#the idea has certainty has taken hold of me

[nico-the-overlord]

person who can see and interact with ghosts, but this includes with online posts made by the dead.

they reblog stuff, comment. leave likes. even share screenshots of ghost posts. normal interactions. they don´t realize some if not most their interactions are with literal ghost accounts.

it isn´t till their close mutuals start asking out ¨ok how are you reblogging blank posts?? or coming up with answers to blank asks with huge responses. also I can´t find the blog you keep referencing so how many blogs have you made then deleted like...¨. it goes on for so long because people think its a weird troll/gimmick account, maybe even bugs from the site

[ckret2]

Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

####

Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed. 

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table  under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched. 

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Hearts Don't Break Around Here

For the lovely @thefreakandthehair for her wedding. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be!

(also on Ao3)

It’s the small things that make Eddie Munson realize he’d like to make some changes to his life. The mountain of mugs on his desk tells him that, hey, maybe he should get a tea pot (or a bigger desk). The holes in his t-shirt don’t really bother him until he accidentally drops some very hot cigarette ash through one of them and he realizes that he should retire the t-shirt, or maybe re-purpose it for his next battle vest. The way he thinks about it, he needs the universe to send him a small sign.

When it comes to Steve Harrington? Eddie is the happiest in his life. Steve isn’t just a boyfriend, he is THE boyfriend, the alpha and omega of boyfriendness or boyfrienddom, Eddie still can’t decide what to call it. Whatever a boyfriend should be, Steve is. So Eddie doesn’t really think of any possible changes, everything is perfect, except…

Except they’re in bed together, trading lazy kisses and exchanging those stupid little words that make Eddie feel all warm and fuzzy and put a silly smile on Steve’s face. They’re holding hands, Eddie’s guitar calluses against Steve’s sport ones, and Eddie runs his finger over Steve’s and thinks.

I really, really want to put a ring on this man.

The realization hits him like a baby Demogorgon, and once he scrambles together a poor explanation of why he froze mid-kiss (“there was a bug, Steve, like an enormous bug, Shelob-like, I swear on Dustin’s mother!”), he courageously decides to explore his feelings on the matter.

Of course, they can’t get officially married. Yet. Eddie is an optimist, so there is always a yet to be added to any negative thought. It isn’t really about making it legal or seeing Steve in white (well, maybe a little) or having a big party. No, it’s just…

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it’s about the promise.

Eddie hasn’t had many certainties in his life, but when they appear, he’s distrustful of them. Nothing lasts long for him and if it does, it only gets taken away the very second he starts feeling hopeful that maybe this is it, this is the one thing he’ll get to keep. He used to feel that way about Steve, but Steve Harrington never left. And when Eddie finally broached the subject, asked him why he tolerates Eddie’s humor, messiness, lack of drive and basically everything Eddie, Steve took Eddie’s hands in his and told him, “I’ve had my share of perfection for a lifetime, Eddie. It’s pretty but so cold. Being with you? It’s like…like being in the sun in the spring, when it’s warm and you’re lying on grass and there are ants walking over you and your clothes are likely to get stained, but you just don’t care because it’s the only place you want to be.” And as if that wasn’t too much for Eddie’s poor heart, he added, “I will never break your heart, Eddie. Never. And I don’t make these promises lightly.”

So no, no one can blame Eddie for wanting to give Steve something back. He wants Steve to be the first commitment Eddie dares to believe, and no matter what, he’ll get that ring.

If only it was that easy.

First of all, choosing anything in Hawkins is impossible. His dear old dad made sure that Eddie can’t go anywhere near jewelry shops without people blaming him for trying to steal stuff, so he makes a trip to Indy and stares to his heart’s content. It’s only when the shopkeeper, a nice elderly lady, asks him what style he’s looking for, he realizes – he has no idea.

He promises to come back the next weekend, a bit more decisive and well-prepared.

Eddie sucks at being inconspicuous, so he enlists help. Robin – after squishing his cheeks to death and beyond – agrees to be his spy and drags Steve off to an emergency meeting, claiming things are way more serious with her college girlfriend than they really are and, “I want to give her something nice, like a ring, but a ring that doesn’t say “marry me”, you get me Steve, no time for that when I’m up to my ears in books, so what would you say is an ideal ring? Is that different for guys maybe? What would you choose? I’m just curious because the only example of a guy with a ring I know is Eddie, and I’m not giving her a silver demon thing, nope, not ever.”

Eddie learns two things this way.

First: Steve doesn’t have clear preferences for jewelry, he is all for “seeing the thought behind it”. Eddie wonders if Steve realizes how many thoughts he has and not all of them are ring-worthy.

Second: Steve thinks having an engraving on the inside is the most romantic thing ever, even something simple can become so personal and touching. What should the engraving be? Robin doesn’t know.

The next weekend comes and Eddie drives back to Indy again (Wayne is covering for him, telling Steve he asked Eddie to run some errands for him) and he’s better prepared this time. He chooses a simple gold ring with a yellow stone, just a small one, almost invisible, but Steve’s sweater is always on his mind, so it’s a good choice. He thinks about the engraving too, and his list is, in hindsight, atrocious, and he might have written it when seriously sleep-deprived, but still. He cringes at his own handwriting. 

To my Ozzy

You’re so metal, baby

I tolerate basketball for you

To my only reason why 1986 was good

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But there is just one that Eddie sees and thinks , this is it . So when the nice lady asks him what to engrave, he hands her a paper with his messy handwriting that simply says:

You’re my home, Stevie

The moment of elation and victory is short-lived. She asks him for Steve’s ring size, and well. He should have probably found that out, shouldn’t he?

He promises to return to the shop as soon as he knows. On his way back, he tries to figure out an inconspicuous way of measuring Steve’s fingers.

Once again, Eddie sucks at being inconspicuous.

He tries wrapping a measuring tape around Steve’s finger when they’re asleep. That nearly earns him a smack in the face with Steve’s bat because he’s a light sleeper and forever scarred by their Upside Down adventures. At least Eddie manages to persuade Steve that it was just a piece of his pajamas stuck on Steve’s finger so he doesn’t question the weird feeling that woke him up.

He practices measuring by touch and holding Steve’s hands a lot. The margin of error is in centimeters, so he gives this idea up pretty easily. He blames it on not having enough time to practice, of course.

He (inconspicuously, of course) wonders aloud whether his hands are larger than Steve’s. They place their palms against each other, notice that Eddie’s fingers are slimmer and longer and Steve’s are shorter and stronger, but otherwise? Not helpful.

The breakthrough finally comes when Eddie actually volunteers to wash the dishes for once, but asks Steve to hold on to his rings. He places them on Steve’s fingers and notices with barely contained excitement that yes, one of his rings actually fits Steve’s ring finger (some shuffling around was required, “I don’t want to lose any of the rings, Steve, they need to fit very, very precisely!”).

Eddie has his answer now. He ties a small ribbon to the ring so he doesn’t forget which one it is, basically races to Indy again after calling Wayne and using the agreed code word to have his uncle send him to run some imaginary errands again.

He bursts into the shop, wheezing and holding the ring between his fingers. “This big!” he chokes out and collapses against the counter while the shopkeeper (Margaret, they’re on first name terms now since he’s been ring shopping for around a month) hands him a glass of water.

“Your Steve must be pretty special,” she smiles at him, and Eddie’s brain short-circuits because Indy is better, but definitely not accepting, and this lady has been so nice, has he blown it? Has he ever mentioned he has a boyfriend? Shit, he must have…

He opens his mouth like a fish several times. “Uh…m…Stevie…is, yes?” he says and prays he’s not going to get kicked out in the next twenty seconds. “The…the stone reminds me of him. He’s like a ray of sunshine.”

Margaret just laughs and refills his glass. “Good for you. It’s nice to see someone have the courage. I wish I had it in my day.”

Eddie is laughing with her now, the water surface in his glass is swaying from side to side and tells her, “Your day isn’t over, it’s never over until we’re done breathing.” She gives him the kindest smile anyone outside of his found family has ever spared him. It keeps him warm on his way back to Hawkins.  

He picks up the ring in three days, he can’t wait any longer, and Margaret is kind enough to get the engraving as a priority. She meets him outside of the shop in the evening, hands him the small blue velvet box and grasps his hand before letting go. “Go make that handsome young man happy,” she says and Eddie has never promised to do something so easily and so fast.

He stashes the box in the drawer with his formal wear and waits for the perfect opportunity. That resolution lasts him for about one week because another thing Eddie sucks at is being patient. On top of that, Eddie knows in his heart that Steve has had a lifetime of grand gestures and pretend perfection. Sure, Steve deserves all the romance and luxury Eddie can afford, but if he says he’s even happier in their cramped home, on their old bed, with the constant DIY projects, homemade meals, and bad movies rented from Family Video, Eddie will respect that. Hell, Eddie loves that.

They’re cuddling together on a sofa, dishes unwashed and piled up in the sink, and the latest B-list sci-fi movie playing on their small TV. Eddie’s holding Steve’s hand again and he traces his fingers, feels the bare skin and realizes – this is it. This is when I do it.

He kisses Steve and promises he’ll be right back, he just needs to quickly take a note of something for the next campaign. Eddie doesn’t even try to conceal the rush he’s in, he dives into their bedroom and completely destroys the fragile order in his drawer to get to the priceless box. His hands are shaking, but he’s determined, he opens the door again, slips into their living room and-

And Steve is there, smiling at him like his own personal ray of sunshine, a bit shy but radiant, just as he always is. And in his hand-

“No way,” chuckles Eddie and inspects the blue box Steve is holding to confirm that yes, it bears the logo of Margaret’s shop. “When did you get to Indy?”

Steve takes a step closer and tucks Eddie’s unruly hair behind his ear. “Let’s just say I skipped some basketball practices. And before you ask, yes, I had to use blackmail to keep Sinclair quiet.”

“Oh?” Eddie’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but he can’t help it. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing big. Just that I still have the list with potential date ideas with Max he forgot at my place and I’m holding that hostage. Now, I believe I have a question to ask. And…” he looks down at Eddie’s trembling fingers, “maybe you do too?”

Eddie kisses him, short and sweet. “That depends, are you going to say yes?” It’s playful, but there’s also a hint of insecurity, the fear that Steve managed to weaken but never truly destroy. And maybe it’s the coward’s way out, but Eddie needs to know if he’s right in thinking Steve wants this too, if maybe he just got the ring because he wanted to make Eddie happy or assumed that’s what Eddie wanted. Which duh, he does, but this is not about

“I told you, Eddie,” and Steve’s hand is back on his cheek, stroking it, grounding Eddie. “I will never break your heart. And I trust you so much that I want to give mine to you. If you’ll have it.”

He leans his forehead against Steve’s, smiling at the ridiculousness of the question. “If I’ll have it? Stevie, I do. So much. I will cherish it, polish it, even dust it because I know you love everything to be clean.” Steve snorts, but Eddie continues, determined to finish his improvised speech. “I know it’s not the life you thought you’d have. I can’t give you a real wedding, kids, I can’t even kiss you in public. And I know it doesn’t change much between us, but I just want to give you this. I want to give you a real promise that your heart is safe with me, just like mine is safe with you. And it will always be.”

They exchange their “yes” between kisses, and when they catch their breath, the rings follow. Steve loves his, of course he does, and he tears up at the engraving, but then Eddie sees his own silver band and notices something written inside too.

I will follow you to Mordor, Eds.

“You remembered,” he whispers as Steve pushes the ring onto his finger. “You don’t even know the books and you remembered.”

Laughing, Steve shakes his head. “Don’t give me too much credit. I had to badger Dustin to tell me what you said during that spring break. I…I just thought it’s fitting, you know. It was fucked up, cruel and painful, and yet…I’d go through all of it again, just to be with you here.”   

Crushing Steve in a hug, Eddie knows exactly how he feels.

The next morning, Eddie actually wakes up early. He manages to leave the bed without rousing his fiancé, Jesus Christ, he’s never going to get used to saying it or seeing the ring on his finger. Sneaking towards the phone, he finds his wallet and the card that Margaret gave him, and when she picks up, he doesn’t even give her a chance to announce her name.

“Hello Margaret, my dear,” he drawls, “when were you planning to tell me that you know Steve too?”

He can hear her chuckling. “Well, dear. I thought me saying that Steve is handsome implied it?”

“Oh.” Eddie isn’t entirely speechless, but it’s close. “So…how did you know it was…you know. My Steve? And not any other Steve?”

There’s a strange sound, possibly Margaret sipping coffee, before she responds. “I could tell you it’s the experience I have. Or that I had a hunch. But – he came in wearing a yellow sweater. A very familiar-looking yellow. And he said he’s looking for an engagement ring for someone who is non-conforming, passionate and loves silver, red and black. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together, especially after he told me what he wanted engraved.” Another sip. “But that’s enough about that, what I want to know is – who proposed first?”

Eddie laughs into the phone and switches hands so he can admire the silver ring glistening in the morning light. “I’d say it was a tie. But hey, we both said yes. Thank you so much, Margaret, for all you’ve done. And, uh. If we ever get to have a wedding, you’re invited.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she says and Eddie thinks she really means it.

“Great, I will call you then. And Margaret?” He twirls the cord around his fingers, only sparing a second to form his thoughts. “In case you find some of that courage too? I can guarantee you a plus one, so be a brave lady and get one, hmm?”

Her laughter follows him as he hangs up and returns to the bed to join the future Mr. Munson.

[pendragora]

Placing Dimensions and Eye Directions Analysis for Season 2 Posters

Disclaimer: before we go forward, I want to remind everyone that I am a random person on the Internet and this is a simple interpretation that I created using my knowledge on composition, dimension plains and perspective in drawing. If you choose to add input – please, be respectful about it, it’s an open discussion; as the creator of this take, I am not going to take any insults, hate or negativity over a simple fandom post, so be warned that I will block such on sight. If you find my ideas and analysis unpleasant for your perception of the characters – please, disengage and feel free to block me as well. Let’s all be civil :))

In this post I will talk about the placing of each team individually, towards team members and then each other. Along with that, I will be analysing characters’ poses and line of sights for each of them individually since it is telling a pretty compelling story. As a reference I will be using a merged image of all posters together in one (credits to @liv-cole for the image that I saw here and @ara-meyy for showing it to me when it first appeared on Reddit)

Let’s first take a look at Team Green and their stance:

The far back is taken up by Criston Cole and then Aegon on the Iron Throne. First and foremost, the farthest in the whole plain. He does not line up with anyone in the picture and his placement makes the most sense – in the canon of next seasons, Criston will take the position the Hand, which does put him so close to Aegon with his sword at the ready. He the final line of protection for the king, however, his eyes are not directed to the side – in the direction of Team Black.

However, he is placed slightly behind Aegon and his throne. His eyes are also looking forward at the angle that makes him look beyond the banner of Team Green and, in order, is directed at Aemond, not Team Black. The sight is not the one you would describe as of certainty. I could go off about the shot being not the most pleasant, but I could also theorise that Criston’s sight is telling us about the caution with which he could potentially treat Aemond in further seasons.

Aegon’s position on the poster is slightly closer to the viewer than Cole’s but still is further than Aemond’s or Alicent’s. His figure is quite interesting and, in all honesty, contrasting to what we saw in the sneak-peek of the second season. He looks both relaxed and tensed on the throne. The general language of the way he is seated is aloof, he is not wearing his crown, but is holding it as a window into his future. He comes off as the transition period between the man we saw in the sneak-peek and the previous season. He is tensed by his duty, by the Iron Throne, but his hedonistic nature has not left him yet.

What is most interesting is his line of sight. If we look at his eyes, they are not directed at anyone at all. They go straight throne the circle of his crown and off into the distance. He is not on the same field to look at Rhaenyra or anyone else. His look is one of absence. Being the king on the Iron Throne, he is isolated from the conflict by his posing. The reasoning for it might be 1) his transition period into an active participant of war (before Blood and Cheese), 2) his present reluctance to be in this conflict that was established in previous season or 3) mostly his absence in the season after his character goes through dragon fire. Perhaps, we would see more of his struggles as the king and, if lucky, even the progression from an unwilling heir to the king that takes charge and makes decisions.

Interestingly enough, his line of sight goes beyond all of Team Green members and out the frame before it reaches Team Black members. If it is not his future he is looking at, it is like a prison cell’s window at the freedom he could have, perhaps?

Next comes Aemond, who is in the most front of the picture. What’s important to note here, his figure is the closes to the viewer and is actually on the same dimension field as Rhaenyra. He is stood between her and Aegon which makes sense since Aemond will be a driving force of the war (which also affected the number of episodes we will see him in). He is not the focus of the conflict, but he is the line of defence for his family and a force to reckon with. His hand is above the hilt of the sword, he is at the ready to draw it and, unlike Criston, his stance is not cautious but confident. He also has his lip corners up in the poster, enjoying the thrill of war, the hold of power that he has.

His line of sight is directed straight into Rhaenyra’s face, not anyone else. She is his primary concern or, perhaps, a target, because she is the main threat to his family and his brother’s ruling. Among his team, he looks like the most natural and merged into his role of protector. Note that this does not oppose Aemond and Rhaenyra, and, if it does, it is a one-sided conflict in which Aemond is involved while Rhaenyra is not an active participant.

The last in Team Green and the closest to Team Black is Alicent.

It is clear why she is stood in front of everyone in the team, but she is much further in the background. The placing of her dimension makes her stand a layer above Aegon but two layers deeper than Aemond. She looks reserved and worried, and such placing shows that she is not Rhaenyra’s main opposition. She, as was shown in the previous season, would stand in front of her kids to protect them, which places her front-line in team’s order, but it is no longer her conflict, no longer a rivalry between her and Rhaenyra. Unlike the book version, show!Alicent is not the mastermind, but a scared and devoted to her cause mother, and when the time comes for war – she gives way to her children (being placed in the background) but still shows that she is present and protective of them (being the first in line).

Her eyes are terrified and teary, looking at Rhaenyra. It shows very well her stance in the show, that her motivation was the fear for the life of her children before Rhaenyra.

Now off to the Team Black.

Since we are going from left to right, I’m going to start with Rhaenyra, who is also the representative of Team Black.

Surprisingly so, her and Alicent have similar poses, but the position translates a different message. While Alicent is one of resolve and acceptance of her position in the background, Rhaenyra’s pose is showing her leadership. She is showing herself as the queen in this poster and, it is really hard to miss, but in a way her stance reminds me of 8th season Daenerys (I personally dislike the parallels because I think Rhaenyra would be better off as a stand-alone character, but hype train is a hype train).

She stands tall, she wears her crown, she is dressed as a ruler and as a dragonrider. What is interesting, though, is that her line of sight is directed forward. Since she is on the same plain as Aemond, they both are the closest to the viewer and share dimension, she is not looking at him. She is looking forward, past him. My ideas for this are 1) she is looking at the Iron Throne in the background, not even Aegon, but the throne itself; 2) she is looking into the future, since, in Western culture, the idea of looking forward is associated with the future. Her sight shows determination and readiness for battle or her looking forward for her victory. The entirety of Rhaenyra shows here that she is the rightful heir in her own eyes and she is going to take what is hers.

The idea that her sight goes through both Aemond and Aegon and ignores them, in a way, reinforces the narrative that they are irrelevant to her, they are not the threat and, because of that, be the things the other way, she would not have them executed because they simply do not matter to her this much. It is not a battle between her and her siblings here or her and Alicent, but it is a story about her battle for the throne, as it seems.

What also caught my attention is that both Daemon and Alicent stand distant from Rhaenyra, practically within the same distance from each of her sides. It is purely my take here, but perhaps it is showing the relationship that she lost or is going to lose (given the rift that awaits her and Daemon?).

Now moving along to Daemon. Personally, I expected him to placed closer to his queen, given the establishment of their relationships, but in the poster, he is one a layer deeper into the background than she is. His overall posture of, not protectiveness towards his queen, but rather protectiveness of himself gives mixed signals as if it is not him being Rhaenyra’s shield, but her being his. Given what happens in canon between them, it might be foreshadowing.

However, what drives the point is his line of sight. He is looking up and forward, and, unfortunately, the way he is placed behind Rhaenyra makes it seem that his eyes are directed not at her, but at the crown. His general expression is not of a man that is preparing to protect his loved one, but one of a man who is scheming a way out for himself, there is a fleeting concern and calculation in the way he looks. For the sake of not hurting anyone’s feelings, it is purely my take and my reading of his character in the poster, take me as biased.

Daemon is ready to strike, but strike who?

Following figure is Rhaenys.

Rhaenys has a reserved pose and a look that is peeking at someone or something. Given the background from the show, there isn’t much to say about her in the poster. She strikes me as an unwilling participant of the war, but a participant that is going to do her bidding and show her strength. Rhaenys stands tall, truly like the Queen Who Never Was, and her stance shows that she will be a force to reckon with too, considering she is a dragonrider and a skilled one at that.

Her eyesight can indicate two things: she is looking forward, with a tilt of her head, which potentially places Alicent at her line of sight. It makes sense in a way given their confrontation in two instances in a previous episode. It feels as if she, as a mother who lost both of her children, asks her how far she is willing to go to protect who’s dear to her. It feels like in this there is a conflict of two mothers that is established: the mother that lost everything and now fights for what is left of her children (since Baela and Rhaena are indirectly pulled into the war as well) and the mother that will lose everything in the future. Alternatively, Rhaenys could be looking at Aegon and the Iron Throne, but at this point of her development as a character, that makes little to no sense.

Lastly, Corlys. Just like Aegon, he looks isolated from the conflict, but for different reasons. Initially, I had a thought that he was looking forward, and, considering that he takes place further in the background than anyone on Team Black, he could be looking at Aegon and the Iron Throne, but upon close inspection I concluded that Corlys is most likely looking outside the window. It perhaps is foreshadowing for him later on searching a way out of the conflict or out of the list of Rhaenyra’s supporters.

Now, to the parallels between the characters.

Aegon and Corlys are literally the last men standing of both their teams – both on the poster and in canon. They will be the last surviving men of their respected teams, having only Alicent outlive them both.

Daemon and Aemond being opposed only by their placement as the second from the centre of the poster – perhaps, a foreshadowing for a battle that they will clash in; Aemond is looking forward and, like in canon, anticipates the fight and goes in confidently while Daemon is looking out for himself specifically and does not acknowledge Aemond as a threat for himself.

Rhaenys and Alicent – a conflict between two mothers that already lost everything or will lose everything, the Queen Who Never Was and the Queen in Chains, both trapped in this conflict because of their children or what is left of them (grandchildren).

Aegon and Rhaenyra and the way they treat their role – Rhaenyra merging into her role as a queen and wearing her crown proudly while Aegon looks through in as if a window outside his prison.

Overall, the teams display different attitude.

Team Green looks like a well-established line of defence around Aegon: his Hand is by his side; his brother is the main force of protection and then his mother who would sacrifice herself to save him. Their placement is to protect Aegon from the threat of Team Black.

Team Black appears, to say the least, not as the protection for Rhaenyra, but people who hide behind her, which surprised me. It looks rather fickle, with Daemon and Corlys being anywhere but present to protect their queen. They also form a perfect line from the back to the centre that shows that it is not only Rhaenyra’s fight, but it is also not them fearing Team Green, but having a goal to get back the Iron Throne.

[chokchokk]

2/2

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 [𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬] | choi san x fem!reader

PART THREE of : have your way with words, be my people pleaser 

“Be mine tonight, Y/N.”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: The hour is twisted. You’re not at a club, you’re not sober, but most importantly, you’re not with him. Will Seonghwa do? No, of course not.

But he leaves you no other chance.

“You’re so pathetic, it might actually be worth a try.”

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: angst, smut

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜: 2nd half of PART THREE

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 13.3k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): drug-use, drug abuse, alcohol, mdma (ecstasy, molly), vulgar language, just a lot of vulgarities and profanity, hate-fuck?, aggressive, teasing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, sex with feelings but no love, sex with no respect, cumming inside; reader cant stop thinking about san, writer is a bit stoic, seonghwa is a hot bitch, hwa and writer are liars lmao

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: the border looks that ugly on purpose btw not that you think otherwise LMAO

on ao3, this chapter is called “insanity” and i can’t promise it will be the only seonghwa-centred part throughout the series, but do please enjoy for the filth and angst of it all hehe!! <33 if you're asking “does san even make an appearance here?” i won’t tell you :P i know it's intimidating since there's just about like 10k build-up (because i'm a bitch LMAO) so if u wanna skip just find the second border i guessssssss

also, i really recommend listening to KLOUD's ESCAPE HALLOWEEN set (it's a soundcloud link) or any other hard tekno for the whole immersive experience lmao !!! <33

and also, thank you all very much for 100 followers and over 1000 notes ! ! ! wtf it's all happening so fast i can't catch up with yall....

𝚝𝚊𝚐-𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @brown88 : @svintsandghosts: @hanniebeesworld : @downbadreading : @shingsoluvely (kissing all of yall <33)

Didn’t Seonghwa say “club” or are you being some conservative narc flaking out?

You’re standing in front of a white, slightly burnt industrial building that is barely holding on by itself, and taking into account how many people are smoking around here, the likeliness that it will catch on fire again is not too low. You can’t believe that you’re going to meet Seonghwa inside here, let alone San, let alone anyone with a healthy sense for flight or fight, but here you are, walking up to the line with confident steps.

Yes, it has made you very anxious that even the taxi-driver had no idea where he was heading. He promised to drive you back home if anything happened, so the taxi-hotline is on speed-dial— just in case— and you just thought, holy fuck, hopefully Seonghwa won't leave me alone here.

But once you’d seen the seemingly endless line of people, you knew you have arrived at the right place. Or at least something like the right place. It all seems off, this building in the middle of nowhere outside the city, but you told the driver the vague address and he found you this hidden ware- and clubhouse, both of you hesitating to confirm that this was the correct location.

Nothing here seems legal, smells legal, looks legal— oh well.

The only thing you can say with certainty is is that you are looking and smelling the best you have ever looked and smelled this entire semester, and even if you have no fucking clue who these people that are whistling at you are, you know you’ve done everything right tonight when they wave at you to join them. You just skipped a whole chunk of the line here, but nobody seems to mind it. What a democratic party, maybe it’s not all that foul play and people do appreciate good things, eh?

It’s not an exaggeration or empty self-boast: You, in your skin-tight, revealing black body-con dress, skin glowing under the harsh night-light, are absolutely ravishing. There are looks on you— uncountably many of them, and usually, you’d fold under their heavy gaze, but having taken a few shots of the cheap rum back at home, you reciprocate their curious eyes with a sleek, cheeky smile, down-right inviting them to bathe in your appearance.

While the group of people take in the presence of you, blurting out their first thoughts immediately upon thinking, your confidence only grows bigger. Thank god drunk people say the truth, because “damn, she’s hot” is the ego-boost you needed to face whatever awaits you in that cubic building.

“ARE YOU FUCKING READY?”, booms out of it and it seems like a voice sample that’s been altered that hellishly deep. The crowd outside cheers. They're not even a part of the shenanigans yet, but still, they’re screaming and already moving their body in anticipation, throwing funny looking candy (you’re very sure that’s molly) inside their mouths. They’re ready, but Y/N, are you? It is an honest question to ask yourself, and as you inhale the smell of people smoking the devil’s lettuce around you, you draw out how the night might progress for them.

You don’t know about San’s whereabouts, only that Seonghwa and him are going separately, which is a big plus if you want to fuck him today.

Uh-huh. Fuck Seonghwa. You’ve made it up in your mind because he just wouldn’t stop hinting at it in the car this morning. He is going to buy you drinks, going to show you his dancing, but most importantly, going to “make you enjoy yourself”, which of course, could just be wishful thinking from you iterating the conversation, but Seonghwa wouldn’t have bought the tickets for you for free if he wasn’t expecting some type of reward, would he?

At the minimum, the hinting painfully reminded you of the way you talked to San the very first days you first insinuated that he could stay over at your house and — oh, golly! — sleep there. Coming to think of it, your talk actually never worked, and it still ended up being San who made the first sexual move. You’re going to save Seonghwa from this embarrassment, and if not, you’re going to save yourself from your own embarrassment for if you do see San and his volleyball-“date” or whatever here.

Anyhow, at the maximum, you have a brain and are fully aware of the fact that people don’t “meet” at the club to just have a chat, whether it's him or San. People “meet” at the club to get crazy and fuck, and that’s exactly what you’re doing with Seonghwa — End of story. San is not going to write this chapter today. He won’t even end up in the epilogue, that’s how much you’re going to focus on Seonghwa. Go down. Get him on. Get on with him.

You bop your head a little bit to the deep bass that’s vibrating through the walls of the warehouse and the line is taking a painfully long time to move forward. You watch the people in your group chug down their self-mixed abominations and how they're throwing the remaining glass on the floor, whiffing their stimulants through their joints or gulping it down by tablets. Letting out a huff to exhale the sharp smell of weed, you try to become as detached as the ones around you, at the very least assimilate to their mood. You’re going to be with these people tonight, and just by putting one and one together, you get the feeling that it will be a long, ruthless evening. You can hear intoxicated screams leave the front door, the deep voice continuing to hype up their cheers.

It's all a hivemind of pure madness and … well, you're here for it, it seems like, no? Seonghwa is not going to be an exception, and you brace yourself to be meeting your date here.

Show you his dancing, he said…

You don’t know whether the DJ playing some extraordinary remixes or whatever to be deserving this much of screaming feedback, but it’s definitely music to get your mind lost to, you'll give this guy Mingi that; Splurging, ear-numbing beats and basses, inviting you to rock your body. You don’t hate the music, not at all. It just makes you question how Seonghwa was imagining to impress you. Here you are imagining body-rolls or whatnot, but this hard style techno isn't really the tune for that, is it? Okay, let's just say it's not music you'd turn on to get yourself into the mood on a Saturday night, that's what's there to it.

It’s ironical, really. Usually around this time you’d be fumbling around your phone on your couch to ask San if he’s free or not, and sometimes he is, but most of the time he’s not. Those days where he just comes over on your mark have been over long time. Now, he’ll either show up at your house unprecedented or ask you to show up at his house in an ungodly hour.

Huh, isn’t that one funny butterfly effect. You woke up early because of San's mistress and here you are, lining up to become Seonghwa's. Is this right? "I heard you were going to be at Mingi’s party. Meet me there." Even now, you’re trying to convince yourself that this contact name “volleyball” could be anyone, maybe even just a friend that is trying to link up at this not-so party-looking party. Hm, you think, would a friend text him so intimidatingly? San hates periods to end messages, it scares him. So no, not a friend. At least not a friend that knows him as much as you do. Someone he had a fight with, maybe? No, Choi San doesn’t have fights, he’s too avoidant of conflict for that. It has got to be someone that has once been close to him and a bit too close to your liking.

No, no, fuck no, let’s stop this, you murmur to yourself and wriggle down your dress so it covers your ass at least.

Fucking Seonghwa. That’s your one and only mission tonight, of course followed by having fun and getting all hell loose.

It will just be one night and it will either make you 1) want to stay with San, or 2) finally move on and agree that San is just a … friend with too many benefits. You have to convince yourself you’re not in love with San. You can’t be in love with San. Disregarding of how curious you are in meeting him here.

“Ticket,” the control-man orders around the people in front of you and you get out your phone out of your tiny bag for the ticket, when you see that Seonghwa has already messaged you.

Seonghwa (San’s roomie): I’ll be waiting at the bar for you by the way Seonghwa (San’s roomie): You have to walk up the stairs on the left when you enter Seonghwa (San's roomie): Excited to see you ;)

You have been guessing already that something was going to break tonight, but it might as well be those stairs Seonghwa is talking about. From the amount of people that are still waiting behind you, you hope that they’re not all trying to go the bar.

“Ticket, please,” the control-man repeats, but strangely enough, his tone is a bit friendlier to you for some reason. “Here you go,” you duplicate his kindliness and he nods, dropping his smile as soon as he moves on to the next guess. Strange.

You eye the buff guy, but the impatient crowd pushes you into the square door. In you go.

“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!”

Harsh red lights, laser and smoke hit your senses. (Though you can only be so sure that the last part is really planned for the show-experience.)

Maybe you underestimated the capabilities of a warehouse. It’s still not what you thought of when you heard "club", but it surely still gets your club-mind going. Ignoring the grimy looking walls that seem to crumble with every beat that’s drumming inside your ears, the pungent smell of cheap-ass perfume, artificial sweeteners and alcoholic beverages strike into your nose, blurring your sight for a short moment. There are no windows in this hell-hole, but that’s the concern for another hour.

This is only the beginning. So, let’s focus.

Left, stairs, go up, there’s the bar Seonghwa was messaging you about. It surprises you that you’re not being swarmed by more people trying to get drinks, but it makes sense, since so many of them have already drunk outside or taken other substances to get themselves prepared for the night. That’s the first thing.

Second thing; suprisingly, the stairs are actually kind of durable. You can physically feel the bass run through your veins as you grab the handrail, but maybe that’s just because of the cold metal. Nothing to worry about here, you exhale and make your way up.

Lastly, and most importantly, look at you, you’re smiling. That’s the biggest, best thing. The euphoria these people are screaming out is down-right infectious, isn’t it? Their daft, hypnotic cries are calling out to you on the dance floor, but you’re going to be there sooner or later, with the man that brought you here in the first place.

“Hey, Seonghwa.”

“Hey, Y/N, you—“

He was sitting on a barstool, admiring the flashing lights all throughout the warehouse through his sunglasses, when you put your hand on his barely clothed shoulder and make him turn around.

“Holy shit, Y/N.”

You grin. Of course Seonghwa wouldn’t disappoint with his reaction. He rips the sunglasses from his face immediately, gets up from his seat and embraces you with one arm, not daring to let one eye sway away from you, his tongue pushed to the surface of his mouth, as he suppresses his gleeful grin. He looks star-struck, the supernatural-looking lights surrounding him are only emphasising this sight. Otherworldly.

“Where have you been hiding that?”, he asks, commenting on your body as respectfully as he can. You know he can’t handle a lot of alcohol, so his marvel must be double the truth, right? Seonghwa isn’t a liar.

“I’ve not been hiding anything,” you scoff and Seonghwa laughs nervously.

“Y/N, you look… absolutely fantastic.”

“You don’t look to shabby yourself, Seonghwa,” you smile and muster the charcoal-haired man from bottom to top. It’s very out-of the ordinary, but honestly, you should have expected something like this after he invited you here. It goes without saying, you could have served him the same reaction to his outfit. The man who was wearing sportswear? He’s now wearing a black, nylon, baggy pant, with a distressed knitted top that barely serves as an excuse for clothing as it is not covering any of his body parts correctly— and even if you’d already gushed about his athletic figure this morning, you have not expected to be seeing Seonghwa’s abs and breast this exposed this early tonight. There is jewellery all around his outfit, just dangling from the fabric, but also his ear and hands, spiky and shiny, almost hazardous looking.

Damn, either you haven’t seen Seonghwa enough or this dude has been hiding more from you than you could account for. He looks as fashionable as much as he looks demonic, ready to sin with you, and that is the most meaningful compliment of the night.

“Thank you, I knew you’d like it.”

“Really? Me?”, you laugh, getting your hair out of your face, tugging it behind your ear.

“You have a strange taste,” Seonghwa smirks and while you puzzle together what he means, he signs something to the bartender with his ringed fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m ordering us shots. Keeping my first promise.”

“With sign-language?”

Seonghwa smirks and sits down again, you following him to the same.

"I'm a friend of Mingi's, they know me around, that's all."

"Y'all are weird."

“That’s just our ways here.”

“Your ways? You sound like some pretentious club-kid,” you nag.

“What if I am, huh? Are you gonna leave, if I was?”, Seonghwa teases and is served a tray of four shots, coloured a dangerously unnatural purple colour. He slides a 10-dollar bill onto the counter and the bar-keeper takes it with no words spoken out loud, which gives Seonghwa the time to devote all his attention to you. It’s flattering how astounded he is by you, as if he hasn’t seen you pretty ever in his life. But then again, you can only do so much styling and make-up when San calls you at 10 PM, asking you to “hurry”.

“We’ll see how the night progresses,” you smirk, and grab the first shot. Seonghwa also takes one and slightly raises the small cup.

“I won’t disappoint you.”

Sweet — the taste of the shot.

All types of fruits and harsh, cheap liquour plunge into your mouth and melt on your tongue. It’s going to make your head hurt the next day, one hundred percent, but maybe it will be Seonghwa to get you some pills to soothe the ache.

… If he wasn’t San’s god-damned roommate.

Or he could stay at your home. It’s been a while since another man than him has slept in your bed, and maybe it’s long overdue.

“Let’s hurry up, I wanna dance with you,” you gulp down the sugary liquid and Seonghwa chuckles.

“We’ve got enough time, Y/N. Let’s savour this one together.”

Sweet — The spark in his eyes, his flawless skin, perfectly plump lips— holy fucking shit. Seonghwa is fucking breathtaking.

“Y/N?”, Seonghwa asks and you see that he’s already moved on to the second shot, waiting for you to move on.

“I didn’t know you had that kind of sexy stare in you,” your alcohol blurts out for you and in the meanwhile, you grab the next shot glass.

“Sexy stare?”, Seonghwa asks and grins.

“Screw you! You know what I’m talking about,” you hiss and show him your tongue to offend him, but Seonghwa just tilts his head, raising the glass to your face.

“Loveshot?”, he asks and for a moment, you don’t know whether he’s joking or not. Maybe you’re just feeling weird because a male has said the word “love” in your proximity. (The only man in your life who's a candidate in hearing that word avoids it like a disease.)

“Only if you mean it,” you purr seductively, lick your lips, and praise to fucking god he’s taking the hint. Seonghwa leans in and crosses your arms around, the cold rim of his drink suddenly resting at your lip.

“That’s not how loveshots work,” you notify, but you still mirror him and place your glass under his lips.

“Do you care?”

“No.”

Seonghwa chuckles and with one movement of his hand, the second shot is flowing down your oesophagus. It’s cold, starkly contrasting the humid conditions in the warehouse, but it’s just enough to get your senses rolling again.

You don’t even care that you made Seonghwa miss half the drink, his alcohol tolerance will give him just the right kick from the first shot. Also he doesn’t protest at all, when you hop from your seat to finally get the evening going.

“Let’s go now!”, you order him around and he gladly obeys. “Lead the way,” he says, putting his hands on your shoulder, which he hopefully won't be able to keep there for long, as you both strut down the stairs and into the crowd.

The massive crowd is crazy, and it’s ever-growing.

“What is this place?”, you ask Seonghwa, as he’s being pushed against your back by the people on the way to the dancefloor and Seonghwa has the perfect opportunity to grab you by your hips to not lose you, but frustatingly enough, he doesn’t. His hands leave your shoulders and Seonghwa just tries to manoeuvre to you.

“I wouldn’t be able to tell you,” Seonghwa answers honestly and you look for a free place to roam and dance. People are trying to get as close to the DJ as possible, but once those are gone, there’s actually some space you can use— you just have to get there.

“You come here often?”, you ask, leaning backwards for your voice to hit his skin. You'll be hoarse by the end of the night.

“I’ve only went twice. San went to every single set of Mingi, though!”

“Really? San goes here frequently?”

“Yeah! Does that shock you?”

“Of course it does.” You stop, turn around and Seonghwa’s hands stay in place in his pants, as you talk to him. “This, all of this, doesn’t seem like San at all.”

“Hmm, I know what you’re getting at. But that’s just our boy, eh?”

You stare into his eyes and search for some type of playfulness, but Seonghwa means his words. This is where San roams— is roaming right now, maybe— and it, all of it, just fucking confuses you. This is not the "party" you would have expected to see that man in, and if that wasn't bad enough, he's apparently a regular. You hope you’re not pushing some kind of innocent image onto him, but despite the alcohol that's heating up your cheeks and making you dumber every talking second, you’re seriously puzzled. That he’s never invited you is questionable already, but is “that San for you”? You don't know.

Wiggling your hips, you try to retrace history to the very moment you had met shy little San at the seminar, up until now, where he’s grown three times his size and you feel like he's some type of fucking mystery that is impossible for you to solve. Nerd? Hopeless romantic? Hard to get? Playboy? San may act like he’s open-minded, but he’s the most secretive guy you’ve seen. Not like Seonghwa, who, mind you, is still looking at you with the most intense fuck-me eyes, that it’s actually eating you up.

“Let’s stop talking about San.”

“Why?”, Seonghwa asks, obliviously, eyes turning back to normal.

“Because it’s us here! You and I, Seonghwa and Y/N. If they drank a loveshot together, they should act like it, don't ya think, huh?” you grunt, already slurring your words. You start to move your body according to the heavy beat, tits jerking out to the front, arms waving like they have a life on their own. Seonghwa smiles and accordingly begins to step his feet where yours aren’t; your bodies are annoyingly close, but still not touching at all.

“How do you mean that, Y/N?”, he asks and you slap his revealed shoulder with the back of your hand to stop his teasing. “I thought you wanted to show me your dancing, Seonghwa!”, you whine and he laughs at your comment.

But Seonghwa doesn’t say anything after that, which gets on your nerves even more and in response, you turn your body slightly away while swaying your hips from side to side.

“You know what you said,” you hiss and he probably can’t hear you because the DJ is transitioning to a track with even more bass penetrating your ears.

You scurry your body to the beat and catch the gaze of someone in the crowd, who’s noticed you for the same reasons Seonghwa can’t keep his eyes away from you. The stranger is drilling his gaze up and down your chiselled body, licking his lips. Feeling playful, you make a suggestive expression towards him in return of the attention, winking at him. The male immediately makes his way to you.

"You do molly?”, he asks into your ear and you see that he’s got two skittles with cartoonish hearts and smileys drawn on them. That’s Adam. You never did him before, but you surely have heard of him, your friends have had him, your friends have loved him, your friends had painful break-ups with him. Merciless adam, MDMA.

You look back at Seonghwa who’s still dancing next to you, acting like he's not watching this whole situation go down, putting on his sunglasses again, and pushing it up his nose bridge. It sucks. His skin under the top is teasing you to look at it, and it feels so unusual to be longing for him, like you can't comprehend he's not... the other one.

So, though you do hesitate for a short second, you take two of the heart-painted ones and smile at the stranger, who sounds rotten from inside out, voice raspy and hoarse.

“Are you alone?”, he asks into your ear and while you think of answer, you muster Seonghwa, whose eyes you cannot track anymore, since the black cubic shades are hiding his prettiest possession. Is he still looking at you? Watching the sky? Who knows. Only he knows.

“Maybe?”, you answer and rotate your head to the stranger’s direction. You don’t care for this man, not at all, but what you do care for is Seonghwa’s reaction. Bouncing your ass up and down against the stranger's baggy jeans like the grand girl you are, he gets his hand at your waist and tries to pull you over his place, but, there he is, Seonghwa to come save the night.

“Fuck off, she's taken.”

He pushes the male away with his elbow and the grip immediately loosens up. “Hey, hey, dude, don’t hit me. Sorry, dude.” Seonghwa is visibly taller than him, and apparently that’s enough for the poor guy to get intimidated by his sunglassed face and disappear into the crowd with quick feet.

“YOU WANNA PLAY?”, the artificially deepened voice echoes through the warehouse and you stare into what you can make out from Seonghwa’s eyes with an earnest frown. You’ve felt unnecessarily angsty and frustrated the whole day since you saw that message on San’s phone, and this is the guy who’s going to hold responsibility for it, better with his whole fucking devotion now.

“What was that?”, you tease Seonghwa, who’s finally getting his hands out of his pockets and pulling you closer to him by your wrist. You can’t exactly read his expression since he’s covered his face still, but that actually makes it feel a lot better. There's something off about him, like Seonghwa is a stranger, like you’re not doing it for him, but rather… yourself. You're doing this because it makes you feel good, not the other way around. That's empowering.

“Whatever you want it to be, Y/N.”

“Stop tip-toeing around it! Are you going to fuck me or not? ‘Cause there’s more of those guys everywhere here,” your alcohol spits again and Seonghwa pants.

“Well, shit,” he laughs and finally glides into your waist with his arms. “That was direct.”

“I can flirt with you, but not under these fucking conditions,” you growl, intoxicated, recycling gritty air in your lungs, moving your sticky body to the beat and occasionally grinding against Seonghwa’s lower body with your legs from the front. "I can flirt and fuck you," he hums and frames his hands around your hips, connecting himself to you.

“Do you do molly, Seonghwa?”, you grin, the two pills waiting to be popped in inside your hand.

Seonghwa takes a look at the capsules, and you wait for his answer, as he appears to investigate them. Does he know what he's looking for? Apparently yes, as he pushes up his sunglasses and rubs the corners of his lips with two of his fingers, “Gimme.”

He picks it up from your flattened hand, and you would’ve loved to share it like a love-shot again, but before you could request it, Seonghwa has gulped it down. Not his first rodeo, you assume, and follow his suit.

Good thing that your throat hasn't dried out yet and the pill glides down your throat with your saliva. It's not going to take long until the jubilation of the alcohol you've consumed meets the ecstatic effect of molly, and you bite your lip with a grin. "Never thought I'd be doing drugs with you, Seonghwa," you purr and Seonghwa shrugs with a huff, “I thought you’d never even consider it.” Seonghwa exhales in the heat of it all, pulling you closer.

“What? Because of San?”

“Of course because of San,” Seonghwa cackles and puts his pointy chin in between the space of your collarbone and neck, so that his voice is hitting the spot of your hickey. “You know he’s here somewhere, right?”

“Yeah, but the probability that we’ll see him is like zero, so that’s not my concern.”

“You’d be concerned if he saw us, though?”, Seonghwa asks, loose-tongued, murmuring against your neck. He’s definitely fully gotten drunk, his body heavily weighing into yours, as he gets one arm up and around your head; his hand is tangled into your scalp without a caution of messing up your hairstyle. You finding out what the molly will do to him is only a matter of time.

“Are you asking if I’m committed to him?”

Seonghwa licks his lips, “accidentally” getting your skin with his tongue. It takes you aback a bit and you whine, your eyes dozing off for a short moment. You can still taste the remains of the shot at the back of your cheeks and it's the only thing you can sense correctly. Everything else is either fogged or slowly disappearing, or becoming even harsher like the red laser lights that you fear are going to pierce through you.

“No, I’m not asking whether you’re committed,” Seonghwa answers, leaning into your skin even more, “I know you guys aren’t in a relationship. Or, you know, at least he isn’t committed.”

“WANNA GET NASTY?”

It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Even when you’re feeling very seduced because he is trying to get the same moaning reaction out of you by licking your sensitive spot and it’s working, you don’t want to be reminded that San doesn’t care for you as much as you do for him. Sure, that sounds harsh, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? You’re not the one living in the same space as San, Seonghwa is.

“Huh? Does he sleep with a lot of women?”, you ask him out of morbid curiosity, acting tough, as Seonghwa works deeper into your neck, getting the skin to soften for him.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Fuck you! Don’t protect me!”

“Ask him yourself,” he lisps, his sharp tongue grazing against your hickey, teasing your pettiness.

“I deserve to know.”

Seonghwa is the one rolling his eyes now, sighing, “You can be such an annoying brat, Y/N. How does San keep up with you?”

You try to yank your head back to show your discontent with his choice of words, but Seonghwa has you deep in his grip and puts you in place.

“You were the one who didn’t want to talk about San,” he lulls into your ear, stroking your hair to calm you down. Sure, that sounds reasonable, but still not an excuse to call you an “annoying brat”.

You take a wild guess about why Seonghwa isn’t just giving you the answer and argue, “I can still be curious, can’t I? San is not committed, you say? Why? Does he get more bitches than you?”

“He tried to get back with his ex.”

Bingo!

Wait, no. What the fuck?

“Huh, when?”, you ask, and irritatingly enough, Seonghwa has begun biting and licking into your neck at the one spot you can’t stop exhaling sweet noises for him. “Seonghwa, you better fuu-huucking answer.”

“Yesterday,” he murmurs against your skin and ding, ding, ding; things make a lot of sense now.

“No, you’re kidding,” you scoff, and push him away with all your strength. With a numbed mind, Seonghwa tumbles back and laughs, “Hey, it’s no big deal, he called you immediately after it didn’t work out.“

“Seonghwa, are you listening to yourself?”

“WANNA GET FUCKING CRAZY?”

“I’m saying it all like it happened, Y/N. San tried to win her back by inviting her to an expensive dinner, but then she flunked out right in the end, when he invited her back home. And, when he came home alone with a boner, San contacted you.”

“You're lying. Don't lie, Seonghwa, lying is a sin," your splur, but once his words have met your brain, it all just becomes chaos inside. It feels like marbles are rolling down inside your head and nothing is making sense, it’s all going nowhere and everywhere with this information. What are you supposed to feel like? Betrayed? There has never been a promise. Sad? You were going to fuck Seonghwa, you're not the most truthful, either.

���Come on, Y/N. You knew it the second San slammed you against that wall at 11 PM, didn’t you?” Seonghwa glides his thumb over your neck and grins, confirming the evidence of yesterday’s night. The roughful sucking of San could barely be covered up by concealer, and you probably sweated it away already.

“He— he said he was stressed.”

“Because of uni? Don’t lie to yourself, Y/N~”, the male purrs. Amidst of it all, Seonghwa is strangely still moving his body calculated to the beat, hitting each one of the drums with his shoulders, all while he hushes behind you to brainwash you with a whiskery voice. “It’s still San we’re talking about.”

You huff perplexedly and are too flabbergasted by his harsh words to not be affected by Seonghwa’s talking and let him hug you tightly again. He’s almost putting you into a headlock of consolation, or something that would have been great if it had been, indeed, consolation. (It is not. He’s almost choking you with his forearm and the way his hand is pushing into your scalp, nothing about this position is in any way soothing.)

“Tell me something, Seonghwa,” you gutter, since the thought has been recoiling rounds in your head forever and curiosity will always kill the cat. “… is she from his volleyball team?”

“No,” he answers and for some reason, this is a lot worse, “she isn’t, but— wait, how do you know about the girl from his volleyball team?”

You don’t answer. For the sake of your heart, you do not answer. You’re still moving, but you’re moving silently, staring into the humorously wild lasers that are teasing you just like he is.

Seonghwa gasps and cups your chin, his thumb meeting your lip, mushing the lower half of your face, trying to turn your face towards his direction, but you resist him. But who are you fooling. Seonghwa doesn't even need to see your expression to ask you, in an almost utterly disappointed whiny tone, "Nooo, Y/N, do you seriously check his phone?”

“I’m gonna punch you in your pretty fuck-face if you keep whining like that, Hwa.”

“Feisty and flattering, and a new nickname too! It must be my birthday,” Seonghwa chuckles and suddenly begins to nibble your earlobe, warm breath from his nose hitting the skin as he pants throughout his dancing. The alcohol is boiling inside you, being churned by the molly, and the crushing disillusionment is slowly into flaming, enraging, hateful desire. It has all gotta go somewhere, and for now, all you can do it talk with this scorching tone that is only going to turn into even more fuming, “How long has San been pining for his fucking ex?”

“For as long as I can remember," Seonghwa answers, seemingly not aware of the severity of this situation, "Middle of the second semester? Exam-season?”

“Nooo,” you scoff and can’t believe what you’re hearing. You don’t even need to calculate what time Seonghwa is talking about, it is engraved deeply into your memories. The same fucking exam season, when you were seeing San every afternoon and evening. You were right fucking there. He knew— you, on the other hand, not so much.

But you should have known.

“Well, yeah,” Seonghwa grins and is running his hands low to your stomach, almost touching your pelvis to get you worked up even more.

Should have known that you weren’t supposed to fall for San.

Angel faces hide the guts of devils’, and right now, your insides are over-cooking with the question "what the fuck were you thinking?" That he’d come around? Like no man in your life has ever come around? That San was the one? No, that San was going to believe that you were the one? 'Well, yeah', he should have, because you are the fucking one. You did so much for him, you could have done so much more for him, and it frustrates you.

“What are you grinning for, you motherfucker?”, you ask, as you peek over and see that Seonghwa has lowered his sunglasses and staring into your empty eyes, searching for a sign of life. You asked, but you don't really need the answer, the picture is drawn perfectly in front of you. Seonghwa is smirking for the same reasons he’s telling you all of this; it’s pretty clear.

“I like it when you’re bossy,” he chuckles, having become more than ‘a bit cocky’ with you, “unlike San. He hates that, right? He’s so weak-hearted, how can he—“

“You’re his friend, Seonghwa,” you insist and grit your teeth, pushing up his sunglasses again with your two fingers, poking into the middle of the lens to make it greasy.

“Friends can say things about each other!”, he giggles gullibly, and scrunches his face together.

All you can say is that Seonghwa sounds and looks moronic in those square sunglasses, senseless and boozed out of his mind, but in the short moment he licks his sharp canine teeth, you suppose that this is exactly how you need him to be.

“You listen to everything, don’t you?”, you ask him, giving into his touch, pushing your back profile so close to him, that there is no touchable space left between you two. Ass pressed against his pelvic area, you breathe heavily into his face that’s glued to your temple. “Every single night I come over to fuck your roommate?”

“Noise-cancelling can only do so much, and your sound is addicting,” Seonghwa pouts— babbling his truths like it’s water falling out of his mouth— and when you see his pink lip shine under the flashing lights, your mind disorients. He is still the pretty boy that says pretty words, even when he's probably faking all of it; he is getting your insides all fuzzy, and you are still being lured in by him, but not for the reasons Seonghwa would enjoy them to.

You’re chasing the feeling of his comfort and you know it. You’re chasing after the man that won’t leave you alone. Or no, you are alone— so fucking lonely because of him even— but you don’t want to be alone, you don’t want him to leave you alone.

San.

San.

Fuck. San.

The feeling of drowning in San’s praise, in his words, inside his bedroom, muffled by his sheets, it hunts you, it makes you feel watched, and it makes you feel like you’re hungry for something you can’t digest. Every word he has said to you is written in your memories in special font, and even though he is out of sight, San will always stay in your mind. Does he do it on purpose? Leave marks, with both words and his lips? To profit off of your yearning? To make himself feel better? To own something? To feel proud? Does he say it that loud on purpose, too? To make his roommate hear him? To make his roommate feel bad in order to feel good?

Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe San doesn't know Seonghwa is listening at all, maybe he doesn't care about any of it.

"Your pretty sounds," Seonghwa repeats himself, his face pressed against your cheek and you roll your eyes at his lips grazing your skin, his heavy breath from his nose warming it up.

These two men are woven by the same needle, knitted with the same material for they say surprisingly similar things and act surprisingly same, but for some reason, it does not feel the same. It is not the same. It should be the same. It should be the fucking same, fuck! You’re going to explode. The way that your head is spinning, your hips swinging, music ringing— people screeching, feet stomping— everything is happening around and inside you. Head, shoulders, knees and toes, livid. Brain, guts, uterus, livid. Let’s not talk about your heart or else we have to start over again. Just forget about your heart and think about the things that are of use tonight. What can you focus on? You can focus on your body glowing hot, but you could also focus on Seonghwa, whose baggy pants is rubbing against your thin minidress. It’s Seonghwa that you wanted, right? Or was it Seonghwa you were supposed to want, because he is the one that wants you back? — No, fuck, let's re-roll, quickly; Seonghwa is grinding against you right now, from behind, and that's exactly what you imagined, wasn't it? Under these lights, under this influence, this is what you wanted, wasn't it?

With the state of your mind, you can not agree with anything; your thoughts sound foreign and it's not your voice speaking, when you grind your ass back. It also doesn't feel like it's your eyes that you're seeing with; Seonghwa’s smile behind of you is becoming blurry and there’s just one more face that’s slowly appearing from the front-ends of your head. There’s a catch though; what you’re seeing is not the soft face you usually cup with your delicate hands and observe in awe when he sleeps, it’s not the face that lights up when he sees you enter through his front door, it's a face that's reading a text message from his fucking ex in the morning and immediately forgets that you're next to him, available as available can be.

It is actually going to make you puke, right here and there. All your emotions, all your ambitions, all of your fucking dreams. Who is San to you? What is he? You’ve known him for what, a year? — Okay fuck, that’s actually more than you thought, but still, it’s not like San and you have met up in any way that wasn’t purely sexual during all the time you knew him. Know him. You don’t know San. You don’t know shit about him. What are you— San and you? What are you going to be? Boyfriend, girlfriend? Has a nice ring to it, but fuck no, right? There are too many girls, right? Which is why you wanted to get yourself another man too, right?

“Come on, Y/N, forget him.”

While you have alcohol and molly inside you, singing two different songs of lust and desire, Seonghwa is moving his legs according to yours and pressing himself more against you. He’s one sadistic dipshit if Seonghwa thinks you could forget any of what you just went through just by moaning into your ear, but you're going with it.

You can't feel a lot right now, except that Seonghwa’s bulge perfectly fits in the space of your ass, rubbing up and down between the two circular shapes, getting himself more erected with every passing beat.

This whole situation is so fucked up and messy.

But, add one more: You are fucked up and messy. The music is building up loudly and people are shaking their bodies next to you, dancing in the high they've reached long time ago, eyes having lost any sign of concentration or sobriety, and you came here to contemplate whether you’re going to have a one-night-stand to prove a point, mixing drugs to get it on faster. You feel quicker, no, you are quick, rushing from one thought to another like you’re fleeing from your inner voices, both the devil and angel. They’re useless in this situation, they have too much reason.

And you don't need any reasons to think you're in the right to fuck him. Seonghwa’s hands are on your abdomen and gently massaging the skin, making you feel like he thinks you’re valuable, but you both know that this dance you’re holding right now barely cost you anything but 10 dollars in cash.

The red lasers haven’t stopped. They are pointing upwards or downwards for you, but you guess, from the way you’re watching Seonghwa’s lips right now, there’s only one way down. There has always been only one way down.

San chooses an ex over you? Then you’ll choose his dumb fucking roommate over him. Two can play this game, and even if he’s had the lead, you’re going to make your play. Is it going to hurt him? You don’t know. Maybe it won’t. But at least it will be over, right? At least this fucking thing will be over.

“Kiss me, Seonghwa.”

“You serious? I thought San was all up your mind right now.”

“Oh my fucking god, just do it before I take it back.”

“LET’S GET FUCKING INSANE”

Seonghwa doesn’t let you ask twice. While people all around you are turning up to the beat-drop, he pulls your chin up and clashes his lips against yours. His teeth clank against you lip and there's a short, piercing pain there, but Seonghwa's high chuckle blows it away. It’s a violent kiss, but mind-numbing enough so maybe you can forget why you decided to kiss him in the first place. While your lips are working against each other, his hand is sliding down to your groin and it's dangerously close to the seam of your tiny dress. One tug and your whole leg is revealed to the crowd, but you don't look down to see how naked Seonghwa is making you; all you see is yourself, in the reflection of his square sunglasses.

His tongue is electrifying, when it forces its entry into your mouth. It’s long and tastes deliciously foreign- a mixture of alcohol and tobacco, which you haven't experienced in pair since a long time. San, no, “he” (this is what you’ll call him now) doesn’t smoke, which at first, you considered as a big win, because you were passively inhaling all the smoke from your prior flings that you’d had the feeling your lungs were being polluted. Yet a year later, you’re clean— cleaner than never before, you should be able to breathe, you should be able to think clearly, but you can’t. Did you think he was pure? Was it that? That he was this untouched man? Maybe he was. Maybe he was, when he was still a nerd who had never heard a woman say the word “sex” in his— or had he? Fuck, had he? You don’t know, you couldn’t have known. ‘He’ was a façade, wasn’t it? He turned into another person immediately, didn’t he?

Let's get back on Seonghwa’s lips.

You're reminded of your lost freedom and as much it drives you insane, it's driving you into a state of pure, adventurous lust. The way Seonghwa works across your slick tongue is animalistic and wild, and you feel like you’re being pursued with no escape. To catch your breaths a little bit, Seonghwa lets go off your chin and thigh, turning you around so he can have better access to your mouth. Not letting the enlivening music go to waste, he presses his lips on yours the second you inhaled for the second time.

You slip your hands under his knitted top, running them up and down his breast, his abs and abdomen to feel his muscles and skin. It’s only a matter of time until he asks you to move off the dance floor, but your alcohol is bombarding you with sweet suggestions you can’t let pass without saying. His exposed skin feels cold under your fingers, but when you cup his hardened erection through the fabric with your hand and move it according to Seonghwa’s tongue slicking against yours, he radiates heat.

“Fuck,” Seonghwa pants into the kiss and you hum, continuing to tease him on this godless dance floor. Nobody has their senses right and is observing you two making out with dozy eyes, nobody cares about anything here. There’s only right now, the song the DJ is playing for the mindless crowd of drugged, intoxicated people. Let’s get insane.

You try to get a good feel of Seonghwa’s cock and its girth with your hand. “You’re big,” you murmur, catching air again, “smaller than San though.”

And there you have it, men are so easy to galvanize.

“Say that again, you fucking cunt,” Seonghwa growls and digs his fingers into your ass, eyebrows pulled down so hard that his forehead could explode.

“Why? ‘Cause you’re better than him?”, you taunt him and click with your tongue, catching a breath. “You’re no better than Sannie,” you sneer, pointing at your hickey with your finger to remind him (but mostly yourself), “don’t think you could be.”

Seonghwa goes fucking angry. Apparently he thinks he’s done so much for you, has been so nice to you, has helped you, whatever, and this is how you show him your thanks. Grabbing your hair, he pushes his forehead against yours and you catch a glimpse of his darkened eyes, feeling the stinging pain from the impact linger, while he talks. His breath is scarce from having kissed you, so he’s trying his best to use his voice to taunt you.

"San is probably fucking his fucking ex-girlfriend right now, do you think you're any better than him, huh, slut? You are the one who's so fucking desperate to get him to love you, and you're still here with me, and you're kissing me, so we're both in the wrong, you fucking whore."

His words don’t mean anything to you, visiting the synapses of your brain, but leaving right after. You just grin with your eyelids covering half of your eye and Seonghwa realizes nothing is arriving inside your sweet, broken mind. Your cheeks are red from the lack of oxygen, drugs and you’re flushed at the cause of his libidinous touch, and Seonghwa sees he's been working around your hair a little bit too much, having ruffled it up to the point that a comb-through will not amount to a lot. You look like a crazy person to him, but nothing attracts a joke more than a hard-hitting punchline.

“We're both single,” is what you lull to correct him, licking over your lips that you can't feel anymore since Seonghwa has kissed them numb. "And I think that's all that matters."

You both hear the music come to an exhilarating high and slowly reach your evaporating point.

“You sound like San,” Seonghwa giggles and he probably thinks it's going to push you over, but it doesn't. He’s still staring into you like he’s searching for a weak spot, but you’re persistent, you’re needy, and while you are weak, you are unforgivably yourself, Y/N.

You smash both your hands on each of his cheeks and you look at yourself through the sunglasses, sneering, "Good. San is a better name to moan."

He scoffs and smiles so condescendingly sweet again, but out of his mouth comes nothing worthwhile. "I'm going to fuck your voice out of your fucking throat, you're never going to moan ‘San’ ever fucking again," he growls and you drench yourself in his vulgarity, kissing him repeatedly.

"Never again," Seonghwa repeats himself, digging his thumbs into your ribs, but his tone isn't as forcing as it is... begging. Asking—demanding you to put all your attention on him, like he knows your heart isn't his and he desperately wants to possess yours. Oh, he definitely knows. You're not fooling anybody, at least didn't try to, but Seonghwa is gullible enough to fall for your tricks, how it seems like. San is painted on your body all the while your dance partner is speaking through his heavy breathing; painted on your neck, in your eyes, it’s annoying Seonghwa, it distracts him, it makes him see red, and not the colour on your skin.

"Awww, do you want me to only moan your name tonight?", you baby Seonghwa, mocking that he's finally revealed his motivations behind all of this. At least you think you've hit the nail in the coffin, when you pout to mirror Seonghwa’s expression.

Seonghwa's greatest sin isn't lust, it's envy. It could be any girl coming and leaving their dorm, moaning San’s name through the thin walls, never to be seen again and he wouldn't bat a second eye, but you— Y/N? San letting a woman like you go without further notice sickens him, like a crime, like a mistake. To hear your voice be pleasured by San at night, and then hear you sing good-bye to the man who does not care as much as he does in the morning, that has sent Seonghwa into a spiral of jealousy, but you’re not sure why. Some fucked-up reason probably, though it doesn’t seem like an ex is the cause this time. Maybe it’s really just because of you.

Sorry to say that you don’t care about that though. Not one single fucking bit. You don't want any of that complex trauma-talk tonight. You want to have sex and forget the sex right after.

"Be mine tonight, Y/N," Seonghwa answers and his eyebrows are pushed in to his forehead. He looks sultry, at least the parts you can see. Sultry, passionate, ready to fuck you, no, desperate to fuck you, in fact, you can feel the pre-cum soak his pants, when you cup his girth.

“You’re so pathetic,” you smirk, “it might actually be worth a try.” Seonghwa lets out a breathy exhale, finally breaking. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the molly, or his issues that suddenly took over his conscience, but he doesn’t have any of that left. He grabs you by your wrist with a grip that leaves a white mark, and without forewarning, Seonghwa yanks you through the people.

You hit each and every one of the strangers on your way to wherever. Shoulder hitting against shoulder, breast against breast, it better not leave any more bruising that you already have on your neck. “Seong- wha!”, you wheeze, tumbling at his force, tripping over your own feet over and over. The hall is huge, and he’s seemingly seeking to get to the very end of it.

“Seonghwa!”, you repeat yourself, but he won't listen to you. You're being pulled into a rollercoaster of anything but emotions (at least for you) and you can hear laughter leave your mouth without reason as you pass by irritated people who find it impolite to be barging into the big crowd like this. This dude's crazy, they scorn, but they don't really look that lucid as well, you find, with the last bits of thinking you can do.

"Where are we going?", you ask, but mostly to reassure that you still have a sense for geographical knowledge. You can see the bar again, mobs of people dancing on the stairs so that it's shaking even more compared to how you two had left it, but most importantly, you see that this is a space that's occupied by your kind. So much skin. So many slutty outfits. Outfits? Lingerie. This side looks like a fucking strip-club. Are you at a strip-club? What the fuck is this place? No, seriously, what the fuck is this place?

Seonghwa is finally stopping and you catch a breath from the running. With him doing his weird hand-signs again, you recognize the security guard from the beginning, smiling under his sunglasses, showing an "OK"-sign and pointing to the back of the stairs. You could swear he winked at you.

"What the fuck?", you ask, but Seonghwa only shrugs, making you follow his backwards steps under the stairs, where in black graffiti 'MY PEOPLE DONT BELIEVE IN LOVE' is smeared all over the wall. The same walls are occupied by couples or at least people making out wildly with their eyeliners smeared beyond repair. Is this some sex-area? (No idea) Is this legal? (100% no) Does Seonghwa look so fucking hot without his top on? (Fuck) He does.

Your eyes go cross-eyed, when Seonghwa enters the most mirrored bathroom you've ever seen in a warehouse, but before you can question the fact why people invest in decorating a fucking porta-potty, the male is pulling off his knitted top with one smooth pull, barely waiting a second for you to close the door behind you. The vibrations of the music ring on the metal stairs over you, and you feel like the beat is mushing your brain one size smaller, when you're met by Seonghwa barging at your body.

Pushing you against the plastic door, you feel all of Seonghwa's naked torso with your hands stroking roughly over his skin, and you admire his jewellery sitting on his collarbones, getting your fingers at it around his neck to pull him closer. "You like my necklace?", Seonghwa murmurs, as he pushes his lips into the crook of your neck.

"Choke on it," you gutter and yank him upwards, kissing him. While you do so and Seonghwa begins to unclothe you by getting your arms up, you catch a glimpse of yourself through the mirror. Your hair isn't looking as silky as it did when you left your home, there's mascara smudged around your eye already, but if you're not mistaken, and you can see it by how Seonghwa is sucking your nipples the second your bra falls to the floor, you will look worse in no time.

But that's not to say that you aren't still looking gorgeous. You look bewitchingly sexy, eyelids fluttering with each of Seonghwa's eager touches that are tracing down your body. "Fuck, you look so good," he murmurs and he's trying to keep his eyes open in order to see you. He's gotten you naked pretty quick considering the circumstance, you would've wished for a bit more foreplay here, but maybe it's a reoccuring theme to be impatient.

"You are such a fucking gorgeous girl, San doesn't know what he's missing right now," Seonghwa wheezes and goes through his hair, once he has your dress dropping on the dirty floor, revealing your joke of underwear. If he had kept your bra, he would have seen that you've worn a matching set of burgundy lingerie, but Seonghwa's mouth is still drooling at your pair of perfect thighs, his hand stroking over his lips. You roll your eyes at him and lean your head against the plastic door. You've done such a good job forgetting his name, and here's this dumbass mentioning him again. "You bet your ass he's missing this, huh?", you snarl and play with your own breast with one hand, while the other is cupping Seonghwa's rib, gliding down to his v-line, where his throbbing cock is awaiting you.

"He doesn't deserve you, Y/N."

He wheezes again. It seems like Seonghwa is taking his last breaths, unable to form words since your fingers are exploring how quick they can get to his erection.

"And you do?", you snap back and scoff. He pushes his glasses up to his forehead and for the first time since a long time, you can see Seonghwa's eyes shimmer. Oh fuck, you think, and it's difficult to not kiss him again. You're a bitch. You know you're a bitch for not caring about his feelings, and you know you will indeed not be better than San if you ghost this man right after this evening, but it must be done. For your sake, at least.

"I do," Seonghwa answers, though a lot weaker and less confident than he used to be before. You sigh. He may think he deserves you, but you don't deserve him. His gaze is too sweet, you've got to put those sunglasses back on, if you don't want to develop something. The only thing you can look at to get your mind elsewhere is yourself, in the mirror.

"Don't try to prove yourself," you murmur and Seonghwa wraps his arms around your back and props you by your thigh to lift you up. You can see his back muscle tense up, as he has you steadily in his grip. "I'm not," he answers and there's something that's fluttering inside your breast, when Seonghwa licks up your jawline, because you feel everything; From how wet his tongue is, how warm his saliva sits on your skin to the way what an adoring look Seonghwa is wearing on his face, as he kisses you. "I got nothing to prove to you."

You smirk and see yourself looking very dozy, drunken on alcohol, drugged by MDMA, ducked by Seonghwa's hand between your legs. It's pushing between your folds and with your last bit of control you have over your body, you spread your legs for him, inviting him to get his fingers inside your panties, and of course he does.

With a grin, Seonghwa devotes his tongue to your jaw again and works it into your skin with circular motion. "So fucking wet, and I thought you didn't want to fuck me."

"Who said I wasn't going to fuck you?"

Seonghwa is too busy sucking on the other side of your neck (other side meaning the side that is still unhickey-ed) to answer, but you're persistent. You came to this place to fuck him, and you're pretty sure that nothing from what you told him tonight alluded to something else. And also, even when you're fucked out of your mind, you still have a sense for people who keep secrets. So while Seonghwa is sucking small patches of skin on your neck and you see yourself with an opened mouth with sighs leaving it that you can't hear with your own ears.

"San says things sometimes," Seonghwa murmurs and continues to plant roses on your neck that you can see appear on your skin, "but that's irrelevant now."

"What does he say?", you insist, but the charcoal-haired man puts on his sunglasses again and shakes his head. Switch. As if you hadn't had enough from men who were two-faced, Seonghwa hides his eyes, turning into an inscrutable being again. A stranger. A stranger who's groping your cunt from the front, making your groin tense up and push him closer from the back. You're wrapping him with your legs and holding onto him tightly, when he catches a breath.

"Meaningless things,” he pants and throws you over the door, your arms landing on the frail sink in front of you. The mirror expands and all of the sudden you see yourself in full quality, in all your glory and Seonghwa is only supporting you from the back. His hand is grabbing your chin and pushing it up to the mirror, his pointing finger smudging your lip. With your lips slightly opened, it just makes sense to you to lick around his finger and look at him with a demanding look, eyebrows sultrily pushed together.

"Fuck, Y/N," Seonghwa gulps and cups your breast from behind, massaging it, while he presses his hot lips on your back. "Can I eat you out? Please,” he sighs and you take his finger in, lubing it up with your saliva.

"Do whatever you fucking want," you sneer and balance yourself with two hands on the sink, as Seonghwa raises a leg and throws it over his shoulder, his pretty face planted into your pussy the second you've given him permission to. You spasm to the front, Seonghwa's hair tickling your lower abdomen, as he works his tongue over your slick folds. If his tongue was great for kissing, it's certainly great for cunnilingus too, no, maybe even better suited for it. He's reaching spots that haven't been reached by a tongue in a long time and with the wet muscle working in and out inside you, you're becoming a moaning mess with fluttering eyelids in no time.

"Fuuuck", you gasp, when Seonghwa kneads your ass that's extended out in the air. The sound of his slurping and the music outside assimilate and mix up, and if it wasn't for the hightened senses you got from your molly-influence, it feels like everything is hammering you down from the outside. You can feel each twitch of Seonghwa's mouth, how he smiles, how he's yelping for air, how he's licking over his lips — you're going to fall somewhere, and if it's not into the cheap sink and the mirror that's taunting you, it's in love with his tongue that’s going to make you cum.

"So soon?", Seonghwa murmurs, and two fingers begin to penetrate your gaping hole, as he flicks his tongue over your sensitive clit.

"Fuck, fuck!", you whine and Seonghwa takes note of how your entrance is tightening around him, angling his fingers towards your g-spot. "So fucking good!", you breathe and you're trying to get a glimpse of your mirrored image in front of you, but your eyes are rolling to the back of your head too much.

"Mhm~", Seonghwa hums with an amused tone, repeating a cycle of sucking and licking, pumping against your g-spot. You're flying, the loud tunes bombarding the walls of the porta-potty are slowly getting to your head and intrusing what's left of your conscious mind, only feeling the tickling sensation that is being eaten out by none other than Park Seonghwa.

Until it stops.

You were whining, announcing your impending orgasm, but he apparently had other ideas, pulling out his fingers and removing his lips from you the second you were drawing together your body, preparing for sweet release. "Don't fucking stop!", you yell and grab Seonghwa by his hair, pushing him closer to your cunt by force. "Seonghwa!"

Seonghwa, who you don't know if he seriously just wanted to be called by his name in this situation, chuckles in witticism and wraps his arm around your thigh, getting the other leg over his shoulder too. You're sitting up front now, and there is no space for him to get his finger anywhere near your cunt, but his tongue is more than enough.

"Make me cum or I'm gonna fucking leave, you fucking asshole," you growl and grip a big chunk of his hair to get your message across. The man below you moans and resumes his job, clearly attracted by your lust-driven dominance. 'I like it when you're bossy', you re-call, and before you can finish the quote in your head, Seonghwa has plunged his tongue into your cunt.

"Ungh, fuck!", you moan, a bit more sensitive and distorted this time. Trying to hold your heavy upper body straight, Seonghwa is laving at your cunt, driving you crazy with the speed of his tongue maneuvering inside you. Maybe it was better that Seonghwa edged you, because now every flick is shooting you further into the abyss of pleasantry. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," you stutter, the second wave of the overwhelming euphoria gathering itself like a tsunami.

Seonghwa is more relaxed than you are, though his whole face is busy being used to pleasure you. His nose is dug into your clit and he's shaking his head around to be able to tickle it all during the while he's cutting away his breath to pant into your heat and spreading your slick on his tastebuds.

"Make me cum," you whine, "make me cum with your tongue!"

"Say 'please Seonghwa'," Seonghwa smirks and has the tip of his tongue placed on your clitoris just enough for your orgasm to not be washed away, but definitely not coming, while you grip more of his hair.

"You fucking bitch, I'll never fucking—", you pant, but there's no other way around it. You need this orgasm. "You—"

Seonghwa looks up to you and you can see him waiting. Pushing your thighs together because he annoys you so much, you yank his head closer to your cunt and scream, "okay, fuck, make me fucking cum, Seonghwa, please!"

The man between your thighs chuckles through his nose and once you said the magic-words, he opens his mouth back open to lap around your clit and cunt like a mad dog. Having been denied your orgasm for the second time, the third attempt to chase it down hits you even more, making you breathe heavily and loudly, and this time, the strings are pulling you to total stupification.

"Please, please, please, Seonghwa, please—"

Repeating the words Seonghwa wants to hear so bad again and again, you're fuelling his decision to finally allow you to come. His tongue circles around your clit as if he was racing with the music and your face is parallel to the floor, when your body goes lax and the strands of Seonghwa's hair are the only thing keeping you up.

"Seonghwa, please," you whisper again, weak, and almost sent over the top, while Seonghwa growls under you, his tongue stroking over your sensitive bud until you're shaking and pressing your legs together. "Fuck!", you scream out and Seonghwa throws one leg away from his shoulder, your wobbly foot landing on the floor, when the male stands up and gets to fingers into your cunt.

"Seonghwa, please—", you gasp, when he rams them into your throbbing arousal that barely reached its high and you have to get your arms around his neck if your knees are still worth something to you. "Oh my fucking god," and other moans come spurred out of you and Seonghwa bites into your shoulder to add another stimulative pain to all the sensations you're feeling.

His fingers are long and slender and for all you can grasp, they know what they're doing, when they're driving in and out with no mercy. That this is Seonghwa, you don't really care, that this isn't San, you do just a little bit, but "caring" takes a bit too long in the brain anyway. If your first orgasm from his tongue made your head fly, the second one is evaporating it. Your head feels light and corrupted by the DJ screaming inaudible things into his set, an artificially deepened laughing-track following his ad-lib and your lower body is trembling like a new-born deer, when Seonghwa keeps pushing against your soft patch inside. “Stop— stop, Seonghwa—“, you pant and your legs hold Seonghwa's wrist until he wiggles it out.

"You good?", Seonghwa laughs. He walks behind you and raises your face by your chin, pressing his own cheek next to yours, so both of your faces are seen in the mirror, his pelvis pushed against your ass again.

"Uh-huh," you shudder, your runny mascara making your eyes sticky, "very good."

He smiles, though it's definitely not a friendly smile. This isn't what friends do. It never will be something that friends do and you try to find some type of sanity behind your sunken irises, but there's nothing there. There is someone knocking on the door, Seonghwa's phone is vibrating in his pants, and like the bad person you are, you can't stop to wish that behind at least one of these interruptions is a certain someone is waiting for you, asking for you or anything— fuck. It's worse Seonghwa somehow knows what you're thinking, taking out his phone with his free hand, your face still being cupped by the other.

"You think this is him, don't you?", he asks and lets his temple drop against the top of your head, "Let's bet."

"If you think I'm gonna bet on something like that," you hiss and grind your bare ass against his clothed cock to distract him from the fact he's correct, “you’re a fucker.”

"I'm gonna fuck you, so I don't know where you're coming from here."

You scoff and throw his phone into the sink, when Seonghwa seemingly opens the message and starts to grin.

"Seonghwa," and you know you're lying through your teeth here with the full awareness that Seonghwa probably knows that you’re lying as well, "I want you," and yet you have the very secure feeling that you got into his head.

"Hm, what?", he asks and looks confused, unable to be angry that you snatched his phone out of his hand. You smirk for a short time and lean into his hand that's stroking your cheek. "I want you, Seonghwa," you sigh and pout. If you can't commit, you might as well commit to the lie, right? Be a little opportunistic.

"I don't care about San," you whisper and Seonghwa pulls down his glasses, making him human again.

"Really now…”

Choi San: the connection is so bad Choi San: where are you right now?

You nod and there’s a black-tinted tear rolling down your cheek, warm and melting on your skin. Seonghwa takes his thumb and glides it over the flow and holds his hand at your cheek again.

Choi San: i saw her Choi San: wtf she looked so different

You both saw the message and you both decided to ignore it. It doesn't matter anymore, his hand was already between your legs, your arousal has already coated his fingers.

That's how this works.

His touch, caressing your woeful face, his eyes pitying your pain. He's still erected, definitely impatient, but Seonghwa has something that you haven't experienced for a long time. You don't want to think of it, you can't think of it, because it might just be an illusion, but when Seonghwa slides his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, you have to suppress the suffocating feeling that you must never see this man ever again, if you don't want to carry this burden with you. You can't tell yourself enough, you do not want Seonghwa.

But it's nice.

"Look at yourself, Y/N. Look how pretty you are."

It's nice to know that someone wants you. That someone cares to wipe away the tears from your eyes, though they're not tears formed by a sadness you’d be able to express, a sadness that encourages you to hold eye contact with yourself, as Seonghwa whispers words of comfort into your ear. "Don't cry, pretty girl," he murmurs, and it feels like the music is being subdued around you. You've fallen from grace. “You could have anything in the world..”

How nice would it be, if he was right? You’re not sad, you have everything you could, don’t you? It could be this is just another lie you're going to commit to to protect yourself, but Seonghwa is holding you by your throat, cutting your airflow. The blood curdles in your head and while the male behind you is opening up his pants, the phone blinks.

Seonghwa and you both look down. Incoming call: Choi San.

"Oh," Seonghwa exhales and immediately checks for your reaction in the mirror, but your expression is empty. The drugs are fogging your mind and there is no ounce of vitality behind your eyes.

Seonghwa turns the phone around. "Fuck me first, Seonghwa," you tell him, your voice wispy, barely understandable, he probably had to lip-read in order to understand what you were saying, "let's get it over with."

He doesn't appreciate your dismissive tone, but Seonghwa is too horny to say anything against it, pushing you over the sink, grabbing his cock and placing it near your cunt. While your abdomen is pressed against the dirty, cold surface, Seonghwa is murmuring something under his breath and gliding his hot, throbbing erection across your pulsating folds. "I don't care at all," you whine, trying to convince yourself and ignore the continuous buzzing from his phone, but also make him hurry up. There's an end-goal you're chasing here.

"Kiss me," you order the male behind you, and as he finally positions his tip at your entrance, Seonghwa tilts your head to the side, ripping your gaze away from his mobile. "You really like kissing, don't you?", he huffs and smirks, pushing himself into you in one slow thrust. "Fuuuck," you breathe, feeling your walls expand for his length, "what about it?"

"I just think it's sweet. It makes it more personal, doesn't it?"

"Come on, Hwa, are you trying to make me angry again? I'm getting tired here," you purl and visibly roll your eyes at him, your eyelids getting heavier with each word that's spoken out loud. Your body weighs into Seonghwa's arms and if he doesn't hurry up, you'll fall asleep, your pulsating cunt tightening around his girth.

"Sweetheart, let me talk," he says, in a soft voice that makes your heart drop. You don't want him, you don't want his sweetness, fuck, you only wanted Seonghwa for this one night, for his dick and dick only, why is he trying to get inside your head? Don't do it, you try to mouth to him. You don't know him, he doesn't know you, his cock is inside your cunt, this is the worst timing to—

"You're something else."

"Seonghwa, stop, before you say anything too nice. Just close your mouth, this isn't good for both of us, you already said we're bad people. You know we don't want this," you mutter and start moving your ass to somehow get his mind elsewhere, but through his whimpers and low moans, Seonghwa won't stop grunting under the influence.

"No, speak for god-damn yourself, because, shit, Y/N, I can't watch it anymore, okay? Every day and night— You come over and let yourself be played by San, that fucking asshole, and I just think—"

"Seonghwa, shut the fuck up!", you scream and you're a breath away from pulling his cock out your cunt and leave this place naked, but just when you thought you can't do it anymore, Seonghwa has gotten his hands on your hips, digging his fingernails into your skin as if he's trying to hopelessly keep you close, his pelvis clapping against your ass, as he strikes into you.

Surprised, you moan and your fingers slip against the edge of the sink, strands of your hair falling in front of your face. You weren't prepared for that kind of vigor.

"Don't you dare think I'm that pathetic," he growls and thrusts into you with force in a rhythm that is terrifyingly close to the music outside, his cock slamming against your inner wall, making your legs close up by themselves.

"I'm not thinking I could treat you better," Seonghwa huffs and gets the hair away from your face, grabbing your hair to clear up your view, "I'm thinking what a fucking cockslut you are, Y/N."

Drugs never make sad people happier. Never make broken people whole.

So even when Seonghwa makes you realize that none of the men in your life have ever taken you serious, a hoarse laugh leaves your mouth, and you tilt your head to the back to examine the traces of them on your neck. Your eyes glisten with the way you're being fucked from behind and your mouth is not closing, you've lost control over yourself a long time ago, and it's not when this long day started with you in San's bed, it's when he took off your shirt on that random night during exam season.

"You're lucky you're pretty," he grunts and you chuckle, smiling absent-minded, upper body see-sawing with Seonghwa's pelvis-movement. Your ass is slowly hurting from how hard he is driving himself in, but you're too busy looking at your neck.

Red, red, red. A little bit of purple. A big patch here, small spots over there; anyone could look at you and would know that you've been claimed by someone. Maybe even think that you're, gasp, in a relationship! They wouldn't guess it was two people to leave these hickeys, and frankly, they would be right to think you're claimed by one person only.

"San said he'd fuck me stupid," you giggle— you're fetching old memories from your mind, re-painting the colors, completing the gaps like a mandala; the same memories from the older days which you wouldn't call better, but certainly easier; from days where you didn't have to worry about a man breaking your heart.

Seonghwa scoffs and grabs you by your tit, pulling your nipple with harsh tugs, the sensitive, delicate nub being wounded by his aggressiveness. He's stopped being gentle a long time ago, leaving a big star-shaped mark on your ass by clapping the surface of his hand.

"San said I'm his whore," you reminisce, biting your teeth through the pain, and Seonghwa is speeding up his thrusting, his cock angled inside you to entirely fill out your tight space.

"San said—"

Seonghwa has had enough. He's pressing the surface of his hand onto your mouth and nose, silencing you, cutting you short of your air, your eyes rolling back, but it doesn't prevent your thoughts to continue tumbling down. Seonghwa may be jolting his hips into you like his life depends on it, and in a way, that may be true, but he'll never pleasure you like San could.

People-pleaser. San said he was a people-pleaser.

You don't remember the orgasm, you don't remember Seonghwa's loud grunt into your ear, you don't remember how much hot cum he ejaculated into you, how panicked the black-haired was, when he asked you whether you took the pill, how quickly he became sober and put his clothes back on, the speed of time seemingly passing like a rocket-ship, the music never stopping to blitz into your brain, how the porta-potty became really fucking empty, once Seonghwa left it, but what you do remember is how you took his phone that he forgot like the dumb-ass he was, and how weak your voice sounded, when you answered San's call that by some magical way, kept ringing in.

"Can you come fetch me?"

"Who is this?"

"Come fetch me, please."

"Y/N?"

And people-pleasers should do anything to keep their people happy.

Especially if they're Choi San and avoidant of conflict.

part 4: coming soon!

[makayla-is-writing]

Male Forest Fae x Female Reader (Pt.2)

Find all parts here

You freeze, glancing at the man holding you in his embrace. His grip loosens as he notices your face fall, and backs away. 

“Um, who are you?” You question him with a suspicious tone. He didn’t seem like someone to watch out for, but you knew how looks can be deceiving. His eyes widened as if something dawned on him right then and there. Taking your hands in his, he pulls you towards himself with a friendly expression. 

“How silly of me, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Nori, a simple fae who resides in this lonesome forest. You have no idea how long it has been since my last visitor” He pulls you along, uncaring as you trip over twigs and lean on him for balance. 

“Where are we going?” He glances at you, before giving a knowing smile and continuing on. 

“It’s a surprise, my darling.” The nickname caught you off guard, distracting you from where he led. Before you know it, Nori has taken you past the shrine, by a large oak tree that casts shade over both you and the shrine itself. 

“Don’t look so lost, I am only bringing you to a little hideout of mine.” He laughs as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, glancing up at this large oak tree. 

“A tree?” Nori’s smile widens in amusement, before he pulls you down to the ground. You close your eyes, expecting a painful impact. However, you instead find yourself on a luxurious bed, padded in blankets and pillows that all looked too fluffy not to squish. You feel a pair of hands travel from your shoulders to your collarbone, delivering a tight squeeze before Nori sighs. 

“I’m so tired of waiting for someone to visit me. Will you stay? Look at where we are?” He nudges your jaw with his hand, as if expecting you to take a look. Beyond the bed, you notice a lavish looking bookshelf with handfuls of books, touched and worn. “Doesn’t it look cozy?” Nori gives a small laugh before dragging you down with him into the covers, causing your hair to fly everywhere. 

“This is where you’ll find me when you visit next, yes?” Although phrased as a question, you knew his tone was of certainty. He threads his fingers through your hair, playfully tugging as you get lost in his gaze. 

“Uh, sure?” You try to appease him as a blush creeps over your face. Nori was so close to you, practically able to feel his breath on your face. He inches closer before pressing his face into your hair. Trailing his arms down your torso, Nori’s hands stop just shy of your lower back. You hadn’t meant to agree, but as you stared into Nori’s eyes, a yes was pulled from your lips.

[ivs023]

Thinking that these writers went on strike because they said that the ai would take their work away from them....

I asked chatgpt for the same scene hahaha, with all the data I gave it about them

This is the result:

💙🚁💙 **INT. EVAN’S APARTMENT - NIGHT**

The soft lamplight creates a warm atmosphere, but the air feels heavy. Evan and Tommy sit across from each other on the couch, unhurried, as if they both understand that the words they’re about to say will mark an inevitable goodbye.

**Evan**

(rubbing his hands, nervous)

Tommy, I know that asking you to move in with me is… a lot. But I wanted you to know what you mean to me, that… you’re more than just a part of my life. I want to build something with you.

**Tommy**

(sighs, looking at him with a mix of tenderness and sadness)

Evan… You have no idea how much I’d love to say yes. To have that with you. But deep down, I feel like maybe we’re each looking for something different. Something that… maybe we can’t give each other.

**Evan**

(his voice breaks, but he pulls himself together)

You’re saying that because you think I’m not serious about us?

**Tommy**

No, it’s not that. (smiles sadly) I’ve seen how much you’ve changed, how hard you’ve tried to be patient. This relationship has made you grow in such a beautiful way, and I feel really lucky to have been here to see it. But… sometimes I feel like instead of moving forward together, we’re trying to fit into a place that isn’t ours.

Evan averts his gaze, his jaw clenched as he struggles to keep his composure. He knows Tommy’s right, but the pain is clear.

**Evan**

(looking up, with a broken smile)

I guess that’s part of growing up, right? Accepting that… that love, even when it’s real, isn’t always enough to make things work.

**Tommy**

(holds Evan’s hand, squeezing it gently)

Exactly. Sometimes, the greatest act of love is knowing when to let go, when to allow each other to find what we really need… even if it means saying goodbye.

The silence that follows is heavy, but there’s a strange peace in it. Both of them know there’s no resentment, only the pain of the inevitable. Tommy looks at Evan, trying to memorize his face, the light in his eyes that he’s come to care for so deeply.

**Evan**

(a mix of tears and a smile)

Thank you for helping me become better. For showing me that love isn’t just holding on, but knowing when… when to give space.

**Tommy**

And thank you, for opening your world to me, for giving me the home I never thought I’d find. For teaching me what love is… even if now I have to learn to live without it.

They stand at the same time, pulling each other into a long, deep embrace. Neither of them wants to let go, and when they finally part, both of their eyes are red, but there’s a calmness in them, a mutual acceptance.

**Evan**

(almost a whisper)

We’ll see each other again… right?

**Tommy**

(clear sadness, but with a sincere smile)

Of course, Evan. But this time… as friends.

A final handshake and a lingering gaze. Evan opens the door, and Tommy steps out, pausing just a second before leaving completely. The door closes softly, leaving Evan alone, a tear falling down his cheek, but with the certainty that he’s made the right choice.

In silence, he sits back on the couch and takes a deep breath, the pain still raw, but pride in his own growth softens the blow. He knows he’s taken an important step: learning to love without clinging, and knowing when it’s time to say goodbye.

💙💙💙

[fairyminnie444]

i have really bad anxiety and early this year i was diagnosed with panic disorder and depression, ive taken meds since then and it was really working, 2 days ago my meds have ended because i wasnt able to schedule an appointment with my psychiatrist before mid January, ive notice yesterday some panic attack symptoms coming back and i have know confirmed that it is actually my panic attack coming back, i just wanna ask if you have advices for manifesting with this type of mental disorders, i have severe anxiety since i was a little kid but only this year i had panic attacks and these things, idk if you will be able to comprehend my symptoms and obstacles because before i had this i had no idea it would be this bad even already having anxiety attacks and things like this, im a little frustated because it has been a year and i really am tired of taking meds so im thinking of manifesting having no anxiety at all, but im also manifesting other things right now, i really just wanna a advice for this because i know me and a lot of other people suffer with anxiety while manifesting and its a real big obstacle, also with these panic attacks i get really paranoid and irrational fear, ive been able to stay in the mindset of its working and i can do anything but sometimes its so bad i cant really focus on the right thoughts for manifesting

The first thing to understand is that your external reality is a reflection of your inner state. Your thoughts, emotions, and, most importantly, your beliefs shape everything around you. Anxiety, paranoia, and fear are simply manifestations of limiting beliefs you hold about yourself and the world.

When you manifest something, you must deeply believe in what you’re creating, even if the outer world seems contrary to it. Anxiety is simply living in the “past” of your mind, holding onto old beliefs. The key is to take responsibility for what you’re experiencing and change your imagination.

Instead of fighting anxiety or panic attacks, visualize yourself in a state of deep peace. Feel the comfort of being in control. Imagine yourself in absolute calm, as if that’s your new reality. See anxiety as something that never belonged to you and that now you are free from it.

The most powerful phrase you can use is “I am.” Use it often. Tell yourself, “I am calm. I am peaceful. I am at ease.” Even if anxiety feels real in the moment, know you have the power to change your perception. Your imagination is your creator, and it never fails.

Don’t identify with anxiety. When panic approaches, observe it as if it’s a passing cloud. It’s not you, just a sensation. Instead, imagine yourself as calm, in control, breathing with ease.

As for manifesting your desires, anxiety doesn’t have to be an obstacle if you change your attitude towards it. Instead of focusing on what you don’t want (anxiety, panic attacks), focus on what you want. Imagine yourself living the life you desire, knowing you can have it.

The truth is, you already are who you want to be.

You already are calm and peaceful. Your mind may not believe it immediately, but as you consistently imagine and feel these states, your external reality will begin to reflect your new belief.

Let go of the idea that time or medication has more power over you than your imagination. Everything you need is already within you, right now.

Manifest your freedom from anxiety with the certainty that you already are that person. Over time, your thoughts and beliefs will align with the new reality you are creating. Allow yourself to believe that you are already free, already healed, already the version of yourself you wish to be.

[sparingiscaring]

Continuing from my previous tags, a thing I've wondered about Light Fingers (at least since finishing it) is, why do we never actually experience one of the major horrors of the Ambition ourselves? Like, okay, Starved Men, we go there and have a bad time, Clara is having so much body horror, Hephaesta and the Zee, Edward is staking us, the Orphanage is... yeah, and A Bat Wants to Roofie The City, sure that's a Bad Time, but it feels like we missed out on Actually experiencing what is at the core of this story!!! OBSESSION.

I wish we had gotten Moon-Milked! I think we are the only ones in the story (Aside from Frank n Jasper) who don't experience it! Like, I'm sorry, you're telling me EVERYONE HERE either is or has gone through one of the most intense horror things ever, an obsessive love that is driving you almost to madness, and you DON'T GET TO?! Not even for a BIT?! It feels like it should be there! You should have had it happen!

It could be at Vaughan's Island. Think of it. THE BOTH OF YOU. THE SYMBOLISM. Obtaining Lethean Tea Leaves (It's Light Fingers, you could probably steal some with a high shadowy challenge, make it a Heist if ya want) is how you opt out! Opting out is your Current Route - you don't get the letters full text, you get to act horrified at Poor Edward's... yeah, unchanged. But if you don't, you have to read what he sends. You're compelled to. The game can tell you in Bold, after it happens. "Find a Remedy, or else your Obsession will Grow".

You have the option to burn the letters, but even when you click it, the narrative, the Obsession, makes you read them, makes you keep them, makes you keep the boxes and the letters and everything else he sends you. Just changing the framing, changing it so your every no is changed by the Moon-Milk into a yes, because you are NOT in control of your own Self, when it comes to this. Nothing else is changes - but when it comes to the Object of your Obsession, you just cannot be in complete control of yourself.

And if the first time control is taken is too much, you could just be reminded again. And that option to Undo This is there, you just have to opt out. You get the Biggest Part of the Horror tied even more to your character, and you as the player have to deal with the loss of control of your Self, of that certainty that your choice was your own, and the building unease that, in the following sections, you cannot even trust your own Player to obey you, when it comes to this ambition.

Or, piggybacking off of @thedeafprophet's 'PC Gets Kidnapped' idea, it could easily come into play there, in a much smaller role. You're subjected to it, then, if you don't hold out, and you see the world as your saviors (puts a blanket over Jasper and Frank's heads) did in Clara's case, and still do, in Hephaesta's. You get to experience the need and the pull and the obsession yourself! The parallels of how you freed Clara from her's, to her freeing you now! They physically get you out of there, and then Vaughan mentally gets you out of there, helping you cure/repress the after effects.

You never marry Poor Edward, he's whimpering pathetically in the Nightmare Orphanage, or Murderized in the Nightmare Orphanage, but you can chose between cure and repress. No Edward Card, sealing him away in that place, or leaving open a door in your subconscious, come the next Nightmare card.

I don't know how to end this. I just feel like we should have had the chance to subject ourselves to The Horror of this Ambition, because stopping this from happening to everyone is really the story of Light Fingers. It's one thing to see it in somebody else - I wish we could have seen it ourselves, and had the chance to see just how horrifying it really is.

[muniimyg]

10 // series m.list

taglist closed !

taglist: @bloopkook @pb-n-juju @taetaecatboy @ellesalazar @joonsjuice @firesighgirl @cursedcursives @whoa-jo @yoongukie-ff @jihopesjoint @mint--yoongs @xxxanimangxxx @floweryjeons

note: thank you for your patience with this mini fic!! 

The end of a semester is usually your favourite time of the year for obvious reasons: academic freedom, one year closer to your degree, and summer vacation. Summer rings in new fun, new travels, new people. 

Perhaps, a new love. 

Summer time also meant more time to see Nam Joon. As your friendgroup tends to be more clingy with the hot atmosphere, something about the idea of this summer with Nam Joon makes you feel weird. It doesn’t excite or repulse you.. Instead, it makes you feel confused. 

It’s inevitable that your mind is clouded with petty thoughts and sadness. After all that has happened; you’re so burnt out from studying alone and sinking into the bitter feeling of needing to prove people wrong. 

The truth is; you’re not that dumb. 

You’re merely average.. Putting in the work simply isn’t your forte. 

What you hate is when people make you feel stupid. 

Nam Joon, regardless of the many insults, has never made you feel stupid until the day you knocked on his door in the pouring rain. When you had asked him if he had feelings for you and he looked at you like you couldn’t possibly know—it hurt. 

Did he think you were that stupid? Stupid enough that you couldn’t comprehend the difference between lies and truth? The difference between feelings and lust? The lines are thin… But not invisible. 

Invisible is what you felt. 

Nam Joon sure had a talent for making you feel a million little things. From sex to the actual friendship—he has always had a way with you… And just like that, as you exit your lecture building with your exam mark in your hands—you see him. 

He stands there, leaning against a campus pole, arms crossed with his a little smile to greet you with. Nam Joon raises his hand and waves at you. He does his best to look nonchalant as he fights the urge to run to you. 

Oh, if only he could run to you.

It’s like his breath is taken from him the moment your eyes meet his. He wants to take your hand and be with you so bad.. To be with you as if nothing happened and he could erase every dumb thing he ever said and did to you. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he lets the moment sink and ache. In response to his presence, you roll your eyes at him. Then, you let out a sigh, turn the other cheek, and begin to walk to the opposite direction. It’s then when Nam Joon realizes that you’ve figured it out.

The truth is; he has always been the dumb one between you two. 

“Are you gonna follow me inside too or are we done?”

Your harsh tone catches Nam Joon off guard. He lifts his head from looking at his feet. The entire way here, he has been watching his feet follow yours. He looked like a lost puppy, trying to keep it’s distance but also so desperate to be loved and taken. 

He didn’t mean to come off like a creep. This entire walk has been so painful and slow. Yet, he found comfort in just being within your reach. Even if you didn’t need him or didn’t even turn your head back once to check on him—he’d still follow you to wherever.

To the end of the earth.

To where your heart had wandered off to.

To wherever you go; he would follow.

Nam Joon has always loved that about you. The way your certainty leaked and inspired him to be the same regardless of the logistics of the decisions. Your love to live life is contagious. He never truly feels like he’s living if he’s not with you. He needs you.

As he wraps up his train of thoughts, Nam Joon clears his throat to answer.

You beat him to it.

“Go home, Nam Joon. Have a good summer. I’ll see you around,” you dismiss him. As you turn away, he catches your wrist and holds you still. 

“I called you.” 

You stiffen, surprised he’s even talking right now. He has never been the type to touch you in public. It was exactly in his character to follow you around and not say a thing… But this? You stare at his hands wrapped around your wrist. When was the last time you two touched? Before you get dizzy from your own thoughts, you defend yourself: “I was taking the exam. Can’t use my phone—”

“I called you last night. Seven times. I left voice messages and even texted you after you told me to fuck off. I asked around for your professors morning routine so I could stall him because I was afraid you’d be late to the exam or needed at least a fifteen minute review with your classmates. I stalled him for twenty-three minutes. I stood outside, in this fucking heat, waiting for you to come out and... I don’t know? Look at me? Talk to me? You walked away. You told me to fuck off. Now, you’re telling me to go home and that you’ll see me around?” Nam Joon’s voice hitches at the end. “I don’t want to just see you around. I want more than that.”

You look at him, eyebrows furrowed together. “Get lost.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Get lost.”

He shakes his head.

“Where you go, I go.”

You glare at him. 

Fine, two can play this game. 

“And if I go to Hobi? You owe me a boyfriend, by the way.”

Nam Joon lets go of your wrist. Slightly hurt, he asks: “you still like him?”

“Who else am I supposed to like?”

“Me.”

In this moment, you see something in him that you’ve never seen before.

Honesty. 

Before you can say anything, your phone chimes with a notification. Quickly, you take your phone out and check. 

EXAM RESULTS: Available

“My grade came in,” you breathe. “Fuck. Why did they mark it so fast?”

“Wasn’t it just scantron, dummy?” he teases, peaking his head over to see your phone. You tilt your phone towards you and side eye him. What if you failed? That’d be such an embarrassing grade for him to witness you receive!

Hell fucking no.

“Okay, okay... Check your grade, beautiful.”

Instantly, you look at him in shock. His cheeks flush in pink but he doesn’t take what he called you back. He meant it. Nam Joon offers a shy smile and looks into the distances, trying to downplay your reaction. 

As you sign in to check your results, he continues to be the smartass that he is. “Wanna know a secret? When I took this class last sem, I got a 89.2% on the final. It was kind of hard.. Like, I remember actually being stumped on the questions. If you have to retake the class; I promise I’ll be by your side. It’s a hard class! I know at least two other people that had to retake it—what? Did you pass?”

You stare at him blankly. 

A part of you tries to process his comforting promise while the other part of you gets lost his eyes. They look so desperate and sparkly—almost like they’re in love.

Could they be? 

… Focus.

You check your grade. It reads:

EXAM RESULTS: Available

93.6% PASS.

“___? Are you okay? Was the exam that bad?” he begins to panic. Without thinking twice, he pulls you close to take a peak. You shut your phone screen off and shake your head at him.

“Come on, ___! What did you get?” 

You shrug at him, staying emotionless. Your feelings are beginning to overwhelm you, but you need to stabilize them for the sake of whatever is going on between you and him.

You stay silent. Eyes soft, almost watering from the relief you feel. Fuck, you worked so hard. You feel so accomplished.

On the other hand, Nam Joon feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach. He feels so much guilt. Did you fail because of him? He doesn’t know what to say or to do. It’s a good thing Hobi advised him not to bring flowers... Instead, Nam Joon brought his entire heart. Even if he doesn’t say it, he knows it’s yours and that, my friends, is way better than flowers.

“Tell me or I’ll kiss you—”

“I didn’t do that well,” you pout, crossing your arms. You decide to commit to your lie purely because of the way his expression softened.

He’s cute.

“What now? You going to call me stupid? You going to fuck around with my feelings again and—”

Nam Joon crashes his lips onto yours. Without much thought, you sink into it and feel butterflies as he wraps his arms around your waist. When he pulls away, he fixes your hair and cups your cheeks. 

“You did well, ___.”

Pouting, you push him off of you. Somehow, he takes a hold of your hand and stands there innocently. You tilt your head at him completely confused. 

“What does this mean?”

“You’re smart,” Nam Joon teases, dipping his head low and pressing a kiss on your cheek. “Figure it out.”

[prettywordsyouleft]

Impulsive

Pairing: Brian Kang x female reader

Genre: fluff / coffee shop au

Warnings: none

Word count: 1373

“What’s something you’ve never done before?”

Looking up from the toasted panini you were cutting in half, you frowned at your work friend Stacy. “What?”

Your other friend Zeke clapped his hands together and leaned forward. “Oooh! I like this concept. There’s plenty of things Y/N has never done.”

“Wasn’t this a generic question for us all?” you asked, slightly panicked at the way they were eying you now. You attempted a laugh. “What have you never done then?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Stacy responded with a shrug. “I’ve experimented with a lot of things.”

“So have I,” Zeke added on, shooting you a smirk. “Our Y/N here though…”

Looking between the pair, you gaped at them incredulously. “What? What about me?”

“Miss Routine that you are.”

“I’ve never seen you impulsive before. Everything is planned out, carefully thought about—”

“I like structure! And thinking about things before doing it means I save money and—”

“Eats the same panini every time we come here for lunch and grumbles when the table you like is taken. Face the facts, you do everything the same every time.”

You couldn’t refute it, looking down at your chicken cranberry panini, the same as you got last time you were here. You relaxed into the certainty of doing the same thing every time. You didn’t like surprises or change. Whatever you could keep the same in your daily and weekly rituals, you did.

It was out of habit, a necessity to your comfort levels.

Why were they pointing it out to you now?

Stacy cupped her chin in her palm. “Don’t you ever wish to do something out of the ordinary?”

“Not really, no.”

“Nothing major. That would be upsetting to you. But something different. Bold. Step out of the comfortable slipper life and stride through your day in heels or something,” Zeke suggested, animated as he imagined this strange version of yourself. You tried to follow his vision but soon scrunched up your nose.

“What’s the point?”

“You could be missing out on meeting someone new.”

Zeke nodded with a sly grin forming. “Or doing something about that crush of yours on Jason.”

“Ohhhh! Now there’s an idea.”

“No. No way!” you answered with a hasty shake of both your hands, warding off their merciless smiles. “Nuh-uh. I’m fine with it just being a healthy crush.”

“Of four years.”

“On a guy who’s never paid much attention to you.”

“Hey!” You held up the butter knife and pointed at them both, neither fazed at your choice of defence. “I didn’t know today was pick on Y/N day.”

“We’re not picking on you.”

Zeke reached out for your hand. “We want to see you shine. We love you, and we know routine means a lot to you. But you could do with shaking things up now and then.”

You didn’t want to admit his words stood out to you. Maybe you needed to just do something so entirely impulsive that you could hold up as a model for being capable of adapting to something out of the ordinary now and then. Glancing around the café you were eating lunch in, you caught the eye of another person seated across the shop from you. He smiled politely, and you looked at him, analysing.

He had to work in some type of professional position, given his neat green striped shirt and charcoal suit pants, the matching jacket folded over the adjacent chair. His dark hair was pushed away from his face, rich brown eyes now bemusedly catching your prolonged stare again. You blushed and darted your focus to the same-old sandwich you were eating at the same table, and suddenly were up on your feet before you acknowledged the reason.

“Did we push too far?” Stacy worried, glancing at your resolute stance, and over at Zeke who was equally at a loss. “We don’t mean to—”

“Never have I asked a stranger out in a random setting,” you told them before rounding the table and walking over.

Despite the amusement still etched in his handsome expression, you noticed the look of surprise in his eyes. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you said, holding out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Brian,” he responded on instinct, slipping a warm palm against yours. “Can I help you, Y/N?”

“Yes. You see, my friends were just informing me how dull I am, and that I never do anything unexpected.”

Brian looked over at the table behind you but you couldn’t divert your attention from the situation. If you lost your resolve now, you’d stumble over your words and make an embarrassment out of yourself. Heck, you probably already were, but you couldn’t stop for a second to allow the thought to brew. The stranger’s gaze slipped back to yours and he canted his head to the side. “It appears you have their attention piqued.”

“And yours?”

He smiled easily. “It’s not every day a woman approaches me and tells me they’re dull.”

“I did say that didn’t I,” you murmured, feeling your safety barriers descend.

“That said, I am intrigued by your stepping over here. If this is you doing the unexpected, what’s my role in this?”

“You’re hot.”

He had lifted the iced drink on the table to his mouth as you blurted that out and spluttered the mouthful. “You’re really not holding back with your honesty,” he observed, reaching for his napkin to mop it all up.

“This is why I don’t do impulsive things,” you groaned, reaching out to help clean the mess.

“I’m not put off,” he assured you, cracking a grin. “So, I’m hot?”

“Now you’re fishing for more compliments?”

“I’m not opposed to receiving them,” he told you with a flash of his teeth. You laughed and sat in the chair he gestured for you to take. “Level of attraction aside, what does my appearance mean?”

“I told them I’ve never tried to pick up someone randomly before.”

“That’s evident.”

You cringed. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how badly am I doing?”

“A solid six. I’ve had worse.”

You scrunched your nose up, looking at him again. “Worse than some lady telling you’re hot and making you choke on your drink?”

“It’s a memorable meeting, Y/N.”

“I can’t tell if memorable is a good thing or not.” Brian checked his watch after it beeped and then looked back at you, crestfallen. You sighed. “Time’s already up?”

“I have to get to a meeting in twenty minutes,” he confirmed, reaching for his jacket.

You stood on shaky legs, unsure if you were mortified or not. Despite doing everything awkwardly, he wasn’t shooting you pitying smiles, and you didn’t wish for the ground to open and swallow you whole. That had to mean something, right?

“Well, thank you for humouring me.”

“Can I humour you some more?” he wondered, pulling out his phone and holding it out. You glanced at it and then at him, watching his lips curling into another smile. “It was the hot compliment that hooked me.”

“Of course, it was,” you replied with a laugh as you put in your number. Brian tapped out something, and you vaguely heard your phone chime over at the other table.

“I’ll text you to see where we can take this impulsive meeting?” Brian asked, and you nodded, farewelling him dazedly before walking back to your friends and taking a seat.

“Holy shit.”

“I cannot believe you just approached him and told him he was hot!” Zeke exclaimed and you buried your face in your hands and let out another groan.

“Never am I doing that again,” you admitted, fishing out your phone as it chimed again.

You opened the message from the unknown number on your screen, sitting up as you read it.

Hey, this is Brian.

I think you’re hot too. Text me a time to see if we can handle this heat together.

“Oh my God,” you breathed with a chuckle, fingers tapping out a reply. That was incredibly lame.

It wasn’t my best work. But I think you did well with doing something impulsive, Y/N.

Sitting back in your chair, you smiled. Brian was right. It hadn’t been all that bad after all.

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[DAY6 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist]

[8eb]

I have so many feelings about Gale and my bb Catheve that I literally just. Cannot keep it to myself. I LOVE the angst of act 2 with the visit from Elminster and I just needed to write a short little fic featuring the conversation after Elminster & That One romance dialog when you first enter the shadow cursed lands. act 2 spoilers and all that.

GalexF!Tav(Catheve) / SFW :)

“I had hoped to introduce you to him in less dire circumstances, but those are hard to come by these days,” Gale’s voice was it’s usual jovial, and Catheve felt her anger rising beyond her control.

“He didn’t seem much of a friend. Showing up and demanding you kill yourself.” Her anger was getting the better of her. She knew the logistics, but that didn’t cool her fire. She was moments away from cursing out Mystra directly to Gale’s face. That she managed not to do so was a miracle.

“It’s not a demand he wanted to make of me,” Gale started firmly. I know, Catheve wanted to bicker, but demanded he did. Gale continued. 

“As Mystra’s chosen, he had no choice but to deliver her message, however much it pained him to do so. For Mystra to have sent him… The severity of her bidding could not be clearer. Or weigh more heavily on me.”

Cat’s eyebrows were firm on her forehead. She felt the bitter sting of anger dull into a deep, dreadful sadness. That’s where these emotions were coming from: sadness. Here in front of her stood the man she cared about most in the world. The man who may not even reciprocate her feelings. The man who time and time again had shown intelligence, kindness, and openness. The man who had seen her as she was, not as a half-blood, not as a danger to society, but as her. And he would be taken from her before she even got the chance to tell him how she felt. Because his goddess demanded it. 

“Time seems so infinite when you’re young… a month is an age, a year is a lifetime… It is a strange feeling, to realize how little of it one might have left,” Gale trailed on. 

“Are you seriously considering doing what Elminster said?” A twinge of bitterness returned to her voice. She blinked rapidly, desperately trying to mask the tears that threatened her. 

“Of course - he offered the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes, and let go… Then the slate will be clean, wrongs will be righted, the Absolute will be gone… and I along with it.”

The flame burning inside Catheve’s chest lit anew. One life sacrificed for the greater good would normally be a viable option. But not when it was Gale. 

“There is surely another way.” Cat’s voice was quieter. Her breaths were shallow with emotion. What about me? She wanted to demand. 

“If there was, I’m sure the goddess of magic and the greatest wizard who ever lived would have identified it, but alas… only one solution is offered. But that remains ahead of us for now. The Heart of the Absolute must be discovered before I can stop its beating.” 

You will stop the absolute’s heart from beating, and mine along with it. ...Better left unsaid.

“You’re not blowing yourself up, Gale. I won’t let you.” Her voice was stronger now. 

“Let’s save such certainty for the moment such a decision is upon us. You may feel differently, once we know what we’re truly up against.”

“I won't.” Catheve said, unusually coldly. “Forgive me if I do not take for certainty the words of a goddess who has treated you so. A goddess who, all this time, has had the power to stop that orb in your chest and instead chose to do nothing. To sit and watch you, her once chosen, her most faithful, suffer. Forgive me if I do not come around to the idea of a goddess like that stealing away from me someone I hold very dear.” Gale would surely say something in return, but Catheve didn’t give him the opportunity. She turned from him and walked firmly to the other side of camp, where she tucked away into her tent and wept. She wept of sadness and guilt. Guilt, for making the situation harder for Gale, and sadness that it might be the last words she ever spoke to him.

There was palatable tension between Gale and Catheve the next morning. Catheve wanted to apologize, but whenever she looked his way she was overcome with immense sadness. Maybe it was best to distance herself. The closer she got, the more it would hurt when he inevitably made his decision. 

But it already hurt. When she saw his face - his beautiful brown eyes - her mind jumped to a future where she would no longer be able to look upon it. There would be no more soiree stories around the campfire. No more mini magic lessons, where Catheve could ask any question she desired and not once be met with judgment. She would no longer be able to talk to the man who had weaseled his way into her heart and tugged at the knot of self hatred that plagued her as a wild magic sorcerer. She loved him. Most wholly. And that’s why it hurt so badly. 

She felt almost foolish. Gale hadn’t dissuaded her the times she had tried to express more than friendship, but he hadn’t entirely reciprocated either. Now she had denounced his beloved goddess to his face. Any chance she might’ve had was surely lost. She would still fight for his life until the very end, though.

No more than a few words were spoken between the pair all the way into the Shadow Cursed Lands. Gale made remarks that Cat heard, but still they did not talk the way they used to. It was unbearable. He was still here. Their time was limited, and Catheve couldn’t think of a thing to say. She wanted to take advantage of the time they had left. If they survived till night, she promised herself she would speak with him in camp.

Their silence was broken at the end of their first encounter with the shadow cursed. The party panted for breath at the horrid encounter. Catheve wedged her staff into the dead earth to support herself. No one was injured, but everyone needed a moment to rest, and process what they had just seen.

Gale found Cat hunched beside the side of a cliff. Astarion was rummaging through the corpses not far off, and Shadowheart was watching him with amusement.

“It’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially being at your side.” Catheve looked up at him. Meeting his gaze caused an ice shard to pierce her heart, but she didn’t look away.

“I once read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desires for… other forms of stimulation.” Catheve’s brows tightened as she watched him speak. There was a little bit of… embarrassment in the way he spoke. She could hardly believe it. Was he… flirting?

“Have you ever read anything on that subject?” He asked. Catheve stood up straight and blinked at him. For their first conversation since she had scrutinized Mystra and since they entered the shadow cursed lands, Cat had not been expecting it to be of this nature. 

“You’re drawn to me, even in a place like this?” Gale’s sweet eyes softened on her. There was a lot unsaid. A lot they still needed to discuss. But their situation demanded brevity, so he continued.

“I can’t imagine anywhere that could turn my heart from you, cursed or otherwise. You’d always be as beautiful, and as impressive.” The tenderness in his tone almost caused Catheve to fall over. Her first instinct was disbelief. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. But she knew Gale. He would not lie. Especially about something like this. Her mouth fell open, and she felt the blood rush to her face, but she couldn’t find anything to say.

“Perhaps it’s just the thrill of our near-undead experience talking,” he stumbled. She cursed herself. Her silence wasn’t helping. “But standing at your side through such darkness and disrepair, it only makes me want you more.” Catheve’s breath hitched, and her heart raced. Say something, she scolded herself. Gale seemed to pick up on her silent battle, and finished his thought.

“Unfortunately this is neither the time nor place to indulge such feelings. So, we must be patient and push all such thoughts aside. For now.”

For now.

It echoed through her heart and soul like a drum. It promised a ‘later.’ A future, even just a small one. She wanted to weep again. Not from sadness, or guilt, but from happiness.

“I’ve never been very good at patience,” she admitted quietly, as Astarion and Shadowheart rejoined them. He didn’t reply, but she did catch a coy smile sweep across his face as they headed towards Last Light Inn.

<3

[ponder-the-orb]

Snippet Sunday!

I actually got tagged last week by @alpydk but had literally nothing to share (plus I was DYING after Comic Con) so I'm starting off today with a snippet from the next chapter of Broken Things:

“I know thy request. And you, my answer.” Withers speaks with the same moth-soft drawl she remembers, like echoes in some infinitely large library, ancient and interminable. And annoying.

Ciri crosses the room until those unsettlingly bloody eyes are just inches away.

“Bring him back.”

“No.”

“That’s it. Just, no?”

“Yes.”

Her fists clench against her cloak. Deep in her gut she’d known this would be his response, it’s the exact reason she hadn’t sought him out herself, even if she had known where to start. It does nothing to stop a fresh anger roiling like hot oil through her. 

“You resurrected us countless times. We perished for so many ridiculous, and frankly, unavoidable reasons and you still did it– easily. You puppeted the corpses of dead absolutists for us, watched as hundreds died at our hands, died for us or alongside us and yet only we were deemed special enough to be brought back. What’s changed?”

“The path of fate required thine allies to live and thwart the plan of the Dead Three. This task is now complete. So too is mine,” he answers flatly. 

“I have gold.”

“The matter of coin is irrelevant. My charge now is to simply remain until once again I am called to rest. This cannot be changed.”

She turns away from him with shaking lips and an acid tongue.

“You once asked me what the value of a single mortal life was. I told you what I truly believed at the time: that none is worth more than any other.” Her voice is quietly even, almost as flat as his. “It seemed like such an obvious answer at the time. With every job I had taken before, I had always tried to avoid killing– so sure there was always another way. And yet barely a day later I was killing without a shred of guilt, burning through people as easily as parchment in my hearth. I was skilled at it. And I told myself it was for the greater good, to save the world and then later, to save the people I cared about. But does that really change what I did? Change the judgement I’ll receive when I finally leave this plane?”

When she turns back, her hands are wreathed in flame, itching to lash out. “So I don’t care what I have to do now to claw back the one life that matters most.” She imagines the withered bark of his skin burning and crumbling, catching faster than summer’s driest wood. It’s always the stench that lingers the longest, that pungent scent of charred skin and bone– then again, she has no idea if there’s even any flesh left to smell.

Withers doesn’t move. “Rend me to ash if thou please. It shall change nothing. No matter the power of the magic or the divine, everything shall become dust and bone eventually. All of Iraxys’ fire in thy blood cannot rewrite the laws of this world.”

Her hand trembles but she closes her fist before the flames can leap.

“Fine,” she whispers, extinguishing the fire in her palm. “If the path of fate is truly set then… then tell me that I can do this. Tell me that I will succeed.”

“That which is yet to come is not one straight road. It branches and splinters each time a new day dawns.” Withers holds out his arms, gesturing around as if painting that road himself. “There is no certainty that I can give for how thou shalt live.”

She slaps her hands to her sides at his non-answer, one step away from pulling him close and shaking him until all those bones rattle and fall apart before her. “But is there a way? Please, tell me.”

Withers stays silent for a long moment. Ciri waits, almost sure he’s simply given up on the conversation before she catches something in his face. She wants to call it a trick of the light or her own eyes adjusting from the brightness of her flame, but she is almost certain that his eyes flash, drawing focus to her for the first time ever.

 “Yes,” he answers. “It would be long and marked with sacrifices perhaps unimaginable to thee now, but yes.”

***

Tagging @alpydk and @mellybaggins!

[azfellandco]

I personally believe that Aziraphale knew with absolute certainty that when Crowley said “my best friend” he was talking about him but that Crowley being so openly vulnerable with his feelings was unprecedented enough in their relationship that he didn’t know what to do with it however,

the idea of Aziraphale believing even a little that Crowley could be talking about someone else is currently making me feel some things. In the quiet after the body swap, when they think the dust is settling and they have a few weeks of peace where it seems they’re free, imagine Aziraphale trying to reassure himself Crowley did mean him. Even flat out asking him, which makes Crowley incredulous and annoyed and then when he realizes Aziraphale is serious he goes soft, all gentle hands and open face and he takes off his glasses to tell Aziraphale of course, angel, who else would be, hoping Aziraphale understands what he’s not saying, for once, that Aziraphale will catch him before he has to say what he really means, I love you, maybe I’ve loved you forever, since the first rain, I would have given up the world for you, I would have taken you to the stars, I thought I’d lost you and it almost destroyed me, I tried to fix it for you, for our world, so we could be together here, and Aziraphale does catch him, holds him, whispers it back, I love you, too in response to all the things Crowley hasn’t said. And Crowley determinedly doesn’t cry, his chin resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder, Aziraphale’s arms around him, except Aziraphale says I’ve got you and then he can’t stop and it’s awful and horrible and he hates it but Aziraphale hold him through it, keeps him from shaking apart. Keeps him safe, just for a moment.

[a-student-out-of-time]

You know what would be an absolutely horrifying twist at the end of all this? If Shirogane is already a body snatcher, what if by this point she’s found a way to split her consciousness across multiple bodies, so killing her own body achieves absolutely nothing because there’s still a Tsumugi hivemind out there.

Oh, that's already been on my mind since we heard about this. And you're right, that's 100% a possibility. I'd call it a certainty.

Brainscans can be copied and pasted just like any other program, and they can be transferred into anything sufficient to hold them. She's bound to have plenty of backups out there.

Not surprising, given how long she was able to survive in that future. She's probably got plenty.

So our first priority should be finding and destroying those?

Yes, but that's easier said than done. I doubt she's hidden then in plain sight. They're somewhere secure, and somewhere with a big-enough server farmer to house them all.

Alright, leave that one to me. I'll go online, see how many I can find and maybe we can cross-reference from there.

...What about bodies?

We should consider the idea that she's already bodysnatched more than a few, shouldn't we? If it can happen once...

I hate to say it, but you're right.

The good news is, until she actually hits someone with her flashback light, they're still themselves. Remember, there are three steps:

Infection by the algae, such as through contaminated food or water.

The algae creates new light-sensitive cells in the retina that connect to the brain.

Exposure to her lights, which alter the structure of the brain, including making it a copy of her own.

Someone could have the algae their body and still be themselves, they're just vulnerable to her lights. There's also nothing necessarily stopping her from doing something else as well, like just altering existing memories.

And we've got the algaecide, so we're good there. But, is it possible for someone who's already infected to be cured of those cells in their retina or whatever?

Yes, but I'm gonna need to make a new biocide for that. It's gonna be a bit more work.

But if their mind has already been taken over, unless we have a brain scan of how that person was before, there's nothing we can do. They're gone.

Alright, get on that as soon as you can. We need every precaution we can get and we'll need to clean up her mess as soon as possible.

So...any way of us all getting brain scans done just to be safe?

Maybe, but it's too expensive and it would take too long. We only have a few days to do this.

What about just a few of us? Like whoever goes after Shirogane?

That's...probably doable. We just need a plan of attack first.

Woo! I might not get all this time travel stuff, but I was paying attention there!

[thesharkbaitspellbook]

Airmid

Irish/Celtic Goddess Of Magic, Healing, Learning, Herbalism and The Complexities Of Family Relationships.

Airmid/Airmed is a very important goddess to me. She was really the first deity I had on-going true praxis with so I hold her very close to my heart. But it is only fair to start with her main story and functions within Irish Mythology. Keep in mind it has been a very hot minute that I have been in Celtic Polytheism as a main focus. So if you find details missing/have evolved since my entries, I apologize in advance and feel free to correct me. It should also be said that I first heard of her while traveling around in Ireland. We stayed on a farm and our host and his wife who were just lovely people, told us some stories and told us to go to this tavern nearby to hear more. And that is exactly what we did. So I will include both of the story tellings. The one I heard back in Ireland, and the story as told in the Cath Maige Tuired Full English Translation by Morgan Daimler

🌿 💧🐍 💧 🌿

Translation

33 Now Nuada was being treated and an arm of silver was put on him by Dian Cécht which had the movement of any hand in it. This was not good to his son, that is to Míach. He went to the arm and he said “joint toward joint and fiber toward fiber” and healed it in three sets of three days. The first three days he carried it in front of the side of his body and it was covered in skin. The next three days he carried it against his chest. The third three days he cast bright wisps of black reeds after blackening in fire. 34 This was a bad healing to Dían Cécht. He threw a sword at the crown of his son’s head so that it cut his skin to his flesh. The youth healed it through exercise of his craft. He cut him once more and cut his flesh down to bone. The youth healed it as with the first exercise [of skill]. He struck him a third cut reaching to the membrane of his brain. The youth healed this as well with the same exercise of skill as the first. He struck then the fourth cut with certainty to his brain causing Míach to perish and Dían Cécht said that there was no physician who could heal that strike. 35 After that Dían Cécht buried Míach and three hundred and 65 herbs grew up through the burial place, under the full number of his joints and fibers. Afterwards Airmed unfolded her mantle and separated the herbs there according to their proper order. Dían Cécht came and mixed the herbs, so that no one knows the healing properties but that the Holy Spirit taught them afterwards. And Dían Cécht said: “Míach is no longer; Airmed will remain.” 🌿 123 This then is what was used to heat the wounded warriors there, so that the next day they were iron-bound because of Dían Cécht and his two sons and his daughter, that is Ochtriuil and Airmed and Míach, nearby composing incantations over gushing water, that is the Sláine its name. Throwing their severely wounded in it, indeed in the great vessel. They would be alive emerging out of it. Their severely wounded would be healthy through the strength of the chanting of the four healers who were around the well. 🌿 💧🐍 💧 🌿

Retelling

After Nuada had lost his arm in the great battle, he was taken to Dían Cécht and his children for healing. After observing the injury Dían Cécht could not attach the arm back into place. His son Miach had an idea and created an arm of silver. This arm of silver attached and made Nuada whole once again for his quest. This angered Dían Cécht as he was jealous of his son's accomplishments. He alone claimed to be the best healer of the time. In his anger, he killed Miach with a blow of a sword to his brain. Airmed grieved for her brother. Her healing alone could not bring him back and her father refused. So there Airmed grieved over his grave. The gentle soul cried for her lost brother. From her tears, 365 herbs grew on the grave as her brothers last gift to her. Her herbs. The goddess decided to gather the herbs and sort them according to their healing properties. Once again, her father, Dían Cécht, could not control his envy. Standing silently behind Airmed, he suddenly scattered all of the herbs she gathered into the winds. Making sure no one would have knowledge of all the healing herbs. 🌿 💧🐍 💧 🌿

Aspects

There are so many qualities we can take from this story. So, lets break them down. Keep in mind this is UPG based on the stories. Feel free to find more or less or completely different things from your own readings.

Demeanor

From these stories I have always gotten the sense of a goddess who is very gentle and sweet in nature. Like that one nurse that is just always in your corner.

Healing

Obliviously, it is plainly stated that Airmed is a healer.

Water In stanza 123 we see that she has some connection to healing waters. Wells, and waters are always big in Irish myth and culture and so this isn't too surprising here. But it is important to note her connection to water.

Herbalism This is never outright stated but I think it is pretty in your face that Airmed became an herbalist and gathered knowledge of the herbs found on/by her brothers grave.

Nursing I associated Airmed heavily with nursing. I just kind of got the impression that she was a helper to her father and enjoyed it. Her seemingly caring and gentle nature would be useful in the actual caring for "patients" not just the healing like a doctor. I think of modern medical relations and I just know she is the one taking measurements and asking questions and getting to know you while suggesting some treatments. That's just the vibe I get.

Magic

Again from stanza 123 I think that shows Airmed's ability to conjure up healing magic and make magical remedies past just tinctures and herbal mixes.

Learning

Just an extrapolation from the herbalism part of the story on my part. I find Airmed to be a learner. She learned those herbs enough to separate by use and that just screams "I keep plant profiles for funsies" to me.

Complex Family Relationships

We all understand this. Families can be complicated. Staying with her father even after he killed her brother (who she seemed to love based on her greiving) took some serious inner strength and dedication to her family. Perhaps it has for her second brother, who knows. But that makes it even more complicated. Family structures and relationships can be hard to navigate. I fully believe Airmed understands that.

Grieving

I think it is safe to say Airmed is one that can aid in the grieving process of a family member. And I don't think that needs to be elaborated on much. It's a hard thing to go through but she would be one to understand.

Other UPG

I have always just seen Airmed as more of a loner after the herbs were spread. Always looking for the last parts of her brother. Healing on the way as she goes. I picture the old healers that would travel from village to village. Gentle rains are something I associate with her. If her tears were enough to nourish the ground for herbs to spring, then the gentle rains are a symbol of her in my eyes. to be completely honest, I have no clue where lavender comes in but it is the herb I associate with her.

Prayers

Popular chant associated to her

Bone to bone Vein to vein Balm to balm Sap to sap Skin to skin Tissue to tissue Blood to blood Flesh to flesh Sinew to sinew Marrow to marrow Pith to pith Fat to fat Membrane to membrane Fiber to fiber Moisture to moisture

Greif Aspect Prayer

Oh Airmid, Gentle and sweet, fierce and dark, You dove into the depths of your sorrow and found your power.  You gained yourself and healing for your sorrow.  Great giver Airmid, Help me honor my gifts so I may appreciate the life around me and the life within.  Grant me your light to help others that need your love and healing. Blessed be

Invoking Prayer

Wise and gentle Airmed, whose art it is to know the green things of the world, root and leaf, stem and seed, to tend them with care, to work the soil from which they draw their might; you hear each voice of flower and weed, they speak to you of life and death, of healing and of harm. Airmed, mender of men, daughter of skillful Dian Cecht, whose wrath was borne by your dear brother, you know the pain of a heart torn by grief, you know the good of tears freely shed. Airmed, beloved goddess, yours are the tonics and balms that arise from the earth, yours the remedies that ease body and spirit. Airmed, I call to you.

Correspondences

🌿 Colors: Green, Blue, Purple, And Brown 🌿Time Of Day: Morning 🌿Stones: River stones, Coral, Lapis Lazuli, Jasper, Opal 🌿Metal: Silver, Copper 🌿Animal: Snake 🌿Tools: Mortar and Pestle, Journal, Gardening tools, kettle, cauldron, candles, pitchers, first aid kit, teas 🌿Things of Nature: Misty Mountains, and gentle rains 🌿Magics: Healing, Hearth, Water, Family 🌿Herbs: Lavender, Any Healing Herb