the kitchen.

"Are you staying here?" Felix asks while loading the dishwasher.

I shake my head "I think I'll head home in a few."

"I'll drive you." Minho walks into the kitchen, engaging in our conversation out of nowhere. This dude is everywhere, I swear.

"I can walk thanks." I offer him a tight smile.

"Y/n." Felix says in a scolding tone. "It's past midnight. It's better if Minho drives you."

"I'll be fine." I stand my ground.

Minho makes eye contact with me from the other side of the island. "I'm driving you home." He states and leaves the kitchen.

Felix takes a look over his shoulder to make sure he's gone and then gives me a knowing smile.

"No, stop." I defend immediately.

He lifts his hands. "I didn't say anything."

"Shut up, I know what you're thinking." I narrow my eyes.

"You're going to fuck at some point." He shrugs. "Bet."

"Felix! " I squeal, looking around to see if anyone has heard him.

"Just sayin'."

"I'm going home, bye." I raise my voice on purpose and he laughs. I make my way back to the living room to put my shoes on.

"You wanna go now?" Minho asks from the couch.

"I said I'll walk."

"Stop being so fucking stubborn," He grabs his phone from the coffee table and walks to me. "It's late and I have a car."

"Who says that I wanna be in a car with you?"

He lifts his eyebrows, almost like he's challenging me. "You got into Jeongin's car."

There we go.

"Jeongin's fun to be around." I shoot and his face breaks into a grin.

He says bye to Chan and walks up to me until only I'm able to hear him. "I can be plenty of fun." His voice drops. "Grab your stuff, I'll be waiting outside." He puts his shoes on in a swift motion and walks out the door.

I smile to myself, 'cause despite what I said, I really wanna be in a car with him. I walk back to the couch. "Bye Chan." I wrap my arms around his shoulders from the back.

"Bye, princess." He kisses my arm.

When I step out of the house the cold air hits me immediately, forcing me to lift my hands and wrap them around my upper body for support. Minho's leaning against his car, a cigarette between his lips. I've never really found smoking attractive but there's something about the way he does it, that it does seem, kinda attractive, I guess.

"So Jeongin's fun huh?" He blows out some smoke.

"He is actually." I keep my face straight and when I reach him I take his cigarette and bring it to my lips, but before I have a chance to take a hit he snaps it back.

"Not a chance."

"Why not?" I pout.

"Dancers don't smoke."

"That's bullshit." I scoff. "Besides, you're a dancer."

His eyes light up. "Fine. If you want it, come and get it." He takes a long drag and leans forward, holding the smoke in his mouth. His action is unexpected, sparking excitement inside me. 

"No thank you." I bring my lips to a tight line, understanding what he meant. He laughs and blows out the smoke. "Can we go? I'm cold." I shiver, causing his eyes to trail down my body, probably noticing that I don't have a jacket on and I shift under his gaze feeling uncomfortable. I hate it when people look that intensely at my body.

"Sure." He throws the cigarette on the ground, stepping on it. He unlocks the car and I let out a sigh of relief, once I'm inside.

He starts the car.

"Seatbelt," He says, exactly like he did the last time I was in his car. I reach for the seatbelt and put it on. 

The corner of his mouth lifts. "Good girl." 

My body tenses up. "Stop with the pet names." I manage to say.

He smirks." You love them."

"I don't"

"I can see the way your body reacts every time I call you something, you know." His eyes flicker to me.

"I hate you." I shake my head, not having anything to say back. I don't really know how to speak to him when he's like this. I don't know how we went from fighting to flirting, but I can't help this weird feeling that I shouldn't let myself enjoy it too much. This is dangerous territory. The thin line between playful fighting and flirting, and I'm not really sure if I should cross it or not.

He rests his head back. "Sure you do."

The dime light from the street lights falls on him perfectly. One hand gripping the wheel and the other resting on the closed window. Even the way he's driving is attractive and I let myself study him a bit more. I try to focus on the small details I notice about him, like the way his hands handle the wheel or the way his eyes move around the streets, alarmed yet relaxed in a way. I notice that as he focuses on the road, his lips pout slightly and his eyebrows frown.

"You're staring again." He says with a completely straight face and my eyes snap back to the road.

 "So, how do you know Kai?

His question takes me by surprise. "Um, I've seen him around the frat." He simply nods. "Checking out the competition?" I tease.

His teeth make an appearance. "There's no competition angel."

"You're so full of yourself." I scoff

He shrugs with a smile. "I'm just confident. I grew up having to fight for everything I've ever wanted. That made me rely on myself and myself only and soon I realized that if I try hard enough I can get anything I want."

This conversation took a huge turn and I find myself staring again, remembering everything he told me that night. "I'm the exact opposite." I turn to the road. "I'm one of those people who no matter how hard they try will always fail and I've reached a point where I've failed so many times that it makes me believe that maybe, I'm just not enough."

He keeps his eyes on the road. "You're more than enough. All of us are. There are always gonna be people that are going to make you feel like that, parents, friends, lovers, even yourself. But in the end, there's no such thing as being enough for anything. You're simply you. And that's more than enough."

I stare at his side profile as I let his words sink in and my heart warms. "How do you do that?" I honestly ask.

"How do I do what?" He glances at me only for a second.

"You're so confusing. How can you act like a complete dick one second and the next talk to me like that?"

At that, he laughs. "That's how I'll get you to be obsessed with me."

It's kinda working.

"No. That's how you'll get me to murder you."

He laughs again. He looks so different when he laughs. There's something addictive to the sight and for some reason, I wanna make him laugh again.

"I have a question. " I say.

His face twitches with interest. "If you ask one, I'll ask on."

"Deal." I fight a smile and clear my throat. I don't know when I'll ever get a chance like this again, so I think deeply. "Why did you quit dancing and turned to music?" There are so many things I wanna ask him. Like what he thinks about me, if he's ever been in love or his dreams about the future. I wanna get to know everything about him but I don't wanna push him. It seems like he's thinking about it cause he's biting the inside of his cheek, something I've seen him do before.

"I just couldn't." He finally said after 23 seconds of silence, which I counted out of anxiety that maybe I pushed him too far with my question. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself. "I was in a shitty place and I was a fucked up mess. I couldn't dance anymore cause I had nothing to express. Growing up I found myself going to the dance studio as an escape. All the anger and fear and absolute sadness I would hold inside, I would release through dancing. But at some point in my life, it became too much and I grew completely...numb, in a way. I couldn't dance anymore cause I wasn't able to feel anything. I was bearly alive."

I watch him carefully, the urge to simply touch him out of sympathy growing by the second. I wonder how much pain he holds inside. I'm dying to get to know him.

"Jisung was the one that introduced me to music." He continues. " He came into my life when I thought that I was done. If I didn't have him I probably wouldn't be alive right now. He was studying in Rome, forced by his parents into a career that he didn't want. He was suffering from depression and anxiety and couldn't do it anymore, so he left and came here."

I would have never imagined that such a bright person would have such a hard backstory, but then again the kindest people are the ones that have suffered the most. "How did you guys meet?"

He smiles just a little. "At a party, a frat party actually. It was my first year in college, as a dance major along with my sister. I was drunk, and got in a fight with some dude after I tried to fuck his girl."

I scranch my nose in diguast. "You're an ass."

"I didn't know." He rolls his eyes. "Plus she was the one that was rubbing her ass on my dick the whole night."

His vulgar words disturb me. "Continue." I clear my throat.

"Anyway, I passed out on the bathroom floor, completely wasted, and somehow the next day I woke up on a couch at an apartment I didn't know. Jisung took me to his and Seungmin's place. I will not go into detail but after that, he somehow became my best friend."

"Wait, they were living together?" I ask.

He nods. "Yeah, they were friends for years and when Jisung dropped out Seungmin offered him to come and live with him."

I feel like I'm missing something. "How old are you?" I turn to him.

He looks at me with a smirk. "I'm 25."

What?

My eyes widen. "How the fuck are you 25?"

He laughs at my shocked expression. "I told you, I was a dance major for 2 years until I switched. Jisung started studying music and it pulled me in immediately. Then in my second year, Chan started collecting us like Pokemon and now here we are."

I shake my head. "Wow." There's so much I still don't know about these boys. Each and every one of them has his own story yet somehow Chan managed to bring 5 different people together through music.

"My turn." He says.

"Your turn has to wait." I smile as he reaches my apartment complex. He stops the car and I remove my seatbelt. I try to open the door but it's locked.

"Unlock the car." I turn to meet his gaze. He's leaning against his car door, keeping one hand on the wheel.

"I'll ask my question first." His voice echoes through the car.

I bit my lip, fully understanding the situation that I'm in right now. Trapped in his car, with his eyes and full attention on me. "Fine, ask away."

He focuses on my face, searching and studying. "Are you still in love with him?"

I stiffen, knowing exactly who he's talking about. Even though he's the only one who knows about me and Jackson, the times that we've actually talked about it are few. In any other case, I would have avoided any question about him but it's something this specific question that made me straighten my back. "No," I say with full honesty. "And I don't think I was ever truly in love with him if I'm being honest."

"You weren't," He says, his voice strong and stable. "What you had, what he gave you, wasn't love." He spits the last words as if it's a joke.

"Maybe it's the love I deserved." My voice drops lower, almost to a whisper.

His head snapped in my direction and I immediately lower my head, suddenly not brave enough to look him in the eye.

"Look at me." He demands.

I shake my head. I can't, I feel too exposed right now. More than I've ever had in front of anyone other than Jackson or Chan.

His hand finds my jaw and grips it tightly, turning my head to him. His eyes are burning but the muscles on his face are relaxed. He leans closer, and my heart starts beating faster.

"I really hope I could prove you wrong." His thumb brushes my cheek.

Freeze, freeze, freeze. I wish I could freeze this moment. Make it last.

I hold my breath. " Why can't you?"

His eyes shift as he tilts his head to the side. His hand moves to the side of my face, brushing some of the stray hairs away, pushing them behind my ear. I feel myself leaning into his touch.

"Cause you deserve better than I can offer you."

The words feel heavy, in my heart, in my chest, and in my stomach so I drop my eyes, nodding several times. Somehow I knew that that was gonna be the case. From the moment I first saw him, I somehow knew that he carried a lot with him and as much as my feelings are pushing me towards him, I'm not in a place where I can get involved with someone that can't offer me all of him.

"I get it." I pull away from his touch.

"Y/n.." He sighs.

I grab my bag and open the door. He tries to grab my wrist. "No," I shake my head. "Stop confusing me." I sharply say. "I won't do this back and forth again. You either want something or you don't. So since you don't, please leave me alone." I get out of his car, my legs move as fast as they can up the stairs to my apartment and the moment I slam the door shut, the tears make their way down my cheeks silently.

[starker-raving-mads]

For you: Part IV

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

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"It's easier if we come up to see you," Bucky had said, Steve murmuring his agreement in the background of the phone call. "We're gonna be in the city anyway and besides, ain't it better to do it where you can do all the scans and stuff?"

The plan was sound, and made sense to Peter at the time. But here and now, with Captain America and the Winter Soldier making their way up to the penthouse labs in Stark Tower, the vigilante was questioning his judgement.

"Fri do we - "

"Yes, Mother, we have the schematics loaded and ready for display in both holographic and flat form."

"Okay, okay but do you think - "

"You've practiced attaching and detaching the device enough times that your fluidity of movement has increased by 313%."

"Sure but - "

"Peter," the AI cut off the teen's frantic questions. He fell silent, chagrined; she rarely called him Peter anymore and when she did, he knew it was because he was being too much.

He let out a deep sigh.

"Okay, I get it," he gave up. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be I guess."

"You are," the super intelligence agreed. "I'm glad you've come to see reason. Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers will arrive on the elevator in ETA 10 seconds."

They were coming by so that Peter, 18-year-old, clumsy Peter, could attach Bucky's new prosthetic based on Mr. Stark's assemblage instructions. He was, for lack of any better words, fucking terrified.

It wasn't so much that Bucky and Cap scared him, at least not any more. He had a healthy respect for the pair after everything they'd gone through, but the few meet ups he'd had with the group as a whole had made him appreciate the less-obvious qualities that each hero had in turn. Sure, Bucky was scary as heck in a fight, but outside of that he was quiet and kind of contemplative. Steve was the driving force for optimism and doing the right thing - and also an absolute mother hen.

Instead it was the fact that he was basically going to be attaching this thing, that he did not create, that cost Mr. Stark probably at least a million dollars? Onto the body of a super soldier while his - best friend or boyfriend or whatever they were, Peter really never got clarification - watched over his shoulder. He was having performance anxiety, big time.

He concentrated on those better qualities of theirs as the elevator door opened.

An hour later, he wasn't sure why he'd be so scared in the first place.

"You're really a natural at all this, huh?" Steve asked, peering over all the holodisplays Friday had helpfully pulled up for Peter as he went along attaching circuitry, wires, and faceplates. The blonde's eyes were wide trying to take everything in while Peter, finally confident in the face of the older man's perplexity, worked slowly but surely on finishing the attachment of Bucky's new arm.

"Sort of," the teen chuckled. "Mostly it's just that I spent so long growing up without any of the bells and whistles - oops, sorry," he grimaced after a slight spark made Bucky flinch. They were bound to happen, given that the battery that was Bucky's natural electrical system couldn't be turned off like one could a computer they were changing the parts in. " - that now that I've got all this stuff to make it so much easier, it's more understandable than it probably would've been otherwise, if that makes sense."

Bucky hummed in agreement. "Kinda like training with weights then goin' into the fight without 'em on." His Brooklyn accent was stronger than it had been before. Maybe it meant more of his old self was returning. The thought made Peter happy for the other man.

"Yeah, yeah exactly!"

"You know, I always thought Tony was one of a kind with how smart he was," Steve admitted after a few more moments of silence scattered with the light clinks of metals and wires being maneuvered in Peter's sure hands. "And he is, I'm not saying he wasn't, but you really do him justice here, Pete."

Peter ducked his head, flush blossoming in a great pink wave across his cheeks and the back of his neck.

"Nah," he disagreed quietly. "I'm nothing special. I bet there's thousands more people who would be able to put all this to better use." He sighed.

"No they wouldn't," Bucky said in a sure, firm tone. Peter looked up at him, his curls - getting too long, needing a cut - falling slightly across his eyes. "I've seen a lot of people, kid, and trust me, you are one in a billion."

Peter's breath caught and he stared at the assassin in shocked silence. He was brought out of it when Steve laid one of his large hands over Peter's slight shoulder, engulfing him in warmth.

"Buck's right, son," Steve agreed. A warmth Peter hadn't known since before Uncle Ben passed away washed over him. Something that felt like acceptance and family all rolled into one.

"Thanks," he replied quietly to the both of them. Steve kept his hand there for just long enough that Peter could pull on that warm memory with ease later.

›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹

"Shoulda seen him, Pete," Bucky said, tossing a foam football to Steve, who tossed it to the teen, who tossed it back to Bucky in a smooth triangle stretching across the lab. "Stevie used to be a beanpole - short and tiny and yet had the bite of a gator wrapped up in all that acne and asthma," he chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah, live it up, wise guy," Steve replied, smile taking any bite that might've been there right back out of it.

They were, ostensibly, calibrating Bucky's arm. Peter had finished with the installation a while ago and had gone back a few times to make some minor adjustments. They'd been tossing the toy ball that was he and Mr. Stark's 'thinking ball' between themselves to test the arm's dexterity, reliability, and maneuverability, but the spider was pretty sure it was as good as it could be at this point without a real endurance test. Still though. He was having fun, relaxing with his new friends. He could unwind with them in a way that Ned and MJ just couldn't do for him. He tried not to feel bad for spending so much time away from his friends but his life was just so - different, now. He'd make it up to them.

"I used to have asthma too," the teen admitted, tossing the ball to Bucky again. "And glasses, and all sorts of problems." He shrugged, catching the ball from Steve. "The bite kind of cleared all of that up, though I still have problems with the cold."

"Oh yeah?" Bucky asked, thoughtful.

"Never really knew why, just seemed to stick around, honestly feels a little worse but I don't know if it's just like that in comparison to like having none of the other stuff to distract my senses from it."

"You know," Bucky drawled, pausing as he caught the ball, holding it cocked against his hip. "Spiders can't thermoregulate. It's why you never see 'em in winter." Peter and Steve both blinked at him. In an act of absolute insanity, the winter soldier blushed. "What?" he asked, defensive, throwing the ball more firmly than necessary at Steve. "I read!"

"I never really thought of that," the younger man admitted. "That might actually bear looking into. Hey, Fri?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"Can you make a note to research that?"

"Of course, Mother. Also, this is your reminder that it is 2pm and you have not yet eaten."

"Thanks, Friday," he grinned. He caught the older men looking at him. "What?"

"Mother?" Steve and Bucky asked in unison, smirks firmly in place. He covered his face with his hands and groaned.

Peter had lunch delivered from his and May's favorite Thai place, leaving a hefty tip. It was still weird to him to just…having access to money now. He hadn't really used it except to pay for things like food and help May with bills and pay for his enrollment to Columbia. He was relieved, honestly, that the sudden influx of cash and power hadn't gone to his head. He liked to think it wouldn't but he was as human as everyone else and he'd seen good people do terrible things for cash.

Lunch with Steve and Bucky was good. It felt just like a continuation of the last few hours they'd spent together, like hanging out and just being friends. Refreshing, after everything. He'd answered embarrassing questions - like why Friday called him Mother (and then teased Steve for not getting the reference, even though Bucky somehow did), establishing a promise to have some kind of movie night so that he and Bucky could show Steve the legendary Alien films, and of course answering even more awkward questions.

"So no girlfriend?"

"Uh, nope, no not right now."

"Boyfriend?"

"Uh - "

"It's okay if you have a boyfriend, you know - "

"Or even a nonbinary partner! I hear that's a thing now, too, though I guess it always was and we just never really talked about it - "

"What Steve means, Pete, is no judgement from us. What's judgin' ever got anybody anyway?"

"Thanks guys, but no, no partners of any kind right now."

"Hmmm."

"What's that look for?"

"Still hung up on Tony, huh?"

"W-what??"

"It's okay, I get it, Stark was a handsome man. Don't look at me like that, Stevie, I know you ain't blind."

So yeah, awkward. Though, kind of sweet too? It was really kind of Bucky and Steve to just get it when it came to him and his feelings for Mr. Stark, as unrequited as they would always be. Felt a little easier to breath after that conversation, honestly. Ned and MJ had teased him constantly about his crush on Mr. Stark. May had too, for a while, though she'd stopped after - well after everything.

Apparently the billionaire and his aunt had done a lot to support each other while he was Blipped. Aunt May talked about Tony a lot differently, more supportive and less teasingly, than she ever had before.

He sighed, exhausted, spinning on his stool in the lab. Steve and Bucky had left a little while ago and he was still lost in his thoughts. He needed to stop thinking about this. About Tony Stark. He looked around.

"Guess it's kind of hard to not think about him when literally everything looks like he's about to walk right back in," he said to himself. He didn't want to get rid of any of it, but - "Fri, baby?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"Put on the Stark-Parker Playlist #3. I've got some cleaning to do."

He spent the next two hours decluttering everything he could. Pens and pencils back where they belonged, rinsing out the coffee machine, papers getting filed away, tools and loose screws and wires being organized. In the end, the lab looked cleaner than he could ever remember it being. And it still felt like Tony, for sure, but it also felt like a breath of fresh air.

He slid his stool across the room to the last filing cabinet. He knew this was where all the experimental files got stored, just random notes on thought experiments and the like. All the real experiments - the weapons and suit projects - were all stored in Friday's cloud, but bits and pieces of physical hardware were inevitably tossed here.

As he pulled things out and arranged them on the floor to get some sense of what exactly was in the cabinet, he slowly realized that the things he was pulling out weren't exactly random. His piles were forming a pattern on the floor, piles of notes about holographic improvements next to auditory transcription, and weirdly a pile about how birds can mimic sound with their vocal patterns.

He stepped back from the landscape he created, scratching his head.

"Friday?" he called, tilting his head back and forth as though he were looking at a picture that was just slightly out of order.

"Yes, Mother?"

"What the hell am I looking at?" he asked. He was slightly frustrated. He could tell all this went together but - but not how. Like a puzzle missing one too many pieces.

"On the floor in front of you are assorted piles of - "

"No, no," he shook his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, "Sorry, I should've been more clear."

"It is okay, Mother. I am still learning. What is it you would like to know?"

"It looks like all of this - stuff - the notes and the research and things - like they all go together. Was Mr. Stark working on something?"

Friday was quiet for a moment before saying, "Yes, though I am not sure he ever meant for the research to be conclusive or be shared." Her voice was hesitant.

"So, he stopped researching?" Peter asked, mind turning over what the man could've possibly been working on.

"Yes."

"Was it because he hit a dead end?" The thought of being able to finish something that Mr. Stark couldn't was invigorating.

"Yes and no." Peter narrowed his eyes, looking up - even though, technically, Friday was everywhere in this lab.

"Fri, what are you holding back from me? It's not - " he paused, " - it's not dangerous is it?"

"Not in the manner a weapon might be." He groaned.

"Friday," he said in the same tone Aunt May used on him when he was edging around a subject.

He figured he might've gotten it down right when she answered, "Boss had been investigating the best and most accurate methods of recreating natural intelligence."

"So, a new form of AI," Peter clarified.

"No," she replied, more softly. "I believe, based on the results of some of his testing, that he was attempting to recreate a previously known organic intelligence." A pause, and Peter's spidey-sense tingled, ever so slightly. "He was attempting to recreate your intelligence, Mother."

It felt as though the floor had dropped out from under him, his stomach doing a wicked somersault. He had the vaguest sense of vertigo, like he'd missed grabbing a web when slinging high between two buildings in downtown.

"Why - " his voice clicked, throat dry from shock. "Why would he - ?"

"If I were to posit," Friday said in that same slightly gentle tone. "I have watched you and Boss both, together and on an individual basis. From some of the similar actions you both have taken, I can extrapolate that, in the best way I am currently able to describe," she paused, like she did not like the uncertain nature of the information she was about to unveil, "he was attempting to create such an intelligence because he missed you, Mother."

[merakiui]

Hii!! I love your Lunar Love Hotel event so much! I didn't see any mention of you closing the requests yet, so I hope they're still open! (Otherwise, feel free to delete this.)

I would really like Red Bean Mochi and Blueberry Muffins for Rollo? I adore the idea of him leaving one of those with just the most creepy undertones, and completely anonymous, because it's the only way he can sate these vile feelings for a little while :') But feel free to do whatever you want with the concept!

yandere!rollo flamm x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors, stalking, obsession, slightly morbid/dark thoughts note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

i. the diary of rollo flamm, in which you will find various love letter drafts and daily musings eloquently scrawled within perfumed pages.

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『1』

For the hour I remained in the café, you smiled a total of thirty-seven times, one smile per customer and one or two depending on coworkers you’re well-acquainted with. I would have counted your every laugh, every blink of your perfect, pretty eyes, but then that would be like counting your every breath, every heartbeat, and it would be impossible to come up with an accurate sum when you’re always so...alive. One breath could be two taken at once, and a single blink could simply be my own eyes shutting and opening before yours do. Therefore, it is impossible to truly quantify your every movement without looking completely, utterly, foolishly enthralled. 

I suppose this feeling is what you might call love. For all of the romances I have read and all of the romances I have witnessed in this city, whether intentional or not, the love I feel is not bitter or sweet like some might describe. It simply exists; it lights a crackling flame within the concrete hearth that is my heart. I should liken it to warmth—to linens fresh from the dryer or spiced mulberries or bright, dancing fire. It is comforting like the winter coat I don in order to combat this deathly chill. 

I have never felt this way before. 

Today, when I ducked inside to avoid the frigid snowfall outside, the bell above the door announced my arrival, and you were there at the register as always. You smiled at me, once when our eyes met and a second time when you had asked me how I was doing and I had said, “Cold.” You laughed, but I am not a comedian. I will not pretend to be one for your sake, but I appreciate your hospitality all the same. Your optimism, even if manufactured for the customer, is inviting. 

Perhaps you reserve such reactions for me?

I visit this café every Sunday at exactly 10:30 in the morning. It’s important to be methodical in every aspect of one’s life. Schedules are necessary; they create order and peace. I have visited so often that you know me as a regular. You know my name and how it’s spelled. You write your L’s slanted and your O’s pumpkin-shaped (most likely because Halloween is approaching and it’s your attempt at being festive, even if the O’s look more like obscure shapes than pumpkins). You look at me when I step over the threshold into a room of coffee-scented comforts and you say, “A warm croissant and a cup of classic espresso with milk and foam, right?” And I nod every time.

You know me well. I will know you even better. 

Your name tag reads (Name). It’s a lovely name. I could write lines of wonderful words describing the way it feels when I speak it to myself in front of a mirror or when I whisper it late at night as though it’s a secret. But I will not, as I am not usually very poetic, and that is a task suited for a poet, which I am not. 

Surely you have a surname. Most often do. However, in the event that you are lacking one or are not too fond of the one you currently possess, you are welcome to take mine.

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『2』

My first attempt at a love letter is as follows:

You are the warmth that melts icecaps and reshapes glaciers. No, not quite. Am I trying to compare you to the catastrophe that is global warming? Think romantically, Rollo. This is the City of Flowers, after all. Surely there are better phrasings...

You are melodious like the Bell of Salvation like the sweetest birdsong. You are warm and fluffy like a croissant. You are love incarnate. If I could pry you open rib by rib and live within your beating, blood-filled heart, we would be together forever. Bound eternally by flesh and blood.

These lines feel rather crude. How do romance authors capture the complexities of love so easily? Beautiful words come from the deepest pits of the heart, or so they all claim. The words I wish to tell you come from my very soul, yet I cannot seem to transcribe them here. Should I be direct? But then blunt honesty is not nearly as romantic as flowery prose.

Dearest, sweetest you,

For every smile you grant me, I live another year in good health. For every syllable of laughter and delight I hear, I feel inclined to give you the world, whether in ruins or not, if only to witness your happiness.

I suppose a start is a start, even if it’s a depressingly abysmal one. I hope this week passes fast. I’d like to see you as soon as possible for some much-needed inspiration and, of course, so I can watch you.

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『3』 

I arrived at the usual time, but you were too absorbed in conversation with a customer to notice me. I consider myself a fair, level-headed man, and for that reason envy is not usually an issue. But the casual manner with which that fool wrote their number on your arm, tattooing your perfect, pretty skin in sinful ink... You smiled and laughed with them, promising to call them after your shift, your perfect, pretty eyes ablaze with excitement or wonder or awe or... I’d much sooner poke them out with sewing needles than witness you fawn over numbers. I watched all of it from my place in line, gripping my handkerchief in such a tight fist my knuckles blanched. 

You should know jealousy makes a man like myself monstrous.

It’s important that I keep this diary to detail all of my innermost desires so that I won’t feel compelled to act on them. But in that moment I had wished that, if you were to receive a phone number, it would have been given to you on a piece of paper. Paper is easy to shred and discard and burn. It is not an easy feat to sever an arm from the elbow. 

But I can be patient, as I often am, so that you will come to love me in the same way I love you. 

I write this as I watch you flitting about behind the counter to prepare my espresso. I wonder if you ever catch a break. This café is quiet on Sunday mornings, but I’m certain it’s much more lively during the week. I wonder if it’s ever empty and you sit in here on your phone, waiting for something to happen. I wonder what positions you might like to try on the counter, the tables, the booth I’m sitting in...

I had to shut this diary momentarily when you came to deliver my order. Sometimes I wonder if you would share my sentiments on magic. I almost asked when we talked briefly. Your perfect, pretty fingers were drumming along the circular, silver tray as you looked at me, smiling your perfect, pretty smile. I asked if you were studying anything. You told me you were taking a gap year, and then you had asked if I was a journalist because, in your words, I am “always scribbling away with your nose in that book.”

I suppose I am, in some manner of the word. I smiled at you, sipping from my espresso, and said, “The subject I’m studying is very special. One-of-a-kind, you might say.” A poor excuse at flirting.

I am not a flirt, and I would never pretend to be one. I am genuine in all aspects of my life, especially when it comes to love. You must know this. 

You were going to ask me to elaborate, but the bell at the door announced the arrival of more customers and you drifted away from me with an apologetic smile. I caught sight of the number scrawled on your arm as you retreated. Magic could numb you well enough while I bring the blade down, so fast it will be but a mere flash. I should not cut your arm. I should not hurt you.

I should not love you to this extent. 

Like the Crimson Lotus, you are a vibrant, fiery temptation. I fear the contents of my chest have already been reduced to ash. 

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『4』

The Crimson Lotus requires adequate nutrients like any other flower, though such nutrients are distinctive to this species. Unlike normal blossoms, the Crimson Lotus is parasitic in nature, sustaining itself with magic. You might liken them to the average pest, whether human or insect, or a fire that will only grow when fed more fuel. I could compose an entire novel on cultivation techniques and facts. I could also set these flowers loose and watch them wreak havoc on the city. The students from Night Raven College will be visiting soon, with a certain Malleus Draconia being among them. I wonder if they’re fond of parting gifts, by which I mean parting with their oh-so-treasured magic.

I hope you aren’t a mage. If you are, I’m afraid I might have to hurt you.

Rambling aside, I shall try my hand at a love letter once again.

Dearest, sweetest you, 

You are the joyous scents and sounds of lively city streets, of bakers boasting fresh, fluffy bread, of florists flaunting floral arrangements in all colors and species, of townsfolk turning the city upside-down come festival time. You are the golden glow that befalls the land when the sun rises, and you are the silvery shimmer that swathes all who sleep under the moon’s watchful illumination.

You are the air I breathe. The air I need. You are the bell who should rightfully reside within the tower I will construct. The tower of my heart? The tower of true love? If I could climb inside your skin, I might come to know the real you.

Perhaps I should pick up another romance soon. I know nothing of poetry or love letters. 

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『5』

I followed you home today. 

I am a fair, level-headed man, and so for that reason I know not to cross the law. But can you possibly expect a man of my nature to remain lawful when he is in love? They say love should surpass all. Does this not include the law? Does this not include morals and standards? If love is so mighty and marvelous, then why might some label my actions wrong and wicked? Is this not just a form of protection?

I do not intend to scare you. I do not intend to make you feel unsafe. 

I followed you home today, and you did not notice. How could you when you had headphones on?

You live in an apartment on the third floor. If I counted correctly, you should be seventh or eighth from the entrance to the stairs, tucked neatly away near the end of the hall. Perhaps I should make a copy of your key so that I can immerse myself in your privacy. 

I am a fair, level-headed man, and so I will not steal anything. But if you do find something of yours has gone missing—whether a personal item or what you think is insignificant trash—I have merely borrowed it for my own use. I cannot promise whether I might return this borrowed item, but I can at least promise that it will be put to good use. 

I could construct a doll in your likeness. I would need clothing, perhaps hair, skin, teeth, a tongue to entwine around mine... That’s morbid, isn’t it? Fitting for Halloween, but grotesquely harrowing. A silent doll who resembles its human counterpart in all aspects but the vibrancy of life... I’d much rather have the real you than a patchwork doppelgänger. If I tried my hand at fashioning you from needle and thread, I would just create a corpse. There are artists who only paint pain and misery, hence why we now look at certain paintings and consider them cursed. I am not a poet or a doll-maker, so I will not write poetry and I will not stitch dolls together. 

I am not a villain.

The urge to knock on your door had seized me then, when I stood in the hall in front of what I assumed was your door, my fist raised in preparation to knock thrice. Superstition says that if you receive three knocks on your door or windowpane, someone you love will have been taken away by Death within three days, weeks, months. I suppose Death does not need to conform to time after which the three knocks have been granted. Well, I believe in no such things, and I am not Death. 

But you’ll certainly think I am when you can’t see me.

𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 『6』

Before I welcome the Night Raven College students, I visited you. You weren’t home. It was Sunday. 10:30 in the morning. I slid a letter under your door. Sugared thoughts are sealed inside with red wax. I’m not afraid to admit here that I am not entirely confident in my prose, hence why I’ve left it anonymous. I’ve penned the exact letter here for my sake, should I ever need to flip through these pages again to remind myself of the frustrations I conquered just to craft a single love letter. 

Dearest, sweetest you,

I have never felt this way before. When I spy you through the window, I feel as if the stars have aligned to fix the very fate which has led me to you. Your smile is invigorating; your laughter is an enchanting melody. Perhaps you reserve such reactions for me? In that regard, you know me well. I will know you better.

I am not a flirt, and I would never pretend to be one. I am genuine in all aspects of my life, especially when it comes to love. You must know this. Unfortunately, it’s saddening to see how easily you fall prey to simple pleasantries. Infuriating, almost. You should know jealousy makes a man like myself monstrous. But I can be patient, as I often am, so that you will come to love me in the same way I love you. 

Like the Crimson Lotus, you are a vibrant, fiery temptation. I fear the contents of my chest have already been reduced to ash. I should not love you to this extent.

I hope you aren’t a mage. If you are, I’m afraid I might have to hurt you, if only to show you right from wrong. I followed you home today, and you did not notice. How could you when you had headphones on? I do not intend to scare you. I do not intend to make you feel unsafe. I only wish to love from afar for now.

I am not a villain, but you’ll certainly think I am when you can’t see me. 

[xxlady-lunaxx]

It was winter when Tengen realized that he was in love. For his wives, it was hard to remember when he’d truly grown fond of them. Given that their marriage had been for the clan, initially, he hadn’t loved them immediately. It was a gradual process, and he couldn’t recall exactly when it hit him that he loved them. But somehow, it was easy to tell for Kyojuro.

For one thing, Kyojuro had always been very sudden, in a way. Bright and cheery, so optimistic. In the way that made it feel like the world didn’t deserve someone as sweet as him. He was good at catching people off guard unintentionally because of how easy it was to relax around him. Equally, he’d popped into Tengen’s life seemingly out of nowhere.

Admittedly, Tengen had been expecting Kyojuro to be something like his father. For a brief time, Tengen, Gyomei, and Shinjuro had all worked as the sole Hashira before others began popping up. But he was proven wrong with Kyojuro’s stronger determination and energy full of smiles and laughter. The sunshine amongst the layers of shadows threatening to bury the Hashira under. As much as Sanemi might hate it, Kyojuro’s optimism was most admirable. It wasn’t something many Demon Slayers could muster. (Tengen included).

Easily, Tengen and Kyojuro got along. Two peas in a pod. Tengen could’ve called Kyojuro his best friend, at this point. Even if he’d known Gyomei for longer, Kyojuro still managed to become his closest friend amongst the Hashira. And he wasn’t complaining.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Tengen was beginning to see Kyojuro in a new light. There were practically stars in his eyes when he saw the man, now, and he couldn’t understand himself for it. Same sex relationships weren’t the most common in Japan, and Tengen was only really vaguely aware of them. Which was why it took him until a day in the snow to realize that the feelings akin to the ones he loved his wives with was, truly, love.

Kyojuro had always loved every type weather. The coldest snowed-in days of winter were no exception. Therefore he was undeterred by the three feet of snow and dragged Tengen along giddily. Clouds obscured the sun from the sky, and they would likely have to get to their missions soon. But they allowed themselves a moment of content (somehow, despite the freezing temperature), wrapping up in scarves and hats and gloves to trudge around outside.

Understandably, Hinatsuru, Suma, and Makio refrained from following them out. But Kyojuro was insistent Tengen followed him and, simply because Kyojuro appeared like the most excited little puppy, he complied.

It was hard not to shiver as they traipsed into the snow, and Tengen was already in half mind bundling back inside. But then Kyojuro stopped, a wide grin spread over his face that enunciated the flush of his nose and cheeks from the cold as he waved his hands in a ‘ta-da’ motion.

Tengen peered at the blindingly white sheets of snow before realizing that it was now a blindingly white lopsided pile of snow. He cocked his head to the side, curious as to what he was looking at. Noticing his puzzlement, Kyojuro followed his gaze. Almost instantly, his smile turned into a pout and he hurried forward, moving to and fro trying to fix what he’d intended to show. When he turned back, triumphant with his quick fix, he did the waving-hand movement again.

It was some sort of snowman, melting ice barely keeping the not quite compact enough snow together into two spheres. There were two sticks lodged into either side of the torso, meant as arms, but one of them was in too far and the other was on the brink of falling out. Kyojuro’s hasty makeovers on the failed snowman were loud and clear and made Tengen laugh. Kyojuro huffed, telling Tengen to stop mocking him. As Tengen went to reply, starting to deny such thing, his eyes flickered from the snowman, to Kyojuro, to the smile the fire-colored man was trying to suppress. And his words faltered, eyes widening a fraction as it hit him. Oh, fuck. Tengen loved him.

A bit concerned over the sudden mood swing, Kyojuro went to console him. But then, behind him, the snowman gave out and collapsed into a heap of snow and (two) branches. Kyojuro yelped as some of the snow decided to seep into his clothing and Tengen recovered, grinning as he tried to help stop the slushy ice from soaking Kyojuro and only succeeding in making it worse. They clambered back inside with the reassurance that they could try and make another snowman later, comforted with the warm tea Hinatsuru provided them and the change of clothes Suma offered. With the promise of no missions that day, from crows that arrived, and the little bit of free time they could gain from that, Kyojuro bed his goodbyes, assuring them that he’d be back another day. And still, Tengen was stuck on that single thought.

He went through the motions of changing and seeing Kyojuro out and drinking tea with his wives, but his mind blanked from his revelation.

It was winter when he realized he was in love with Kyojuro.

[wispstalk]

bruma vignettes

Bruma in spring: The roads, clear of snow for the first time in months, offer no easy passing. The forested slopes soak up meltwater; the roads turn to mush, rutted deep with wagon-tracks, the movement of herds to fresh pastures where the grass bursts from the sleeping soil.

The Hero of Kvatch and his apprentice go out ranging. Looking for sinister signs among this flurry of movement: reddening skies, whiffs of sulfur. Combing the wilderness for arches of black stone, witnessed only by themselves and the hawks. One erupts from the spongy ground of a pristine glade, turning it hard and cracked and burnt. Sparrows and stags and pine martens flee. The two hunters enter.

After the gate falls, the Hero of Kvatch stalks back to the trail. No one is faster than his apprentice, but his long legs outpace her. Absorbed in his brooding, he vanishes around the hairpin turns that snap back and forth across the mountain.

She finds him waiting for her on a rocky ledge that punches a gap in the masses of trees. A nice view of the valley below. He’s chewing something. Holds out his hand: a spruce tip, such a bright green it seems to glow with reckless optimism.

For fending off scurvy and spring sicknesses, he tells her. That is the lens through which he sees the world: its ailments. He sets about filling his hip pouch with the buds, claims it makes a pleasant tea. Raw and fresh, the initial taste is bitter, the texture like soft caterpillar legs dancing over her tongue. She almost spits it out. Endures. Savors the reward of subtle earth and spice that lingers in her mouth, all the way to the temple.

—

Bruma in summer: Sweltering days giving way to cool nights. No one quite knows how to dress themselves. Pile on layers, peel them off, odd assemblies of thick woolen shawls and trousers hacked off at the knee. Sticky, fragrant shade beneath the bowed branches of the laurels; sere fields and pastures where they have been cleared away. The sun makes lazy exits and the markets become livelier in the evenings once the breeze kicks up. Music and chatter drifting from tavern doors, flung open wide.

—

Bruma in autumn: A storm surges up from the balmy Abecean. The Jeralls turn their backs and let it blow itself out. Pounding rain recruits cold and wind on its way north, turns to hail: the lash of Kynareth or a tribute to the stone.

Down in the foothills, the trees throw out one last defiant burst of color. Clad like festival dancers, they form a circle around the valley with all its smoking chimneys, a sort of reverse bonfire. They shed their red and gold finery in tantalizing pieces. Naked grey branches, stoic in the wake of their revels, keep weary watch over the houses nestled in the cradle of the mountains.

Peer through the windows of those houses, glowing gold with lantern-light. See that there are harvests on the tables within, despite everything.

—

Bruma in winter: There is a path, hidden by hemlock branches and the bare skeletons of wormwood, that carves its way into the sky. Now it is so clogged with snow that those who walk it must wear bearpaws of bent willow and tie trailing sprays of pine to their packs to mask their footsteps.

When the snow-haze lifts, the temple in the sky can almost be seen. A determined eye might catch a rocky ledge where the shapes are a bit too regular. The temple meets that gaze with indifference: any challenger must first survive the climb.

Within Cloud Ruler, there is safety and boredom. The Blades spread crushed rock on the icy battlements, in part to make their patrols less perilous, and in part for something to do. The heir to the throne is a fixture in the great hall. His eyes grow shadowy as the long nights, his hands stain with ink, the cedar smoke of the hearth sinks into his hair and the roughness of his rare-used voice.

He realizes that it has been days, or weeks, or— some time since he has been out to greet the sun. Its wan light feels like a cruel mirror. But he goes around gathering up armor against the biting wind: a shirt that smells of a friend, smoke and sweat and horse and iron. A bearskin coat over that, and an old worn blanket of checked wool.

His slippered feet are unsteady on the hard-packed ice despite the gravel. He makes it to the battlements, stares down at the expanse of grey and white that yawns beneath him. Snaps an icicle the length of his arm off the ledge of the wall. Holds it up, considers the way it gathers up enough wan light to glitter.

He hucks it, like a spear, at a crooked spruce that clings to the downslope. The tree shudders and drops its burden of snow. The shatter and soft thump are amplified, bouncing off rock faces, and a patch of snow shifts and slides until it comes to rest against a boulder.

He lets out a soft curse and a laugh. Careless. Petulant. All the snow that mantles these moutains could be brought down, perhaps by a shout of anguish or frustration or sheer bafflement. The heir to the empire has had enough of inviting catastrophe. He knows how to take pleasure in a little peace and quiet.

White peaks scrape holes in a matching sky and vanish into them. These austere mountains have borne the cold for countless turns of the season, before there were people to do any counting. They will weather more yet.

[yerinmoon95]

Every person also craves change and new opportunities in his life. Among all those who go through this transformation, there is one person amazing as the very first flower of spring. Its delicate petals, as if decorated with glass drops of dew, shimmered in all shades of sky blue. Every time its buds opened in the wind, they aroused delight and admiration among people. Countless letters and poems were dedicated to this flower, and everyone wanted only one thing - to watch its beautiful blossoming. Spring was coming to an end, and all my life I dreamed of meeting a real star. My soul stopped when I looked at his incomparable beauty. Cha Eunwoo's face shone with the freshness of the first blooming spring rose, tenderness and purity, as if he was created for aesthetic pleasure. Every movement of his arms and legs was precise and graceful, like the wings of a beautiful butterfly that flies towards the sun. At that moment I was transported to a fairy-tale world. He could transform into any character, gaining new strength and perfection, just like a butterfly flying out of its cocoon. From now on, Cha Eunwoo, as a work of art, has become a symbol of the beauty, elegance and tenderness that can be found in this ordinary world. He remained a mystery and inspired everyone to immerse themselves in the world of inner splendor and beauty that is present in each of us.

Eunwoo is like early spring for me. Why spring? The answer is simple. I'm a dreamer. Yes. Eunwoo is just like early spring - young, fresh and full of hope. His eyes are bright and sparkling, his smile is so open and serene that it makes people feel like they're the best in the world. It brings people not only beauty, but also spiritual renewal. Every day when Eunwoo appears, it seems as if all the problems have disappeared forever.

Spring days pass easily and unnoticed for him. He spends them in a street or in the park, where the smells of flowers and green trees add even more energy and positive thoughts to him. While other people struggle with their difficulties, he remains calm and relaxed, ready to take on life's new challenges.

No matter how difficult life may be for other people, Eunwoo always finds a way to support his friends and loved ones. He is a true source of strength and support who can share his wisdom and experience. He enjoys working on projects with a team as it allows him to use his creativity.

He is like early spring, when everything around begins to come to life after a long winter. In his presence one feels a special freedom and lightness. It seems that he is imbued with happiness and is ready to share it with everyone. Where he appears, it smells like spring. The aroma of fresh earth mixes with the delicate scent of blooming flowers. The leaves of the trees reflect the spring sun with playful colors, creating a bright palette that fills hearts with joy. People who meet him feel a flow of energy that flows through their veins. The smile on their faces becomes wider, their eyes light up with joy. All worries and problems somehow disappear, leaving only room for happiness. He walks through the streets, leaving traces of his magical walk there. Children run out of houses, trying to catch him by the sleeve. They laugh and run, experiencing all the power of spring freedom.

Time spent next to him becomes the most valuable gift. He helps to forget about past disappointments and look into the future with optimism. Eunwoo opens up new horizons and brings an inexplicable piece of wonder into everyday life.

He's like early spring. Eunwoo brings freshness and purity, filling hearts with spring warmth and love. He gives a feeling of freedom and happiness, and everyone who finds themselves next to him is immersed in a world where it smells like spring.

The sky will share the cotton candy of pink clouds, pure blue will hug your shoulders boundlessly, the breeze blows across your neck and shoulders and ruffles your hair. You want to breathe there. Want to laugh. Want to live. And cry with happiness. From the feeling of inspiration of the soul. His inner voice speaks louder. He has passion and is wonderfully gifted with talent.

The world is gradually filled with the morning glow, and the sea still seems one with the heavens. You plunge headlong into thoughts about spring, the sea, the beauty of people; you smile at the sun rising from behind the houses, delight yourself with little things: warm tea, atmospheric music.

His feet are made to walk on soft grass, his hands are tamed by warm winds, his hair grows to be decorated with flowers, and his chocolate eyes can only reflect the clear sky.

He sleeps without opening his eyes, and his calm breathing promises that the cold will recede, as it always did. Then he will get up and walk barefoot through the young grass towards the sun, towards life...

You open your eyes and feel the desire to live. Birds songs outside the window remind you of spring, stubbornly breaking through the snowy winter, and you begin to believe that you will break through too. You feel how strength appears in your soul, which has been empty for several months, to lend a helping hand to those who are nearby. To tell your loved ones about your love, to smile at yourself in the reflection.

Sun. So long-awaited, warm and dear. On this day, spring opens the windows and bursts into the house with a stream of light, turning shadows and echoes of nightmares to dust. The air trembles with the melody of new life ringing through it - bright, enthusiastic, still a little timid, but ready to scatter throughout the world.

Suddenly there is something in the air that will remind me how happy the smell of last spring made me.

Please always think positive and be happy. This world needs your thin thread, we all need this spring.

(c) by 카탸 🌸

[littlegusto]

Essential Baby Clothing Guide: Comfort, Style, and Practicality for Every Australian Parent

When it comes to dressing your newborn or infant, comfort, practicality, and style are top priorities. As parents in Australia search for clothing that is both cozy and cute, there is an array of options to suit every need. From sleepwear to accessories, here’s a look at some of the must-have items for your baby’s wardrobe.

Baby Sleep and Play Clothes: Comfort and Style for Every Moment

Soft and Breathable Fabrics: Choose fabrics such as cotton or organic cotton, which are soft against your baby’s delicate skin. Cotton is naturally breathable, helping to regulate your baby’s body temperature and keep them cool during warmer days or cozy in cooler weather.

Stretchable and Flexible Design: A good fit is crucial, so look for sleep and play with clothes with a bit of stretch. This ensures your baby can move freely, whether they’re playing, crawling, or sleeping. Elasticized cuffs and waistbands offer comfort without restricting movement.

In Australia, where temperatures can vary, baby sleep and play clothes are available in different materials suitable for both warmer and cooler climates. For hot summer nights, lightweight cotton sleepwear keeps your baby suit, while during the winter months, a cozy fleece onesie can offer warmth without sacrificing comfort.

Muslin Baby Clothes: The Perfect Blend of Softness and Breathability

Muslin baby clothes are a must-have for any parent’s baby wardrobe. Made from natural fibers, muslin is a breathable, lightweight fabric that is perfect for babies, especially in warmer weather. Muslin baby clothes, including onesies, swaddles, and blankets, provide the perfect balance of softness and ventilation, ensuring your baby stays comfortable and snug all day long.

Breathable and Lightweight: Muslin’s open weave structure allows for optimal airflow, making it an excellent choice for warmer climates or summer months. This breathability helps prevent overheating, ensuring your baby stays comfortable while they sleep, play, or cuddle.

Super Soft and Gentle on Skin: Muslin fabric is naturally soft and gentle, which is crucial for a baby’s sensitive skin. The fabric becomes even softer with each wash, ensuring your baby is always wrapped in comfort. It’s the ideal material to avoid irritation and keep your baby cozy all day long.

Infant Robe: Keep Your Baby Cozy After Bath Time

An infant robe is a cute and useful addition to your baby’s wardrobe, especially after bath time. Infant robes are made of soft materials such as cotton or bamboo. They provide warmth and comfort to your baby and help them stay cozy and dry. Most infant robes have hoods that are great for drying your baby’s hair quickly while keeping them warm.

Super Soft and Gentle Fabrics: Infant robe are typically made from ultra-soft materials like cotton or bamboo, both of which are gentle on a baby’s delicate skin. Bamboo, in particular, is known for its hypoallergenic properties, making it an excellent choice for babies with sensitive skin.

Perfect for Keeping Baby Warm: After a warm bath, babies can feel chilly, and an infant overalls is the perfect solution. The robe provides an extra layer of warmth, wrapping your little one in softness and comfort, helping them to feel snug and relaxed.

Accessories Baby Clothes: Adding the Finishing Touches

No outfit is complete without the right accessories, and baby clothing is no exception. Accessories for baby newborn clothes include hats, socks, mittens, and bibs that add both style and function. A cute baby hat can keep your little one’s head protected from the sun or cold, while soft cotton mittens help prevent scratches from tiny nails.

Bibs: Bibs are an essential accessory for babies, particularly those who are teething or just starting to eat solids. They help keep your baby’s clothes clean and dry, preventing drool, food, or spills from staining their clothing. Bibs come in a wide variety of fun and stylish designs, from simple solids to adorable animal prints or colorful patterns.

Headbands and Hair Accessories: For parents who enjoy styling their baby’s hair, headbands, bows, and hair clips are great accessories. Soft, stretchy headbands can keep hair out of your baby’s eyes while adding a touch of charm to any outfit.

Finding the Best Baby Clothes in Australia

In Australia, there is a wide variety of online stores and boutiques offering high-quality baby clothing. Whether you’re looking for baby sleep and play clothes, muslin baby clothes, an infant robe, or the perfect accessories, you’ll find numerous options that cater to different tastes, budgets, and styles.

When shopping for baby clothes, always consider fabrics that are gentle on the skin, as babies have sensitive skin that can react to rough materials or chemicals. Visit Little Gusto website in Australia prioritize organic, eco-friendly fabrics, making it easy to find products that are both safe for your baby and kind to the environment.

Conclusion

Choosing the right baby clothes for your little one is essential for their comfort, health, and happiness. Whether it’s soft muslin for the summer, cozy sleepwear for nap time, or the perfect accessories to complete the look, Australia offers a range of baby clothes australia options that meet every parent’s needs. Make sure to select clothing that is soft, breathable, and durable, ensuring your baby stays comfortable as they grow.

[solarpunkpresentspodcast]

Hope, but not right away

This is more of a half-formed thought than a complete article, so bear with me, but I wanted to put it out there especially on this gloomsome spring day, where the sun is mostly hidden by clouds that will not resolve into anything so reliable as precipitation.

Spring is often a time of joy, full of bright pastels, celebrations of life, rebirth, renewal, the return of green things to our lives. I think part of the reason that we put the focus so much on these things is their singularity within a world that is more often full of mud, grey skies, and barren trees. The snow melts away to reveal a rotting corpse, as it were, for the first few weeks of spring, at least around here. Branches stab at the sky and are not so much full of potential as skeletal imagery.

The solarpunk lens of rumination on this would focus on the way that the rotting detritus of last fall is composting, pregnant with possibility, working to become the literal ground from which life will spring. But I worry that, in that focus, we too often skip over the dull feeling of drear that can come between the absence of snow and the advent of greenery.

Ugly feelings, to poach a phrase from theorist Sianne Ngai, are very valid and worth acknowledging. Especially when the world around me is ugly, I have some pretty ugly thoughts. I mourn the fact that the double-whammy of climate weirding and El Niño meant that we didn’t really get a winter at all in these parts. I resent the rawness of the wind, too cold when the sun isn’t shining, and still wet as hell and - it seems - tailored to produce the most amount of misery in the least amount of time. I am frustrated by the fact that every single one of my coats (ranging from heavy-duty winterwear to light rain jackets) are needed within the span of a week, and yet none of them are truly adequate for the weather conditions I walk through. I think dark thoughts about the humans of this city when I walk the trails and see the incredible amount of litter - plastic bags/bottles, old Timmies cups, cigarette butts, wrappers, and other detritus - on the sides of the path, now revealed by the melting of the snow.

These are all problems that I know will pass, or that at least my brain will skim over. Take climate weirding and El Niño for example - I can’t do anything about weather patterns, and I’m doing my best right now to tackle climate change and catastrophe given my situation; they’re not going to go away any time soon, and they are a reality that I can accept, like the shitty wind. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to change my behaviour or do something about them, but it’s not like I myself can just nip the problem in the bud. Given past experience, I know that temperatures will continue to climb, solving my multiple coats problems. The City has already emailed me and many others subscribed to its newsletter that it is time for an annual spring community clean-ups: and if one registers with a group, they will provide gloves, grabbers, and garbage bags for each person, along with a tips sheet about safety, especially with handling any sharps such as broken glass or discarded needles.

So I can pass pretty quickly on to feeling fairly okay about my immediate situation. As I’ve said before both here and on the podcast, I really do believe that solarpunk is about looking around at the detritus of the early twenty-first century, then choosing deliberately to roll up one’s sleeves and get to work making a better world using the materials at hand, despite all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. However, moving rapidly away from negative feelings does them a disservice, and more importantly, may be doing solarpunk a disservice. Let me explain.

This is because solarpunk’s investment in optimism and hope is explicitly not a dismissal of badness, but instead a deliberately positive affective orientation arising from negative conditions, and so I am of the firm belief that there is room in the solarpunk movement to acknowledge and sit with the terrible truths of our existence.

I confess to being extremely inspired and deeply affected by JD Harlock’s conversation with Christina in our second season, especially the bit where he baldly states that he has no hope that the conditions in Lebanon will improve, and yet he still calls himself a solarpunk and works towards a better future anyways. It reminds me of an article I came across while doing research for my masters - this time explicitly about hope within the environmental movement, and the first part of the title says it all: “Hope, But Not for Us”.* It is by scholar Gerry Canavan and it came out in 2014, years before the Jonathan Franzen article. The basic gist is that yeah, there’s plenty of hope for people and animals in the future, even if we ourselves are stuck in this time of the Anthropocene, so we cannot see or access that future place of hope, but we can contribute now to making conditions better for beings we will perhaps never meet.**

If solarpunks were solely interpreted as liberal individuals fantasizing about a better world that they themselves will get to enjoy, the skeptical charge that solarpunk is naively optimistic would be pretty accurate. In that estimation, there is no room for negativity, for accepting the world as it is, for allowing for people to feel kinda crappy sometimes, for acknowledging that serious mental health struggles with depression can’t be cured by just getting a plant or going outside for a walk on the regular, et cetera. There’s no room for the actual reality of being human. The solarpunk strawman (strawperson, really), has zero nuance or grounding in the actual lived experience of being human in 2024.

That is why I am such an ardent proponent of holding space for negative emotions: whether that’s through seeing a climate grief counsellor or chaplain, attending climate grief circles, simply talking to friends and loved ones about fears about the climate, creating art about it, venting in a Discord channel, et cetera. Note they’re all community actions. Solarpunk is a deliberate reaction to and disruption of the status quo in which we are mired: pretending that we’re not experiencing terrible things is not going to get us anywhere, literally and intellectually.

I confess I don’t actually know how to end this. Academic articles tend to build towards a triumphant or at least neat conclusion and I’d like to leave you with more than just a mess. Perhaps it’s appropriate, though, since emotions, especially the negative ones, are messy and complicated.

Don’t feel bad for feeling bad, I guess? It’s from that ground that radical solarpunk action is grown.

*The full title is “Hope, But Not for Us: Ecological Science Fiction and the End of the World in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake and The Year of the Flood” and given that my master’s major research was interpreting the MaddAddam trilogy through the lens of posthuman feminism, it was pretty much exactly up my alley. This also, sidenote to the footnote, was one of the articles instrumental in my feeling extremely alienated from my peers who weren’t also taking Masters courses in ecocriticism, because nobody around me / on the corners of the Internet that I frequented at that time seemed to be talking at all about climate breakdown, or even admitting that maybe global warming was a problem (except the environmental activists, of course). It was a weird, WEIRD time.

**I imagine that this is how society as a whole used to think about doing noble things like building housing and implementing social policies for the sake of future generations, which seems to have largely exited the concern of the majority political discussion these days around everything except perhaps climate change, since it forces people to think according to a scale of deep time. (I’m aware of the fact that most Indigenous groups on Turtle Island tend to have a tradition of thinking/principle about how actions taken now will reverberate seven generations into the future, but settler society isn’t exactly taking that cue up)