#this shouldn't make me cry but here we go!

[chronicdelusionistsreblogs]

That is a false framing of the discussion at hand. These two are not mutually exclusive; I hold both positions you listed. It is both true that comments are really cool (and often that it can kickstart a writer to get the motivation to keep going) and also that you shouldn't be writing for engagement in the sense that you beg for kudos and comments or else you have no will to go on.

I fundamentally disagree that meaningful community and the engagement that you describe, the reading back, can be achieved in a healthy or sustainable way via asking strangers on the internet for it. If you are asking that of people, you are setting yourself up for disappointment. The people who are the most caught up in this mindset, those who make posts that to one varying degrees guilt the reader for not engaging with every fic they like and make them out to have wounded the author with their lack of engagement, are the ACTUAL target of the "fic writers shouldn't be writing for engagement" argument.

It's fine to need people invested in your work to write. I understand that. But it is much more reliable and it is much more of an act of community building if you put effort into making a small group of friends that match your freak, people who can laugh at your draft and cry at your draft and react line by line. And if you do have that, and you ever find yourself thinking "those people don't count", I'm sorry, but that's a problem where you need to look inside and ask yourself why it isn't enough. And if you're going to be able to do this longterm or if you need to work on some mental health issues to continue without hurting yourself or lashing out at others for their perceived shortcoming in giving you the attention you wanted.

Aaaaand this is where the comment would stop if I believed that alone would solve it.

But like. This is just fundamentally not a binary issue. I, for instance, fucking LOVE commenting on fanfics. I love giving authors I like a little boost and I love mentoring people and I love when my friends give me snippets of their fics. I don't very much appreciate the implication that in order to think that fic authors are being unreasonable for wanting numbers from the void, that one has to view fic as a content mill, just as I'm sure you don't appreciate feeling like someone is telling you to go to therapy for liking to receive comment emails, which is how this position I hold is often taken. The truth is, you're right. In order to understand the real reasons this debate happens, we must learn to look past oversimplified framing and delve into the circumstances that brought rise to it.

In fact, I think this all has much more to do with the sheer volume of fic that is available via ao3, surrounding patterns of social media use, and the different scale of fan communities that existed before compared to now. I think that more or less the entire modern form of this entire debate can be explained by the cultural differences of moving to a big archive for solo perusal and the loss of forums and other intermediate-sized fan community spaces.

Like, yeah, people have always been holding the next chapter hostage for "reviews" since the days of old, but it was seen as immature to do that. People thought those people were the most annoying people in the world. Why is there a massive shift towards that mindset now, then? I think it's fair to think that I'm in the minority position here given these posts about comment starvation circulate to the tune of thousands of notes. There IS an actual drop lately, from what I've gathered.

I'd hypothesize that instead of going to communities and sharing there first, people are expecting to build communities out of a point of contact on Ao3 itself with no backup. To be clear, I have met lots of friends like this, but they were never my ONLY writing community. And that's not necessarily an attribute I have as an individual, but a symptom of growing up with forums and stuff. And more and more people nowadays grew up with social media and particularly its onesided nature and addicting models of interaction. And the internet is just shaped like that, now. It guides our interactions with everything online, now, these fenced-in, monolithic entities. You can't fault the individual for looking at the online world through this everpresent lens.

And this is interesting because it means that you and I have essentially the same problem with modern fandom, OP: we both have a problem with fic as "content". Neither of us are happy with a landscape where you feel like you have to shout into the void for connection. But to me, it's a problem of systemic particulars and how we teach people to interact with other people online, not a failing of the individual on either "side" but a symptom of the mind-boggling scale and centralization of the modern internet.

How to solve it, though?

uhhhhhhh yeah sorry all of my fixes are really on the individual level because that's all most people have control over lol but I would be interested to see what people who are better acquainted with the reclamation of the internet have to say

what the whole "please comment on fic you like, it will encourage more writing" vs. "fic writers shouldn't be writing for engagement and validation" debate fails to really grasp, for me, is that comments shouldn't be boiled down to "engagement and validation" in the first place. by which i mean: comments aren't payment for a service, they are communication and connection. they represent the audience reaching back.

i don't write just for myself. are you kidding me? the point of storytelling, to me, is to present certain narrative arguments and produce or encourage an emotional response to them. That communication is essentially useless if there's no endpoint, no listener. To me, there is no point if I'm not communicating with someone. When I write, I am talking to a reader. If you've read anything I've written, then I was talking TO YOU.

you are well within your right to consume fic as ~content~ and withhold your "payment" out of a sense that the writer should be satisfied at having created anything at all in an unresponsive void. but please be aware that it feels really good when you talk back.

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Romantic Ending Ch. 23

Chapter 22

Thank you @shatcey for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

The death of the God of Tanzanite is an inevitable end that will eventually come—

The God, in his mercy, offers his life to the future so that the divination-dependent people can live on their own feet.

I respect the last God of the continent.

But my heart couldn't keep up.

What did the God think of me, who felt this way?

Emma: Wh... What are you doing?

Just a few seconds ago, I was desperately trying to hold back tears, but now, as Prince Azel stood up from his chair and embraced me, confusion overwhelmed my mind.

My blurred vision melted into his warmth, and when I tried to pull away, he put his arm around my head.

Azel: I couldn't bear to see your unsightly face.

Emma: ...This is where you're supposed to say, "Cry as much as you want in my arms."

Azel: I would never say something so disgusting.

(His words are harsh, but his touch is gentle.)

He gently stroked my head as if to comfort me.

Whether it was unconscious or intentional, either way, the God was always sinful.

(I wish Prince Azel's true nature was a wicked God, corrupted to the core by evil.)

His compassion became a poison, stinging my eyes and bringing a heat to them.

Emma: Prince Azel... I think I'm going to cry after all.

Azel: Don't cry, it's troublesome.

Azel: Besides, you can't persuade me if you're crying, can you?

Emma: ...Persuasion... I can't do it anymore.

(I can't think of anything else to say.)

(I can't think... so...)

Taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't see my face, I stopped holding back my tears.

Azel: I thought you'd be more persistent.

Emma: Did you... want me to be?

Azel: No? It's just, a good person like you wouldn't be able to accept someone's death, right?

Azel: Especially Belle, known for her beautiful heart.

Emma: ...If I were to stop you, I would need a good reason to do so.

Emma: "You have to cherish your life"... that's not a reason that applies to everyone.

(Even if I brandish my morals and ethics here, it would ultimately be self-righteous of me.)

(I can't reach Prince Azel's lofty perspective.)

Emma: To Prince Azel, who is worried about the future of the illusory country and trying to start a revolution...

Emma: No matter how hard I rack my brain, all I have are personal feelings.

(I can't find the words to reach someone who carries out their plan with such conviction.)

(...Even though we spent time together, it was ultimately short, and the fact that I'm an outsider remains unchanged.)

Emma: Because I can only say selfish things...

Emma: ...I have no choice... but to cry.

(My voice... is trembling.)

Even though I clutched Prince Azel's clothes as if to vent my emotions, he didn't shake me off.

Azel: Will you feel better if you cry?

Emma: ...It might be a temporary relief.

Azel: Then I'll allow it.

Emma: You said I shouldn't cry earlier...

Azel: Just cry before you babble on, cry now!

(Is this... also mercy?)

Prince Azel continued to stroke my hair.

His touch, which felt almost affectionate, and the gentleness of his heartbeat that reached my ears finally broke the dam of my tears.

Biting my lip to keep from crying out loud, I pressed my trembling body against Prince Azel's.

(After I cry my heart out, I have to make a choice.)

(Whether to part ways with Prince Azel like this, or...)

Either way, it would be a painful choice, and I choked back my sobs.

As I sobbed like a child, an out-of-place laughter fell upon me.

Emma: Wh... Why... are you... laughing?

Azel: Excuse me. I didn't expect you to cry this much.

Azel: You haven't been living your life relying on God, have you?

Azel: You don't have to worry about your future tomorrow because of God's death.

Azel: I was wondering why you're sobbing so much...

Azel: Did you like being a slave that much?

Emma: Not a slave... a shrine maiden (*priestess)...

Azel: It's the same in that you're being used by me.

Azel: I've used you, but I've never given you anything in return, have I?

Emma: ...Thinking about it calmly... that's true...

(Starting with being tricked into debt with swindler-like tactics...)

(Being used as a shield to avoid women, and because of that, falling victim to an aphrodisiac.)

(Being forced to cook as labor for debt repayment, and there was also that harsh errand of going back and forth between the city...)

Emma: I've been... used... and abandoned... by Prince Azel... so many times.

But strangely, I don't feel bad about it, because it was fun.

The God never truly treated me as a "slave."

When I was affected by the aphrodisiac, he cared for me, when I was cold, he embraced me, and when I was tired, he cooked for me.

When I tried to sleep on the floor, he carried me to the bed, and when he wished for me to not come to the party, he reluctantly went with me.

Prince Azel is that kind of contrary person.

I liked his twisted kindness—I came to like it.

(He's deeply embedded in my heart, to the point that I'm crying this much, and in the end, we're parting ways with death...)

(I think... I deserve compensation...)

Emma: I want... the reward I haven't received...

Azel: Have you forgotten that your labor was for debt repayment?

Emma: The... wounds in my heart... will remain... forever.

Emma: It's to the extent that... I have to claim compensation exceeding my debt.

When I made a wicked claim, imitating the greedy, wicked God, he laughed again.

Azel: I'll listen if you want to ask.

Emma: Then...

I had been thinking while crying.

About how to spend the time until the moment Prince Azel dies—

Emma: Make me... a part of your plan.

Azel: .............

When I wiped my tears and looked up, Prince Azel was making a blatantly sullen face.

Azel: I couldn't hear you very well.

Emma: M-Make me... a part of it!

Azel: Oh dear, I can't hear you.

Emma: Liar!

Azel: I don't remember saying I'd listen to anything.

Azel: Besides, are you stupid?

Azel: Being a part of it means you have to witness my death.

Prince Azel roughly wiped my wet cheeks with his sleeve.

Azel: There's no way a woman who's sobbing like this could do such a thing.

Emma: ...I... don't think I can either...

Emma: But I want a reason to witness it.

Emma: A reason for me to accept Prince Azel's death without running away.

(My heart refuses to accept the fact that Prince Azel will be gone.)

(This is something I can't do anything about, so at least I want a trigger to face it.)

(Instead of running away, I want to witness Prince Azel's great achievement... and...)

(I want to be with him for as long as possible.)

Azel: Are you serious?

Emma: ...I wouldn't joke about something like this.

I peered into his mystical eyes, filled with stars, to convey my feelings.

I must look unsightly, reflected in those beautiful eyes.

Prince Azel still had a sullen expression on his face, but...

As we gazed at each other, he gradually brought his face closer and placed his lips on my forehead.

(!?)

Azel: Ah, my mistake.

Emma: Th... That's not something you do by mistake!?

Azel: I just misjudged the distance, don't make a fuss, don't yell.

(What was that kiss!?)

The God averted his eyes awkwardly.

My heart screamed in agony at having been subjected to another sin at this juncture.

(...From now on, I'll call you the "suggestive God" instead of the "wicked God.")

Azel: There is one simple task that anyone can do... or maybe not.

(...)

Emma: I'll do it.

Azel: Don't you want to hear what it is?

Emma: I'm not considering refusing any task.

Emma: But if possible...

Emma: I hope it's something that will allow me to be with Prince Azel until the very end.

Azel: –...It's because you're like that that you get hurt.

(.....?)

Prince Azel cleared his throat, let go of me, and turned his back.

Azel: The plan is tomorrow.

Azel: Since you said you'd do it, don't run away halfway.

(Tomorrow...)

(...Tomorrow is the day of the end.)

Emma: I'll do my best.

My voice trembled as I conveyed my determination.

-

Perhaps busy chasing after Kamal, who had been branded a sinner by the apostle, the people no longer visited the solitary desert castle.

Although there was a chance to return to the castle now, Prince Azel didn't drive me out, as I was reluctant to leave and remained in the temple.

Eventually, the sun set, and the giant moon that illuminated the illusory country rose in the sky.

The final night had arrived, whether I liked it or not.

Emma: Are you really alright?

Azel: Don't make me say it again.

Prince Azel, holding a kitchen knife, carefully chopped the vegetables.

Ideally, I would have wanted to do it, but with one arm unusable, I was helpless.

(His movements are stiff. He must be really scared.)

Emma: Even if we don't chop the vegetables like before and just put them whole in the pot...

Azel: It would make me cry if that was the last supper.

Azel: Besides, wouldn't it be hard to eat with your hand like that?

Emma: .....

Azel: ...Don't grin, the knife might slip and fly off.

Emma: You absolutely have to avoid that!?

(It's just like any other night. The only difference is that our roles are reversed.)

If I let my guard down, tears threaten to spill from my still swollen eyes.

(Something... I have to distract myself with something.)

Emma: Cooking is... tough, isn't it?

Azel: What are you talking about out of the blue?

Emma: No, I was just thinking that since Prince Azel is a God and a prince, it must have been tough for you at first...

Emma: How long have you been living here alone?

When I brought up a casual topic, Prince Azel, perhaps sensing my intention, let out a sigh of exasperation.

Azel: It's been about ten years.

Emma: You used to live in the castle before, right?

Azel: Yes. But one day, an incident happened.

Azel: ...A nightmarish incident where a large number of aphrodisiac-affected women came rushing in.

Emma: What kind of disturbing incident is that...?

Azel: Exactly as it sounds, that geezer orchestrated it, and a horde of women who had taken aphrodisiacs barged into my room.

Azel: They started taking off their clothes, moaning on their own... I don't know a hell worse than that.

(Wow... that's awful just to imagine.)

Azel: Even a gentle God like me snapped and started living here, practically running away from home. That's how it all began.

Emma: That's, well...

Emma: ...I can understand why you dislike women, Prince Azel.

Azel: I never said I disliked you, not even once—

Azel: Well, maybe I do dislike women, but it's frustrating, isn't it? It's like I've lost.

Emma: You're not fooling anyone.

Azel: Oh, the knife...

Emma: Don't let it slip!

I couldn't help but laugh at the suggestive God, formerly known as Prince Azel, who furrowed his brows in a sulky manner.

Emma: I'm glad I'm not hated.

Azel: Don't get cocky.

Emma: But you were the one who said it...

Azel: Well, still...

Azel: You might be the woman I've talked to the longest in my life.

Emma: ...That's...

(That's a record that will never be broken again.)

Emma: ...An honor.

-

The last supper was plentiful, as we aimed to use up all the ingredients remaining in the temple.

Since it couldn't all fit on the kitchen counter, we spread a beautiful cloth by the window in the room and arranged the dishes there, holding a feast while gazing at the moon.

It included the meatless, perfectly round croquettes I had made before, along with a dish of chickpeas mashed into a paste and flavored with cumin, bell peppers stuffed with minced meat and seasoned with spices from the desert country, and for the main course, Prince Azel's specialty tagine, made with steamed vegetables and meat.

I also used the vegetables Prince Azel had cut for me to prepare a pot-au-feu, a staple home-cooked dish in Rhodolite.

I even baked some simple langues de chat for dessert, making for a more extravagant menu than usual.

(It feels strange to have Rhodolite and Tanzanite cuisine lined up like this.)

I immediately reached for a croquette with my fork, but...

Emma: Ah...

Eating with only one hand was more difficult than I expected, and it tumbled onto my clothes.

Emma: I need more practice.

Azel: What are you talking about?

Before I could pick it up, a hand reached out, and the croquette disappeared into Prince Azel's mouth.

At the same time, the fork was taken from my hand, and he brought it to my lips with the croquette still skewered on it.

Azel: See, when something is offered to you, you're supposed to open your mouth, right?

*flashback*

Emma: In the world, this is called "aah."

Emma: When something is offered to you, you open your mouth.

Azel: ..............

*flashback over*

(...That time...)

Prince Azel, with a grumpy look on his face, forcefully pushed the croquette against my lips.

When I hesitantly opened my mouth, he mercilessly stuffed it in.

(...! ...It's big!)

Prince Azel intently watched as I desperately chewed and swallowed.

Azel: Your mouth is unexpectedly small.

(...He wasn't being mean, he really didn't know.)

With a nonchalant expression, he broke the croquette and offered a smaller piece in front of me.

Emma: Thank you. But then Prince Azel won't be able to eat.

Azel: I'll just eat normally later?

Emma: It'll get cold.

Azel: The taste won't change. Just eat it.

Emma: munch...

(This feeling of being unaccustomed to "aah," it makes me flustered.)

(...I wish this would last forever.)

Azel: Don't make Kamal and Prince Silvio go through the same trouble.

Emma: I wouldn't ask them to "aah" me. Normal people don't do that.

(Ah...)

Prince Azel's hand stopped at my careless slip of the tongue.

Azel: What was that thing we did before, then?

Emma: That was... well... the situation was unavoidable, so to speak...

Emma: "Aah" is originally something you only do with someone you're close to, but... ahaha... haha...

Azel: ...You tricked me.

Emma: I didn't trick you!?

Azel: No wonder there was no "aah" when you had dinner with Prince Silvio.

Emma: That would be horrifying—ow!

Even as he pinched my cheek in displeasure, Prince Azel didn't withdraw the fork.

Emma: What's wrong with it? We're close.

Azel: We're not close, we're complete strangers.

Emma: So you do this kind of thing with everyone, Prince Azel?

Azel: ......

Emma: ...Come to think of it, only Silvio is called "Prince," so in terms of closeness...

Emma: Ow, ow, I'm sorry!

Prince Azel, pulling my cheeks hard, turned away.

Azel: I only call Silvio "Prince" because he's my benefactor.

Emma: Eh... not because he's rich?

Azel: Of course, that's part of it, but...

(So it is part of it.)

Azel: I told you before that Kamal was exiled, right? I had no way to contact him.

Azel: But one day, Prince Silvio, who was visiting as a merchant, smuggled Kamal into the country in his cargo.

Azel: You usually have to undergo a cargo inspection at the port, but...

Azel: They can't thoroughly inspect the luggage brought by royalty from another country.

Azel: Taking advantage of that loophole, the exile was able to return to Tanzanite.

(I can't believe that happened...)

(That's why Prince Silvio wasn't surprised when he found out Kamal-san was a man.)

Azel: Once he returned, I could disguise him however I wanted...

Azel: But if it weren't for that merchant's quick thinking, I wouldn't have been reunited with Kamal even now.

Emma: ...So that's the reason for the "Prince."

(It seems he's not just greedy.)

Each time I learn something new, my impression of Prince Azel changes.

Azel: On the other hand, you've been so disrespectful that it's a waste to even call you "Miss."

Azel: Maybe I should just call you Emma from now on.

Emma: .......

Azel: ...What's with that subtle look on your face?

Emma: Nothing...

(...This person's obliviousness is truly terrifying...)

In general, being called by your first name indicates a closer relationship than using honorifics like "Prince" or "Miss," but...

I couldn't bring myself to say that.

-

The night passed by in a flash, and the end drew near.

Once the sun rose from the horizon tomorrow, this time would never return.

Whenever my mind relaxed, tears welled up, and I pressed them into my pillow as I shifted in bed.

Prince Azel was reading a book beside me, maintaining his usual composure despite it being the last day.

Emma: ...Aren't you scared?

Azel: Not at all?

Emma: I'm... scared.

Azel: I figured.

Emma: ...Shall we chat?

Azel: We've already talked enough.

Emma: There are tons of things I want to know about Prince Azel.

(...I don't want to sleep.)

(Just for today, I want to keep seeing this dream for as long as possible.)

Azel: For example?

Emma: ...Like why Prince Azel is so greedy.

Azel: There's no reason, money is necessary to live.

Emma: You said that before, didn't you?

*flashback*

Emma: Is the Living God that hard up for money?

Azel: I don't take money because I'm hard up.

Azel: I take money to live.

*flashback over*

Emma: But you're not in a position to be troubled by money, Prince Azel.

Azel: ...Certainly, if I wanted to, I could get any amount of living expenses from the national treasury.

Azel: But depending on someone else's money is the same as having your life and freedom in their hands.

Azel: It would defeat the purpose of escaping to the solitary desert castle.

(Now that he mentions it, that's true. He could be forced to accept women by being held hostage with money.)

Azel: To escape from that geezer, I needed to earn money on my own.

Azel: But God can't openly do business.

Emma: Why is that?

Azel: Because it would become an offering, not a business.

Azel: People desire God's protection. If that God says "I want money," they'll rush to offer it.

Azel: Tanzanite is a country with deep faith. It wouldn't be strange for someone to offer their entire fortune.

(...It was the God's way of making sure people's lives wouldn't be ruined.)

Azel: If I can't do business with the people of my own country, then I should turn my attention to people from other countries.

Azel: To earn money, I needed to invite many people from other countries.

(People from other countries...)

*flashback*

Silvio: ...It's been about ten years.

Silvio: Since Tanzanite started focusin' on tourism and became one of the best at attractin' visitors on the continent with its song and dance.

*flashback over*

Emma: Ah, could it be...

Emma: Did you start the tourism industry, Prince Azel?

Azel: You're sharp today, aren't you?

(I'm surprised...)

Emma: I thought it originated with Kumushu, the head of the tourism association...

Azel: I was the one giving instructions to that Kumushu.

Azel: I opened up the closed country, and gradually people from other countries started flowing in.

Azel: And, as you know, the richest man on the continent, drawn by the rumors, took the bait.

Emma: If Prince Silvio is your business partner, you won't have any trouble with money, will you?

Azel: Yes, he's still my biggest source of income.

Azel: Thanks to him, I've been able to invest in all sorts of things that the national budget couldn't afford.

(...Wait, so Prince Azel is actually a rich man disguised as someone poor...?)

Prince Azel closed his book and lay down.

He wasn't facing away from me as usual, but facing me.

Azel: By the way, don't you think it's unfair?

Emma: What is?

Azel: We've been talking about me this whole time, and you haven't said anything about yourself.

Emma: ...Are you perhaps interested in me—

Azel: I'm just tired of talking.

He pinched my cheeks.

I'm used to it now, and even this pain is dear to me.

(But when this night is over...)

(...! ...No, I still can't come to terms with it.)

Prince Azel must have noticed my teary eyes.

Azel: What kind of person are you, and how have you lived your life?

Emma: ...That's a long story.

Azel: I'm impressed that you've lived such a fulfilling life.

(I'll talk as much as you want. To keep this night from ending...)

But dreams don't last.

—The moon set, the sun rose, and the day of the end arrived.

.

.

.

Romantic Ending Ch. 23 Letter

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[mercy-burning]

We’re Really Gone

Mercy’s Ficmas 2024 | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: You wake up New Year's morning next to your boyfriend, realizing that once you leave, you'll be gone for good. Based on the song "gone" by VÉRITÉ. Category: Angst Content: breakup, crying, no explicit smut but it's heavily implied. Word Count: 1.3k

If you know me at all then you know that VÉRITÉ is easily my favorite artist at the moment. She has been for a while. This song came up on shuffle on my way home from Target on Black Friday, and between the gray snowy skies and the empty road I was on, immediately I had a vision and a feeling, and the closing chapter to Ficmas was here, in a messy, mournful little bow (even if it's one of the first ones you're getting...just work with me here LMAO) . I hope you've enjoyed your holiday! I love and appreciate you more than you know <3 Happy New Year!

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

It's not a surprise that the bedroom is dark when I open my eyes. I don't want to open them, but once I realize that he's still beside me, probably asleep, I know it's safe.

Still, it doesn't ease the dread I feel deep in my gut as my vision adjusts to the dark. Blue hues fizzle in around me as Spencer's shape starts to define, his features slowly fading into view. I'm surprised that he's facing me, to tell you the truth. At some point during the night, I would have imagined he'd finalize our end with the metaphoric turning of the back. In some twisted way, it might have been easier to get through this morning that way— not having to face him. But nothing in my life has ever been easy, so why should this be any different?

I don't want to lose him, anyway. I will, that much is certain, but if I can prolong it by committing his peaceful, resting features to memory as the last worry-free moment we share, then maybe it won't hurt as much in the end.

Please don't let that be wishful thinking, I plead in my head, over and over like a prayer. It's hard to imagine what I might find in his eyes when he finally wakes up, though it also occurs to me that he might wake up and refuse to look at me, pretending to sleep until I give up and just leave. Perhaps this is just as hard on him as it is on me...

A quick flashback of the blank look on his face as I came undone underneath him the night before, his name a hushed and desperate longing for redemption on my lips, makes my blood run cold; He didn't even enjoy himself. Last night was merely a formality to him, a parting of ways to leave me satisfied one last time. Whether or not he knows if it worked, I'm positive now—as I regain my memories of the last couple of hours— that he doesn't care. I remember now feeling it in every touch. Where he once was so careful and meticulous, last night he was lifeless. Not necessarily rough and unforgiving, but... indifferent. Talented and mission-oriented still, but that's all it had been— A task.

Still, as I watch him sleep soundly, I pretend that there had been some residual love resting there in our atmosphere amongst the indifference. It's the only way to keep me from bolting in shame.

At least, for now, I have this peace. This quiet and calm. In sleep, Spencer isn't indifferent. In sleep, he is here, with me. He is warm and present and not yet haunting. Here, in sleep, he is mine.

I resist the urge to reach out for him like I always have. I don't want to wake him and risk losing his warmth, though I long to feel it in full force, even if for a second or two. I try to recall his hands on my skin, hot and electric even in emotional stasis, and tears prick the back of my eyelids.

He shouldn't see me like this. I should leave. But I can't. I'm too selfish.

I suppose that's always been the problem.

Our last big fight before last night's events had been unresolved. I let him go to bed angry, too stubborn to apologize, and for days we just... fizzled. At first it wasn't cause for concern; unfortunately it had become routine for us after an argument to just ignore each other for a while until we became too restless, settling for a resolution through tongues and limbs and sheets. Sometimes a hot shower. But our cold shoulders only lasted a day before then.

This time it was three.

Part of me wonders if he wanted to hold on until the end of the year. It wouldn't surprise me. As much of a romantic as he is, I wouldn't put it past Spencer to have made this some sort of symbolic "final act" before purging himself of me entirely, leaving me behind in his past and using the New Year to look forward.

Part of me also wonders, though, if maybe I'm just that cynical.

He stirs beside me then, nearly startling me. My heart leaps out of my chest and catches in my throat. I'm forced to hold my breath, and I can't bring myself to close my eyes.

This is it. It's happening.

Spencer's eyes are warm and soft for a brief moment in time as he registers the face in front of him. My features seem to take a moment to fade into clear view, because once they do, that warmth is simply gone.

I almost start to cry. My breath hitches.

"You didn't leave yet," he says. A curious observation.

"I will... But I don't want to... Not yet."

I want to hold on just a little longer, I tell him with my eyes.

He blinks slowly and somberly. I understand.

When my knuckles brush his, he merely holds still, not reciprocating my search for cold comfort. He's already gone, yet he allows me to stay. He doesn't even look at me like he pities me. He just looks tired, which breaks my heart considering we'd just slept for hours.

I'd done that to him.

Hot pressure forms behind my eyes, and with a harsh blink, the floodgates open.

Tears fall silently down my face as I squeeze Spencer's hand. He lays there and watches me cry, and I feel miserable. I should have just left.

But I didn't.

I should have fought for him, but I didn't. I should have admitted that I was stubborn and wrong and sorry, but I didn't. Slowly but surely, I was getting spoiled thinking we could cure every problem with a kiss. I took advantage of his forgiveness one too many times, and now I'm paying the price as he watches me.

Eventually, I tire, too. My face is hot and my hand is sore from gripping his so harshly. The room has brightened a little more, but it's still quite purple and hazy. It's probably not even 6AM yet. The sun is rising, and yet I feel like I'm being drained of all my life force.

But then, after a few beats of solemn silence between us, I can finally speak.

I whisper it, afraid I might hurt him otherwise. In every other aspect of our relationship, I've been loud. My loving him was aggressive and possessive, my opinions brash and my expectations bold.

After all of that intensity, he deserves a little sweetness.

"Okay."

The word dismisses him— dismisses us. It built a lot of courage for me to muster it, but it had to be done.

Spencer doesn't say a word as he peels the covers away from his body and rolls over, breaking the spell, and my heart, in the process.

As he pads off to the bathroom and takes his warmth with him, I let go of a long, unsteady breath and follow suit, feeling soreness in every limb as I dress.

My legs shuffle heavily towards the door, miscellaneous belongings in hand, and that's when I hear the bathroom door open.

I know I should turn around and say it to his face, but... once a coward, always a coward, I suppose.

Still, for all the weakness and dread that overwhelms my bones, I tell him over my shoulder with sincere strength, "I'm sorry, Spencer."

I'm not even sure he'll respond. But he doesn't have to. He deserves to hear it from me at least once before we part. Not that it will do much, but I feel guilty all the same.

My hand twists the doorknob, and just as I'm about to close the door behind me, I barely hear his voice, warm and gentle as ever.

"I'm sorry, too."

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

Love I should've warned you I'm a stick of dynamite Threat of explosion Constantly strapped to your side

'Cause I'm afraid of losing Everything I'm ruining There's no getting used to The quiet you're leaving Is louder than screaming

So leave the clothes and mess we made up all on the floor 'Cause when we put them on we're not in love anymore 'Cause I know when we go, we're really gone

--VÉRITÉ, Gone

[lovelizards]

"You beat her hard, Meres, or I assure you I will beat her harder."

Iska aimed her nervous glare at the ground as her wrists were bound on the other side of a wooden beam. The skirt of her dress had been pulled up to reveal her calves, which left no mystery to what kind of pain she would be enduring.

"I..I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I - "

"Will you stop apologising, Meres? You're seriously pissing me off."

"Ah - yeah, s - sorry - I mean - ah -"

Meres fumbled over his words, today more than usual, but she didn't bother helping him. Why should she be magnanimous to the man helping his master torture her? What did it matter that he was sorry about it?

If he wasn't going to stop, then he shouldn't apologise at all.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Iska finally asked.

"Just - wanted to let you know. About the - you said it was enchantment magic. I've been trying. Trying to break it."

Iska's head shot up from where she'd been resting it against the beam, and she stared into Meres' eyes - surprising him.

She could still see it, the faint glow of magic behind the honey brown of his eyes. But, trying was better than outright refusal. Is that why he seemed so nervous?

"It's hard, isn't it?" She said after a long silent moment.

"...Yeah, it's hard," Meres agreed.

"Like trying to wake yourself up from a dream you didn't even know you were having. Like trying to catch a shadow always lingering in the corner of your eye."

Iska didn't remember where she'd heard that from, but it was in her mind as easily as recalling how to breathe.

"He...he found out..." Meres whispered.

Iska hesitated. A spell of that magnitude would definitely alert the caster if it was failing, so it's not like it was a surprise...

"It's okay," she said, flinching as she found her fingers brushing against his hand while he secured her binds. But instead of pulling her hand away, she grabbed hold of his hand tightly.

If for no other reason than to stop her own from trembling.

"I - Iska..."

"It's okay, Meres. No matter what happens, you have to keep trying."

"Iska, I -"

He was interrupted by the door opening, and Iska pulled her hand away quickly, her shoulders setting and her body tensing in an instant.

The slender man hummed approvingly as he crossed the room, but Iska bit back the heated comments that popped into her head. Anger drummed in her ears, but the threat of the experimentation room still hung over her like an ominous cloud.

It was too recent a memory to risk lashing out and ending up there again, but fighting her own temper sometimes felt like fighting the ticking of a clock. Eventually, no matter what, it would always strike midnight.

"Here, take this, Meres," she heard the slender man say behind her.

"M - my lord?"

"As slow as ever. You are still due your punishment."

Iska tried to strain over her shoulder to see the two of them, but they were just out of her eyeline. What did he mean punishment? Was Meres going to be tortured too?

She didn't want to hear him screaming and crying any more than she wanted to hear herself do it. If he had more courage, Meres could tear the slender man apart limb from limb before he ever laid a hand on him.

"I...I - I ..." Meres stuttered, grunting as whatever it was he didnt want to take was shoved into his hands.

"Yes, you. This is how you discipline children when they are misbehaving, you take a dried reed to the back of their legs. I think two-hundred should be sufficient."

"Two...two-hundred?"

Iska could hear the dread in his voice, because the same sense of dread was washing over her, too. It wouldn't be as bad as whipping, surely. And no matter what, it wouldn't be as bad as those three days of being experimented on. She could endure it.

"Why don't we have Iska count them out?" The slender man suggested, "Did you hear, Iska? Make sure not to lose the count, or we'll have to start from the beginning again. The same if don't stand up properly for it."

She gritted her teeth, a headache coming on from how hard her forehead was pressed against the wooden beam. So frustrating! No, she had to keep her head! Agh, but what was she supposed to do in this scenario?! It was so hopelessly infuriating!!

"Iska, I asked you a question." The slender man snapped.

"Yes, I heard you - you fucking cunt!"

There was a long, agonising moment of silence.

Stupid! Stupid! Her temper would get her killed one day!

Finally, the slender man spoke. Not to her but to Meres - in a voice that was low, and so poisonous it could kill.

"Make it three-hundred. And you beat her hard, Meres, or I assure you I will beat her harder."

Iska held her breath.

The first strike was the worst.

A sharp line of pain that bit into her calf, and hurt worse because it took her by surprise. She let out a long, trembling groan, and said:

"One..."

Whack!

"Two..."

Whack!

"Th - three..."

Meres and his damn strength. Each whip of the reed sent a jolt of pain up her legs, and made the flats of her feet sore just from having to keep upright through it. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her counting faded from indignant mutters to choked sobs.

But she didn't lose the count.

And she didn't lose her footing, until she finally reached 'three-hundred' with a barely-there whimper, and sank to her knees with sob of relief. Her whole body trembled, and her legs were on fire with stinging stripes of pain from just under her knee all the way to her ankles.

"Very good, Meres," the slender man said once it was done, "now go stand her up again. Bind her ankles nice and tight so she doesn't fall."

"Wh - what...?!" Iska cried, "What?! But I -! I - I did what you asked, th - three hundred, you said -!"

"Three hundred lashes was Meres' punishment," the slender man sighed, "now it's time for yours."

"No! No - please, no more I - !"

Her arguments dissolved into panicked sobs.

Like a husk, Meres moved around her, pulling her back up onto her feet with little care for her wounds. She struggled and pulled against him, but as always, he proved too strong. He bound her ankles and knees against the beam, and then disappeared from her view.

"Start again from the top, Iska. I haven't decided how many yet, so make sure not to lose the count."

"Bastard..." Iska sobbed, "you bastard!"

The first of his strikes caused her to scream, and each one after it, too. Some of the lashes caught her right in the divot behind her knees, or on the side of the ankle near the bone.

There was a taste of bile in her mouth, and blood from where she'd bitten her tongue. A cold sweat wet her hair against her forehead and neck. The lantern lights glared in her eyes, sore from crying.

Meres was nowhere to be seen.

And Iska kept count.

[radicalrascals]

Nick's smiling brightly, wrestling with his tobacco pouch a little while trying to roll himself a smoke on the way out. "You weren't here, Tishoca," he reminds her with a chuckle, lighting his rollie the secend they're finally outside, "I would've told you. You know, asking for care instructions and all that. We really only met because you two ran away to a whole different country."

He leans against the facade and lets the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling slowly, almost resembling a sigh. "Yup, met the kids. Briefly, that is. But I think Aanya really fell in love with Spellbound." Which still makes him feel strangely proud. "Meeting the parents always makes me nervous though. Lucky you you're probably spared meeting Renato. Not that... He doesn't speak English. Makes things complicated."

Dating only three people though? Nick giggled like a school girl, though as he turns around to catch a glimpse of the cryptid, he immediately chokes on his laughter finding Hari about to leave and his brother in an all too familiar pose; leaning back in his chair, head slightly cocked, eyes narrowed and eerily calm. "Pelo amor de Deus...!"

"That tells me everything I need to know," Rafael retorts, something inherently provocative about his calmness, a misplaced trait usually reserved for those who deserve it. People who no doubt had even worse threats for him. He's heard it all. But points for creativity and the courage to risk a serious criminal charge without an army of lawyers. He might've respected that, if Hari hadn't just failed the last test he's had for him.

"How you're so quick on defending the honour of a woman I couldn't care less about, but feel no indignation towards the implication of breaking my brother's heart. Now I know where your priorities lie."

"Rafa! Que porra é isso?! O que você disse?"

"Você deve procurar alguém que a valorize e a trate com respeito. Não ele."

"Wow... we're gone for five seconds and you both manage to fuck this up this badly. Yes, both of you!" He took a deep drag, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. "You're our older brothers? Really? Because right now you act like bratty children who don't want to share their sand moulds. We don't need your approval. We're grown ups. The only reason we tell you is because you're an important part of our life and we want to share this with you. Don't ruin it!"

"Nico..."

"I'm not done yet. You're gonna aplogise." Rafael huffs and gives Nick an aww, come on, man! look. But Nick's the immovable object to his brother's unstoppable force. "I'm waiting. Or do you want to ruin Christmas for both Tisha and myself."

"I'm sorry I've ruined your day, Nico."

"Not to me. Nice try though."

Rafael clenches his jaw. Every fibre in his being wants to protest, but he can also see the hurt behind Nick's eyes and he knows how close he is to crying. He doesn't even want to imagine how pissed off Tisha is at him right now.

"Desculpa. I'm sorry I dragged your ex-wife into this." Nick made a gesture to keep going, and very begrudgingly Rafael did: "That wasn't fair. I'm still not convinced you appreciate my brother as much as he deserves. But Nico's right. That's none of my business. Never has been. I shouldn't tell you how to love. If you're happy together that's... it's great actually. Keep making my brother happy and never stop. Then we won't have a problem. We don't need to be friends, but I would be okay with a truce."

Tisha barely pauses to light her cigarette before squeezing Nick’s arm, giddy laughter spilling out of her. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this! I mean, I can, because I didn’t tell you, but holy shit! You and Hari?” She takes a drag, but the smoke spills back out with her next laughing fit. “Have you met the kids yet? Oh my God, have you met my parents? Is Christmas going to be the first time? They’re going to love you, don’t even worry about it - you’re like, my mom’s dream.” Well, the werewolf thing isn’t part of the dream, but they don’t need to know that, and she doesn’t need to bring it up, not when everything is starting to go okay. “Sorry, I’m kind of excited. Hari would be super mad at me for saying this, but he’s dated like, three people his entire life, and… I think you’ll be good for him.”

Hari huffs out a soft laugh, turning the pictures over in his hand. “These your kids? Strong genes.” He passes the picture back, and a shadow crosses his face for just a moment. “You know, Rafael… most people would probably say that the friendship Victoria and I have maintained after our divorce is a good thing. I don’t think you understand what it says about you that you don’t.” His voice is just a touch too calm, just a bit too low, and he pours himself another shot.

“It makes you sound like a man who doesn’t see value in someone after your romantic relationship with them ends. I understand being protective. I really do. Ask Tisha about it sometime. Ask her what it was like when she was little. I understand wanting the best for your brother, and being really cautious about who comes into his life. But you have no right to imply what you just implied. And if you ever speak about the mother of my children again in a way that even slightly suggests she would stoop to infidelity, I will not need to lean on words like unspeakable. I can speak it. I won twenty seven of my career fights via knockout. I will punch you in the mouth so fucking hard they’ll still be finding teeth on the day you’re embalmed.” Hari throws back his shot and then stands, setting the glass down firmly. “I hope you grow up before then. Enjoy your night.”

[cloudghoul32]

It's you!

Despite everything, it's still you.

[steakout-05]

i think all those autism vlogging youtube channels that post distressing videos of their children having meltdowns and intense panic attacks for thousands and thousands of people to see should be deleted and banned off the website and i am not kidding. i don't care what excuse they use whether it's "oh no it's for education purposes! so clearly posting our kids in state of extreme emotional and mental distress is okay 😊" or some other excuse, it's not okay to post your kids in what can be a very vulnerable and embarrassing state to be in for the whole internet to see. don't even come at me with that "they asked for the videos to be posted!" rubbish kids cannot consent to that no matter how intelligent or informed they are about the consequences of those videos going online. children cannot and should not consent to those videos going up and it pisses me off that the blatant exploitation of children and disabled people is still normalised and excused like this. cause that's what it is. it's exploitative of the vulnerable no matter how much it swears it's trying to be educational. 99% of the time the only reason these kinds of videos are online is to get clicks and views and money and it's disgusting.

[izzy-b-hands]

Was doing okay holding back all of the fear re: the potential election outcome until literally this second what the fuck to my brain lmao

[sandinthemachine]

no I will not be taking questions at this time. dedicated to all of @day0walker's stink anons.

probably have to click for slightly less shitty quality

[idiosyncraticrednebula]

I was following these two masculinity accs that I thought were different from others I had come across, but then they spouted a lot of the same nonsense that others have already said.

[draciformes]

I don't want to be Competitive in my Field. I want to take a nap :(

[mxgyver]

.

[emometalhead]

.

[graphic--horde]

How do you make your stamps? :0

Disclaimer: this is an obscenely long explanation, with pictures. Efficiency is stupid

So, for the static ones, I make a 99x56 px file on ibis paint x. Other programs are probably available online but I don't use them.

After that, I either upload an image I want to make into a stamp, or I draw one.

Then, I find a frame I want to use. Ill upload them here but let it be known I stole all of these right from deviantart

Most of them are from Lil-Devil-Melii on deviantart. The rest i have no idea. They're not all 99x56px but you can crop the canvas it's fine

Make sure to erase the edges of the picture , so they're transparent. It's not as cute otherwise

Upload those frames over your image in whatever art program you're using and viola, stamp.

For moving ones, it's a lot harder. Mostly because I refuse to download Photoshop.

There are a couple ways to do this. Some are simple animations, like with flashing text and whatnot. For these, you download the individual animation frames from your art program. Make sure it's transparent.

Then, upload each frame to ezgif.com under the option "GIF maker." You can play around with how fast each frame goes and whatnot but in the end, it'll be a stamp with some rad text that moves. This is easy, and doesn't make me want to shit my pants and cry. If you're new, do this. This is fun. This is good. This does not kill me inside

I made that↓ stamp with this method :)

this next one is how we turn gifs into stamps. This one makes me sad. It involves math and sucks. But we gotta do it. For the vibe

First, grab your gif. I'm using this cow gif because it's awesome

Then, I resize it using ezgif. Literally everything for this will be using ezgif. I am a simple man

At this point you should decide what frame to use. I'm using this one because its the first one I clicked

Figured out what size the inside of the frame is. That's what I resize the gif to, so the edges can be transparent. The inside of this one is 93x50 px, so those are the dimensions I'm making the gif.

Figure it out by putting the frame into ibis paint and realizing the canvas to fit just the inside of the frame, then seeing what the dimensions are. But there could be easier ways

Woah it's so small now

Then, still on ezgif, I go to the "crop" option.

Make sureeee to upload the smaller gif

press the button that says "extend canvas size", and then put the "width" and "height" as the dimensions for your FRAME. This'll put a bit of a transparent border around the gif. For this frame, I did 99px and 56px.

The "left" and "top" boxes show how many pixels the cropping happens from the edges of the canvas. The formula for finding that is

(width of gif / 2) - (difference between gif width and frame width / 2) = left box

For me it's (93 / 2) - (6 / 2) = 43.5

Then you do the same.for the height, which for me ends up being 22 from the top

This is reallyyy touchy and annoying though

Here's my result , with no visible difference

Okay so THEN you go to the "overlay" option, under "effects." And upload your frame. If the cropping was done right, you shouldn't have to move the frame at all and can just download it

Here's my result:

if you don't care about transparency, you can resize your gif to be the same size as the frame, and then put the frame over it. But I'm a slut for transparency

Anyways. I'm sorry if anything was unclear, it's two am. And I hope this was helpful :) these really are fun to make once you get it down

also if anyone has an easier way to make stamps from gifs, please god tell me

[prael]

Day 6: Revenge Or Fate

IOI/Gugudan Sejeong x male reader smut

words: 5,611 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"What's that look for?" you ask with all the whimsy you can muster. "I only said that I bought your favourite popcorn. Why are you staring at me as if I just got down on one knee and proposed?"

"You did say you'd marry me someday," Sejeong jokes. Then she does that thing she always does when she's nervous—tugging at the lobe of her ear.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah. I mean when we are both in our sixties. When you have become the crazy cat lady and I the bachelor with a penchant for wine and cigarettes. It's not even close to that time yet."

"Why would you be smoking?" Sejeong wrinkles her nose. She knows you can't stand the smell.

"Because I'll be an ageing bachelor, duh," you answer with a dismissive wave of a hand as you sit by her on the couch. She's got her legs curled up against her chest, the way she always does when it's cold outside. You'd know—she's been sitting like that on your couch every winter since the beginning of time.

She lets out the softest of laughs before it quickly dissipates into silence. She's staring across the room, but not really looking at anything. Her face is painted in melancholy. You know her well enough to know that look, and you hate it. Hate everything it represents. You sigh. The first time you saw her like this was back as teenagers, after the dog she grew up with had been hit by a car. It still hurts your chest.

"You've got that look again," you tell her. "Like there's a million and one things in your mind and none of them particularly good."

"I'm okay. Just tired." Sejeong's smile doesn't quite convince you.

"I wasn't going to say anything. I thought you'd tell me if you wanted me to know, but it's been months since you asked me to come over on a Friday night, so something has happened. I haven't seen this much annoyance behind your eyes since the end of Game Of Thrones. What is it?"

"I'm just feeling overwhelmed, that's all. I wish you weren't so observant."

"You should be used to it by now."

Sejeong flashes a half-hearted smile and takes hold of your hand as she used to do when you were kids. You feel guilty for the way your stomach flutters.

"I guess we have always known each other better than anyone else," she admits, her hand still clasped around yours. It's warm and familiar. You feel the urge to push away, but how can you? It would give far too much away. She has always had this effect on you—you could never distance yourself from her warmth. "He's an asshole."

"You don't need to tell me twice," you chuckle. Then: "Tell me what happened."

"I think he might be cheating."

The air escapes from you at once. The way Sejeong said it is so casual, almost as if she'd resigned herself to this fate a long time ago. And here you are, trying your best to keep your anger under control, like always. But not for her sake—rather, for yours. You know where your feelings belong, and they have no place in the situation at hand. Not today, and definitely not ever. You take a deep breath and look her square in the eye.

"What did he do?"

"I shouldn't have mentioned it," she laughs nervously. She doesn't want to put any more weight on your shoulders than she already has, because that's who she is, you suppose. But how can she expect you to ignore it when she looks like a sad dog staring into the rain on someone's front porch?

"We're best friends. I want to hear everything," you insist.

"He's been acting differently lately." Sejeong pauses. "Distant. Like there's something he isn't telling me."

"Do you think there might be?" you ask carefully.

"It's always something with work. Or a friend that really needs him. Or a family member or—fuck. I don't know."

"I'm sorry."

Sejeong sighs and runs a hand through her hair. There are unshed tears in her eyes. This bastard is making her cry. You want to smash something, preferably his head.

"I don't wanna bother you with this shit," she whispers. She sounds exhausted.

"Don't say that," you retort softly, squeezing her hand in yours. It's clammy. "Don't ever say that again."

She gives a curt nod.

"God knows I've told you enough about my romantic misadventures over the years," you joke. Your chest tightens when Sejeong lets out the tiniest of laughs. Maybe you can still make this right, whatever this is. "Misery loves company."

"You know," she begins, pausing to look at you properly. There is something unreadable in her gaze, something that you've never seen before. It makes you hold your breath in anticipation of whatever is to come. "If there's one person I could choose to be miserable with, it would be you."

For a brief second, you forget that time exists.

"Well, I'm very honoured," you reply eventually. There's another pause where you ponder what to say next. Then, simply, because that seems like the easiest answer: "Do you want me to go beat him up?"

Sejeong laughs and punches you in the arm.

"I thought you were a pacifist?"

"Yeah, but exceptions must be made sometimes."

She raises an eyebrow at you. You can't tell what she's thinking. "For me?"

"Yes."

It feels like standing on a cliff. You want nothing more than to jump, to feel freefall in your whole body. The only problem is that you'll most certainly die. The ground below is made of jagged rocks and bad ideas. Yet, here you stand, willing to do anything in the world for the beautiful girl next to you. Even if it means lying broken beyond repair.

Sejeong breaks your trance when she explains, "There's this girl he works with. We had dinner together with some people from their office two weeks ago, and... I don't know. They just seemed off. She kept looking at him. You know that look? The one where they linger on someone just a bit too long."

"So that's what gave it away?"

"Well, that and the rumour. They had a thing before he met me. It's over now, or it was." A single tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly, seemingly irritated at herself. You frown. Sejeong has no reason to be ashamed of being hurt. She should be allowed to shed tears, even buckets full if necessary. You wouldn't judge. "At least that's what he said. He promised me it was over. But... God."

You reach forward to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her lips tremble, so you quickly move your eyes back up. Staring at her lips is dangerous territory.

"You don't deserve this shit," you say resolutely.

Sejeong chuckles sarcastically. "Then why do I keep ending up here?"

That question stings. Not because it's directed at you—it isn't—but rather because you know the answer. Sejeong has been in this kind of position too many times to count. She attracts guys like honey does flies; every single time, with no exceptions. Only the worst seem to make it past the rest. Sejeong gets caught in their deceitful net time and time again, only to inevitably break her heart after months and months of manipulation disguised as devotion.

"Want my honest answer?"

"Yes."

"I think it's because you're the sort of person that believes the best in everyone. And that is a beautiful trait. I love that you do that. I really do. But sometimes..." you trail off, not quite sure how to continue without sounding accusatory.

"Sometimes I get screwed over," Sejeong finishes. You nod in response. "You're right. I guess it's my fault for trusting too easily."

"No," you shake your head. "It's not your fault. That part is absolutely wonderful. It's just..." You're suddenly hesitant. What if Sejeong takes this the wrong way and shuts you out?

"What?" she probes.

"Have you ever heard the expression 'you can't see the tree for the woods'?"

"Sounds stupid."

"It means you can't see what's right in front of your nose," you explain.

Sejeong stares at you for a long time. You think she understands, but it's impossible to know. It would probably be better that way—if she understood and did nothing about it. You aren't supposed to feel this way about her. How many times haven't you imagined what it would be like if things were different? If circumstances were perfect, if her current guy hadn't appeared out of anywhere and swept her off her feet before you'd even realised what was happening.

But that's just your luck.

"Thank you," Sejeong whispers. "Can we, um, watch something? I don't wanna think about this right now."

You let out an awkward cough. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Do you remember when you forced me to watch Twilight, and I spent the entirety of the movie complaining about how terrible it was?"

"You still watched all of them with me." A tiny grin appears on her face. Thank God.

"That was truly the highest form of torture," you joke. "I hope you brought something better today. Please don't tell me you downloaded another movie about sparkly vampires."

Sejeong punches your arm. "I'll have you know I am extremely cultured nowadays."

"Yeah? Show me then."

A couple of hours pass and everything feels decidedly normal. You rest against the arm of the couch and Sejeong rests against you. You make jokes at the expense of the film as you always do and she laughs that soft, carefree laugh of hers. The credits roll and Sejeong sits up, stretching her limbs like a cat after a nap. You smile at the familiarity of it all. For a moment it doesn't matter what she has—or hasn't—been crying over.

"I'm tired," she says. She blinks slowly as if to prove it to herself. It's quite endearing, actually.

"Yeah?" you ask nonchalantly.

"Will you let me stay here tonight?" Her voice is small, unsure. But why? It's not the first time she has stayed here. This place is practically a second home to her.

"Like you need to ask," you retort lightly as you stand up and look down at her.

She opens her mouth to speak, but that's when her phone rings. When she sees his name flashing across the screen, she visibly freezes. Annoyance seeps into you like acid rain. His nerve—to call at such an hour, and expect her to pick up. Sejeong just watches, almost paralyzed, until eventually, she does pick up.

"Hey," is all she says. The reply is much longer. You can't make out the words he's saying but the tone tells you all you need to know.

"I was going to," Sejeong replies tersely. Silence. Then: "I told you already, I went over to—" Pause. She swallows thickly. "You didn't tell me you were going out." A longer stretch of silence, during which his voice gradually increases in volume. Suddenly Sejeong sits bolt upright. Her eyes grow wide with confusion and disbelief.

"Me!?" She shouts. "He's my best friend! I wouldn't—" Another pause. She takes a deep breath. "No. No, that isn't fair. You can't—"

It sounds like he hangs up. Sejeong doesn't move. Her hands are shaking violently.

"Do I even wanna know?"

"I should go home," she murmurs flatly.

"To him? To the guy who's probably just fucked his co-worker?"

Sejeong turns to glare at you, eyes cold as ice. You immediately regret your words.

"I'm sorry," you quickly amend. "That was uncalled for. It's none of my business. I shouldn't have said that."

"Why?" she asks bluntly. Your heartbeat picks up in a hurry. There's anger in her eyes. Anger that could turn against you so quickly.

"Why what?" you reply defensively.

"Why don't you wanna be with anyone? You've rejected every single person who's tried to get close to you since we were sixteen. There's got to be a reason."

The world grinds to a halt. Time, space, and life itself stop existing for a minute while you consider your options. On the one hand, you could lie; come up with a suitable excuse and maybe she won't push for more. On the other hand, you could simply admit to the truth that's haunted you for years.

You open your mouth. Close it. Fuck.

Sejeong stands up, wading in the silence towards you. You can't help but take a step backwards. In that split second, you're sure she knows—and yet you cannot tell.

"Have you ever loved anyone?" Sejeong demands to know.

Your heartbeat roars in your ears. "I don't understand why you're asking me this," you choke out. A part of you wishes you were back there on the cliff. At least then you could've jumped off of your own accord, with a little dignity left intact.

"I need to know," is all Sejeong says. Her gaze is relentless. You hate it. It makes you want to claw your own skin off—and there are truths under there that you plan to take to the grave.

"Why?"

"Because I need to know if what I'm going to do next is the right thing."

She stands beside you now. On the edge of that cliff, though it's starting to feel more like you're on the roof of your car. Staring up at the stars on some forgotten summer night. The jump seems more like a flight.

"I have," you admit. Somehow it seems easier than to try and fight whatever force is controlling the both of you. It feels strangely liberating.

"But you won't allow yourself to do anything about it." You know her well enough to discern a question from a statement, no matter how carefully she might try to veil them as the latter.

"It's complicated," you say quietly. She's so close to you now that you can hear the hitch in her breath. Why is she pushing this? "Why are you doing this?"

Her eyes flit from yours to your lips, then back again. So quickly. One, two. But you saw it. And your entire body tingles in anticipation. You'll dare move away—not now, not when the leap of faith feels more like a hop.

She doesn't say anything else. One more small step and her body collides with yours. Lips press against lips and suddenly, all thought scatters. Sejeong tangles her fingers through your hair and pulls. A gasp escapes you before you regain control and kiss her properly. It's frantic, rushed. Years of pining bleed out with every touch. You grab her, pull her as close to your body as possible, and lose yourself completely. Something is swelling inside you. A feeling so large and uncontainable that you think your chest is going to explode any second.

It is indescribable.

All of it—the sensation of kissing her, holding her—surpasses description. You're falling from that cliff, but she's holding you, and before you can hit the rocks she's dragging you to the couch and climbing on top of you.

It feels unreal. The entire world disappears as your lips find hers again and again and again. You don't care to question what happens after. This moment is yours, forever branded in your memories, and nothing can take that away from you. Even if it ends here—even if she were to walk away now—it would've been worth it. Completely and irrevocably.

When you finally part to catch your breath, you can't help but stare at her in awe. She's so beautiful. A masterpiece. Your hand moves to her cheek almost automatically. Sejeong lets her head fall against it with a soft sigh.

"Wow," she whispers.

"Yeah," you croak.

"Please don't regret this in the morning." Her voice is so quiet, filled with so much pain, that it breaks your heart. Your own fears are secondary.

"I never could," you breathe. Then you lean in to kiss her again, slower this time, savouring every sensation as if it might be the last. By some miracle she responds eagerly, fingers wrapping around the collar of your shirt as she holds you steady. You have no idea where this leaves the two of you, but you want her closer—now. You reach around and slide your hands under her thighs, pulling gently upwards. She follows your lead, settling against your lap in a way that makes the situation undeniably real.

As you kiss, her hips start moving back and forth. Soft, shallow movements. Little whimpers escape her throat and fall directly into your mouth. Fuck. She moans—actually moans—into the kiss and a violent shiver travels through your whole body. You break away momentarily to look at her face, flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes staring back at you.

"Do that again," you whisper against her lips.

"Make me," she pants.

The next kiss is searing, open-mouthed, and accompanied by Sejeong grinding her hips against you. Harder now. Unrelenting. Your hands travel up her waist, slipping beneath her blouse to feel warm skin underneath. You feel every tremble of her body when your fingernails drag lightly across her flesh. A gasp—then she leans backwards, with her arms outstretched and clinging behind your neck, to look you dead in the eye as she continues moving her hips against you.

"Sejeong... What are we—"

"Shh."

Your hands snake further up her shirt. Her back arches in response as she grinds down hard, moaning loudly. Your eyes flutter shut briefly to enjoy the sensations—the sounds—coming from her. You force them open once more because you can't miss this show for anything. You push the shirt up and over her chest. Her hands slip from behind your neck momentarily so that you can get the garment over her head. And then she is there before you, bra and sweatpants-clad, panting softly and waiting.

"Sejeong—"

"Fuck me." It is barely more than a whimper, but it rattles the very core of your being.

"What?"

She lunges forward and kisses you forcefully. There are tears in her eyes—tears you didn't notice until now. Her desperation bleeds through.

"Please," she whispers into your mouth, her voice breaking slightly. "Please."

You can't deny her. How could you? You're unfastening the clasp of her bra and your hands are everywhere on her. Pulling her closer, exploring every inch of bare skin you can get your hands on. Her fingers start unbuttoning your shirt—clumsily, but getting the job done. Once open, her nails dig into your bare shoulders, as if testing out whether you're really here, tangible and real. As if you could disappear at any moment and leave her stranded. A loud groan escapes her when your fingers brush against her nipples.

"You're so fucking beautiful," you murmur into her ear. She whines at the words, nails digging deeper into your skin.

The friction between your legs is driving you mad. You've got the burning urge to pick her up and slam her into the nearest wall, but you savour what you have. First, you kiss her neck, then it's a trail down her collarbones. Your teeth nibble playfully at the skin until she moans, begging you to do something. You obey, leaning in to flick your tongue across a nipple before swirling it around the bud. Her fingers fly into your hair and hold you against her breast.

"Holy shit."

Your mouth latches on tighter. Sucking. Biting. The heat pooling between you grows more intense. Eventually, you detach and move on to the next, eliciting more delicious sounds from the girl above you. All those nights spent fantasising about exactly this don't come close to the real experience. You're supporting her, around the waist and the small of her back, while she leans back in your lap, presenting herself to you.

You appreciate every inch of her slender figure. By eye and then by tongue. You draw constellations along her skin, your touch is feather-light. Across her toned stomach to her hips, then right up the side of her body. She throws an arm above her head and giggles lightly as you lick all the way up underneath it. You follow a path to her armpit. Sejeong giggles more when you begin to nibble there too. When you raise your eyes to meet hers she blushes fiercely.

"Weirdo."

"Just appreciating you," you murmur, pressing soft kisses against her shoulder and up to her neck.

"Mm. I like it," she replies hoarsely.

So you spend some time like this. Appreciating her bare body and making her squirm. Kissing, licking, and biting everything that you can possibly reach until her writhing becomes borderline violent. Then she grabs a hold of your jaw, looks you deep in the eyes, and utters the most sinful words you've ever heard her say.

"Enough teasing. I want to ride your cock now."

Every inch of you lights on fire. From your forehead to the tips of your toes, you feel flames lick at your insides. Sejeong climbs off you without another word and starts pushing her sweats from her hips. You watch, spellbound, as she wiggles out of them. Her panties follow suit.

Then she turns to face you. Standing fully nude, absolutely breathtaking in every sense of the word. A goddess. Every bit as perfect as you had imagined. Even your fantasies weren't this good; nowhere near as intoxicating as this moment right now.

"You have ten seconds before I sit on your face instead," she deadpans, you both laugh. At least she hasn't lost her humour.

You unbuckle your belt and shuffle them down as best you can while still seated. Enough that she can reach down and pull your cock free from its confines. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull when she wraps her slim fingers around it. Pumping up and down. You're hard already, unbelievably so, and when she drags her thumb across the head of your dick it actually twitches. You suck in a deep breath, willing yourself to focus.

And then she sits on your lap, sliding along the length of your cock. Fuck. She repeats it a few times. Back and forth, slicking your cock with her wetness.

"I always pictured this," she admits.

"Really?" you croak.

"God yeah, I remember back in college. I must have rubbed one out to you more times than I can count." She smirks at you then—a wicked smirk that makes your entire body shiver. A filthy admission to you and you only. She does it again, drags her wetness along you. How on earth are you supposed to remain composed when she says things like that and does things like this? You wrap an arm around her back and pull her closer, staring at her as if seeing her for the very first time.

"You can't say things like that, I'm gonna—"

She cuts you off with her tongue in your mouth. Kissing you like it's the last thing she'll ever do, and your lips the only form of sustenance she'll ever need. It gives way to her frantic little moan, desperate and unrestrained. For the life of you you can't comprehend what is happening, only react, and fuck if it isn't the most incredible experience you've ever had. Her skin is burning against yours, hungry and yielding to your every touch.

Sejeong shifts slightly and grabs a hold of you properly. Your eyes widen when the tip of your dick brushes against something wet, warm, and soft. The very centre of her. She repositions herself, now holding you carefully against her, and then... slides down the length of your cock, pausing halfway down. The pleasure is so acute that you cannot control the way your back arches off the couch, and neither do you control the profanities that spill out from your lips.

A sinful grin spreads across her face. As her legs are pinned around your waist, you cannot move, but Sejeong certainly can. And boy, does she know how. She starts bouncing herself up and down, riding you so expertly and looking so good doing it. You've thought of this so many times—having sex with your best friend, of all people—but you did not picture it like this.

"This okay?" she murmurs in your ear. You hear the smile in her voice.

You utter the only word you can muster: "Yes."

She laughs airily, placing a kiss on your temple as she continues her rhythm. When she moans—a long, drawn-out moan, half-pained, half-pleasured—and throws her head back, you stare up at her, eyes drinking in the beauty that is in a position so incredibly vulnerable yet completely in control. How you long to capture this moment and keep it somewhere safe forever. She looks down at you now. Her heavy-lidded eyes pin you to your spot as much as the physical manifestation of her pinned against your skin. She traces her fingers down your jaw, your neck, and the top of your chest.

"I wish he could see me now," Sejeong hisses, anguish evident in her voice.

"You look so fucking good."

"He doesn't know what he had," she laughs bitterly. "Fuck him."

"Fuck him," you echo. Sejeong smirks and moves her hips more fluidly. Goddamn. Her tight little cunt feels so perfect clenched around your cock.

She watches your face closely as she keeps riding you. As you keep clutching her hips and help her along, grinding deeper. Groaning when she throws her hips forward faster and faster. Her cunt is so hot and tight. She sucks at the life seeping out of your pulsating cock and squeezes it with her inner muscles in ways that no one has ever done before. Sometimes she pulls completely off you, her breath shuddering as you twitch, only to take you deep inside her again.

Your hands have a mind of their own, sneaking upwards to grip her neck. You give it a gentle squeeze, just enough to get her attention. All the while you're staring intensely into her eyes. They've become glassy, intoxicated, more than just wanting but longing for it. Her voice is hoarse, strained, as she says, "How have I been so stupid? All this time—you're right here, and I never—"

"It doesn't matter. None of that matters."

"You're so—fuck."

Her body trembles and she falls forward onto you. She's gripping your arms, nails sinking into your flesh. Sejeong's breath grows increasingly laboured. After a long string of expletives, she lets her head rest on your shoulder as you snake an arm around her back and support her. Her whole body is rigid, teetering on the edge of an orgasm.

"Never felt this good," she forces the words out amid moans as you buck your hips up into her, picking up the slack as she begins to falter. The rhythm is quick now, urgent, filled with unbridled passion and everything left unspoken for too long.

When Sejeong cums, you feel it all around you—her pussy quivering, leaking her arousal around you, dripping down your thighs and saturating you, almost drowning in the intensity. It makes her moan into the crook of your neck and rock her hips, fucking herself while trying desperately to quiet the sounds of her ecstasy against your body. But that is unthinkable, to silence someone like that, and you tell her so. Whispering the filthiest things in her ear as she throbs around your cock, dragging out the last tremors of pleasure of her orgasm as much as you possibly can. She spills everything out into your shoulder, every word, every whimper. Until at last, you can feel her sagging in your lap, breathing heavily and spent.

"Keep going," she pants, tightening her grip on your arm. "Don't stop."

She throws herself to the side, pulling you with her, and somehow lands flat on her back with your body on top of her. You wince at the sudden shift. But not for long. Because Sejeong opens her legs wide, hooks her calves around your hips, and tells you again not to stop.

You smirk and lean forward, trapping her beneath your body and capturing her lips in a sensual kiss. It is deliberate, lingering. Her arms fly up and tangle themselves through your hair, locking you together. When your tongues meet, you sigh deeply against her. There is a warmth settling over you. Languid, dream-like. Like you're both floating through clouds, carried away by the sweetest of breezes.

There is nowhere else in the world that you would rather be than right here, between her legs.

You rock into her, once, then twice, each time more intense than the last. The angle is entirely different. You grab a hold of one of her legs and hitch it up a bit, allowing yourself to thrust deeper inside her.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm. Move slower. Nice and slow," she instructs.

And you do. Eventually, a hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck. Sejeong stares into your eyes and your breath catches. Then you're kissing, again and again, but there is not so much desperation and anger anymore, but something else. It is the feel of her hips meeting yours, the way you press your bodies together, the softness of her lips and the taste of her mouth. Her breaths rush from her lips to yours, from hers into you.

Sweat starts to bead at your temples as you rock into her. Slow, deep, patient strokes. It is not desperate fucking anymore, or an attempt to pour all of your heartbreak into some meaningless action. It's almost reverential—the way you're holding each other, soft and sure. A sweet torture, a sublime suffering, for as long as time allows.

You don't talk. Your mouths say nothing, at least. With your bodies, however, your fingertips whisper praise against her skin. Spirits float free and serenade each other. Sounds escape her that you haven't even dreamed of. Broken, wanton, as if wrenched out of her. They rise above and meet in a higher plane of reality, where two minds are one.

It takes time. A slow build to the crescendo. You know when you've struck the final note by the way she cries out, over and over again, her pretty little hole convulsing, spasming around your cock. She wants to squirm away but has nowhere to go. You refuse to let her. You smile against her neck and sink your teeth into the skin there.

Soon you follow, groaning her name into the warm flesh. It's a flood—your insides are melting, pouring out from your loins and into her heat, her insides contracting, trapping every ounce inside. Hot, sticky, yours. This feeling. It is as if your heart has grown wings, a phoenix born anew from the ashes of who you used to be. You don't have to be lost anymore. She will carry you, always, her fingernails tracing patterns in your damp skin. There is nothing to fear.

Sejeong whines and moans softly as you fill her. One more careful thrust and you still, collapsing on top of her as the waves subside. All the while she is there, stroking the back of your neck and quietly reciting every piece of filth that she can think of.

You wonder whether this will last longer than the night.

God. Would you be okay with that?

When you eventually move back to look at her, to make sure she's okay, there are tears in her eyes. Uncertainty overwhelms you. Before you can react, before you can ask what is wrong, Sejeong cups your cheek. "Thank you," she whispers, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. This girl. All these years. All the wasted time. It feels right being with her; everything is finally where it should have been all along.

"You were worth the wait," you breathe. You place a kiss against her brow before rolling off and settling next to her.

"Do you..." Her voice fades. She runs a finger along your collarbone, eyes anywhere but yours. "Do you want this to be a one-time thing?

"No," you answer without hesitation. You catch her hand in yours, entangling your fingers, willing her to understand everything that you're unable to tell her.

Sejeong smiles. Genuine, unapologetic. For the first time in months, she looks happy. Fuck him, indeed. "Good," she says with a soft laugh that evaporates any of her lingering doubts. Her eyes flick to your lips and she whispers, "So, uh, we've got some lost time to make up for."

"Yeah?" you whisper while rolling her back over and climbing over her. "If there's a debt to be paid..." You start trailing kisses down her neck, down her sternum, grinning at the tiny shivers it elicits. "What better time than now?"

Your kisses lead you over her toned stomach. Once you reach the juncture between her thighs, you pick up her leg and set it over your shoulder. Sejeong is already squirming, anticipating what is to come. You take a look at her—mussed hair and flushed cheeks, mouth slightly open, beautiful, tempting. It feels almost gratuitous—that you're able to see her like this. It makes you pull her even closer, and stick your tongue into her center. Her upper body lifts almost immediately and her eyes fly open. A shaky whimper leaves her lips.

She's right. There is a lot of catching up to do. Luckily for her, there's still the whole night ahead of you and a lot more you'd like to show her.

[zippidi-dooda]

In the early stages of going over to meet Bakugou's parents you were visibly uncomfortable, nervous, and always coming up with an excuse to postpone the visits.

Your heart was beating in your chest, hands clammy, eyes almost watery. And even though they were endlessly nice and welcoming towards you, something wouldn't let you shake the fear of being around them and you barely uttered a word, the rides home going with complete silence between you and him.

Bakugou of course had noticed and tried asking you about it, but then you'd feel that lump in your throat, not wanting to explain why you were always so anxious when it came to his parents since you didn't even know the reason yourself, you'd quickly change the subject or use any excuse to leave the room.

The avoidance irked him beyond belief, he wanted to snap and ask his questions straight out ... but he didn't want to run the risk of you crying. So, he sends a text explaining the situation to his parents and asks for advice, how should he approach this?

And the next time you visit, he and his father conveniently have to run out for an errand. You of course rushed to offer to go with them, you couldn't bear the idea of being in Bakugou's home without Bakugou, but they refused saying it'd be rude to make the guest do things for them. So, you were stuck. Alone. With Bakugou's mother sitting on the couch right across from you ....

You look down at your sweaty palms clutching your pants, head racing and praying to God she wouldn't want to talk.

And to your relief, she leaves the room.

Ahh ... you'll live to see another day.

Clink!

You look up slightly to see a plate full of steaming cookies on the coffee table in front of you.

Then you feel the cushion sink next to you and a caramelized floral scent envelops you.

"Glad we got rid of 'em! That boy would have a fit if I showed you these with him around."

Mitsuki was sitting right next to you.

"Well? Go on, grab some, it's rude not to try your host's treats. Brat doesn't like sweets, but these are Katsuki's favorites, I'll give you the recipe later." She winks.

You were dazed for a moment before grabbing one out of fear politeness.

The older lady crosses her legs, opening a thick album you hadn't noticed she'd been carrying and points towards a photo in the bottom right.

"This here is from when we got to bring Katsuki home for the first time. I knew then and there he'd be a pain in my ass. Ugly thing isn't he?"

... what a way to talk about your child.

You lean over a bit to take a look. And a smile makes it's way across your lips. He wasn't the prettiest thing, no, but since you loved him you couldn't help feeling happy at the sight.

She points to another one, "This here is when I caught him getting into my makeup. Masaru had taken the picture since he wasn't paying attention then showed it to me. Nearly chased him down the block when I saw it. Little Bastard was always getting into everything he shouldn't have."

You chuckled through your nose, finally taking a bite of the cookie.

It tasted amazing.

Mitsuki continued to flip through the album, telling you the stories that came with each photo, her way of storytelling garnering a bit a laughter from you and eventually you had your feet tucked on the couch and cheek resting on her shoulder simply listening to her talk. You hadn't even noticed it happen.

She didn't ask you questions about yourself, didn't point out your change in behavior, or even glance your way. It was almost as if you weren't even there. But, you were greatful for that. And she knew.

She had stood when she heard the front door beginning to open and looked at you, raising a finger to her lips, "don't tell Katsuki 'bout this, kay?"

You smiled and nodded, turning around to watch the pair as they walked in.

That was the first time you truly felt comfortable in the Bakugou household.

And you were soon looking forward to each visit, much to Katsuki's relief.

Well, it was relief at first when you were starting to converse and interact more, taking the time to get close to his mom and his dad and asking him about his family on your own.

But then he knew you were getting too close to his family, especially his mom, when you started sighing and asking questions like "Oh, what happened to the Katsuki who would sing just cause he felt like it" or saying things like "You know I think I'm happy I didn't meet you as a kid, we wouldn't have gotten along as well" or even pointing out toys to him like "look, it's just like the one you had as in the past, right?"

Then he knew exactly what made you open up to his family, "Hag's been showing you that damn album, hasn't she?"

And suddenly he didn't know if he should be mad or greatful towards his parents for coming up with their plan to help you grow comfortable around them.