#this is based on a conversation with a friend

[kianamaiart]

tattoo tour!

got some asks about my own tattoos! i've talked about em on my other blog but not here i think

opihi shell

this was my first tattoo! when i was little, my grandma would call me her "little opihi" because i'd stick by her side all the time and i thought it'd be an appropriate and meaningful tattoo to get.

________________________

team rocket rose

another tattoo i designed along with @/loinktattoos on insta. dedicated to my love for jessie, james and meowth. it's a rose with a blast off star and a "TR" in the leaf~

________________________

tsuta mon

my japanese side of the family's crest! my brother, mom and i all have it~

________________________

lignum vitae flower

a tattoo of jamaica's national flower to celebrate my jamaican heritage. tattooed by @/loinktattoos and designed by @/sablingart on twitter

________________________

doughnut

it's the doughnut from the kpop girl group twice's song "doughnut" LOL. it's maybe my favorite song ever (?). they also raaarely play their japanese songs outside of japan but i got to hear it live and it solidified my love for the song

________________________

arbok tattoo

much like how i love team rocket, i love arbok. i sometimes draw jessie with an arbok marking tattoo on her chest and i considered doing that too but doing it on my wrist seemed like a nice placement. plus i can make my hand look like a snake and i think that's fun

________________________

brushstroke tattoo

my first purely aesthetic tattoo and also my biggest piece! i found @/reina.asami's work on instagram and instantly fell in love with their style. a lot of their work centers around japanese culture and specifically japanese american culture. i had such a lovely conversation with them about being mixed and my experiences. we also talked about the irony of honoring our japanese heritage with tattoos haha

________________________

botan hanafuda card

one of my favorite games to play with my grandparents on my japanese side is hanafuda! i've always loved how pretty the cards looks and all the different flowers. each suit corresponds to a month and the botan is for june (my birth month)

________________________

bat

i like bats hehe. i had a tattoo themed birthday party last year where my friends made "kiana themed" tattoos and we put them on temporary tattoo sheets. but also @/loinktattoos was there to give anyone who wanted a real tattoo a real tattoo. and i got a bat designed by one of my best friends @/ghostbri, who shares my love of bats~

________________________

botan

i came across @/miyookstatto's instagram a while back and reaaaally wanted a tattoo from her at some point. problem was she was based in seattle. however! i had a wedding in seattle coming up and tried to see if i could book an appointment the day i landed and she happened to have a spot open!

________________________

wobbuffet

my most recent tattoo and maybe one of the most special. my brother and i have been wanting matching tattoos for yeaaaars but couldn't really think of anything to get. our love for pokemon was always something we had in common but he models and can't have anything copyrighted on his body. however, one of his favorite pokemon is ditto and i got the idea to just do its face because you could argue that it's just a smiley haha. so i decided to get just a wobbuffet face to match! what made it special is that we were able to tattoo each other! he did stick and poke for mine and i got to use a machine which was rad.

that's all for now!! i want more so badddd. definitely want a back piece at some point and would also love to get a little shooting star to commemorate making "i don't want to be a magical girl"

[thedeadtalker]

-my grandfather was 8 when he and his family were rounded up on the Oregon coast, kept in a livestock pen for 3 very rainy days, then put into a cattle car to be carried out to the reservations in the east.

-my grandmother had two brothers and sister who were sent to mission school and never returned. They said they ran away. They lied.

-My mom remembers when Indians got enough citizenship to vote in Oregon. She describes her parents and their friends discussing if the should do it -vote -or if it was trick to register them.

-My friend took his grandmother out for her 100th birthday. He asked her what she thought were the most important things to happen during her lifetime. She told him: free wifi and the legal end of segregation.

-I remember those fucking nuns in mission school. I only went 1 year when the laws changed and we could go to other schools. We could live with our parents and ride a bus to school and back again and sleep that night in our own home. I remember that, you fuckers.

-I remember that my mom and two of her sisters gave birth in a hospital connected to the mission, and they didnt know for years that they'd gotten botched steralizations against their wishes and without their knowledge. I remember my parents desperatly trying to have more children. Theyd always wanted a bunch of kids. The house my dad built had many empty guestrooms. Eventually they sold it. I remember my mom having to have a hysterectomy 2 years ago because of all the health problems caused by the fucked up surgery. I remember sitting in a meeting and one of the nurses there having to put me through a fainting protocol because i got a text from my stepfather that during the hysterectomy they discovered one of mom's damned ovaries was just fucking gone. I wonder sometimes if some sick fuck retired doctor kept a genuine Indian ovary in a jar in his office. I wonder if his nazi kids and grandkids pull it out to show to guests as a conversation point. I think about how whites were paid piecework for Indian scalps amd seeing one dried out and leathery in an antique store in a small town in Idaho. There is evil in the Americas. The nazis were here long before they were ever in Europe.

- I remember my highschool history teacher showing us the number tattooed on his wrist. I remember him showing us all these recordings of ordinary German citizens talking about how they didn't see anything wrong happening. How there must have been some sort of perfecrly mundane reason for the endless smoke pouring from the ovens in the camp up in the hill. How it was all just politics. How they were reassured that all the people who were taken had just moved in the night, or were much happier wherever they'd gone to. "But you saw them all: the Jews, the other prisoners going into the camp. But you never saw them leave. Didn't you think that was odd?" "We just figured they'd moved from the camp in the night while we were sleeping." "Where?" "What do you mean?" "Where did you all think they went -in the middle of the night?" "Oh. We didn't know." "Didn't you wonder?" "Why would we?"

- I remember that same teacher explaining how the nazis had gotten a lot of their ideas from the US government's Native American policy. The death camps were modelled after our reservations. The dehumanizing and the stories of savages/gremlins that ate white babies and were less than human were based on the clever marketing campaign set up to not just enable the settler take over, but used to unite the fragmented people of newly forming colonial nation. He fucking showed us. There is publically available documentation of all of this.

-I remember getting put on the no fly list. I remember finding out about it because when we tried to buy tickets for the whole family to travel down to New Mexico for my granduncle's funeral the whole purchase was bounced. We were told why that might be the case so we tried seperate purchases for everyone. Me. It was me. Several years later my roommate's family friend -an old white guy with some pull, found out why. I was teaching K-3 and moonlighting as a computer programmer back then. And I'd printed some photos of holidays around the world to share with my students on the same computer I wrote code from. My own computer, in my own office, in my own home. He said it also didn't help that I wasn't white.

-I remember that fucker's first time in office: I remember seeing my coworker snatched from the elevator by ice agents and shoved into an unmarked van. He was a 3rd generation American.

-I remember having to warn the non-white, non-abled, non anything a nazi would want to gas you for residents of the dvsat shelter we worked with to not go out at night, not go out alone, not walk on these specific streets or go into these specific shops. I remember the time a native Hawaiian chick on my caseload didn't come back when expected and everyone was out of their mind with worry. She came back, tear-streaked and shaking, and told us about how she'd gotten lost (not in Hawaii any more, Dorothy) and ended up in one of the neighborhoods she was supposed to avoid, and being chased by some of the proud boys that patrolled our city streets in their ridiculous be-flagged pickups, and how some nearby restuarant diners had rushed her into the restuarant, and the staff there had hid her in the pantry, and all the diners lied and said they hadn't seen her. My teacher read Anne Frank to us in 6th grade. Do they still read that in schools?

-I think about that time I went into a DMV and the woman behind the counter told me to "sit over there," next to two men, and well away from the other patrons. Then a highway patrol officer came over and told us to go with him. In the parking lot he explained that he'd been called to take us to an immigration detention center. But instead he directed us to a "safe" DMV 40 miles away and walked away muttering about having had it up to here with those idiots in there. The two American Samoan men started laughing. Honestly, I didn't feel like laughing. I didn't feel like anything. I was thinking about the mission school and wondering if the detention center looked like it had.

-I've spent the last couple of weeks handing out flyers in different languages. I don't use an interpreter. I have no way of knowing if I can trust them. But somehow I manage to convey to the people I visit in field hand huts and steamy laundries that they are in a sanctuary state and what that means. That no one in our offices will turn them away or turn them in. At least I hope Im conveying that. Then I tell them, using paper language dictionaries if needed (librarians are superheros) how to get away, who to talk to, how to find the big dipper. I think a lot of my high school history teacher and those faded numbers on his wrist.

Oh I know they're coming for me first. Im your canary.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[6:18 pm]

(cw: f!reader, profanity, mentions of alcohol, insecurity, jealousy)

You thought you'd already met all of fratboy!Jaehyun's friends, and that felt like a real accomplishment because well, there was so many. There were his frat brothers (not just friends, he'd corrected you), his friends from his business classes, the guys he worked out with, the guys he played sports with, the baristas he talked to the most, and his best friends from childhood. But this was a group of friends you hadn't even considered. His friends from high school.

Apparently they hadn't been all that close in high school, but upon coming to the same university, they grew closer. It was comforting to have a few familiar faces around and a taste of home when they missed it. So here you were with Jaehyun at a pizza parlor a few blocks away from campus surrounded by friends that went to the same school as you as well as a few people that came to visit for the weekend.

You didn't feel nervous as you got ready for the night, didn't feel off put when you walked into the bar at Jaehyun's side, didn't even feel the slightest bit anxious when you started meeting and talking to all these new people. They were easy to talk to. They were kind and funny and with all the alcohol that was flowing through the bar and the crowd, they were infinitely easier to connect with. Now you knew why Jaehyun had stayed friends with them for so long.

And it was fun while it lasted. A pair of late comers walks into the bar and one girl you recognize from a poli sci class you took in your second semester and the other girl... the look on Jaehyun's face tells you he knows her very well. They come around and introduce themselves and it all makes sense when she shakes your hand and introduces herself as, "Hana." Oh.

Hana. Hana, Jaehyun's ex-girlfriend. Hana, Jaehyun's first and only love. Oh. Oh shit.

Surely, you had to be imagining the way her and Jaehyun and Hana embraced for too long. Or imagining the way Jaehyun and Hana giggled over something after speaking in hushed tones. Or maybe the way Hana rushed through her greetings of everyone else from high school only to return to Jaehyun to continue their private, quiet conversation.

She was pretty too. Her makeup was flawless, a glowy base, a perfect wing, her gloss was the perfect undertone for her skin tone, and her eyelashes were long and she wasn't even wearing fake lashes! She didn't have a single hair out of place on her head, in fact it looked like hair right out of a shampoo commercial. Silky, shiny, and down to her waist. Her outfit was cool, but not in a 'I'm trying hard to be cool' more in an effortless cool way.

You self-consciously ran a hand over your hair. You thought you looked good when you left the frat house. Taeyong had told you as much and he was one of the most stylish guys you knew and Yuta had helped you fix your hair. You felt pretty when you left, but next to Hana? You weren't so sure.

How was it that you felt like you were suffering from boyfriend air and Jaehyun wasn't even your fucking boyfriend? Your hair wasn't smooth like Hana's, last you checked, your makeup had already settled into your smile lines, and when you met Jaehyun he just didn't look at you the way he looked at Hana!

Why were they just standing at the counter, ignoring everyone around them, laughing like nothing?! Was he flirting with her?! Had he just been anxiously awaiting her return?! Were you just the space filler for when she came back?! And why the fuck was he looking at you now?! And why was she?! And she was looking at you with her perfectly lined and glossed lips and a sweet smile?

The girl from your poli sci class walks over and Jaehyun walks over to you. He smirks at you from the rim of his glass. He smirks at you like he knows that something you don’t know. And when has that ever been the case? You’re the one on the Dean’s list, not him.

“You’ve been staring at Hana and playing with your hair for like 5 minutes now,” he stated lowly as he took the now empty seat beside you.

“No I haven’t.”

“You have though, sweets,” Jaehyun presses on, leaning in close to you so you can smell his cologne.

“And how would you know? Have you been looking at me?” You ask sarcastically.

“I’m always looking at you, sweets,” he replies, pressing a kiss against the apple of your cheek.

Your heart skips a beat as your face flushes hot, but you can’t shake the pout from your face. How could he have been looking at you when your eyes were on him the entire time? Well… on Hana. Hana and her perfect hair and immaculate makeup and cool outfit—

“Sweets, tell me what’s going through your head?” Jaehyun asks you softly. You break your staring contest with the painting on the wall and turn instead to look at Jaehyun. The smug look on his face has disappeared and turned into a look of something tender and warm.

You feel embarrassed, uneasy, and self-conscious, and frankly, you don’t want to be having this conversation here! Or at all! You had to try to be open with Jaehyun though, if you wanted this to progress into something more, and you did. You really did want something more with him. You take a deep shaky breath and exhale, “are you going to leave me for Hana?”

“W-why would you say that?” Jaehyun asks with wide eyes, eyeing the group around the both of you to make sure no one is listening.

“Jaehyun, you told me she was your first love. Her hair is straight out of a salon-grade shampoo commercial, her makeup looks like a professional did it, and she was your first love! You didn’t even tell me why you both broke up but we’ve been— us for a while now and she’s just so wow! I’m just me and maybe seeing her reminded you of some hidden feelings,” you ramble in a passionate whisper, “And she just waltzed back in here and the two of you just fall back into whatever routine you had.”

You drop your forehead into your hands, feeling overwhelmed by your confession but unable to stop yourself, “and you… you don’t look at her the way you look at me and I hate it. You guys have like this undeniable chemistry.”

“Sweets, her and I are broken up and I like you. I like you a lot, sweet girl,” Jaehyun starts, cupping your cheek while looking deep into your eyes, “can you stop comparing yourself? You’re beautiful, sweets.”

“Well, not as beautiful as Hana. Like, I have the same jacket! And I don’t look like her when I wear it! I look like some middle schooler trying to be cool. She’s so effortless,” you pout as you throw your hands up with frustration.

Jaehyun chuckles deeply, cupping your cheeks and leaning forward until his lips are on yours. A simple peck. One, two, three, four… countless pecks against your lips until you become a soft, pouty mess in his hands. “Her hair is mostly extensions,” Jaehyun states simply.

“Huh?” You ask with a furrow your brows.

“Well, you keep talking about her perfect hair and it’s not even fully hers. Her clothes aren’t hers, it’s her older sister’s and she and I are distant friends, acquaintances if that.”

“Come on, Jae! Be a girl's girl, don't shame her for that. It doesn't mean she looks any less pretty. Plus, people go from friends to lovers all the time! Or even exes to lov-”

Jaehyun places his hand over your mouth, “Hana and I broke up because she left me for her neighbor… who was a girl. She and I were together from the beginning of high school and right up until the very beginning of our last year. I call it love because it felt like love at the time. Maybe looking back now it was more like infatuation. I do not, have never planned on, don't plan on, haven't even thought about taking her back since she came out to me."

Your face flushes hot with embarrassment as he finally drops his hand, placing the softest kiss against the tip of your nose, "I like you, sweets. I like you a whole lot. Beyond the fact that I'm not her type anymore, she and I were never going to work out in the end. That break up led me to you, so I can't even be mad about it. You're amazing, kind, beautiful, sweet, and smart. What else could a guy want? Are you feeling better now?"

You pout at him, still feeling embarrassed by your fit, "yeah, I guess."

He chuckles, leaning in to place a soft, lingering kiss against your pouty lips, "do you think some ice cream would fix it all right up?"

"Maybe if I called Haechan and he hyped me up I'd feel better," you joke, batting your eyelashes up at Jaehyun.

"Not fucking happening, sweets. Let's get you some ice cream."

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader attend their first event following their pregnancy announcement

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based off this ask and as a follow up to paparazzi catches actress!reader’s baby bump. warning for pregnancy + nausea

Awards season was always a busy and stressful time, but being nearly eight months pregnant made it so much more hectic. However, with Drew’s performance garnering so much awards buzz, y/n knew she was going to do everything in her power to be there for him through it all… even if she was waddling like a penguin the whole time.

“How you feelin’, baby, y’ alright?” Drew asked, rubbing a hand down the exposed skin of y/n’s lower back. She wore a deep plum dress that draped beautifully along her pregnancy-accentuated curves, the fabric loose and breathable enough to allow her to move comfortably throughout the very long night. Drew wore a simple black suit, excellently tailored over a sheer, unbuttoned, white dress shirt that showed off his tanned skin and muscular torso. The two of them were equally adorned in glittering gold jewelry, y/n’s favorite little detail the gold hoop earring in Drew’s ear she’d picked out for him.

“I’m good.” Y/n grinned, running a hand absentmindedly against the curve of her stomach. “It’s good to finally get to sit down.”

The night was well on its way, the red carpet flying by in a flood of flashing camera bulbs and eager fans before the guests filed into the theatre the ceremony would be held in. Once they were ushered to their table, Drew pulled y/n’s chair out before guiding her into it with a careful hand resting along her back. She sat down, smoothing her dress down as she easily sunk into the chair.

“How about baby, how’re they doing?” Drew asked, crouching down so he was eye level with y/n’s stomach. He gently ran his fingers along her stomach, his wedding ring cool against the fabric of her dress. Y/n ran a hand through Drew’s hair as he admired the curve of her stomach, a wide smile spread across his lips as he felt the baby’s small kicks.

“They’re running a marathon right now is what they’re doing.” Y/n laughed as Drew pressed a quick kiss to her stomach before pressing one to y/n’s cheek. Drew slid into his seat, his hand never leaving y/n’s side as he looked around the room. Stars filled the room, each seemingly dressed more elegantly (and perhaps even more famous) than the last.

Drew’s eyes glittered with excitement as the moment sank in, the room filled with an air of hopefulness. Here he was, being nominated for a major award and sitting here with his beautiful wife, the two of them expecting their first child merely weeks away, and he couldn’t be happier. No matter what the night may or may not bring, he was happy.

“Starkey, my boy!” A voice greeted, pulling y/n and Drew out of their little bubble to see Daniel Craig approaching them. Drew stood, pulling Daniel in for a quick hug and greeting.

“Y/n, it’s good to see you, my dear.” Daniel said, greeting y/n with a kind kiss to her cheek. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” Y/n grinned up at him. “Tired, but good.”

“That’s wonderful, love,” Daniel said, patting Drew on the back fondly. “Congratulations to the two of you and best of luck tonight.”

“Thank you, it’s good to see you, man.” Drew said, flashing his friend and mentor a quick smile before Daniel departed the table with a wave. Drew remained on his feet, his hands resting on the back of y/n’s chair as people shuffled around the theatre, chatting and conversing between each commercial break.

The show went on, performances and speeches weaving together until they finally led up to the moment they’d been waiting for: Drew’s award. The two of them sat in their seats, practically vibrating with excitement as the presenters approached the microphone, introducing the nominees one by one. As they read out Drew’s name for his nomination, he smiled and nodded into the camera, his arm resting on the back of y/n’s chair.

“And the winner is…” The presenters opened the envelope, the room collectively holding their breath. “Drew Starkey.”

Drew’s eyes widened, immediately turning to y/n. From a combination of happiness, pride, and pregnancy hormones, y/n had immediately burst into tears as Drew pressed his lips to hers. He pulled away for a moment, looking at her with a grin before pressing another quick kiss to her lips. Then, he knelt down, kissing y/n’s stomach before finally rising to his feet. The other guests applauded, clapping Drew on the back as he made his way to the stage. He greeted the presenters before taking the award from them. He weighed the glittering award in his hand as he blinked quickly, his tone exasperated as he began to speak.

“Wow, um, I… thank you so much.” Drew grinned to himself, looking over the award as he held it in his hand. “I’m really, really honored.”

Y/n laughed, wiping her cheeks as she watched Drew continue his speech on the stage. He talked with his usual genuine graciousness, still humbly surprised by the recognition he’d worked so hard for and deserved so much.

“And lastly,” Drew said, his eyes meeting y/n’s from across the room, “I want to thank the person who has stuck by my side throughout all of this, my beautifully talented wife. Y/n you make me the happiest and luckiest man alive and I truly cannot thank you enough for it. Thank you for always being there for me and being the mother of my child. I love you. Thank you.”

The crowd applauded as Drew found his way back to his seat, his eyes focused just on y/n as he approached her. Y/n rose to her feet, her eyes glistening with tears in a way that matched the tears in Drew’s own eyes. Once he finally met her, he pulled her into a hug. He burrowed his head into her neck, his arms pulling her snugly against his chest (or at least as snugly as he could with her bump between them).

“I’m so proud of you, Drew.” Y/n whispered against Drew’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, baby, thank you.” Drew said, pressing a kiss to y/n’s cheek.

[likea-silhouette]

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

rating: mature

word count: 2.8k

summary: Harry was once the boy you loved and wanted to spend your life with. The funny thing is that addiction is something that is never predicted. What happens when you run into your ex-boyfriend years after your breakup that was due to his vices? Read part one here

*based on the song Complex by Katie Gregson-MacLeod*

tagged: @imaginexxharry

The moment you step inside you feel a warmth and familiarity, almost making you completely forget about Harry and the uneasiness you had felt just moments ago.

This home. You’d spent so many wonderful days and nights within its confines. Whether watching movies and trashy TV shows with Nadia or playing board games that you only half understood, nevertheless still enjoyed. It felt like another home to you. “There you are!”, Nadia squealed above the music that wasn’t too low or high in volume, but just right. Immediately, a smile overtook your lips as you outstretched your hands to envelope your best friend in a warm embrace.

“God, am I glad you’re here”, Nadia said as she lifted her drink to her lips.

“Why? What’s wrong?” You looked at her quizzically as you tried to convince yourself it had nothing to do with your ex-boyfriend. Not everything revolved around him, yet, at this very moment, your mind was so preoccupied with him and only him that it was hard not to associate Harry with every subject that came to mind.

Nadia moved next to you and rested her elbow on top of your shoulder as her knuckles held her chin up.

“I swear I only know like three people here. I’ve just been walking around aimlessly trying to find a buddy to gossip with.”

You chuckled lightly as relief swept over you. “Well, I’m here now so consider yourself buddied up.”

Nadia smiled and rolled her eyes playfully in relief, “Thank-fucking-god.”

Eventually, the both of you wandered over to the kitchen where various alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages were being created by a hired bartender.

“Wow, you really splurged on this.”

Nadia’s lips curled into a smile as she shrugged, “Only the best for my guy.”

Once a gin and tonic was comfortably situated in your and your friend's hand, the both of you maneuvered through the decent volume of friends and family that had arrived in the time it took for you to browse and pick out a cocktail. Thankfully, refuge in the living room was close as you and Nadia took a seat on a sectional sofa that was free for the taking.

The conversation naturally flowed between the both of you as you caught up on new developments in the other's life that had occurred since you last saw each other a week or so ago.

Suddenly, mid-sentence, Nadia’s eyes widened as a smile spread across her face. This wasn’t any ordinary smile - it held something behind it, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Cautiously, you turned around to look in the direction Nadia’s eyes were focused on. You breathed a sigh of relief as you saw the familiar face of her husband, instead of the face of the phantom you had once loved.

You were safe. It wasn’t him. “Babe!”, Nadia called out, but with the larger volume of people chattering, combined with the music, her call went unnoticed.

Nadia stood from the sofa with both hands cupped over her mouth as she attempted once again to gain his attention with a shout of his name.

This time it did the trick.

Abruptly, Her husband turned around as his wide eyes searched the crowd. Once he caught sight of his wife, he instantly softened with a small grin on his mouth.

You watched as both he and Nadia exchanged glances of puppy love that were still present even after several years of being romantically intertwined. This very admiration had you mesmerized - maybe a little too mesmerized in fact.

The depth of enchantment that you felt from their love kept you easily distracted, so much so that you hadn’t noticed him initially until his eyes were melting craters in your face that were impossible to not feel the burn of.

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze and his met for the first time in so, so long.

His eyes felt both foreign and familiar all at the same time.

Unbeknownst to you, Nadia stood by your side with a grin as she watched from the corner of her eye as your mind pieced together the reality of what was happening whether you wanted it to or not. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you wanted.

Your mouth fell agape and eyes blinked rapidly, testing to see if this was your imagination playing tricks on you or if the man who once held your affection was actually walking towards you in tow of Nadia’s husband. Of course, It was the latter.

“There’s the birthday boy!”, Nadia beamed as she placed her hands on either side of her husband's face.

“You saw me like an hour ago baby.” You would’ve cooed and awed at the couple were it not for the distraction that was now standing directly in front of you with eyes that shamelessly remained in a trance that was solely for you.

Nadia and her husband both shared a mischievous smirk as they reveled in their front-row seats to your and Harry’s reunion. Not that you even thought about tearing your eyes away from Harry to take note of the not so subtle expression the couple were sharing.

“Hey! I’m so glad you could come.” Nadia’s husband greeted as he wrapped you up in a warm hug. Thankfully, this brought you out of the staring contest that Harry had trapped you in.

With closed eyes, you put on a best-effort smile as you returned his friendly gesture.

“Of course! Happy birthday.” You hoped the joy in your voice didn’t sound too forced.

“Oh, and this is for you,” you dragged your last word slightly as you outstretched the envelope in your hand in his direction.

Harry’s eyes followed your arm which was filled with new tattoos he wasn’t familiar with. He wondered what else had changed with you. Were you in a relationship? Did you have some fancy job with an even fancier apartment? Were you happy?

Were you happier without him?

“You know you never have to get me anything”, Nadia's husband spoke, breaking Harry from his thoughts that wondered if there was still a resemblance of the lover he never forgot.

Harry watched as you shrugged and said, “I know,” with a slight smile. This made him feel butterflies flapping in his stomach.

Nadia’s husband said his thanks with a final side hug and Harry found himself continuing to stare at you in your most sincerest of form. Celebrating with friends and exchanging gifts; something so deeply simple, yet watching you being wholly yourself had Harry’s heart beating so fast, he swore one would’ve seen it through his shirt.

“You always did love giving gifts.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at Harry after he spoke. Only then did he realize he said those words out loud instead of in the deepest parts of his inner narration.

Your eyebrows raised and your mouth slightly fell open as you took in the absolute music to your ears that was his accent and tone - it felt like pressing play on your favorite song for the second time in a row. You wanted more and more and more and couldn’t see yourself tiring of it for quite some time. The temptation to close your eyes and sway your body in complete contentment as you replayed the way his voice sounded crossed your mind. God damn it, you missed him.

Meanwhile, Harry’s eyes desperately searched his surroundings. He had to find an excuse to either leave this reunion of sorts or change the subject entirely.

Thankfully, his eyes caught sight of the empty glass in his hand.

“I’m uh-”, his hand slightly raised his glass in the air, “-going to get some more to drink.” “Help yourself, Harry. The non-alcoholic drinks should all be in the fridge in the kitchen.”

Harry nodded with avoidant eyes and turned his back to the group with a chest that breathed heavily with each step he took.

You, however, were still dwelling on the drink suggestion Nadia had directed Harry towards. “Does uh-” God, it was embarrassing. Why did you want to even ask? You weren’t supposed to care anymore.

“Never mind,” you said with a soft, yet tensed smile. “I’m a little low on my drink too. I’m going to go catch up with Harry”, Nadia’s husband spoke with his hand lovely running along Nadia’s back.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

You watched as he weaved through the crowd, taking a nearly identical path to the one Harry followed toward the kitchen until he disappeared behind a group of people. Quickly, you and Nadia fall back into casual conversation, avoiding discussing the ever-present elephant in the room. You’d be lying if you said you could focus on a single conversation topic that carried on between the both of you. Your body was still very much here, but your head was deeply submerged underneath the thickest of clouds. Eventually, a party guest, that you weren’t too familiar with besides remembering their face from Nadia’s wedding and past gatherings, joined in on your and Nadia’s conversation circle. You felt a swell of relief at the fact that you wouldn’t need to maintain subpar attention on the topic being discussed. Now, you were free to get lost in your thoughts and allow Nadia and the party guest to take the lead on the discussion. Your lips met the cold of your glass as you guzzled down the remainder of your cocktail.

Thank god - an excuse to get some fresh air.

“I’m going to grab another drink and get some fresh air. It's so nice to see you again!” You cheerfully waved to Nadia and the other guests, who gave you waves and friendly smiles in return. The moment your back was to the pair, the fake smile etched onto your lips slid off of your face as your mouth pursed and a light puff of air released from your cheeks.

The walk from the bar to the outside was a paranoid one. Every unknown noise had you gazing in its direction of origin as you searched for his familiar brunette hair and green eyes behind every crevice and corner.

Thankfully, the outside proved to be a serene place. It smelled of wood smoked to ash and shimmered from the large string lights cascading across the entire backyard. The sun was nearly half set, making the sky a dark purple that perfectly paired with the easy music playing from the speakers in the outdoor space. As your eyes took in your surroundings, you caught sight of where the smell of burnt wood was coming from. Immediately, your feet carried you to the circle-shaped fire pit that was tucked in a back corner and all by its lonesome.

The warmth of a flame blanketed your body as you sat in one of the chairs strategically placed around the burning orange hue.

Once comfortably snug, you allowed yourself another deep, deep breath. This time with eyes fully closed you reveled in the peace and stillness that only the nighttime could bring.

However, your peace was short-lived as the sound of glass breaking caused your eyes to shoot open and everyone to quiet their conversations.

Quickly, your eyes searched for the source until you fell upon an image that felt eerily familiar.

A couple - a man who was inebriated times ten and a woman desperately trying to calm the man’s erratic movements and loud tone of voice. He held a once full glass, yet now was sloshed with clear liquid on himself and the ground.

The distress on the woman's face was evident as she tried to calm the man by soothingly rubbing his upper bicep and, I’m assuming, whispering words that were at the age level of how one would talk to a toddler who was throwing a tantrum.

I knew that routine all too well. The sound of the glass breaking was still ringing in your ears like a sharp knife clawing into a chalkboard, until, in the blink of an eye, you found yourself back in time. The bar was lit by only a few warm lightbulbs. The Saturday night bar crowd was in full swing as you found yourself nearly shoulder to shoulder with anyone you came across. However, Harry’s voice booming over the noise level of every other bar attendee had you briskly walking away from the bar and over to your boyfriend - well, boyfriend at the time. “What the fuck is going on?” You yelled over the music as Harry poked his finger into the chest of a man you’d never seen before. “Babe who is this? What are you doing?” Harry’s larger-than-normal pupils looked at you. You swore you could’ve seen steam coming out from the top of his head by how red his cheeks were and the flare of his nostrils. “This guy was checking you out!” he half slurred, half yelled. Your eyes moved to the guy who looked scared shitless with both of his hands pressing in front of his chest. “I swear man, I wasn’t looking at her. Swear to god” “Fuckin’ liar!”, Harry spat at the guy. “Harry who gives a fuck. The guy said he wasn’t looking,” I tried desperately to pull him by his bicep in the direction opposite of the innocent man. “I give a fuck! He was looking at you like he wanted to fuck you right in this bar for Christ sake”

“Nah man, I haven’t even seen her bef-” “If you were smart you’d shut the hell up before I make you.”

You gasped at Harry’s harsh words that were hard to hear, both due to the volume of the music, the chattering of conversation, and the amount of vodka he’d had in the last hour that made his lips move too fast for his words to get out cleanly.

“Babe please,” I whined desperately, using all of your strength to pull Harry by the arm again. However, it was no use. Harry slipped out of your grip with his glass shattering to the ground as it slipped out of his hands. You watched in horror as Harry suddenly got much closer to the man, their faces a foot or so apart, as his shoulders stood up straight in a much more defensive manner. What had started as a night of fun and drunkenness, quickly turned into Harry once again taking it too far - both with his alcohol consumption and his anger, though the two almost always went hand in hand. Tears started prickling out of your eyes as you watched Harry bump his chest against the other guy who was now squaring up to Harry and making himself look just as intimidating. He promised. He promised this would never happen again and yet it’s happened so many fucking times -more than you can even count.

Not even a brisk escape from the scene Harry had created at the bar and a cigarette between your lips could ease the pain. With your head resting against the outside brick wall of the bar, you felt your tears gently and freely roll down your cheeks as you puffed smoke from between your teeth.

That night, you remember asking yourself if you could do this forever. If you always had to be the one to pick up the pieces that Harry tore up in a drunken haze. If you always had to be the one who was strong even when you felt like the thinnest, soggiest, piece of paper that was left to disintegrate in the rain all by your lonesome.

You weren’t sure how long you’d fallen back into this memory that clearly stuck to your brain for a reason. However, you knew what brought you out of it and back to reality. His laugh was infectious and uniquely deep and hearty. There always was a slight rasp to it as well. You remembered it so damn well. Except this time, it wasn’t just a memory. It was very deeply real and current. Instinctually, your eyes searched for him in the backyard until his tall frame came into your view. Harry was standing in a group of people with that warm and amused grin on his face that always looked so good on him. You were only allowed a moment to admire his candid expression until his eyes met yours - as if you were magnetized to one another. Harry’s tongue peeked out of his mouth to briefly run along his bottom lip as his eyes focused back on the group. He spoke some words you couldn’t make out before extending his hand in a polite manner to each of the people surrounding him in the circle - as if he were excusing himself.

Then, with his left hand in his pocket, and his eyes looking directly at you, he began walking in your direction.

To be continued.

[mochacoda]

night d(r)ive | yjh

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Jeonghan is the kind of guy who would drive 40 minutes out of his way just to pick you up, but also wouldn’t yield the last ramen at the local convenience store to you. He’s also the kind of guy people are quick to fall for, only to get crushed by his indifference for dating. As a close friend of the most sought-after man on campus, you’d like to think that you know Jeonghan well enough to predict his thoughts on romance and his territoriality over ramen. (Spoiler: You don't.)

Content: Angst, Fluff, Comfort | Friends to Lovers | College AU

Tags: short hair jeonghan, extreme pining, liking ramen as a plot device, crying, being losers for each other, insecure reader, lots of konglish w/ translations, overly indulgent kissing, no "y/n,” this is for everyone who voted jeonghan in the poll <3

Word Count: 5.8K

Masterlist

You‘d like to think that you know Yoon Jeonghan well. Surely, you do! Over the years, you‘ve come across—and committed to memory—dozens, if not hundreds, of his little oddities. You’ve witnessed his personality change with the length of his hair, and learned the hard way that cheating at card games is like second nature to him. At this point, you can recite more information about his pet rock than ramen, which is somewhat terrifying if you dwell on it for too long, considering that ramen is your favorite food. 

But despite Jeonghan’s chaotic personality, you also know that he’s incredibly smart, having sat next to him in countless college lectures and trivia events. 

Honestly, it can’t possibly be a stretch to say that you know the man too well, can't it? And at times, it feels a bit unfair that you can only reply, “oh, I know him,” when people fleetingly mention him in conversation. It hurts that you can’t clarify that you know him—that you can’t ramble on about how he made the stupidest joke to make you laugh when you were upset about your most recent midterm, or handmade you the sweetest present for your birthday, or let you choose your favorite film for movie night for the third time in a row—because no one wants to nor needs to hear about it.

But, unfortunately, that’s all you can think about these days. 

Because, unfortunately, Yoon Jeonghan is simultaneously the funniest, weirdest, kindest, and most devastatingly handsome man you’ve ever met. 

Yoon Jeonghan is the kind of guy who would drive 40 minutes out of his way just to pick you up, but also wouldn’t yield the last ramen at the local convenience store to you. Though he gives into his internal demands for petty possessiveness quite often, he cares deeply for his friends. 

He’s also the kind of guy people are quick to fall for, only to get crushed by his nonchalant but somewhat firm indifference for dating. You’ve witnessed him casually turn down far too many objectively gorgeous and incredibly intelligent people, which has convinced you that his standards are impossibly high. And if you were honest with yourself, based on the people he’d already rejected, it would be laughable for you to even think about confessing to him.

And so, as a close friend of the most sought-after man on campus, you’d like to think you know Jeonghan well enough to predict his thoughts on romance and his territoriality over ramen.

In fact, you’re sure about the ramen issue, because you’re witnessing it happen right now.

You’re staring at his smirking face in the instant food aisle of the convenience store, both of you gripping the last Neoguri cup like it’s a trophy.

“You gotta learn patience,” Jeonghan tuts, his lips upturned infuriatingly at one corner. 

“No, you should learn patience. 손 빼, [Take your hand off,]” you demand, grasping the cup tighter.

“싫은데? [Don’t wanna,]” he says in a sing-song voice, raising his chin in defiance.

The ramen cup creaks slightly under the pressure of your combined grip, and a terrible thought forms in your head. Your hand is sandwiched between his hand and the cup, making you feel the heat radiating from his body. It’s something you’re afraid you could get used to. 

You narrow your eyes, targeting his ridiculous, perfect lazy smile. “Take it off while I’m being nice.”

“Nah,” he replies immediately, smiling wider, his tongue sliding to the right. 

Your heart lurches at the sight. 

“치사하게 진짜 이럴 거야? [You’re so petty, are you really going to be like this?]” You chew on your bottom lip, eyes flitting between his face and his hand. 

Jeonghan tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes sharp and steady on yours. He’s not really looking at the ramen anymore, and the intensity of his gaze makes your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“내가 여기서 이 옷을 입고 있는데, [I’m wearing these clothes here,]” he says, using his free hand to pinch the fabric of the expensive suit he always wears at his internship. “굳이 라면 하나 때문에 나랑 싸운다고? 그냥 빨리 가자, 음? [You’re really gonna fight with me over just one ramen cup? Let’s just go now, hmm?]”

You press your lips together and jut your chin in defiance. 

He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. His shaggy, dark hair flows with it, and you can’t help but think that he looks princely like this, standing in the middle of this convenience store with his stupidly gorgeous face, and that dumb suit and tie. 

“양보해. [Give it up.] I’ll give you whatever you want,” he says, his voice dipping lower. It feels less like an offer and more like a taunt, a challenge. His tone sends a small shiver through you, and for a second, you’re not sure if he’s teasing or serious.

You have to take a slow, deep breath to calm yourself down before even considering what to say next. You’re grateful for the ride (and his company), of course, but that doesn’t mean he can steal your rightful claim under your nose, in the same casual manner he has when letting one of his fans down. 

You’ve always given into him. Because he means everything to you, of course. 

But you’ve had enough of letting him have his way so easily, not with your precious ramen at risk.

You boldly step closer to him, cutting the distance between the two of you in half. You’re close enough to see your reflection in his eyes, now. 

“I’m not letting go, 하니 [Hannie].” You firmly shake your head. You wouldn’t let him win this time. “I don’t want anything but this,” you add, stubbornly.

Tugging hard, you try to pull the cup toward you, but it frustratingly remains stuck on the shelf between the two of you. Looking back up, you see that he isn’t even straining to keep the ramen in place! You frown, wondering when your best friend got so strong.

He leans in just a fraction closer. “Keep trying,” he murmurs, and he’s so close that you can feel his warm breath tickling your face. 

The world narrows to Jeonghan, and the faint scent of the cologne he only wears on weekends. It’s dizzying.

“야아아! [Hey!] I was here first!” you weakly defend, voice embarrassingly squeaky.

And then Jeonghan does something that completely short-circuits your brain.

His free hand lifts and brushes your hair away to your back, before resting on the divot between your neck and collarbone, where his thumb caresses the side of your neck. Feather-light, his touch is gentle, and his fingers are impossibly warm, a stark contrast to this slightly chilly convenience store. You just about choke on your surprise, your heart kicking into overdrive at the sheer intimacy of the gesture. 

God, how is it that you never get a rest day with Jeonghan? How is it that he’s always flirting, always disregarding the boundaries of platonic and romantic love, always making you confused? And how is it that you just let it happen, that you just take whatever affection he gives you? How is it that you’re drawn into his dangerous touch like a moth to a flame? Except that analogy doesn’t really work, because at least moths don’t know that they’re in danger when they reach fire—you know what you’re getting into, and you know all too well that Jeonghan will never be yours. 

“Please?” he whispers.

Your breath hitches, suddenly aware that even for your overly-touchy friend, this level of skinship is extreme. 

Does he know? Has he found out that you’re in love with him, that you’ve been keeping this ungodly secret from him for far too long? Does he know that every time he lets someone down, that every time he complains to you about people confessing and crying over him, you give him superficial laughs as you swallow your own feelings? 

Does he know that you feel like sinking into the ground every time he entertains a random girl flirting with him, and that every time he crosses boundaries with you, it hammers in the fact that he thinks you’re a joke? 

Does he know that you’ve spent over a year trying to convince yourself that you don’t have feelings for him, only to fail miserably, because there is no such thing as cutting Yoon Jeonghan out of your life, because he makes you feel so, so alive? 

He must know. He must be making fun of you, now.

Your eyes widen, frantically searching his face for an ounce of malice. And you expect to see the look he always has when shredding the hearts of the brave people who confess to him, the face he makes when he casually tells someone that he doesn’t feel the same way. You expect to see an almost-cruel, blank stare paired with apologetic lips pressed together. 

You expect him to crush your heart. 

But instead, he’s staring at you with a gaze so, so, very soft, you wonder if you’ve hallucinated it. Shining eyes, raised eyebrows, mouth parted—he looks devastatingly beautiful. 

You can’t even bring yourself to blink, afraid that it might disappear before you can commit it to memory.

Technically, he’s looked like this before—you’ve seen it a handful of times on movie nights when you leaned against his shoulder, sleepily rambling about the bad decisions the main character had made. You’ve always figured that it was just the face he made when he was running on eight percent battery, tired and only half-registering the words coming out of your mouth. 

But now, seeing this version of Jeonghan out of its usual context, your heart stops. 

Your grip slackens.

In an instant, Jeonghan takes advantage of your daze. He snatches the ramen, links his arm through yours, and drags you to the counter. Your feet stumble, but his hold on you is firm, keeping you stable throughout the entire sudden exchange. He sets a bill on the counter, and then you’re being ushered out of the convenience store. 

The freezing cold bites at your cheeks as you stand in a haze of confusion by the passenger seat of Jeonghan’s car, unable to do anything but just watch as he starts the engine and unlocks the door. He stares at you through the window, waiting. 

If you could move a muscle on your face, you’d furrow your brows, wondering what he’s waiting for. But you’re still frozen, and before you can really think about it, Jeonghan gets tired of waiting. 

He gets out of the car and walks over to you, squeezing your shoulders as he shifts you a little to the left. Withdrawing one of his hands from your shoulders, he opens the door, and then maneuvers you inside, using the same hand to cover the top frame of the door. You bump your forehead slightly against it, and he buckles you into the passenger seat—all without a word.

When you blink owlishly at him, he just ruffles your hair and shuts the door carefully, then walks over to the driver’s side. 

Dazed, you literally have nothing to say. 

When Jeonghan gets back into the car, he looks over at you with an unreadable gaze, then reaches his hand over the console to you, this time holding an object out. Your eyes flicker downward, then shoot up at him immediately.

The ramen?

You squint at his outstretched hand, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. 

Jeonghan never yields. 

“Take it,” he says simply, airily, as if his giving up was obvious all along.

You hesitate, finger lightly tracing the top of the cup. 

“Come on,” he insists, his eyes still intensely trained on yours. “I… it was always yours.”

Your fingers close over the cup, brushing his hand. He exhales softly, the corners of his lips twitching.

Averting your eyes from him and his strange actions, you drop the ramen in your lap, then settle for staring outside the window at the night sky, finding it unbearable to look at him. Drumming your fingers against the border of the window, you get lost in thought. You’re not sure you can handle it if Jeonghan tries to flirt with you again. Every time he does it, it just hammers in the crushing idea that you’re nothing but a friend to him. That you’re just someone to practice on while he waits for the goddess of his dreams to appear, or something.

And then a strange thought occurs to you. A silly thought, really. When Jeonghan said that the ramen was always yours, he didn’t use the “ih” sound that the word “it” has. No, he used the pronoun “I” first, before correcting himself. A faint, pitiful smile makes its way to your lips as your heart pangs. 

Just what would you give to hear him say “I was always yours” someday?

Oh, maybe everything. 

────୨ৎ────

The gentle hum of the car engine fills the silence from the lack of conversation between the two of you. The moon and the stars are beautiful tonight, and you’re content with staring at them instead of the man driving the car. You prop your head up with your elbow against the window, closing your eyes with every lull of the engine. If Jeonghan ever looked over at you at a red light, you wouldn’t know, preoccupied with pretending to be asleep. 

When you feel the car come to a complete stop, you’re still feigning sleep, but you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows slightly. Surely, 40 minutes haven’t already passed? It seems way too soon. Had you actually dozed off at some point between staring out the window and faking sleep?

You peek one eye open, only to startle at Jeonghan’s gaze trained on you already, immediately opening the other. He seems completely at ease, with one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. He stretches his fingers, accentuating the veins on his forearms, and you have to avert your eyes for a moment. 

“잘 잤니? [Sleep well?]” he asks casually. 

You look back at him, and see a strand of his dark hair fall into his eyes. Fingers twitching, you fight the urge to brush it behind his ear. 

You answer him with a nod and flush, wondering if he could tell you were acting the entire time. Hands itching for something to do, you fiddle with your seatbelt.

“야, 나 좀 보고 말해봐, 음? [Hey, can’t you look at me and talk, hmm?]”

You glance at Jeonghan out of the corner of your eye, then shy away again. He looks too good right now, too much like a doting boyfriend. You pick at a loose thread from the bottom hem of your shirt.

“자꾸 나를 안 보니까 섭섭하네. [You keep not looking at me, I’m sad.]”

You faintly laugh. In all your years of knowing the man, you’ve yet to see Yoon Jeonghan truly sad. He’s always, always composed. He never says anything without thinking about it first, and he doesn’t have to lift a single finger that he doesn’t want to, because he knows that people will jump just to fall at his feet. It’s funny that Jeonghan now just assumes that with a few pretty words, he’ll get his way. 

But your resentment is growing. It started with the ramen, and built up with how he won at the end of the fight. And it peaked when he gloated under the guise of kindly yielding the cup to you, leaving you stranded in your confusion, leaving you to sort out your racing mind and heart. What’s worse is, he has a history of doing this to you. But you never learn. Because he also has a history of giving the best, warmest, longest hugs. And he tells you all the time that he wants to be with you forever, that even when you’re 80 and wrinkly, he’ll come over every day to sing duets using your karaoke machine. And he has a bad habit of staring into your eyes with so much adoration, that you mistake it for real love. 

He has a history of making you think that his flirting might actually mean something real to him. But he never confesses any feelings, because they don’t exist, and you feel the pain of being used as romantic practice all the same. 

You’ve tried to convince yourself to just accept his affections as platonic love, but it has become increasingly more difficult to ignore it. How can you, when you get a rush of serotonin from seeing how bright his smile is when he whispers an inside joke to you in the middle of your fatally boring math discussion? How can you, when Jeonghan insists on picking you up from work even though it’s a waste of time and gas for him to make the far drive here and back? Your heart has grown to accommodate, and even expect, the constant fluttering it feels in his presence. 

So, to be exact, it’s not that you feel resentment toward him—it’s resentment for your lack of a backbone when it comes to all things Yoon Jeonghan. It happens all the time; you get mad at him, and the consequences last for all of five seconds before your will caves. 

“근대, 안 섭섭하잖아, [You’re not sad, though],” you softly say, eyes now tracing the glow of the crescent moon. 

Jeonghan shifts in his seat, questioning your words. ”What? Why would you say that?”

“아니야, [No,] forget it.” You sigh, eyes falling to your hands again. Picking at a hangnail, you inhale deeply. 

“Why wouldn’t I be sad? I love talking to you.” He removes his hands from the wheel and gear shift, then reaches out for yours.

You flinch, and he freezes. 

“Hey, did I… do something wrong?” His voice shakes, suddenly sounding strained. It’s the complete opposite of how he was just three seconds ago.

You swallow thickly. No, he didn’t do anything wrong. “아니, [No,] it’s my fault.”

He frowns. “What did I do? Please, tell me. I’m sorry, whatever it is, I can fix it, I promise.” He looks at you so earnestly, your heart sinks. 

“그건 불가능해, 정한아. [That’s not possible, Jeonghan.]” The words come out slowly and breathily, as if it’s taken you half of your life force to say them. You stare out the window again, this time at the stars, and add, “We should really get back, now. Why’d you stop here, anyway?”

“I figured you didn’t eat yet,” he says carefully. “I thought you’d want to get Thai. When you’re hangry, you yell at the TV more, and I get complaints from my neighbors.”

You blink, turning your attention down to the stores lining the street rather than the night sky. Jeonghan really had driven to your favorite Thai restaurant. “Oh. I didn’t know I did that, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replies softly. “I never liked my neighbors anyway.”

Your eyes close, remembering when one of your classmates, who happened to be his neighbor, confessed to him. He had vented to you about friends needing to understand when not to cross lines. The memory makes you smile weakly again, acknowledging how strong you’ve been for managing not to confess so far. 

Jeonghan continues, “But hey, your neighbors don’t like me, either. Remember when they banged on your door because we were singing too loud?”

You laugh this time, and it’s fleeting but it’s not forced. “언제 쯤 얘기야? [How long ago was that?] That was like two years ago.”

Jeonghan smiles. “You were wearing those teddy bear pajama pants, and I had my Cookie Monster pants on. They were like 70, and told us to stop being childish and grow up.”

“Maybe they had a point,” you say with a sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I didn’t know that you paid attention to those things,” you add offhandedly. 

“Pay attention to what?”

“You know, just… the stuff I wear, the random shit I do,” you say, picking at your split ends. 

Jeonghan’s wide eyes narrow, and you feel too hot under his intense gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, voice deep and tinged with something you can’t quite put a finger on. The question feels strangely charged. With what, you don’t know. 

You gnaw on your lip. 

“Answer me. Why shouldn’t I?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, feeling put on the spot. “I’m just your friend. Shouldn’t you be spending your energy remembering weird stuff about a girlfriend? Like a serious romantic partner, or something?”

Jeonghan groans, running a hand through his hair, before it comes down on the console with a light thud. Your eyes widen at his unexpected physical display of emotion, taking in his clenched fists and heaving chest. 

“하니? [Hannie?]” you say softly, concerned. He doesn’t normally resort to physical exertions when frustrated, probably because he doesn’t get frustrated very often at all.

Your hand reaches out to his right bicep, where you rub the muscle soothingly. 

“Now you’re calling me 하니 [Hannie] again,” he says with a marginally more relieved, deep sigh. 

You furrow your brows. “What?”

“Now you’re calling me 하니 [Hannie] again,” he repeats. “Please, don’t call me 정한 [Jeonghan]. Only 하니 [Hannie].”

“Okay?” you say tentatively, unsure where this is going.

“You know I love you, right?” he says suddenly, staring at his hands. 

You blink rapidly. “Of course. I love you, too.” He’s your best friend, but you’re probably not his best friend. 

Jeonghan jolts, looking at you directly in the eyes now. “You know I love you more, right?”

He looks a bit crazed like this, his frantic chocolate brown eyes searching deeply for something in your face. At a loss for words, you gape your mouth at him like a fish out of water. 

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” you manage to say. “I bet I love you a lot more.” 

The statement is accompanied by a rather self-deprecating laugh from you, the kind that digs deep into your heart even as you try your best to seem casual. 

“No, no,” he says, reaching with his left hand to grasp the hand you’ve been patting his right bicep with. This time, you don’t pull away. “You don’t get it. I love you.” 

What?

Your heartbeat begins to beat so loudly that the sound of it pumping overwhelms your thoughts. Your chest tightens, and you’re half-sure that you just hallucinated it.

“뭐라고? [What did you just say?]”

“사랑한다고, [That I love you,]” he chokes out, his voice thick with the one emotion you’ve been dreaming of him reciprocating. 

You gasp.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Oh.

Crestfallen, your heart drops. You pull your hand away from him. 

This must be his new way to get you to relieve your “anger.” He doesn’t actually love you romantically, he just wants you to go back to acting like you normally do. He’ll never feel the same way that you do, in the crushing way that drives you insane every day, in the way that—

“설마, 나 지금 무시하는 거야? [No way, are you ignoring me right now?]” Jeonghan’s wounded gaze strikes you like lightning. “아니면, 나 못 믿는거야? [Or, are you not believing me?]”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. 

Is this real? A dream, maybe? The real Jeonghan would never say this. He would never, ever entertain the idea that you could ever be more than—

“내가 사랑한다고 했는데, 왜 아무 말이 없어? [I just said I love you, why won’t you say anything?]” Jeonghan’s voice quakes, and you’re taken aback by his pained, strained eyebrows and glittering eyes. 

Jeonghan’s eyes well with tears. He swallows thickly, “나… 아니야? [Am I… not it for you?]”

Your breath catches. He’s crying. Yoon Jeonghan—Yoon Jeonghan is crying? You’ve never even seen him sad, let alone crying. He’s always been untouchable, effortless in the way he teases and flirts with you, so sure of himself. So nonchalant and casual with his affection, that you’d always thought he never truly meant anything by it. But here he is, raw and vulnerable in front of you, holding his heart out with both hands—eyes rimmed red, voice breaking, mouth trembling. All because of you? 

He really means it, huh? The realization slams into you so hard you feel like you can’t breathe, let alone speak, your chest constricting like you’re having a heart attack. All those lingering touches, all these years. The way he’s always made you the center of his jokes, how he has the softest shifts in his voice when someone mentions your name—it wasn’t all a game to him? It was never just practice for someone else, for someone better? 

It was love?

God, you had been so overwhelmed with self doubt and insecurity that you’d convinced yourself that you had no chance, all while he was giving you clues through his proud affections, every day.

The man in question looks at you like you’ve just shattered his fragile heart, tears fully trailing down to his chin, now.

Feeling like your entire body has been engulfed in flames, you reach a trembling hand out past the gear shift. It trembles despite yourself as your arm extends to caress his cheek, where you carefully rub his tears away. 

Jeonghan shudders when your hand touches him, and he shuts his eyes. More tears fall.

“하니, [Hannie],” you breathe shallowly, still feeling an immense pressure in your chest. “Look at me.” When he doesn’t open his eyes, you swallow roughly. “하니, [Hannie], please?”

Stubbornly, Jeonghan keeps his eyes closed, and you shakily sigh. You want to tell him—no, you need to tell him that you love him with every fiber of your being, but you need to see his eyes to register whether he understands you. He needs to open those beautiful, brown eyes of his. 

You’ve never told him that you love him in Korean before. Something about it always felt too intimate, while “I love you” in English felt less charged. But you think he needs to hear it now.

Withdrawing your hand from his cheek, you unbuckle your seatbelt at last. Finally freed, you shift your legs until you're sitting on the back of your calves, facing the stunning, devastated man in the driver’s seat.

“하니야, [Hannie],” you say softly, his name a prayer on your lips, your face coming near his. 

You raise your hands up to tenderly brush the tears away from the soft tissue right under his eyes. Trembling, your right hand brushes a strand of hair out of his face, then rests on the back of his neck. 

Heart threatening to jump out of your chest, you hesitantly move closer, and closer, until your lips gently meet his forehead in a kiss so light, you foolishly wonder if he even feels your lips there at all.

“하니야, 사랑해. [Hannie, I love you.]” 

Jeonghan stills immediately. You can feel his hot breath catch against your neck, and you feel a shiver come down your spine. 

“I don’t want anyone else. Just you,” you say choppily, each word spilling out before you can think about what you really just said. 

When you retreat an inch or two back from his forehead, you can see that he has finally opened his eyes. 

“You mean it?” he asks, voice high-pitched in disbelief. 

Not trusting your voice, you nod three times. 

“Say it again,” he begs, his red-rimmed eyes downturned.

“사랑해, 하니야 [I love you, Hannie]. I tried so hard not to. 내 마음을 접고 다른 사람을 바라보고 싶었어. 싶었는데… [I wanted to let go of my feelings for you and search for someone else. That’s what I wanted, but…]”

Jeonghan inhales sharply. Distressed, his Adam's apple bobs up and down. Your heart aches at the sight of him so exposed, and your thumb moves to rub soothing circles by his collarbone. 

You assure him, “근데 그게 진짜 그냥 안 된거야. 도저히 너를 포기할 수 없었어. [But that really just didn’t work. There was no way I could bring myself to give you up.]”

Your fingers close to his neck, you feel Jeonghan’s pulse racing. Trying to help his heart settle down, you press another light kiss to his forehead, cradling the back of his head with your other hand. His breath shudders against your cheek. 

“마음이 하니한테 만 끌리니까, 뭐… 포기하려고 노력을 했는데 소용이 없었어. [My heart was only drawn to you, Hannie, and well… no matter how hard I tried to give you up, it was no use.]”

Jeonghan blinks up at you with watery eyes. 

“You’re it for me, 하니 [Hannie]. Okay?” Sheepish, you feel a bit embarrassed at having been so honest. 

Now that you’ve bared your heart and soul to him, you take the opportunity to really look at him, since you were distracted with telling your part for the past few minutes—and, oh. 

His pupils are so dilated, his eyes look almost black. His breathing has slowed down compared to earlier, but his fists are still clenched, like he’s holding something back. 

In a low voice, so deep that it wouldn’t have been audible if you weren’t practically pressed against him, Jeonghan finally responds to your confession. 

“You love me,” he says hesitantly, like he’s asking to confirm. 

The corners up your lip turn up, and he grins. “You love me,” he says again, only louder this time, and then he’s leaning forward into you. 

His hands find you first, clinging to your neck and waist sweetly yet firmly, like he’s afraid to let you go now that he finally has you.

When his lips meet yours, you melt into the kiss. His lips are warm, softer than you expected, moving against yours with an aching tenderness. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs down your spine when his thumb brushes along the curve of your jaw. The touch is so careful, so reverent, like he’s memorizing every part of you.

Then, he pulls back just an inch—just enough for his breath to fan across your lips, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes, dark and unreadable, search yours as if needing confirmation.

"You love me? 진심이지? [You’re serious, right?]" His voice is barely above a whisper.

Your chest tightens at the sheer vulnerability in his expression. You cup his cheek, brushing your thumb against his damp skin, and nod. "사랑해, 하니야. [I love you, Hannie.] 진짜, [Really,] I always have."

A sound escapes him—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief—before he leans in again, kissing you with more urgency this time. His hands tangle into your hair, fingers curling at the nape of your neck as he presses you impossibly closer. The kiss is deeper now, more certain. He parts his lips slightly, and you do the same, the heat between you growing into something undeniable.

Your hands wander—one slipping into his hair, the other trailing down his shoulder. He shudders under your touch, and you feel the tension slowly unraveling from his body, like he’s finally letting himself believe this is real.

When you finally part for air, he lets out a shaky laugh, thumb ghosting over your kiss-swollen lips. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this," he murmurs, his voice husky.

Your heart swells at the confession. "Actually, I think I do," you whisper back before pulling him into another kiss, this time knowing—without a doubt—that neither of you are going anywhere.

────୨ৎ──── 

“하니, [Hannie,]” you say, leaning against him on the sofa in your apartment, drawing random shapes on his chest with your right hand. “We should go on a drive again.”

“Mm, a drive?” he says, distracted by his fascination with observing your left hand, holding it like a precious gem. 

“Yeah, 바람 좀 새자 [let’s get some air]. A night drive.”

His hands stall, lips curling up at the corners. “Oh, a night drive, huh? 역사적인 거네. [How historic.]”

You bury your face in his chest. “Mmh,” you say to his shirt.

“You know, you said 사랑해 [I love you] to me for the first time on a night drive,” he says casually. His hands let go of your left hand, then make their way to your head, patting your hair gently. 

You prop your chin up on his stomach, expecting to see Jeonghan’s pure smile. But instead, he’s smirking at you. 

“You wanted me so bad.” He sighs dramatically. “What else could I do, but accept your love?”

You can’t help but smile. “I think you’re misremembering things a little, 하니 [Hannie].”

“Oh, am I?” he gasps, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 

If he were anyone else, he’d look stupid feigning ignorance. Fortunately for you, though, he isn’t anyone else—he’s the love of your life, and he makes everything look good. 

“Ugh,” you say, eyes shining. “You look dumb, stop it.”

“You love it,” he says cheekily, arms falling from your head to wrap around you in a big hug. 

“Mmfph,” you say in response, relishing in the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Not denying it, I see,” he says. “Overwhelmed by your love for me, you dove at my poor, innocent self in the car, kissing me all over!”

“Pfft,” you laugh. “No, that was you!”

“No,” Jeonghan pouts.

“I happen to remember a little crybaby confessing first,” you say with an upside down smile, hugging him tighter.

Jeonghan’s eyes look up at the ceiling. “무슨 말인지… [I don’t know what you’re talking about…]”

“야아! [Hey!]” your hand slaps his chest lightly. “나 좀 봐봐, 음? [Look at me, hmm?]”

“싫은데? [Don’t wanna,]” he says, pouting. 

“사랑해도 안 볼 거야? 섭섭하네… [Even if I love you, you won’t look at me? I’m sad…]” you huff, burying your face into the sofa pillows instead of Jeonghan’s chest. “하니가 안 사랑해주면 난 갈 거야. [If you don’t love me I’m gonna leave.]”

Jeonghan laughs, “가긴 어딜가, 여기 너네 집이잖아. [Leave? What do you mean, leave? This is your house.]” 

Jeonghan hugs you tighter, then suddenly sits up, taking you with him. 

“사랑해, [I love you,]” he says earnestly, staring deeply into your eyes, as if he wants to dive into the depths of your iris. Your name leaves his lips fervently, like a prayer.

“사랑해, 하니야, [I love you, Hannie,]” you say back, and you mean it. 

Because Yoon Jeonghan is simultaneously the funniest, weirdest, kindest, most devastatingly handsome man you’ve ever met. And he’s yours.

Masterlist

Author's Note: here’s a big literary hug <3

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone - @fragmentof-indifference - @junniesoleilkth - @woncheecks - @peachypie97 - @viciousdarlings - @11zzyy

[midnight-mourning]

Love Bites

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 8💘💘

Okay okay okay, back on track now, please enjoy this little diaster i made based on @divinit3a's yeti boys, it was, quite fun >:3c

Prompt: umm letseee... valentines...Typically the Sun is not Out.... (for... Reasons... ahah.) but----loves to hunt, and hunt for the thrill/sport/game of it. And loves to eat & eat & would love a properly cooked meal. preference to high protein meals, very rich, very tasty, salty & fatty. so Im sure if u wanted to tackle him, in particular, could have fun with that..... (Slaps a giant fish on the table. Token of affection. Totally Wont Eat You ) The Moon.......... is a lot quieter and subdued, but actually a far better caretaker. takes care of hurt animals; would probably take care of a hurt human, too. mmm hot cocoa. much pickier eater, he doesnt like much, and he doesnt like to eat meat.... I think overall, a 'meal together' would be the best valentines fhgjsdfghjsdf WITH THESE FREAKS IN PARTICULAR...

Word Count: 2907

Read here if you prefer ao3!

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

The hall is quiet as you step out from your room. You strain to listen for any sign of life, nothing. Must be out. Good. That gives you more time. 

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the shadowed hallway, not nearly as bright as your windowed room. Though, you weren't opposed to keeping the lights off. It saved energy for one—which meant warm floor beneath your feet as you pad through the facility—and two, it kept the not as friendly yeti from making an appearance. Which, yourself and Moon were both in agreement about at least. 

When you'd first gotten here, so many months ago now, your first encounter with the yeti, robot, thing—you still haven't quite figured that one out—was less than, pleasant. Though, that may very well have been due to the state he first saw you in. Which was bloodied, bruised, and vulnerable. And as Moon would later explain it to you, that had triggered something in counterpart. Something more instinct than logical. 

Luckily for you, a ragged chase into a darkened cavern had saved you from suffering any further injury, or worse. 

Instead, you got Moon, and he was thankfully much calmer than the other bot. He also wasn't trying to kill you, so you took what you could get. He patched you up, gave you a place to stay, a nice warm bed out of the cold, and plenty of things to do while you recovered. 

When you'd first ventured out into the snow, having heard the rumors of the 'ice devil' you'd be facing, this hadn't been what you'd expected. 

Delivish upon first glance, sure. Those tusks didn't help anything, that's for certain. Not to mention Sun as a whole, the manic energy he radiated, the wild look in his eyes, the raw strength as he'd pinned you down to "Try a bite"—

But still, with Moon at the very least, the rumors didn't match up. 

He was quiet, even a bit stern in certain cases, but polite. He took his directives very seriously, but beyond that, he held a compassion you wouldn't ever have expected of a machine. Though, maybe it was because he was a bit more than that, they both were. 

Regardless, you owed him for not abandoning you out there in the frozen tundra to die. Much less putting in the effort he had to care for you.

As you traverse the hall now, there's only the slightest pain still left in your ankle as you shuffle. You'd left the crutches behind today, as you had been the past several mornings, despite the lunar-themed yeti's insistence for otherwise. 

That was another thing, the care. For a so-called devil, he had the attitude of a saint. Or well, you didn't know any saints, so a good friend then. A very good friend, at that. 

You found yourself in long conversations that would last hours, either listening to that quiet tone regale you with stories of all his travels, or sharing some of your own experiences prior to meeting them. You enjoyed the walks you'd take together through the caverns, or going with him out into the arctic—on the rare trips he would allow you with your injury—to scout for poachers and the likes. 

And those rare moments you could get him to laugh at one of your jokes, it lit something inside you that you couldn't describe. Something that albeit would be a bit more frightening than it already was if not for your situation. 

You think the combination of getting your foot caught in a bear trap, freed and then chased by a rabid yeti-bot, and then saved by the other side of that same yeti-bot, allowed you some freedom when it came to your feelings. 

But that wasn't the point to what you were doing. Rather, you wanted to show your appreciation for Moon, not your feelings. Nevermind the fact that today did just so happen to be Valentine's, having found out by checking the date on your half-dead phone. 

Besides, You didn't even know if it was even possible for him to return such affections. Truthfully, you preferred not knowing if it meant you could keep this peace you've had for so long now. You were almost afraid for when you fully healed. 

Afraid that the moment you could leave, you'd be kicked out, back into the cold to survive to find your own way back to society. That the past few months were nothing but a ruse, set up by Moon and in fact once you were at a good range, your back turned and unaware, Sun would bear down on you and—

You shake your head, no. Despite your initial encounter, Sun had been fine. He wasn't allowed out much, so you didn't speak much, though you also think he would prefer not to. It didn't necessarily have to do with you in particular, you don't think. 

Whereas Moon was more oriented to stay on task, Sun had his own personal drive to fulfill. You'd yet to figure out exactly what that was yet, however. Besides the desire to hunt and kill just for the thrill of it. Whatever it was, with your injury, you simply didn't fit into it. You had no use—for now—so he left you to your own devices. 

For now. 

You flip on the light to the kitchen area as you enter, dimmed lighting now illuminating the space. 

You'd been surprised to find there was indeed working cooking equipment in the research station. Not originally all in the same space, but with a bit of help, you'd dragged everything functional into one space. 

When it came to ingredients, you didn't have much to work with besides what either yeti brought to you. There was some very old canned food you'd found, and several containers of unopened spices, but beyond that it was slim pickings. The crate of hot coco you'd found had been a godsend. Considering the situation though, you weren't going to complain. 

The idea of making a meal had come from the simple fact of the matter that beyond hunting and protecting, Moon nor Sun did much else. So, providing nourishment would have to be your way to pay back their hospitality. Or at least, Moon's hospitality. If Sun enjoyed something you made, you'd consider that in and of itself a victory.

So, you set to work immediately. Opening the fridge, you pulled out one of the the few items in there, a massive bluefin tuna, which took up the majority of the space. You struggle to take it out, much less carry it with wobbling limbs over to the island. When you put it on the counter, you almost swear you hear it creak under the weight. 

You step back and let out a breath, admiring the giant fish for a moment. While the two really only ate for fuel—a fish like this would just simply be devoured as is from what you'd seen—you knew they could taste, and that when presented with chances to try something that was flavored in some regard, they did seem to enjoy it. Especially Sun, having taken one bite of your beef jerky and snatching the rest away for himself when you'd not been paying attention. 

Though you only had the one fish and just a few other ingredients to work with, you had several ideas in mind for how to properly utilize it. Taking the large butcher knife, you cleaned, gutted, and scaled it, and divided it up into proper pieces. 

The loin you'd make steaks out of, pan searing and basting in fats, utilizing the bit of pepper and spices you had available. You set aside three to cook and stored the rest in the freezer. 

The back you would smoke, creating some jerky from the pieces there. Thankfully, Moon kept firewood around in case the power failed entirely, and you doubted he would notice a few pieces going missing. You'd utilized one of the broken freezers for your smokehouse. 

The belly would be raw, sliced thin and served with a bit of the salty roe that you'd discovered inside the fish initially. 

As for the remaining bits of the fish, you'd stew the bones for a broth and fry the collar and cheeks as one final touch to finish off the meal. 

It was a lot, all things considered, and for them it may very well be next to nothing in comparison to their appetites, especially Sun's. But, that wasn't going to deter you from trying your best to make something from your heart. So, you got to work. 

You had no idea when Moon would return, so you tried your best to work both quickly and effectively. Thankfully, since several items were basic prep, they took very little time to come together. You enjoyed it, the process overall. After all the time being spent on you, being able to give back felt gratifying in its own way, exciting even. Again, ignoring your own feelings about the yeti. 

At some point, you even find a small radio, the batteries still good to your delight. Despite your location, you can just barely catch a signal as sappy love songs play from some far away station. You hum and dance and sing to the music as you cook, the time passing by like nothing to you in your focused state. You even are able to make yourself some hot coco, sipping on it throughout the cooking process. 

You're so focused, even, that you don't notice the towering presence hovering around the other side of the counter until you turn directly to face it. You were just setting down the last bit of the meal, ready to sit and wait for Moon's return, so color you shocked when you find yourself face to chest with Sun instead. 

His head cocked to the side as he looks down at you, expression unreadable as he examines you with that calculated stare.

"You've been busy." He states. 

You come out of your daze, shaking your head. "I-yeah. I have."

"Tore up the meat. A pity. I was going to enjoy that." He picks at one of his claws, you see a hint of red stained there before he glances back up to you, grin wide. "Though, it's not nearly as good as when it's fresh, anyhow."

You both know that fresh isn't quite what he's implying. 

You swallow, while you'd been expecting Moon—and would have preferred him, especially in this case—this was technically a gift for the day-themed yeti too.

Deciding you weren't going to let your lingering fear overtake you, you straighten up, and steady your voice. "This is all for you, actually. And Moon, of course. I, wanted to extend my thanks for, allowing me to stay these past few months." This again was technically all for Moon, but you couldn't exactly say that with Sun standing right in front of you. 

"I—Me?" He questions, eyes widening and grin falling. 

You nod. "Yeah, I um, figured that something made with a bit more care might be something you guys liked. I noticed you never really get the chance to... add more flavor to things, and you seemed to like my snacks in the past so, i just—" You stop when you find that he's eye to eye with you now, baring down on you with a serious expression you weren't anticipating. 

"You made us, me, a meal?" The way the words are half-snarled mere inches from your face makes you flinch. 

"Y-yes?"

Sun stares at you for a bit longer, and if you weren't so alarmed you'd move away. But you don't. 

After a few moments more, he huffs, then starts to chuckle, standing straight again. "Aren't you just so interesting, Little Star?" 

You feel confusion knit your brows only for them to shoot up in shock as Sun's hand suddenly grasps your chin, leaning in again. 

His other hand snatches one of the pieces of raw fish from the table, eating it in one bite. "Such an offering from you is, surprising but, despite your, obvious misconceptions about our relationship, I suppose I can consider it." He tilts your head this was and that. "You're not the worst option I've ever been presented with."

"I, huh?" 

He let's you go again, grabbing one of the steaks with his bare hands. His teeth tear through it like it's nothing. You can only watch as you try to understand what he's saying, not entirely comprehending it. 

When he's finished, he wipes his mouth, snickering to himself. "I certainly can't wait to see what he thinks of your proposition. I'm sure it will be entertaining to say the least."

Before you can respond, he walks over to the light switch, dimming the lights as low as possible, thus allowing for Moon to take his place. 

As the switch occurs, Sun makes one final remark, and it all finally clicks to you. "Something you should keep in mind though if I do accept, Sunshine, is that I don't share."

With that, you're left with an embarrassing realization, and Moon. 

You can't make eye contact with him, instead turning around and starting to busy yourself with cleaning up to distract from the burning feeling spread across your cheeks. 

You can't believe you didn't put together that something like this would mean something like that to them. But it's not like you would have known either! How were you supposed to understand the cultural differences between humans and yeti-robots that lived in abandoned research centers? This feels like something that was on them and not you to be honest. 

Your half-delusioned reasonings do nothing to stop the racing in your heart as you clean, and you just hope to finish up quickly, grab a snack for yourself, and get out of there to keep yourself from any further embarrassment. 

"It's very good, Starlight."

You pause for a moment, then hum. "Y-yeah?"

"Yes. The amount of flavor you've packed into each dish is... incredible." Moon says, sounding genuinely a bit in awe. 

It only worsens your state, mumbling back a quiet response. "I'm, I'm glad you like it."

Quiet between the two of you. The radio still plays softly throughout the space, only disrupted by the sound of clinking as you clean things up, or Moon's utensils scraping against each other. 

"So what Sun said—" "You should eat too—"

You both stop, and looking back to him, you laugh softly. 

You nod. "You first."

"Join me." He pats a seat next to him. "It's only fair after the effort you've put in."

"Oh! Okay." 

You try not to make a fool of yourself as you make your way over and sit down. You can only protest as Moon piles you a plate full of food, depositing it in front of you once he's finished. 

He hands you a fork, chuckling at the scowl on your features. "You need your energy too, if you want to stand any chance at getting better."

"You're not wrong." You sigh, taking a bite of the smoked fish. As you'd hoped, it's delicious, and you appreciate your own efforts to make such good food in that moment. 

"So,"—Moon reaches for a bit of the fried collar—"You were saying?"

You almost choke on the bite you just swallowed. You regain your composure to answer. "I, um, Sun mentioned, that um, something like this was very, very, important to you guys in a specific way. Which, honestly I didn't know and I'm so sorry if I've offended you I just wanted to do something nice—"

You're interrupted by a kiss pressed to your forehead. 

"I would say offended is nowhere close to the feelings you've elicited. Honestly." The night-themed yeti states, amusement between the words. "Rather, I find myself rather interested in your proposal, intentional or not."

Your eyes widen ever further. "Pr-proposal?"

"If I'm misreading, then I am sorry, Star. But I—"

"No!" You shake your head, trying again. "No, you're not um, misreading. But again this wasn't my intent at all. I'm definitely all for it. I mean, to a point you know, sorry this isn't something I ever expected to happen but I really do like you, a lot and—"

Instead of a kiss, a piece of tuna is pressed into your mouth, and with how good it is you can't say for sure that you'd prefer the kiss or not. As you chew, a slight scowl on your features, Moon laughs. It makes your heart flutter for a moment. 

"I really like you too. I wasn't sure that you'd feel the same, so I didn't act on those feelings. But, since you've shown that you clearly feel something,"—He snickers as you shoot him another glare—"For me, I'm more than happy to make it clear to you now."

"Gee, thanks." 

Another kiss is pressed to your hair, arm wrapping around you and you welcome it, snuggling into the warm fur next to you. You grab a piece of tuna, munching on it to hide your fluster in that moment. 

"And since he's already said it, I will too." Moon's voice is right next to your ear in that moment, low but lethal. 

"I don't share either."

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you for the request @divinit3a!! I had lots and lots of fun with the yetis and i can't wait to see what else you do with them yourself, i may perhaps do a bit more when I find the time hehehehe

My writing Masterpost

DCA Valentine's Masterpost

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

[bonesxbows]

Unforgettable (Alastor X Reader)

My Masterlist

Everyone at the hotel seems to be overlooking you, talking over you, acting as if you're not really there. Though it's not on purpose, you know they don't really mean to be ignoring you, it still hurts. Everyone except Alastor. He's the first to notice when you start to shut down and slink away. 

(WARNINGS)

Autism spectrum reader

Selective mutism behaviors

Negative self talk (slight depression/overthinking)

Mentions of addiction 

I’m having the most wonderful time in college so far! (insert upside down smiley face here) Anyway this is based on something that happened recently so it’s 100% entirely self indulgent, I’m relying on writing for comfort right now and ya’ll are along for the ride so enjoy! Also I’m sorta undiagnosed on the spectrum so this isn’t entirely accurate but it is based off of my own experiences, if any of it comes off as offensive to anyone just let me know and I’ll be more than willing to change it. Comments and likes are highly appreciated, I feel like my writing has been in a slump lately so PLEASE let me know if this is any good

Banners by @strangergraphics

You were in your room, laying on your bed with your eyes closed, hands neatly folded on your stomach, and fingers mindlessly fidgeting with themselves. Wordless jazz drifted through the air, broadcasted through an old radio; a gift from Alastor. One that you cherished, the soft noise always doing wonders to soothe your restless mind. You often wondered if that was part of his intention when he had given it to you, if he had known about your condition even back then.

There was a knock at your door, but the visitor didn’t wait for you to answer before opening it. The radio magically shut off on its own once it sensed an intruder. You peeked open an eye, seeing a blurb of blonde hair poke into your doorframe. 

“Heya! We’re meeting down in the lobby for another group exercise, it’d be super if you could join us!” Charlie told you, her attitude as bubbly as ever. She didn’t wait for you to reply before skipping off down the hallway, leaving your door open in expectation for you to follow her. You sighed, getting up and doing just that, not really having much of a choice if you were still going to stay here.

Everyone had already beaten you down there, all congregating together and conversing. Though from your standpoint it sounded more like arguing. You grimaced from the noise but carried on, trudging forward to join the crowd. Alastor sensed your presence almost immediately, whipping his head in your direction once you were close. His smile grew tenfold at the sight of you. He patted the empty space of the couch next to him, silently beckoning you over. You relaxed just a little, Alastor’s presence easing some of the tension this social gathering had brought upon you. As soon as you sat down next to him he snaked his hand around your hips, pulling you closer into his side and resting his claws on your thigh.

The conversion around the two of you continued, though it was getting harder to keep up with what was going on. 

“This is Hell, toots! Ain’t exactly a walk in the park to jus’ cut it off cold!” Angel was standing in front of Charlie, all four arms raised in defense. 

“I get that, Angel, but we can’t exactly allow this sort of behavior forever. I’m open to ideas. Suggestions? Is there a way to ease out of this sort of thing?” She rebutted. You figured they were talking about someone’s addiction, possibly Angel’s himself’s, or maybe Husk’s. Either way, you wanted to help, they were both your friends. 

“Charlie, I-” 

“Ease out? Are you kiddin’ me? Do you know how addictin’ they make this stuff? It’s on purpose, baby! Once you’re hooked it’s for life!” 

But Angel beat you to it. Your words just weren’t fast enough. But you didn’t give up, maybe they just hadn’t heard you?

“That’s true, but-”

“There’s got to be something out there, some kind of cure. Right? Maybe we just haven’t found it yet. Come on, don’t give up hope just yet!” 

Charlie interrupted you this time. She flashed Angel a hopeful smile, but ironically she had just knocked all wind out of your sails. You deflated, defeated, and crumbled in your seat. Any hope that they would listen to you fizzled behind your eyes. You curled into yourself, watching them as they continued their little argument, embarrassment and frustration clouding your mind. You wanted to help, had information that could help, but it was like you were invisible. 

Invisible to all, except Alastor. Who took extreme note of the way your face fell when you kept getting talked over. Who noticed how your always pleasant smile vanished and never came back. And how you tried to practically disappear into the side of his coat. 

Irritation pulled at the corners of his smile, making his eyes twitch. 

When the conversation was more or less over, tempers cooled enough that everyone was at peace again, you were quick to excuse yourself, getting up and fleeing before anyone, especially Alastor, could stop you. You ran, head hung low, not even looking where you were going, just hoping your feet would instinctively carry you back to the safety of your room. Your brain was fuddled, one thought led to another, which led to another, which snowballed into a self-loathing mess. So much of a mess you almost face-planted into the wood of your door. Luckily you stopped in time, huffing a sigh and kicking yourself for not paying attention, before you pushed the door open and walked inside, slamming the door behind you. You threw yourself onto your bed, not caring what went flying where, just caring enough that your embarrassed face could be covered by enough fluff and plushness to not be seen by anyone. 

That is until your radio tuned back to life again, nearly making you just out of your skin at the sudden noise. It flickered through static but eventually evened out to the jazz that had been playing earlier. The peaceful music made your heart ache. You felt stupid. 

Oh, Alastor…your Alastor. You loved how safe and comforting he made you feel, but he deserved better than to put up with your weird antics and moods. 

“Darling? Are you alright?”

As if the radio tuning had been a prelude to his arrival, he had shadow-stepped into your room not three seconds later. You sprang up at the sound of his voice, turning around to see him standing near your desk, leaning against his elbow propped up on top of your radio. You opened your mouth to reply, but yet nothing came out, the words becoming stuck like thick cotton in your throat. So you simply shook your head instead, your gaze falling down to your lap. Your heart hammered in your ears. 

Stupid. You were being stupid. Overreacting. As usual. Just talk to him. 

You didn’t notice him walking over towards you until he was near, sitting down next to you on your bed, resting his cane against a nearby wall. He placed a claw underneath your chin, guiding your face upwards to look at him. He used his thumb to gently tug at the corner of your lips, pushing it upwards into a lopsided smile. One that didn’t stay, your face falling as soon as he removed his finger. 

He sighed at the sight. Though he wasn’t upset, not with you. His smile was compassionate, caring. A rare one he only ever showed you, but worry creased his brow. “You didn’t deserve that treatment, you know. I’d kill them if I could.” 

At that, he earned a small, fleeting, smile. His bloodthirstiness was endearing at times. 

“Ah, there's my darling. Can you use your words, ma chérie?” 

You shook your head again. Your vocal chords failing you, seizing up in your throat. This selective mutism of yours wasn’t new. 

“That’s alright. How about we go up to the studio, hm? Just me and you. I’ll even let you pick out a few records to play on air. How’s that sounding?” He tilted his head towards you, smile glinting with persuasion. 

You nodded eagerly, the thought of being in a safe space alone with Alastor already easing your mind. 

He stood up enthusiastically off your bed and held out a hand for you to do the same. “Wonderful. Shall we be off then? Best get to it while the record player’s still hot!”

(Song: It Had To Be You by Isham Jones)

You were sitting cross-legged on Alastor’s desk, flipping through his collection of records, while he continued on with his broadcast. “Duke Ellington”, “Fats Waller”, “Ethel Waters”, and “Isham Jones” all shuffled through your fingers, names that you had come to recognize over the countless times you had spent up here with Alastor. You handed him the last one your fingertips touched. His grin grew at your selection as he shut off his microphone. 

“A fine choice, dear, a fine choice indeed!” He pulled the black disc out of its sleeve, slotting it into the machine and dropping the needle down onto one of its grooves. The sound of upbeat trumpets and an accompanying jazz band filled the broadcasting studio, the same song playing to any and all tuned in to Alastor’s radio station. He began to hum along, pushing his chair back and hopping up, gently pulling you off of the desk with little warning. You clutched onto him as he grabbed you, your feet dangled mid-air for a moment before you found your footing, earning a chuckle from Alastor as you kicked at nothing. 

But eventually, you found purchase on the ground again, and when you did he began to glide you along, guiding you in circles around the room, one hand in yours and the other firmly around your waist. You kept your free hand on his chest, trying to keep your feet up with his. He didn’t take you dancing often, but when he did you were always reminded of just what time period he originated from. He was a natural, humming along to the tune floating through the air as he graced across the floor himself, leading you with him as he went. When he flicked his wrist and spun you in place you felt something inside of you loosen, easing up after the earlier events of the day. 

“Alastor?” You called out his name. There was a flash of surprise across his face at first, no doubt he had become accustomed to the silence, but it quickly gave way to fondness. He pulled you closer to his chest, slowing down his movements around the room. 

“Yes, ma chérie?” Static purred in the back of his throat. 

“Thank you, for…for all of this.”

He hummed in response, placing a gentle and quick kiss on the tip of your nose. “Anything for you, my doe.”

[sanjisleggy]

it's a date (dracule mihawk x reader)

summary: how Dracule Mihawk behaves around you–the person he has feelings for who also (unfortunately for him) happens to be on Shanks’ crew

a/n: based on a super cute quest by 🪐 anon! :D a short and sweet one that’s purely yearning and fluff! hope you enjoy :>

contents: pre-relationship (obv :P), fluff, simp!Mihawk, yearning

wc. ~800

wanna be on my taglist?

first of all, it will not show on his face. ever. years of steeling himself to face any life-threatening obstacle has made it easy for the swordsman to hide his feelings under a facade of his typical cold  indifference… at least that's what he thinks 

meanwhile Shanks is over here like

bc he clocks it even before Mihawk himself realises he harbours feelings for you. Shanks could tell from the way his old friend would linger behind you at all times, eyes darting towards any sign of danger; how the ends of his lips quirked upward ever so slightly every time you speak to him and how intently he listens even if the topic is obviously not something the swordsman is interested in. your captain knows had it been anyone else (including him!) trying to make conversation about such mundane things, Mihawk would’ve long walked away

no one on the crew questions how often the Warlord seems to be tagging along, everyone just assumes he has his own business to take care of and hitching a ride on the Red Force just happens to be the most efficient way

you’re ecstatic that he’s coming aboard more frequently, however, and are not afraid to show it, often dragging him around the ship to show him your favourite spots. your shamelessness makes your fellow crewmates fear for your life but after a while even they get used to the sight of you pulling around the Greatest Swordsman in the World like a mother cat with her kitten. they dare not assume anything about the man but behind closed doors, some do gossip about how strange it is he’d allow you to do such a thing with no repercussions

Mihawk believes he fell for you after one particular interaction in which you forwent taking part in some festivities in favour of sitting beside him a distance away from the party

“shouldn’t you be dancing with the locals or something?” he’d commented rather snarkily, assuming you perhaps had some ulterior motives for staying by his side.

“i just want some peace and quiet tonight.” you shrugged. “it’s nice sitting with you in silence,” you added with a smile and for the first time in a long time Mihawk felt blood rush to his face. “but i can leave if i’m bothering you.”

“no,” he answered before he could even fully process your offer. “you may stay.”

your smile grew wider and some foreign feeling gripped at his heart.

it’s been a while since that night and he’s long since accepted that that feeling was some kind of infatuation; or at least, that’s what it started out as. day after day he feels his heart yearning for you; at first the feeling was simply small and nagging but it’s long since grown into something akin to desperation, like how one’s lungs would yearn for air after holding their breath for far too long

your voice is the sweetest sound Mihawk’s ever heard and on days he isn’t aboard your crew’s ship, he wishes to hear it more than anything. you could talk to him about snail anatomy and his need would be more than satiated

your touch burns his skin but it hurts more when you let go. so often you grab him by the wrist to pull him around, the contact itself enough to send his poor heart racing. the simple action flusters him so much he always wishes for you to let go before his facade breaks but when you finally do, arriving at where you wanted to bring him, he wants nothing more than for you to hold his hand again

Mihawk feels like a child. actually, scratch that, even as a child he’d never felt this way around anyone before. always laser-focused on his swordsmanship, he never saw the need to seek out companions in general. he’d keep the rare ones he stumbled across and liked well enough but never actively looked. even meeting you was purely a coincidence; had you not joined his old friend’s crew, he’s sure you never would have met 

he’s thankful that you did, though

“would you care to join me for dinner tonight?” the swordsman asks from across the ship’s library where the two of you had been browsing books in silence for a while now.

“dinner?” you respond rather lamely, surprised by the sudden invitation. he smiles to himself but you aren’t able to catch it from so far away. he, however, more than easily notices your flustered expression. “just us two?”

“yes.”

“... is it…” you look away from his direction and kick at the floor at some non-existent rocks, “... a date? like a… romantic date?”

your sudden shy demeanour is so endearing to the man he feels what can only be described as ‘cuteness aggression’ as he resists the urge to close the wide gap in between the two of you.

“only if you want it to be,” Mihawk replies rather smoothly, a stark contrast to his anxiety-ridden heart that’s currently pounding so hard in his chest it feels like it's about to explode. at his answer, your eyes meet his and you smile so sweetly it nearly knocks him off his feet.

“it’s a date then.”

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage @lunaizhere @saint-atlas @goldenpanda16 @Jordan03400 @rebeccawinters @glorywielder101 @slytherinambitious @the0twst0shrimp0mc

[kettles-posts]

"Perfect"

A/N:

-fyi guys, It's not spell checked, so please ignore any mistakes. <3

John Price x Reader

"Y'real lucky Cap, got y'self the perfect bird, dont' ya'?"

John rolled his eyes and clicked his tounge in annoyance, he had invited the rest of 141 over for dinner before going out to the pub down the street because he wanted to properly introduce you all.

Now, they had heard of you briefly in casual conversation and vice versa however they never met you, not formally at least, perhaps seeing each other in the halls of the base (when you can to drop of Price's lunch he so ~conveniently~ forgot about) but nothing more than that.

What the great John Price himself didn't forshadow was the way all of his team would fawn over you, yeah you were a doll, HIS doll, he was quickly getting annoyed by the amount of compliments they were giving you, Gaz's especially, so he did the onlybthing he knew to do, deflect.

"The lass has dolled her self up because we have company, normally shes slouching 'round the house, Gaz, they only ever looked like this in the begining, ya know, so dont let yourself be fooled, y'know how the girls are these days,"

What he didn't account for in his little outburst was the effect his words would have on you, who was waiting outside the door...

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

You had always had problems with your looks, always feeling inferior, comparing yourself to others never feeling enough. It was a habit that stemmed from your mother, and her constant need to nitpick at everything little thing about you.

It then progressed to your constant need to be "perfect". To always look presentable no matter who or what was going to be there. A full face of makeup, hair done, and outfit hiding whatever you deemed to be the "problem" parts of you today.

You never trusted anyone enough to show yourself in these moments where you didn't deem yourself to be presentable enough. Always terrified of being judged or ridiculed by someone else just like you did yourself. Always terrified that someone would validate your fears of not being enough.

Thats why when John had first asked you out you thought he was joking, you looked around trying to find his group of friends snickering between themselves. You didn't, of course, but that still didn't stop your hesitation, nor did your hesitation stop his determination.

I mean can you blame him? You were gorgeous standing there in the grocery line looking like the perfect little house wife, sweet and kind, how could you not expecting him to snatch you up before anyone else had the chance.

He was an amazing boyfriend constantly telling you how much he loved you, how beautiful you looked, how loved you were.

He was the first person you managed to be properly comfortable around, able to be less "perfect", you thought that he never judged you for it.

That's why as you when you began to walk to the dining room with a tray of freshly baked lasagne in hand, you were horrified to hear your boyfriend, the one person who you thought didn't care how you looked around him, the one person that made you feel loved. Telling his friends how you "fooled" him into dating you and you were not as "perfect" as you used to be.

In all honesty, you wish you were more shocked. That this senario hadn't played through you head countless times before that you hadn't had a small voice in the back of your mind telling you how you didn't deserve him, how he was only still dating you out of pity.

You had hoped that it would never happen, that it was all just made up in your head. You wished in that very moment that this was all a dream that you could wake up and find John besides you, not talking about you negatively but instead kissing your forehead softly before leaving for the base.

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

But that wasn't the case, you weren't dreaming, he wasn't waking you up sweetly by kissing you on th forehead, and the rest of your boyfriends squad was sitting in the room infront of you.

You had no time to think about that, you needed to be "perfect".

•The "perfect" girlfriend.

•The "perfect" host.

•The "perfect" person.

Always kind and caring, always looking "perfect"...

Before you knew it you were stepping through the threshold of the door to the dining room, a "perfect" smile plastered on your face, your body going through the motions. Your mind was racing but you can't let it show on your face, you have to be "perfect"

--------------------------------------------------‐

You...you, HAD to be... you had nothing else to give, no matter how many times John has compliment you, no matter how many times he told you, that you were enough it's obvious you weren't because if you were then why was he saying that?? Why would he be saying you weren't good enough??

You had let yourself get too comfortable, too happy, you had lost your control, you had forgotten that you needed to be "perfect". You felt sorry for John, he had to deal with you when you weren't.

No wonder he was complaining! It's okay, though, you can fix it. You can ALWAYS fix it. John won't need to feel cheated, like you fooled or tricked him. You just need to get back into your routine.

You just need to be perfect again...

[brights-place]

Ace and his U.M (Unique Magic)

Ace and his unique magic I think was actually not suprising to me because I was guessing and rambling to friends about the signs created about Ace and his future unique magic. One where he could be so OP and copy someone elses unique magic... WHICH WAS RIGHT ALONG WITH THAT PERSON WHO ALSO THOUGHT ACE IS U.M WAS COPYING BRO WAS ALSO A PROPHET LMAO!! anyways

It took 4 years to see his U.M so YAYY we finally got everybody's U.M so here am I to ramble about how Ace just whipped out a huge uno reverse card to whoever he's going to verse

So heres a ramble from me!! someone who rarely analyzes things but wanted to ramble anyways! Also this might not make sense because Im not good at explaining stuff that well I MAY WRITE BUT ANALYZING STUFF IS TOTALLY OUT OF MY LEAGUE UNLESS ITS SOMTH I CAN GRIND FOR HOURS ON I mean it goes for TWST but I can't word it right at all smh...

Ace is U.M was offically shown in Book 7-290 where he instantly went to help his friends in the fight with riddle.

In battle Ace himself admits his fear of failure by sharing the fact that he's afraid of failing everyone while the MC is there to reassure him along with the fact Grim encourages him by telling him that Ace can do it because we believe he can. Their support, their encouragement and reassurance is what brings Ace the strength to continue on thats what helped build up to his unique magic

“I’m going to take your special treat! Joker Snatch (Or translated to Give me your trump card) After ace has casted his U.M onto Riddle whats even funnier is he used RIDDLES own magic against him collaring his housewarden.

Ace and his unique magic is known as ‘Joker Snatch’ which gives the magic user the power to steal or copy their opponent's unique magic. Same abilities as Azul and Trey with the two’s U.M which is “Its a deal” and “Doodle Suite”

I wanted to explain about how we not only got hints of it but right on conversations from Ace about it even before he got it.

To start off first is Ace is name. Ace Trappola

Trappola is the name of an old Italian card game that stands out as the first one in which the ace is considered the highest-value card, and ranks above the king.

The change for this was because of changed following the French Revolution in the 1500 after which the Ace was promoted to the highest card in the deck-11- a symbolic nod to the overthrow of France's nobility and rise of the commoner a single number that outeanks it all.

Because ace was traditionally the lowest card in the deck until angry French proletariats overthrew their monarchy.

In games based on the superiority of one rank over another, such as most trick-taking games, the ace counts highest, outranking even the king. Which makes me focus on the Red Tyrant arc when Ace attacked Riddle not only once but TWICE for the males seat as housewarden and when Riddle overblotted. Correction Three times as we add Riddles Dream where they have to fight Riddle. Ace standing up to people in positions of authority who are objectively stronger than himself shows how an ACE is higher then any other rank no matter what because Ace is himself someone who may be in a group yet by itself/himself is strong on its own/

With the hints laid between chapters and vignettes the whole Unique magic was dangling right infront of our eyes ALSO SHOUT OUT TO THAT PERSON ON TIKTOK WHO GOT IT RIGHT BECAUSE I KNEW IT TOO I WAS SCREECHING!! Ahem

A conversation in Ace is dorm vignette shows with him talking with cater how he was able to 'steal' skills from others paying attention, along with the fact he’s good at mimicking people’s voices and it was repeatedly said that he’s good at copying stuff / is a fast learner. He is able to bend these things to his own will at the same time. In the same vignette we also see that Ace is impressive short-term memory is confirmed he is adept at mimicking those around him, or both. In his dorm vignette, Ace learns multiple things from Rook in order to get the missing hedgehogs back into heartslabyul along with the fact he was able to easily copy Vil is strutting in the Fairy Gala event after heckling and mocking jack. Another example is Ace able to copy his brother & fathers magic tricks. His older brother is his only sibling, seven years older, a former Heartslabyul student and NRC graduate.

With the fact Ace likes to do tricks infront of people like Deuce to scare them entertained by their shock of him doing things that they wouldn’t expect.

Ace explains that it was his brother who taught him how to lie convincingly and that he learned slight-of-hand by memorizing his brother’s motions since his brother refused to teach him directly, and Cater compliments him on being able to pick things up on his own and think so quickly on his feet.

Ace explains himself that “Most things, you can imitate if you see ‘em enough and pay enough attention.” another example and hint for his U.M Riddle also takes Ace is memorization telling him that he should do the same to memorize the Queen of Hearts’ Code which Ace denies quickly stating his way of memorization is different to memorizing the ones for the queen of hearts. These examples show how Ace is able to adapt to situations copy others in situations rembering the slightest bit of details even witnessing their unique magics only once but is able to get the hand of them easily yet his U.M could mean he has a higher chance of gaining blot.

Ace is such a good character I can't write anything that explains much well but I do wanna improve on that but Ace is a character was the first one we met who was able to stand up to people in higher positions with help of the [MC] pushing him even without a U.M dealing with overblots and now somebody who was helped by [MC] again who cheered him on to BEAT Riddle in a fight again but this time with a U.M The start and THE END was Ace being beside [MC] who pushed him forward in these situations and Ace being able to be vulnerable hits hard along with Deuce WHO HITS HARDER WITH HIS U.M WHEN THEY TOOK DOWN RIDDLE YEAHHHH. Anyways thanks for coming to my yap session It probs wasn't explained well but to wrap it up. Ace is unique magic was right there infront of us building up. How he's a quick thinker, a fast learner able to understand something, pick up a trait from someone else easily since he was younger that he was able to do it himself without being guided to do so and facing both times against riddle with the help of [MC] to push himself harder even when he thought he was going to fail the time when Riddle Overblotted, and when Riddle fought them using riddles own skill against him. Though we don't know the drawbacks caused by Ace is U.M like I said he could have higher chances of overblotting do certain Unique magic he uses from someone else cause his body harm and changes? like with Leona would he have cracks in his hands if he ever used it because of the sand? with cater if he duplicates himself would he get light headed because his body isn't used to it like cater's is? does he have scars from trying to use someone else is unique magic knowing the drawbacks but harm will still happen? will his body ache if he used fae of maleficence ? we don't know what could happen to ace with his unique magic and the drawbacks so for now its unkown. Ace is such a good character and I'm glad we got his Unquiet magic finally and I'm so happy to finally see it now that we got it all <33 ── .✦ Back to where I was tweakin

[octaneink]

Come take your chance with me

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary : The reader likes Will, she decides to show that she loves him in the most romantic way she can think of. Write a song dedicated to him. Now she just has to post it privately on YouTube so James can have a look at it... Right? Warnings : none (unless you count some cheesy ass writing) Notes : I have once again decided to write something based off a song that just got me in the mood! Its a bop, 10/10 would recommend. Also, I know nothing about music theory, I looked up most of this stuff on Google, I apologise if I got it wrong.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, your guitar resting against your knees, the hum of your desk lamp casting long, flickering shadows on the notebook sprawled open in front of you. The room is quiet except for the occasional creak of your chair and the faint hum of the city outside your window. Your mind, however, is anything but quiet.

Will’s smile flickers in your thoughts—that easy, crooked grin that’s been haunting you for months. You can still see it so clearly: the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, the way he’d leaned in close to hear you over the noise of the bar that first night, his breath warm against your ear. Focus, you chide yourself, shaking your head as if it will dislodge the memory.

The melody has been looping in your head for days, an insistent rhythm that feels like it’s woven itself into your very being. The instrumental beat, the steady thrum of the would be drums—it’s like an earworm no one else can hear, a secret soundtrack only you know. It’s there when you wake up, humming in the back of your mind as you brush your teeth. It’s there when you’re scrolling through your phone, tapping out the rhythm on your thigh. It’s there when you’re lying in bed at night, the notes swirling in the dark like fireflies you can’t catch.

But the words? The words are a mess.

“I’m lost in your eyes"

You pause, tapping your pen against the paper. I'm lost in your eyes? Too cliché. Too… obvious. But the next line comes unbidden, as if your heart has been waiting for permission to speak:

“But you’re the cool to my calm each day…”

You wince. Cool to my calm? That sounds like something you’d find on a motivational poster in a dentist’s office. You nearly scratch it out, but the rhythm of the words keeps your hand still. It isn’t perfect, but it’s honest. And isn’t that what matters?

Your mind drifts back to Will. You’d met on a night out, of course. James, your best friend since college, had dragged you to some trendy sports bar downtown. “You need to get out more,” he’d insisted. “You’re turning into a hermit.”

You’d rolled your eyes but let him drag you along anyway. And there he was: Will Lenney, standing at the bar with a drink in hand, his laugh cutting through the noise like a beacon. James had introduced you, and Will had flashed you that grin—the one that makes your stomach do somersaults.

Will said your name, “Nice to meet you. James talks about you all the time.”

“All good things, I hope,” you’d replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Mostly,” Will had teased, his eyes sparkling.

That had been six months ago. Six months of late-night conversations, of stolen glances, of moments that felt like they could mean something if either of you dared to say it out loud.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, your guitar resting against your knees. The chorus has been nagging at you all day, a snippet of melody that refuses to leave you alone. You strum a chord, humming under your breath.

“Honey dance with me

Come take your chance with me"

It’s catchy, you have to admit. But is it too much? Too obvious? You groan, flopping back onto your pillows. Writing a song about someone who has no idea how you feel is harder than you’d thought.

Your phone buzzes on the night stand.

Will (9:42 PM): You free this weekend? James and I are filming a collab. Thought you might want to hang after.

Your heart leaps, but you force yourself to play it cool.

You (9:43 PM): Depends. Will there be snacks?

Will (9:43 PM): Obviously. I’m not a monster.

You smile, your fingers itching to pick up the guitar again. Maybe you’ll figure out the bridge tomorrow.

Past you was clearly an optimist.

The bridge is giving you trouble. You’ve rewritten it three times already, but nothing feels right. Each attempt feels like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands—close, but never quite there.

“Now we’ve been losing our way

A little bit more every day…”

It’s close, but something is missing. You sigh, setting the guitar aside and reaching for your coffee. The song is almost done, but the closer you get to finishing it, the more terrified you become. What if Will hears it and realises it’s about him? What if he hates you for thinking about him in that way? What if he doesn’t?

Your phone buzzes again.

James (11:15 AM): How’s the song coming?

You (11:16 AM): It’s… coming. I think. Maybe.

James (11:16 AM): You’re overthinking it. Just finish it already.

Easier said than done.

By the end of the week, the song is done. You sit back, your fingers sore and your heart pounding. You glance at the clock and groan. You have work in the morning, but there’s no way you’re sleeping now.

Instead, you grab your phone and open your messages.

You (12:07 AM): Hey, James. You awake?

The response comes almost immediately.

James (12:08 AM): Barely. What’s up?

You (12:08 AM): I wrote something. Can you look at it? Tell me if it’s too… much.

James (12:09 AM): Send it over.

You snap a picture of the lyrics and hit send, your stomach twisting as you wait for his reply.

James (12:12 AM): This is… wow.

You (12:12 AM): Wow good or wow bad?

James (12:13 AM): Wow good. It’s raw. It’s… you. Will’s going to lose his mind when he hears it.

Your breath catches. When he hears it? You hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

You (12:14 AM): I don’t know if I can let him hear it. What if he hates it? And its still not finished…

James (12:15 AM): He won’t. Trust me.

You don’t respond, your mind racing coming up with random, horrible, horrific scenarios of what or how he’d react when he heard it.  

But then you think of his smile, of the way he’d looked at you that night at the bar, and something in your chest tightens. Maybe it’s worth the risk.

The red recording light glares at you, unblinking, as if it’s judging every note, every word, every breath. You’ve been at this for hours—days, really—trying to get it right. The song is finished, but capturing it perfectly feels impossible. You’ve already done seven takes, and now you’re on your tenth. Or is it the eighteenth? You’ve lost count.

Your voice wavers on the line “murky waters, baby,” and you stop mid-verse, groaning in frustration. You hit pause on the recording software and slump back in your chair, running a hand through your hair. It’s late—way too late—but you can’t stop now. Not when you’re so close.

You glance around your home studio, a space you’ve spent years curating. The room is small but cosy, soundproofed with foam panels you and James installed last summer. Your guitar rests on a stand next to your keyboard, and your mic—a decent condenser you saved up for—sits in front of you, its pop filter catching the soft glow of the desk lamp. Your laptop screen displays the waveform of your latest attempt. It’s not terrible, but it’s not perfect.

You take a deep breath, close your eyes, and recall how to get to where you are now.

The first day is a disaster. You’re too nervous, too stiff, too aware of every little mistake. Your voice cracks on the high notes, and you keep stumbling over the words. “Honey dance with me (oh sugar)” sounds more like a question than an invitation, and you cringe every time you play it back.

You give up after the fifth take, deciding to focus on the guitar track instead. You plug in your acoustic, adjusting the mic placement until the tone is just right. You record it clean, layering in a soft strumming pattern that matches the rhythm of the song. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

By the third day, you’ve managed to record a decent vocal take. It’s not flawless, but it’s raw and honest, and you decide that’s better than perfect. You open your DAW—Digital Audio Workstation—and begin syncing the vocals with the guitar. You add subtle reverb to give it that dreamy, intimate feel, tweaking the EQ until your voice sits just right in the mix.

You play it back, your heart pounding as you listen to the chorus. 

It’s close. So close. But something’s missing.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted. Your fingers are sore from playing the guitar, your throat is raw from singing, and your eyes are burning from staring at your laptop screen for hours on end. But the song is finally done.

You play it back one last time, your heart in your throat. It’s not perfect, but it’s yours. It’s you.

You open YouTube, preparing to upload the video. You set it to Private, your thumb hovering over the upload button. You’re not ready for anyone to hear it—not yet. But then your phone buzzes.

Will (1:14 AM): You up?

Your heart skips a beat. You glance at the screen, your thumb slipping as you fumble to reply.

Public.

You don’t realise your mistake until it’s too late.

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly on your nightstand. Groaning, you reach for it, squinting against the harsh light of the screen. The notifications are overwhelming—hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. YouTube comments, Twitter mentions, Instagram DMs. Your heart skips a beat as you open YouTube and see the number: 1.2M views.

Overnight.

Your stomach drops. You sit up, your hands trembling as you scroll through the comments.

“This is so beautiful. Who’s it for? 👀”

“The way she sings ‘your lips on mine’… I’m obsessed.”

“Who’s Will?? Someone find him!”

You freeze. The description. You’d written it in a sleep-deprived haze last night, not thinking anyone would actually see it.

“For Will.”

That’s all it said. No last name, no context. Just two words that now have the entire internet speculating.

You open TikTok, against your better judgement. The first video that pops up is a stitch of your chorus, overlaid with a clip of a random guy named Will from some obscure show. The caption reads: “Found him! This is the Will she’s singing about. #HoneyDanceWithMe”

The comments are worse.

“No way, that’s not him. She’s way too talented for that guy.”

“It’s obviously about Will Smith. She’s just being subtle.”

“Will SMITH?? Girl that man is married. She’s obviously talking about Will Stuart.”

“This song is a BOP. Also, Will better step up because this is breath taking.”

You close the app, your face burning. This is worse than you thought. 

You cradle your face and scream into your hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be private. A secret. Something you could share when you were ready—if you were ever ready.

Your phone buzzes again, and you flinch. It’s James.

James (8:57 AM): You didn’t mean to do that...right?

You (8:58 AM): NO WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT?? 

You (8:58 AM): ALSO 

You (8:58 AM): NOT HELPING!!

James (8:59 AM): Relax. It’s raw. It’s… you. Will’s been asking for your address, by the way.

Your stomach drops. Will’s been asking for your address.

You type out a response, delete it, then type it again.

You (9:00 AM): What did you tell him?

The three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.

James (9:01 AM): Relax, I didn’t give it to him. Yet.

You groan again, louder this time. This is a nightmare. A beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

By noon, you’re a wreck. You’ve avoided social media, but the texts keep coming. Friends, acquaintances, even your mum has seen the song.

Mum (12:30 PM): Pumpkin, is this about that boy you told me about? The one with the nice smile?

You groan, flopping back onto your bed. This is a disaster. You type back a quick yes and for the moment, ignored her messages.

Your phone buzzes again.

Will (12:45 PM): Hey. You okay?

You stare at the message, your heart pounding. What do you even say? Hey, sorry I accidentally wrote a song about you and posted it online. My bad.

Before you can reply, another text comes through.

Will (12:46 PM): The song’s amazing, by the way.

Your breath catches. He’s heard it. Of course, he’s heard it. It’s everywhere.

You (12:47 PM): Thanks. I didn’t mean for it to go public.

Will (12:48 PM): I know. James told me. You okay?

You’re not sure how to answer that.

The knock comes at 1:00 PM sharp. You’ve been pacing for what feels like hours, your stomach in knots, your mind racing with a thousand what-ifs. You glance at yourself in the hallway mirror—hair a mess, still in your pajamas, and a worn old hoodie, eyes wide with panic. Great. Perfect timing.

You take a deep breath, smoothing your hair as best you can, and open the door.

There he is. Will. Standing on your doorstep, his hands shoved in his pockets, that familiar grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes are soft, almost hesitant.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and warm.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. You step back to let him in, your heart hammering so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet of your hallway. The air feels charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

“So… the song,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You wince, crossing your arms over your chest like a shield. “Yeah. The song.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “It’s amazing. Really.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. “Thanks.”

He hesitates, then reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch is light, almost tentative, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “You could’ve just told me, you know,” he says, his voice soft.

You look up at him, your breath catching. “Told you what?”

He smiles, that same crooked grin that’s been haunting you for weeks. “That you feel the same way I do.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Will, I—”

But before you can finish, he steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. He murmurs your name, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to say anything. The song said it all.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

The kiss deepens, sweet and slow, like honey dripping from a spoon. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the warmth of his body, the way his breath hitches when you slide your fingers into his hair.

It’s messy and imperfect, just like the song, but it’s real. It’s you.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“So,” he says, his voice rough, a grin tugging at his lips. “Does this mean I get to dance with you?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside you. “Shut up.”

He kisses you again, quick and playful this time. “Never.”

[olderthannetfic]

Saw this person being sad that A fans were unwilling to talk to them, and basically said that A fans were close minded. As an A fan, I know that some of us are super extreme so I thought "Hey, I can make this person's experience better" and went to check their blog. Mistake. Their blog is like:

Post about why A sucks

Post about liking both A and B… but explaining that B is actually better than A

Post about why they enjoy making A suffer in fics

Post about liking AC in the past until the fans annoyed them too much

Post about why B deserves the love A is enjoying in fandom instead

BC ship post... with a dig at AC

Post about why A doesn't deserve forgiveness or fandom love

Post about how A's trauma isn't a good reason to sympathize with them because they did genuinely awful things due to trauma

Post about how A and B have similar trauma but B came out being a decent person (their trauma level is not the fucking same btw. B has a relatively realistic shitty life. A's backstory would sound cartoonishly angsty if I didn't know that it was based on a true story.)

Like wow... Nobody wants to interact with you? Why would they do that? That's crazy... *Block*

--

Heh. Someone I know was mad at me for saying that Tumblr was a good place for conversation instead of the usual oldschool LJ party line of Tumblr being the worst 5eva. They were like "People send you asks!!!" in that "You're popular and that just happened for no reason and you don't understand the little people" kind of way that is always so infuriating. I hadn't reblogged them either, boo hoo.

The funny part was that they had a different name here, so while I did remember seeing that screen name, I hadn't known it was someone I knew. I'd probably have paid more attention if I had!

And then I looked at what they'd said while reblogging me and at their tumblr in general, and it was all zero-to-sixty rage monster rants on posts where that made no sense and was not that appropriate. You know: newbies asking a question in good faith, but the answer involves things that make us mad. The prior answers had explained the facts but not spent too much time venting over how much such-and-such sucks, so my friend found it deeply necessary to add all that anger back in.

I'm not in the habit of reblogging things that are not only offputting but repetitive and boring. Of fucking course they weren't getting interactions from timid randos who don't know them!

Granted, this all went down much closer to lockdown, and a lot of us weren't doing well, so I get why they were a rage monster, but... people don't like talking to rage monsters. Sorry?

A lot of people have a hard time accepting that the problem might just be them themselves.

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

teach me? // Quinn Hughes

a drunk conversation leaves your best friend wondering.

AN: based off this anon, this is the first of a few ideas i have for this topic so enjoy part one!🫶🏻

WC: 1.1k

CW: smut, quinn talks you through it, fem masturbating, a little bit of possessive quinn.

Quinn knows he should leave, he knows he shouldn't break your trust and listen but his feet won't move. He can hear your giggles, not a sign of discomfort in the conversation. A drastic difference from anytime you've been around the guys when these topics are brought up.

“y/n! Are you telling me you’ve never gotten off?!” There was another laugh, he couldn't tell who. Too focused on your answer. How could no one treat you right? No one’s found pleasure between your thighs? Tragedy for them, he thought to himself.

“Oh my god, no. I have gotten off, just not manually? If that makes sense. Like, no one else. No hands, nothing but the handy dandy vibrator.”

He needed to leave, his mind wandering and he knew all the guys would just chirp at him if he walked back with a hard on.

Everyone started to slowly make their way to bed, calling it a night yourself around 1:30. Your room right across from Quinn’s. You knew he was already locked away, trying your best to stay quiet while you were in and out of the bathroom that shared a wall.

Finally settling in your bed and grabbing your phone, seeing a text from Quinn. Come here, please. Followed with another text, Don't knock, just come in.

“Hi Q.” He was quick to pat his bed, “I need to ask you something, and you can tell me no or to fuck off and I wont ever bring it up again. I just, I need to ask.” You nodded at the man, who's now pacing. “I’m telling on myself and I'm sorry in advance. I was walking by when you and the girls were chatting and somethings been stuck in my head since and it makes me feel so bad because you absolutely don't deserve that kind of shit treatment. Oh god, I'm rambling. Anyways, no one ever made you cum? I can show you, oh my god I need to shut up.”

Your face was flushed, your nerves were setting in. Did Quinn just offer to get me off?

As if he could read my mind, “I don’t have to do it! I can just tell you what to do. Like you get yourself off and I just kind of lead the way.”

“You wanna teach me how to make myself cum?” Your voice was small, he was sure if he wasn’t staring at you he wouldn’t have heard. He nodded.

“Yeah, okay. Teach me, Quinny.”

That dumb conversation led you here. On his bed, pj shorts on the floor, legs spread and Quinn watching you from his desk chair.

You were both giggly about it. The nerves settled, it seemed a little funny, silly even. But he's your best friend. Who cares? All bad thoughts went away the second your legs spread and the man's eyes went a little wide, pupils blown as he watched your hand roam down your body.

“Fuck. You’re pretty.” He whispered to himself.

This wasn't sexy, well it wasn't meant to be, at least to your brain.

“Uh, like this?" you asked, a little embarrassed. "Fuck, this is stupid."

You were against his pillows, unable to fully look at Quinn who was still at his desk, starry eyes watching you intently.

Your hand was down the front of your body, shaky fingers searching for something you shared you'd never been able to achieve on your own.

Quinn adjusted himself, his growing cock pressed against the fabric of his shorts. Forever wishing he put on boxers before you came to his room.

He didn't know the rules when it came to getting yourself off in front of your best friend. So he kept it a little light, laughed breathily and asked, "Are you even touching your clit?”

His words ran through you, a simple question truly but it was bordering on the dirty talk you desperately craved to come from his mouth.

You squirmed, shrugging, but he was watching your hand move, content with seeing your fingers moving through your folds.

"I think so?" you claimed. "I don't know. It's just, it's too wet to feel anything really."

Quinn felt his breath get stuck in his throat.

You finally looked up at his face and watched his cheeks burn, wondering if he'd move closer if you asked him to.

You dont know what fell out of your mouth, your brain is just on autopilot. Quinn’s now at the edge of his bed. Hands holding your ankle, rubbing softly.

"No, I know. fuck, um-" Quinn swallowed, shifting again. "Move in circles, be a bit softer. Fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, you'll feel it."

So you did, two fingers exploring slowly, up and down between your folds, moving a little higher until you reached the spot he was just picking on you for, the pads of your middle and pointer touching a little bump that made your breath hitch.

“There you go, just like that.” He spoke.

You laughed to yourself, feeling stupid, and floaty, searching for that high. You crinkled your nose, as you did slow circles, soft and shy.

"Oh," you mumbled, mouth parting slightly. Still watching Quinn. He pressed his lips together, eyes flickering from your hand to your face.

"Yeah? Does that feel good?"

"Uh huh, feels good."

You thought you heard him let out a groan.

"Will I come?" you asked, still feeling small. "If I keep doing this?"

You were squirming again, moaning softly, chasing your high. He was watching you, open mouthed.

He was too far gone to try and hide it anymore, when he dragged his palm over himself, you moaned, eyes following his movements.

"Yeah, fuck. just keep doing that. Do what feels good, okay?" voice hoarse and wrecked, "you're doing so good, baby."

The praise made your hips lift from the bed a little, fingers moving down a little further, confidence building as Quinn kept rubbing over his cock, "Holy shit, that's fucking hot. You gonna show me how tight you are?" he croaked.

"Uh huh", head tipped back into the pillows. you wanted him to keep talking. You just didn't know how to ask him.

Your foot slipped, bumping into Quinn’s arm and he caught your ankle, wide palm wrapping around as he held you, making you shiver. "Oh, there you go," he murmured. "That's it, baby. Fuck, you're so good. Gonna have to stretch you out more if you ever want me in there, baby. Fuck. Can't believe you're gonna let me watch you cum. Gonna be a good girl and show me how bad you want it? Won't ever need anyone else after this. Just me and you."

[ultimategenshintournament]

Ultimate Besties Tournament: Finals

Propaganda below cut

Ragbros (submitted 2 times):

From a storytelling perspective, in a game where the premise is reuniting with your lost sibling, these two are excellent foils as siblings who are technically separated but always within reach of each other. I bet that drives the traveler batty, that these two could technically reconcile at any time but Don’t. If you guys aren’t using your free ‘reconcile with your sibling’ card, then give it to them. And one’s even got connections to Khaenri’ah and the Abyss Order! Are these two good siblings to each other? Well. No not really. But the way they were best friends when they were kids and are now bitterly awkward after Diluc’s fratricide attempt (I know he was in a terrible headspace but cmon man. Should’ve at least apologized afterwards.) yet still hang out even in the beginning of the game (see: hanging out in Venti’s story quest and family vacation in GAA 1) is very entertaining. The mask is off now, Diluc. Do you still care about your brother? Kaeya’s internal conflict is very tasty too, still considering Diluc family even if he doesn’t really count himself a Ragnvindr anymore (if he ever did…), and it’s a wonderful narrative metaphor for his conflict of whether he considers himself a Mondstadter despite loving his second home. Kaeya’s a character with a lot of depth from his origins alone, but his personal relationships with the other Mondstadt characters really elevate that and his internal struggles, and none are as important as the family that welcomed him into Mond in the first place. With the exception of the travelers (and Paimon!), I think this is the most important platonic relationship in the game.

Ragbros angst and love makes the world go ‘round

Redemption Arc (submitted 4 times):

My dickhead son and his plant based alternative mom

She saw that he had good in him despite being a villain; knocked him down to his absolute lowest and then helped him pick up the pieces; The level of unspoken communication between them is so sweet. Ex. Nahida sends Wanderer to various events under the guise of "making sure nothing goes wrong" but actually she's getting him participating in things to get him out of his shell; Conversely I think observing him helps Nahida understand the world/relationships between humans; They're just so cute I love the soft spot Wanderer has for his adoptive mother.; headcanon that he rants about her "annoying" him but 100% would turn around and beat someone up for talking smack about her

Two people who just escaped The Horrors choosing each other as family……… yes please

[thejolteonmastertj]

Legend & Fi Are Best Friends Y’all

One of my favorite HCs/Plot-bunnies is Legend even has heard the Master Sword’s voice before, during his first adventure as a kid. Grew real attached & even had full conversations with her…

… but as he grew older he began to assume it was all his imagination.

Nobody in his era knew the sword was supposed to even have a voice, the knowledge had been lost to time. Even if he pieces together the fate of his predecessor based on the state he found the blade in—He’d have had no proof that the pungent air of melancholy & mourning surrounding the blade was literal…

… Until he meets the Chain.

He doesn’t even make a big deal about it—It’s all very subtle. Soft adoring gazes & a few particularly telling blink-&-you-miss-it details.

Young Legend may or may not have ever even told anyone, (specially not Zelda, he didn’t want her to think he was a kid!) but he might’ve felt expected to grow up fast & caught on to that talking to inanimate objects is very childlike. I get the feeling he would’ve kept it to himself for the most part.

It’d be pretty easy to pass-off even. It’d barely even need to be a secret. Guys using personable feminine pronouns for boats, planes, cars, even, yes, swords has been very much a thing through history. Any slip-ups on the Vet’s part would simply be interpreted in this manner, he could even keep outright talking to her once in a while…

… but there’s still a difference between a grown man personifying one of his prized tools & a child bonding with an imaginary friend. It just wouldn’t be the same.

The bittersweet wonder, relief & vindication Legend must’ve felt when he learned one of his longest-allies wasn’t a mere figment of his imagination after all.

Lookat how ready & willing—thrilled even Legend is to not just speak to Sky’s Master Sword, he’s also the only one aside from Sky shown so far to like, actually talk to her as if she’s a person. The other Links—even Wild refer to the blade as an object.

That’s a dude that’s definitely heckin spoken to his dang sword before. He does it so easily, there’s zero awkwardness,

idk, it’s just… these are the vibes I get.

From his facial expressions alone frankly. 🤭