#will edit with more if they come to mind.

[fumiliar]

playing - "alchemy" by taylor swift

athlete!kento who simply does not engage in anything related to his socials. whether an edit of him lifting up his shirt goes viral, or even a viral clip of his most embarrassing play. he just doesn't care, he simply lets his PR team handle it.

athlete!kento who never envisioned his life as a professional athlete. he had always imagined his future being stuck in some mundane cubicle, doing repetitive work all his life. but now he got to live out his dreams.

athlete!kento who would always come running to you. his first thoughts will always be you. the you that supported him from the ground up, who stayed with him through injuries, who stayed with him through times where he thought he'd never come back to the sport. a state where kento would leave himself, you stayed. and that meant more to him than winning anything.

his win was well deserved. after rigorous training, day and night, he was like a robot. and it finally paid off. whereas his teammates were still huddling, celebrating. kento patted and hugged each one of them before he ran straight for the sidelines. to you. he ran as fast as his worn out legs could take him, and as he finally reached you. his arms wrapped around you, swallowing you whole. and only then, could he finally feel relief.

relief that he had won

relief that the season was finally over

and lastly, relief that you were there, through the whole way. to cheer him on.

you could feel his body physically relax, letting go. "kento, don't relax your whole body weight to me."

"i've missed you," his head snuggled to your neck. "did you see? i scored for you."

"i saw ken," you gave him a reassuring rub on the back of his head, giving it a quick peck.

"go celebrate," you pushed him to where his team was at, giving him a nod before he reluctantly walks away from you. sending you glares that held no hatred to the fact you had actually pushed him away.

and there was not a single doubt in your mind, that if he was given the chance to do this all over again, he would always run to you. again and again.

p.s let's ignore the fact that he would literally be soaked in his sweat... he'd still smell good anyways 🤷 you can imagine it as any sport...i was too lazy to get into the specifics and research.

[helloliriels]

A MASTERLIST of this years FANDOM TRUMPS HATE 2024 works for our community: BBC Sherlock, Johnlock, and Mystrade! a.k.a. things I wanna check out (and don't wanna lose track of!)

🌹 Unremarkable by discordantwords for Podfixx :: It's an unremarkable day. John has a date. Sherlock has a case. And Mycroft & Rosie have just been shoved into the boot of a car.

🌹 Open Line by anyawen for sherlockian4ever :: Greg & Mycroft have front row seats to a spat between Sherlock and John.

🌹 There's Nothing in the Rulebook by avalanching_effect for bluebellofbakerstreet :: In which Lestrade rolls with the punches, Sherlock's body betrays him, and John is completely normal :)

🌹 Mimetidae by avalanching_effect for 796116311389 :: Magic has to make everything so complicated, doesn't it?

🌹Another Fortnight Lost in America by Biana_Amberly_Vacker for Silvergirl :: Sherlock gets offered a New York City vacation by a wealthy client. John thinks he's hiding something more, though.

🌹 The Disappointed Optimist's Guide to Sharing a Flat with a Madman by Calais_Reno for LHR_etc :: John Watson has a bit of luck when he meets Victor Trevor. Taking over his lease.

🌹 You Don't Live Here Anymore by elwinglyre for Jim88 :: Sherlock leaves 221b because he can’t bring himself to live there alone without John. Post-S4 Mary death.

🌹 In the Arms of the Ocean by standbygo for Silvergirl :: Sherlock and John are gifted an Atlantic cruise. Will either one of them finally get their heads out of the sand?

🌹 John Watsons Big Adventure by mydogwatson for Silvergirl :: There is a wedding in his future, but John Watson wants to have an adventure first. He gets his wish, but will he survive it?

🌹 The Part of You that Stays by holmesian_love & Accident for helloliriels :: Sherlock comes home a broken man and after serving as John’s best man, seemingly has a mental breakdown.

🌹 Cover for The Murder of Sir Emory J. Amat [Art] by bluebellofbakerstreet for ChrisCalledMeSweetie :: inspired by the fic. also

🌹 [Podfic] The Murder of Sir Emory J. Amat by semperfiona_podfic for ChrisCalledMeSweetie :: a podfic audio recording of the fic!

🌹Show Me Your Flaws by holmesianlove for Lock_John_Silver :: A talented stranger crosses his path and suddenly life isn’t boring. But how can John win over someone like that, when he's so flawed?

🌹A Minor Detail by meetinginsamarra for Katiegee444 :: Sherlock has found the perfect flatmate for sharing 221b Baker Street. If only there were not that minor detail in the small print of the lease ...

🌹Wasteland, Baby by LoloLolly for ShakespearelovedLadyMacbeth :: Things hadn’t felt right in 221B since John and Rosie moved back in. If only Sherlock knew it was about to get worse ...

🌹Scheherazade of the Thrift Shop by standbygo for thegildedbee :: Sherlock, cut off by Scotland Yard and desperate for something to do, decides to try deducing in a thrift shop.

🌹 Meet Ugly by jrow for 72reasons :: One encounter with a gorgeous madman is a good story. Twice is crazy coincidence. Three times might just be fate.

🌹 Cover for The Murder of Major Sayer [Art] by bluebellofbakerstreet for ChrisCalledMeSweetie :: inspired by the fic

🌹 The Mile High Club by elwinglyre for Silvergirl :: All they wanted was to get married without a fuss. Sherlock has more on his mind.

🌹 Johnlock on Holiday [Banner Edit] by a-victorian-girl for Silvergirl :: for the collection of FTH 2024 fics Silver prompted!

🌹 A Magical Holiday by PipMer for Silvergirl :: He had wanted to wait until after the new year, but it seems John needs a pick-me-up.

🌹 Never Trust to General Impressions [Cover Art] by helloliriels for thetimemoves :: a.k.a. Never Judge A Book By Its Cover (unless its cover is smexy)

🌹 What if John never disposed of the gun he shot the cabbie with? by safedistancefrombeingsmart for khorazir :: a story told in GIFs.

🌹 Shadows of the Fallen Oak by sherlockian4ever for luckettey :: Rosie Watson is kidnapped by a vengeful criminal from Sherlock's past. Their rescue mission tests their bond and reaffirms their love.

🌹 Always a Soldier by Lock_John_Silver for Silvergirl :: Mycroft arrives at Baker Street with disturbing news Sherlock can’t ignore.

🌹 The Cavern by elwinglyre for Katiegee444 :: Sherlock doesn’t believe in magic, he believes in making rock & roll history. His best chance is with John's band.

🌹 Full of Life and Full of Love by anyawen for ChrisCalledMeSweetie :: She watches over them. Still.

🌹 Bloods Tracks & Love Attacks by topsyturvy_turtley for Katiegee444 :: Six people enter a chairlift at the bottom of the mountain. Only five arrive at the top. All of them dead. Casefic.

🌹 Confirmation Bias by thalialunacy for Silvergirl :: A casefic featuring Harry Watson, knights, con men, and body farms.

🌹 Fan Edits for The Secret Writer by emilycare for Lock_John_Silver :: This is a collection of edits inspired by the story.

🌹 The Pillar Upon Which England Rests [Art] by khorazir for thetimemoves :: based on the fic by discordantwords.

🌹 36 Views of London by helloliriels for thegildedbee :: A patchwork image of John & Sherlock’s London, as seen through their eyes.

🌹 and back again by anyawen for helloliriels :: a book familiar and meaningful to both men offers guidance and hope.

🌹 Take My Hand by her_ladyships_soap for Mouse9 :: A tale of closeness, moving fwd, and finding comfort in unexpected places.

🌹 Minuit te va si bienby fireandhoney a translation for ChrisCalledMeSweetie

🌹 The Case of the Missing Patty-Pan by ChrisCalledMeSweetie for chainedtothemirror :: When Mrs. Hudson invites Sherlock to tea, his own cleverness gets him in trouble. Fortunately, Dr. Watson is eager to come to his rescue.

🌹 Every Song Reminds Me of You by ChrisCalledMeSweetie for alexxphoenix42 :: Music hath charms to help John acknowledge his feelings for Sherlock.

🌹 The Campari by CorvidCordelia for Silvergirl :: Technically, it’s a forced vacation for Sherlock, but when wouldn’t it be?

🌹 Sleeping Irene by Khorazir for ChrisCalledMeSweetie :: Cover for the wonderful fairy tale inspired fic

🌹 Pretty in (A Frankly Alarming Shade of) Pink by helloliriels for thetimemoves :: a Rock Out edit prompt from 80's album.

🌹 Every Song Reminds Me of You [Cover Edit] by a-victorian-girl for ChrisCalledMeSweetie :: for the fic of the same name!

🌹 What If I'm Not? [GIF] set by safedistancefrombeingsmart for helloliriels :: Johnlock :: for the fic of the same name.

🌹 No Going Home by emilycare for 13Monkton :: When Sherlock dies ... What if instead of John moving on, they both realized what they meant to one another when he returns?

🌹 Through The Rain by Snowfilly1 for Raechem :: A missing person from John’s past sends Mycroft and Greg on an investigation to Dartmoor.

🌹 Where It Is Always 1670 by Iwantthatcoat for khorazir :: Sherlock and John go on a diplomatic mission away from the heart of London to a little village called Adamczycha. The year is 1670.

🌹 The Red-Headed League by JRow for bluebellofbakerstreet :: Can Sherlock figure out what Rosie's teacher is involved in? And can he prevent the inevitable, namely Ms. Shea falling in love with John?

🌹 FTH2024 Artwork for A Case of You by Silvergirl by DemonicAngeling for Silvergirl :: Inspired by the fic

🌹 The Missing Half by aquileaofthelonelymountain for reveling_in_mayhem :: It was a fancy box of chocolates, the kind you didn’t get in supermarkets ... “So”, Greg said cheerfully, “you’ve got a secret admirer, then?”

🌹 Momentary by BlueMoononTheRise for StellaCartography :: Greg Lestrade has just been diagnosed with cancer. Unable to come to terms with the reality, he decides to go on a trans-Canada roadtrip.

🌹 The Beginning of Always by mydogwatson for thegildedbee :: John Watson wants to be a doctor. Sherlock Holmes wants to be a consulting detective. Most of all, they both want to be loved.

🌹 Handbook for Unrequited Love by Bluebuell33 for holmesianlove :: Life was one cruel joke after another for John. Mary lied and left him. Sherlock wanted nothing to do with him. How had his life ended up here?

🌹 John Watson and the Tale of the Bloody Finger by ChrisCalledMeSweetie for PatPrecieux :: A childhood tale comes back to haunt John.

🌹 An Ounce of Cure by BakerTumblings for safedistancefrombeingsmart :: When John needs elective surgery, Sherlock isn't at all thrilled about it. And when it doesn't go as planned. John finds himself fighting for his life.

🌹 Life finds a way. by Bluebuell33 for felinefemme :: Anthea convinces newly retired Mycroft that he needs a pet for his quiet cottage life. He comes home with more then a new cat. <3

🌹 The Rescuing by BakerTumblings for Podfixx :: Sherlock, off in Serbia, has been captured and severely injured. Mycroft recruits John to aid with freeing him and then overseeing his recovery.

🌹 A Gentleman's Agreement by Peanitbear for Enterthetadpole :: Sherlock is an alpha that doesn't want an omega. John is an omega that doesn't want an alpha.

🌹 Cover for My Pictures of You by bluebellofbakerstreet for 72reasons :: inspired by the fic.

🌹 The Murder of Sir Emory J. Amat by ChrisCalledMeSweetie for PatPrecieux :: A Sherlock Holmes mystery, as recounted by Dr. John H. Watson. Can you follow the clues to deduce whodunnit?

🌹 The Light Gets In by Raina_at for Besotted08 :: John comes back to Baker Street on a rainy Wednesday in January. He wants to feel whole again. Maybe that’s not achievable. But fuck, he wants to try.

Posting here, as not all of them yet appear in the FTH 2024 collection on Ao3, but I knew they existed! *whew*. Please let me know if I missed any???

Glad to see I wasnt the only procrasti-writer this year! (my first year offering fic) and so proud of those of you who made it to the finish line and HOLY mother of fandom those of you that wrote more than one!!! (bowing lowly to the floor). Writing for FTH made me more in love with those of you who do this every year. It's a brilliant challenge and all for charity!

[genderlessjacky]

yayy finally im finally done!!! I hope we are the same timezone and I didn't accidentally submit this late 😭

Holmes!! The sharpshooting Rodger with a littleee but of trust issues and I adore him . He is the kind of dad to have Pavlov's dogs himself to say "language" whenever anyone is swearing an probably owns a swear jar. But don't worry, he loves both his children equally. He may not be able to keep up with a few of the smarter Rodgers in terms of intellect but he can hold his own in a mission decently well and he's more streetsmart anyways (Holmes says in an attempt to comfort himself)

(also , Sherlock Holmes , Holmes , get it??? I'm so funny I know)

Big brother of the year award goes too... SOMEONE ELSE because it's certainly not Shrimpo "DONT KICK IN YOUR 8 YEAR OLD BABY SISTERS TEETH" Rodger . He pretends to not care and at times he really doesn't. It's giving Dipper pines meets bakugo (which I'm not sure if that's accurate because I have only seen like , 2 seasons of MHA) meets knuckles and with a sprinkle of abandonment issues . It took him a decently long time to warm up to his adoptive family but it was all worth it (sort of)

(when I tell you I really did try my best to come up with an Augmented Ability for him 😭 I hope this isn't too OP...)

Edit : nvm , Shrimpo uses 80% of his energy instead and that it effects a whole area of twisteds around him , like it effects any twisteds who hear it even if he direct it at them , and that it can be mixed , like a twisted brightney and Gigi can run away while the rest start CHASING him

The baby of the family!! The one who Shrimpo taught how to swear!! Toodles!! She occasionally gets an existential crisis because of her ability but it's finee. She warmed up the fastest to people, this social little scumbag is the sole reason why her brother is NOT fully social inept

Edit: SO sorry that I'm changing my mind this much but I'd like to add like , she can just duplicate only parts of herself for way less energy, like she can duplicate just an arm as a emergency weapon for 7% energy and only her head to use as a projectile weapon for 9% energy ectect and ofc they will still hurt but yes she can duplicate multiple

(Another idea of an Augmented Ability I have to her is basically beginners luck in a larger scale , she can boost a random 'stat' of her fellow toons in a certain radius by 20% and it reduces her own energy by 20% but I went for this one instead but if you think the duplicate thing is too overpowered, feel free to use this :))

more beneath the cut <3 (pls read I spent SO much time on these doodles)

An idea I have for their background:

If it matches the lore , I'd say they joined an operation that wasnt gardenview, a different operation that was far more weaker and far away from said Gardenview , Holmes and Toodles and a couple of others were the sole survivors of the weaker operation after they got overwhelmed by a large Wave of twisteds and Shrimpo got kicked out of his own survivors group for being too aggressive and nearly leading them to their own death . After Toodles and Holmes wandered for about 3 months they met Shrimpo and the journey begins there . They reach Gardenview in about, I'd say two - three and a half years

Please ignore that fact that it's disgustingly obvious that I have practically never done digital art before 😞🙏

Pov: a single father of two rediscovers what coffee is (don't read the text too closely 😞, I mostly copy pasted a theory about ichor that I really liked and added a bit of details myself , I know I'm lazy I'm sorry)(also ignore that Cosmo said E-1, I rrly want him and his kids to be in D-1 🙏)

I have a mini comic I'm in the middle of drawing of how Shrimpo and Toots would work together in an actual mission and I'll reblog said comic on this post after I finish it and hope and pray you actually see it 😢

Fun facts about them (I'll probably add more when it's not , midnight)

In terms of fighting, I'd say Shrimpo is definitely melee and short ranged, if I decide to give him weapons it will definitely be very Vi from arcane coded

Rodger is defo long ranged sharp shooter, a sniper sort of guy , if he had to fight up close he could hold his own but he would mostly rely on his robot arm

Toodles is more agile think, very sonic or Spiderman esk , jumping around and dodging/ luring the twisteds

Rodger also has phantom pain sometimes and doesn't really know what it is (yet) so sometimes his arms just starts hurting a lot and he's like "oh, I guess that happens now" and doesn't tell anyone

Rodger got lost his arm during the incident where his old operation got destroyed

Toodles and Shrimpo have matching bite marks from eachother, it's how they differentiate eachother from a crowd

They are very "Dad said I can come!!" "YOU ARE NOT COMING ON MY DATE-" coded

honestly, I can Shrimpo tagging along with toodles and her new friends in Gardenview until he finds his own group

Rodger used to spend a lot his time researching ichor obsessively because he lost a lot of loved ones during the fall of his old operation (like a lot of the Rodgers and probably also A1 Rodger) but slowed down a LOT a while after he took in Shrimpo

Rodger didnt know how to take care of two kids at first , it wasnt until Shrimpo almost died because of his own recklessness that he decided "hey I already lost a lot of people, I need to take care of the ones I have" and stepped up , he isn't perfect but he tries

I'd like to think Rodger gets a lot of "you took in...a SHRIMPO????" From the group of people he hangs out with

Shrimpo is a decent mechanic, like not enough that he can build a robot from scratch metal but enough that he can build a working metal arm for Holmes out of broken twisted robot parts

Also their 'last name' is Rodger , like Toodles Rodger and Shrimpo Rodger , but he only uses when they are in REAL trouble like "SHRIMPO RODGER GO TO YOUR ROOM"

Also if it matches the lore , I also like to think , to save up energy and ichor , the people running Gardenview saw them come in , clinging onto eachother and went "huh... they seem close" and put Toodles and Shrimpo in the same room with a bunkbed to preserve energy , screaming matches insue

(and if you're reading this like :why is she so not normal ab them?? Well it's because I have a little brother who acts a lot like how I think toodles will act but a lot more annoying and I think I'm just projecting ngl)

Small little Event!

Hey hey, hope you’re all having a great holiday.

This little event will be running until 1.6.2025.

Im sure some of you have noticed team D and E have never been mentioned- and that’s because I’ve been waiting to host this event!

I’m choosing 11- yes 11 toons that YOU GUYS MAKE to add to Operation Ichor!

Of course, other toon submissions will show up as background characters within the comic.

Q1: How does the character sheet look?

Something like this, it being colored is optional. But I mainly just need design, personality, and ability on your sheet. Keep in mind you’re mostly choosing from the 20 in game characters (No, spoiler characters aren’t accepted, only ones in game!) and adding accessories on them.

You can make a whole team if you want too, just please keep it as one reblog if you can.

Q2: Are OC Toons allowed?

Yes, but please keep in mind they have a lower chance of being chosen just because dealing with different abilities and designs gets complicated (as if the 20 toons Dandy’s world has isn’t already enough)

Here’s the sheet for those who want to join.

Please use (#opich event) and/or just reblog this post with your submission

Disclaimer:

Any toon submitted will STILL BELONG TO THE OWNER, I have no intentions of stealing your amazing creations.

Do note; with the grim nature of this story, toons die a lot and yours might as well, if you don’t want that to happen- don’t submit.

And don’t be discouraged by your art, I love all your works and you’re all super talented :).

[esotericbluntbaby]

bf! hamzah x reader headcannons (sfw!)

- i feel like his love language is acts of service. if you guys don't live together already, he definitely acts like you do. need to go run errands? he'll drive you. hungry? he'll cook you something. in fact, he has all the cabinets memorized so he really never has to ask you where anything is. he knows what you like and don't like, and obviously if you have any allergies, so everything he prepares is to your liking. stressed? he'll run you a hot bath, complete with candles and a laptop sitting on a table for you to watch movies. he would even sit down on the floor next to you to keep you company, just in case you wanted to talk. how sweet!

- though he's a busy man with his podcast and youtube channel, you rarely feel like you come second to his career the more the relationship progresses. although you probably reassure him that it's okay if he stays a little late to finish editing or filming, he makes it up to you by bringing you some food or flowers. he genuinely feels bad when he has to be kept away from his girlfriend, so he tries to make up for it afterwards by showing you that he thinks of you even when you're apart.

- he would definitely play games with you when he can. i feel like you'd get a random text from him while he's filming that says something along the lines of him playing a game with martin that he wants to play with you. if it's a horror game, he'd definitely have you sit on his lap. with each jumpscare, he holds you tighter as you both jump or possibly scream. you secretly know that it's just an excuse for him to hold you, but of course, you don't mind.

- whenever he watches you holding or petting red and blue, his heart melts a little. he enjoys when you take care of his cats since they're literally his children. there are times you'll sleep over and wake up to the sight of hamzah, red, and blue all cuddled up next to you.

- speaking of cuddle, hamzah seems like the type to have such a heavy grip on you when you're asleep together. i can imagine you trying to go to work or school and attempting to get up from out of bed but he simply doesn't let you. the grip he has on your waist is tight as SHIT like he's acting like he'd die if he let go. eventually you squeeze out of his arms and get ready, but he soon wakes up and asks you why you left him there.

- you are passenger princess. always. he HATES it when you drive because he doesn't see the point. he's always available to take you places and enjoys being your own personal chauffeur. he understands that you can do things on your own, but he wants you to understand that you don't have to since he's in your life.

- i feel like he's heavy on communication and comprehension. in the beginning of the relationship, he was probably scared to tell you when he got jealous or when you do something that bothers him, but over time he realized he has to talk or else nothing would change. if something's bothering him, he won't hesitate to talk to you about it in a respectful and meaningful way. he isn't accusatory, but talks to you with softness in his voice. you guys are a team. afterwards, he just basks in your existence and spends time with you to reassure you that you guys are alright.

- when you guys are out together, he acts like he hates when you baby him. he tries his best to seem as masculine and strong as possible when you two are in public. in private? the complete opposite. he prefers being little spoon and resting his head on your chest while you stroke his hair. he loves when you kiss him on the forehead and when you call him cute pet names. he looks at you with so much adoration when you treat him like he's your baby.

- when you're upset, he definitely tries to cheer you up by making you laugh. whether it's cracking joke after joke or pretending to fall or finding a funny game to play with you, he will not stop until he sees you smile. he hates seeing a frown on your face and will genuinely do anything to take any sort of discomfort or pain away from you.

--

authors note

i decided to write at 1:24 on a school night because i NEEDED more hamzah fics. ts is kinda ass tho but we thug! take care of urselves lovelies mwah i will write more soon!

[liyuviq]

100 followers special ❤︎

dear every single one of my followers,

now that i have some time to properly organize my thoughts, let me reiterate how grateful i am for everyone that helped me reached this point.

100 may seem like a small number for many, but for someone who has been doubting her own art skills for a long time, it’s a number that i will greatly treasure in my heart.

from likes, reblogs, comments, and even the amazing mutuals i’ve gained, they all have made me so much more confident in myself and my abilities. you guys are the best and the only regret i have is not joining this community sooner. thank you all so much <3

now, that should be enough sap, so it’s time for me to introduce my 100 followers event!

event details:

to commemorate this special milestone, i hereby announce an event running for a week, from the moment this is posted to the end of sunday (12/1/25 UTC+6:30)! keep in mind this event is only for my followers (though new ones are always welcomed!)

you can request a doodle featuring my twst OC, shin, interacting with either your own twst OC or a canon twst boy! optionally, you may include a question about them, which also helps me come up with ideas.

how you can participate: ・ comment on this post with the 🎀 emoji to participate. ・ specify the character (oc or canon) you would like to be featured! ・ optionally include a question about their dynamics or interactions.

ex: i want to see shin interacts with malleus! what if shin joins the gargoyle research society? 🎀

・ if i reply to your comment with 🎀, it is received and a doodle will be delivered soon!

here is a simple example that requested shin and a character (me!) interacting:

what you will receive: ・ a doodle like the one above based on your request! ・ the art will be posted on my blog (you will be tagged and your comment will be screenshot and included!)

things to keep in mind: ・ exclusively for followers only but new ones are always welcomed! i dont bite ;) ・ remember this will run only a week! at the end i will edit this post to indicate it’s status so please keep an eye out. ・ finally, i will try my best to get you back as soon as possible, but do understand if it takes longer than desired. thank you <3

and that should be all! once again thank you for everyone who supported me, whether old or new. i hope this little event is enough to celebrate this special achievement! have a very nice day!

credits: dividers from @/anitalenia

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (08)

chapter eight: ships in the night

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; i’ve been told this is the angstiest chapter yet saur yk you’ve been warned, mentions of past seggsy times, oc is self-deprecating self-sabotaging, oc has an anxiety attack in this one, erhm just Big Sad overall methinks, also could've been more edited but i am a godless monster word count: 7.2k note: wt is backkkkkk!! and it's the penultimate chapter omg :( lowkey nervous about how this is gonna be perceived bc i feel like my brand is Sad™️ and i haven't properly written anything Sad™️ in a WHILE. but yeah, wt8 is yours now have funnn. also ty chessica @matchannie for proofreading!!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Sorry, I know that comment wasn’t funny Just wanted you to love me, but I didn’t go about it right Sometimes the best advice that I can give Is to bite my lip and listen with my big fat mouth shut tight

big fat mouth - Arlie

You don’t think you can ever forget the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes when the words had tumbled out of your mouth in a panicked frenzy. The regret was immediate, but so was the damage.

Saying things you didn’t mean, watching Minho so utterly defeated that it kills you, and the deafening silence after he had walked away from you on heavy footsteps – you can’t describe how it all felt that night. It’s just… sinking, and sinking, and sinking; endlessly spiraling in an ocean of your own guilt and despair. It’s true what they say – misery loves company.

Distractions don’t work, because whenever that overwhelming dread eases by even a fraction, you’re once again reminded by the bracelet that’s wrapped around your wrist with the tiny dove charm hanging on the side. Neither of you paid it any mind the other night, that much is clear.

You know you should return it to him eventually; it’s never belonged to you and it never will. But every time you go to take it off, you can’t bring yourself to simply undo the clasp and hide the bracelet somewhere you can’t see. It lets you delude yourself into thinking that you haven’t lost him even after what you said, even after you stomped on his heart and left it bleeding where you stood. 

You’d been upset, thinking that you were the only one falling, terrified that you’d crash headfirst into the cold, hard ground because there’d be nobody to catch you. And yet, when Minho told you he loved you, it provided you no relief at all. The fear magnified tenfold, taking over you until you couldn’t see straight, until it consumed you whole.

Home is something you find, and you’ve found it in him. Your sun and your spring and your home, and everything good that you can ever name.

All your life, something is always missing, an empty space that you never learned how to fill. Like when you exit a room and there’s a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that you’ve forgotten something even though all of your belongings are accounted for. Like when you lose your favorite ring, one that’s a little too loose but beloved anyway, slipping over your knuckle without your permission and disappearing forever, and you keep running your fingers over where the golden band used to be until you come to terms with the fact that it’s never coming back and you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning the loss of that familiarity.

You’ve always looked for things you lost in places you’ve never been.

You just want to go home, but you know you’ll only ruin it in the end.

The problem has never been Minho or anybody else. It’s you, and how there’s something intrinsically wrong with you. You paint the ending before there’s even a beginning. You’d rather run and hide than let yourself feel anything, because if there’s happiness then there’s going to be hurt inevitably.

You don’t want him to wake up one day and look at you like you’re a stranger, to realize that he’s wasted his time and effort, that you just weren’t worth it after all. 

It’s funny how, when you’re a child, time seems to move so quickly. One minute, you’re four, maybe five years old, and your mother is refusing to speak to you because she thinks you ruined one of her bags, a large scratch running along the otherwise smooth leather surface like it’s been met with a pair of scissors or simply accumulated on her way to work and she hadn’t noticed until she got home and you happened to be in the vicinity of her anger; the next, she’s letting you relish in all your favorite desserts, cavities be damned.

One minute, you’re being rushed to the hospital with a bad case of food poisoning, your parents staring down at you as if you’re actually about to die; the next, you’re already at home, watching cartoons that you couldn’t understand but you like anyway because they’re full of pretty colors and princesses and fairies.

You don’t remember how your mother came to forgive you for the bag even though it wasn’t your fault, or what the hospital felt like or if what the doctors and nurses did to make you feel better even hurt. You only know that you wish to return to a smaller version of yourself whose memories you can’t even recall, return to a time in which you once so desperately wanted to escape from.

Now, when you’re hurt, time doesn’t pass in a blink of an eye like it used to. It stands still, sucks you down a vortex and makes you feel everything. 

No one ever really warns you about growing pains, that they’re unavoidable no matter how hard you try to avoid them, that they can last a lifetime because you never really stop growing, and it never really seems to ache any less.

Hyunjin: Attachment: 1 Image. Hyunjin: i sent this one in  Hyunjin: u??

You’d almost forgotten about the exhibition until Hyunjin had sent you those texts. Even though you’re not one to neglect deadlines, you suppose it’s fairly reasonable that this one in particular had slipped your mind. You haven’t really been able to wrap your head around that many things after all.

Every semester, yours and Hyunjin’s department rents out a gallery near campus for a whole week to showcase students’ works. It’s nothing exclusive, nothing like a competition where they pit a couple hundred kids against each other just for a spot at a fancy art gallery. Almost anyone in the Faculty of Arts can register before the submission deadline, and you suppose that’s another reason why you’d overlooked it so easily – because you didn’t earn it. It didn’t feel special. It was just another meaningless event to attend.

Regardless, you spent a chunk of an afternoon pondering your selection though it didn’t matter that much, almost two hours dedicated to picking out paintings you realized you didn’t love. Some you even turned out to hate, even though you could remember the pride radiating from you the moments the canvas had felt the last brush stroke. Maybe the glamor eventually wore off, the momentary high that coursed through you when you’d shown your finished works to your professors and peers, and received showers of praise in return.

The piece you chose in the end wasn’t your favorite by any means, but it was one of the only pieces you could still bear to look at without nitpicking too much. It was a painting of the waters, and you’ve always loved the waters.

You could recall the day you went to the promenade by yourself with a need to be away from everyone and everything, and an overshirt that was too light to combat the September evening chill as summer transitioned into fall. You watched the sky slowly darken after the sun had disappeared from view, watched as the buildings on the other side of the river lit up one by one until they made up for the light that retired for the day.

The thin layers made you shiver – the consequence of your poor choice in clothing that night – but there was something about sitting by the waterfront after dark, kicking pebbles around underneath your feet, and the gentle caress of the wind on your face and your hair that made the cold feel welcoming. You always thought the city was more beautiful at night, more calming amidst all of its perpetual chaos. It made you feel like you were inside a dream long forgotten, took you back to a north star that you left to gather dust on an abandoned shelf.

You could recall wanting to dive into that dream again, a dream in which you could chase a perfect version of you that would never exist and find light at the end of the tunnel, instead of returning to the reality where you always wound up suffocating in darkness. You wanted to be free, free from the noise and free from your own life despite one simple truth that you knew all too well – that you could run but never from yourself.

When you were young, it’s the moon that used to follow you everywhere. As you get older, it’s all of the things that keep you up at night.

You could recall your phone buzzing to life in your bag with Minho’s name on the screen, like a sign from the universe saying “Hey, this one’s for you. Don’t drown. You have a lighthouse.” and it was as though he could sense that you were falling, like someone had tied your heart to a rock and threw it into the very river in front of you to sink to the bottom. Your friends often said he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to you. Maybe there was some truth in that.

His voice pulled you out of it, even though he only called to ask if you wanted to come over and eat the boatload of food his mom had sent. He made you want to disappear a little less and in that moment, it was enough.

You left your hiding place to go to him, to lose yourself in stupid jokes and not-too-sweet desserts even if it was only for a couple hours. And when you returned home that night, everything spilled onto the canvas just from memory alone, from the feeling that you were desperately clinging onto with your shaking hands.

You always thought you could only run away to places. You didn’t know people could be escapes too, and somewhere along the way, that was what Minho became to you — your treasured escape, your new hiding place.

You manage to avoid everyone – with the exception of Hyunjin; you do have to see him in class after all – over the two and a half weeks leading up to the exhibition, drumming up excuse after excuse to bail whenever any of them asks to grab a bite together or just to simply hang out. If they saw you, they’d notice your puffy eyes and ask if you’ve been crying. They would ask why, and you can’t find in yourself to make up a lie believable enough for that kind of question.

You think Hyunjin has noticed. He’s a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he’s not stupid and he’s still blessed with the gift of sight. He doesn’t mention anything though, despite you showing up to almost every class with puffy eyelids. You suppose you’re grateful for that.

Minho hasn’t talked to you at all since that night. Doesn’t ask you how your project’s going, doesn’t ask you about the exhibition, barely even speaks in the group chat, not even a boring comment about the weather. What were you expecting anyway? You get it, you do.

But despite the silence, you never doubted that he would show up to the exhibition. If not for you, then he would be there to support Hyunjin.

The only person who really has an inkling that something is wrong is Jess, when you were getting ready together earlier tonight and she helped you conceal your puffy eyes. She’d tiptoed around the question before settling on  asking “Everything okay?” — simple, easy, quickly dismissible if you didn’t feel like sharing.

You didn’t, and she dropped the subject because there was no point in badgering you for answers anyway. 

Chan picked the both of you up afterward, and Jess didn’t have to explain anything to him when she slipped into the backseat with you instead of riding next to her boyfriend.

Now here you are, standing in a room full of your friends and peers, wearing a black dress that Jess helped you choose, and Minho is nowhere to be found. You’d spent all day pacing around, anxious at the mere thought of seeing him and even talking to him. What you hadn’t anticipated was the disappointment, the unbearable feeling in the pit of your stomach in response to his absence. You can’t tell which is worse; maybe every moment without him all sucks the same.

When Hyunjin starts whining and takes out his phone to spam Minho’s messages demanding his location (you’re thankful that it didn’t have to come to you), all he receives in return is a measly “Running late.”

And that’s it. A mere text is enough to satiate everyone’s curiosity. Well, everyone but Hyunjin, because he’s still a nagging drama queen.

Minho is running late, and to anyone else, it’s the most normal thing in the world.

But to you… it means something beyond that. Because this was him. This was your Minho. Your Minho who’s never been known for his tardiness, who’s never once broken a promise, who’s always there for you no matter what.

All you know right now is his absence, and it makes you sink.

You sink, and then you wait. Not a lot to be done about it.

You slip away to a quiet spot, a vacant hallway, to be by yourself while everyone is out there wandering around and gorging themselves on the free food and drinks. You shouldn’t be with them anyway. All you need is to wallow in peace and not be the black cloud hanging over everybody’s heads.

There’s something so incredibly lonely in the act of waiting. Waiting to board a plane, waiting in line at the grocery store. Waiting for a phone call or text message that you know won’t come, waiting for a person whom you can only hope would show up. At the end of the day, that’s what waiting is, isn’t it? It’s wanting. It’s hoping, and if there’s one thing you know about hope, it’s that it’s dangerous.

You wonder if this is how Minho felt all this time, waiting on a girl who’s always prepared to leave. You wonder if, that night, he had expected you to reciprocate his feelings. You did. You do, and a part of you wanted to tell him that you loved him too. The words were there, and yet…

It’s true that you love him, and it’s true that you don’t want to. If hope is dangerous then love is fucking terrifying. 

He’d been so patient with you, so awfully gentle and quiet in the chasm of his waiting that you mistook the tenderness for everything except for what it actually was – love. Or perhaps you did know. Maybe deep down, you knew that you would’ve loved him back with everything you had, with every fiber of your being. That you would’ve let him be the only one to ever really know you, and it felt like a fear greater than you could bear. 

In the end, did you lose him? Can you lose something you never had? It wasn’t a love that you let slip away; it was a what if.

You’re in a room with people who love you and yet, all you can think about is Minho. You miss him so much that it feels like someone has spliced you in two, that it physically makes you ache every second that he isn’t with you. As selfish as it sounds, you want him to walk through the door and you want everything to be okay again. You want to be back in a bubble with just the two of you and a locked box filled with words unsaid. You thought you could stay in that bubble forever, where it was safe and you could pretend that you were happy, and maybe you really were happy with him. But all things — good or bad — must come to an end. The bubble burst, and this was the real world.

You want to undo your cruelty, want him to take back his sincerity. You want an ocean of distance between you and him, you want to pull him as close as humanly possible. All your wants are contradictions. You’re a paradox of puzzle pieces that never seem to fit together.

You want to tell him that it hurts. Want him to make it better because he’s the only one who can make it better.

But miracles rarely happen and there are no shooting stars in sight. Minho was the closest thing you got to a shooting star, burning across your night sky for just a brief moment. Blink and you could miss it. Blink and you did miss him.

Your fingers find his contact in your phone before you could stop yourself, and soon enough, you’re pressing the call button. It’s like drunk dialling, only you aren’t intoxicated. Or maybe you are; maybe you’re under the influence of his absence and how much it stings.

You don’t know why you’re calling him, don’t know what to even say when he picks up.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wonder for long.

“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. Please leave your message after the tone,” comes the automated voice on the other end.

For some reason, you don’t hang up. You wait for the beep, then you wait some more. It’s not until ten seconds later that you find your voice, the only thing to come out of your mouth is a quiet Hey.

You clear your throat, rub the sweaty palm of your free hand on your dress. “Hey,” you try again. “It’s… me. I’m at the gallery with everyone. Uhm, they’re all waiting for you. Are you on your way? Are you stuck in traffic? Or did you forget it was today? Hyunjin is trying really hard not to blow up your phone–” You pause to chuckle dryly. “But you know it would mean a lot to him to have you here. It… it’d mean a lot to me too if you were here. I don’t know, I assumed you’d come. I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I just…” Another pause. This time, it’s so that you could take a breath. “Listen, Minho, I didn’t mean what I said to you. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry that I hurt you, I don’t have any excuse for that. You deserve better than me. It’s going to pass, you know? I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time on me, but… you’re going to find someone else, and you’re going to get over it. I’m sorry I fucked everything up. It’s fine if you never want to talk to me again, just please don’t let it get between you and our fr–”

The line beeps again. “To replay the message, press 1. To save the message, press 2. To delete the message, press 3.”

You purse your lips together. There’s still a lump in your throat and no peace to be made. It’s like drunk dialling, only you pull yourself together at the very last second. Your thumb hovers over the dial pad on your phone until you eventually end up on 3, because your cowardice will always triumph in the end. Back to square one. Everything’s still the same as it was five minutes ago.

You force your legs to move, like how you'd force yourself to get up and eat and drink water and shower and be a person these days. When you round the corner, you bump against something solid. A person. The collision isn’t hard enough to knock you backward; they weren’t moving, they’d only been standing still.

You look up at Seungmin, who merely blinks at you. You don’t know how long he’s been here, if he heard anything at all. You swallow once, considering whether you should just play dumb and gauge his reaction or ask point blank if you’ve been caught. He beats you to the decision though.

“You and Minho,” Seungmin says, a bit hesitant, like the topic is weird to bring up. “You’re the girl.”

A deer in headlights, you are. A pathetic one at that, too.

But even then, you’re not panicked, not really. You’re just sad, and the truth was bound to come out eventually. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you say.

The discarded voicemail that he overheard, the dejection written all over your face, the silence from both you and Minho recently — it’s obvious to pretty much everyone, and Seungmin is smarter than most.

He opens his mouth and shuts it again like he’s choosing his words. The Seungmin-esque blank stare melting away to make space for some pity, then a question, “Is there anything left to tell?”

You escape to the empty garden in the back where there were a few lonely chairs set up, so you could have some privacy to talk. Despite everything, it feels like you’ve got a little breathing space, just being able to share this with someone. To not have to carry it all on your own. You’re glad that it was Seungmin who found out first. You have a feeling that he would understand, at least to some degree. You’re relieved, even when the first question that he asks is, “So, how did you fuck it up?”

“Why do you just automatically assume it was me?” You’re mildly offended, even though he’s right.

“Between you and Minho, I’d bet on you.” Seungmin shrugs. “You spook easily.”

“I deeply resent that notion.”

He turns to look at you, no trace of any teasing. “Can you prove me wrong?”

But you can’t, and it tells him as much when you avert his eyes in favor of the ground, where you kick at a lonesome pebble sitting among the grass. It lands somewhere between the green blades, lost in the shadows that cast over parts of the garden that are poorly lit.

“So what happened?” he asks, turning away again to stare out at the empty space. You like to think of it as him giving you some elbow room, to ease the pressure of being scrutinized. And as much as you appreciate it, it still takes you another brief moment before you can formulate a coherent sentence, another minute of twiddling your fingers in your lap.

You tell Seungmin about your first night with Minho – not the details, of course; that would be weird and it’s none of his business. Just that it happened, how you both let it keep happening over the past few months while nobody suspected a thing.

Seungmin nods solemnly, like he’s putting together the missing pieces.

“Did you ever notice anything?” you ask.

“I mean… not about you hooking up, but we thought you’d end up together eventually.” He shrugs. “We always kinda assumed that you two would become those people who make a pact to get married if you’re still single by 40 or 50, if you didn’t get together before then. It makes sense. You and Minho just sort of make sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Your heart swoops. Hearing it from Seungmin makes you sad. Not the same brand of sadness that you’ve been wearing lately though. A different kind, the kind of sadness that’s a little numbing and makes it difficult to breathe. “Well, sorry to disappoint everyone but I don’t think any of it is gonna happen anymore.”

“So… how did it happen?” Seungmin asks again, mimicking explosions with his hands.

You let him off easy without a punch in the shoulder, because you just really don’t have the energy for it right now. “Minho wanted something more,” you tell your friend, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, then with the necklace charm resting on your collarbone. “And I just… I don’t know. I guess I freaked. I… said some awful stuff to him.”

Seungmin hums a sound of acknowledgement. He looks like he’s thinking about it, about you and Minho and what it means. “Classic,” he chuckles after a brief moment, mostly to himself. Maybe he’s thinking about what it means beyond just the pair of you too.

You side-eye him. “You’d know all about it, wouldn’t you?”

He shoots the glance back at you. “What are you trying to say here?”

You remember her, the only girl that Seungmin has ever hinted at liking. He never admitted it out loud to any of you, but you could all see it.

You only used to see her in passing at house parties, and even then, it wasn’t Seungmin nor her who brought the other one around. They would show up separately with their own group, mingle for a while, find each other after a couple of drinks before they disappeared to god-knows-where for the rest of the night. Sometimes, Changbin or Hyunjin would catch them before they could sneak off and insist that Seungmin let everyone get to know his friend.

These brief interactions are all you have with her, meaningless small talk for a few minutes before Seungmin’s patience ran thin and he whisked her away like they’d both intended. You liked her; she was nice, and she was really pretty. You liked her even though you didn’t know her, because she was the one person who Seungmin cared about enough to keep away from prying eyes. A secret shared only between the two of them, a bubble in which only they existed.

The last time you saw her with him must’ve been at least three months ago, maybe even longer. No one really knows what happened, just that she stopped showing up to parties, and Seungmin never brought it up again. You all assumed whatever he had going on with her had run its course, though it doesn’t really stop Hyunjin and Jisung from mentioning her every now and again just to tease him.

“I seem to recall a Halloween party last year and a certain someone was in a bee costume and–”

“Fine,” Seungmin interjects, rolling his eyes. “Fine, we can form our own dumbass club. Happy?”

You laugh a little, even though the whole thing isn’t very funny. Your shared experience is nothing to take pride in.

“So how did you blow it up?” you ask.

He gives you a sour glare before his eyes soften. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and in his silence you find that you and him are more similar in ways that you’ve never cared enough to admit before. This sadness that you carry, you have a feeling that he knows it all too well.

“Like I said, classic,” Seungmin tells you. “She wanted something more. I freaked. I ghosted her.”

A mirror. Two sides of the same stupid coin.

You lean back against your seat. “Did you like her?”

It takes a beat, but his answer comes out as an honest, “Yeah, I liked her. Liked her too much.”

“Why did you do that to her then?”

“Why did you do that to Minho?” Seungmin deadpans, but he doesn’t seem to want a response from you. He just sighs, wistfully adding, “I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s scary to be wanted because it means someone’s putting you on a pedestal, and when you’re on a pedestal, the more it’ll hurt if you fall off. The more they’re counting on you to not let them down, the easier it is to fuck it all up. People like us, we’re flight risks. We can’t help it. We think it’s better to just leave before we can do any real damage. When you said whatever terrible shit you said to Minho, that was the first thing you thought about, right? To be cruel? That’s what I did too. Such a fucking stupid knee-jerk reaction.”

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, completely still. 

Then Seungmin turns to you, and for the first time in all the years that you’ve known him, he’s looking at you, really looking at you. No snarky side-eye, no playful faux glare. Just a strange and unfamiliar sincerity, like he’s asking you to fix what he couldn’t, undo the cruelty that he never bothered apologizing for.

“Minho would understand, you know? If you’d just talk to him,” Seungmin says. “You made a mistake in the heat of the moment. But you want to have something real with him, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me about this and beating yourself up over it.”

“I told you. That ship sailed.” And you’re standing up for no apparent reason other than the fact that you’re suddenly restless, your stomach twisting in knots out of nowhere. “He’s not even here. He didn’t even show up tonight. I think that’s saying enough.”

Your friend rises to his feet too, probably because he thinks it’s weird to be the only one sitting now while you’re upset and pacing about. It’s not until Seungmin takes a step closer that you realize you’re shaking a little.

“Hey, you good?” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I talked to Minho yesterday. He said he’d come. Maybe something came up or he just–”

Hyunjin’s voice interrupts Seungmin in the middle of his sentence, the excited squeal carrying itself from all the way inside the gallery to the back garden through the door left ajar. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, maybe there’s a reason why people say it. It’s laughable, really.

You and Seungmin both turn your attention to the brief commotion indoors, where you see Hyunjin smiling so big that his eyes have crinkled into crescent moons, where he’s standing with his arm thrown around Minho and shaking him by the shoulders.

These days, it’s easy to pretend that time is standing still. You don’t even know if time is even passing at all; you’re just looking at him, dressed in a black blazer and some dress pants. Casual but he looks good. He always does.

You watch as he says something to Hyunjin that seems to calm the latter down a bit, at least enough for Minho to quickly scan the room, searching. You watch as his eyes sweep through all the people gathered inside, not stopping until they land on you, finding you on the other side of the glass door. Even in this terrible lighting, not entirely visible you assume, he sees you.

There was a conversation you had with Minho some time ago, when you two were sprawled out on your couch munching on strawberry Peperos and not paying attention to the movie that was playing on your TV, when he asked how you wanted your life to be at 40.

You knew what the boring answer was – you wanted your life to be stable, and you told him as much. Isn’t stability always the goal? Maybe a lame corporate job if the whole starving-artist-who-makes-it-big-overnight dream didn’t pan out. A cat and a dog named Mochi and Mocha, if you could afford two pets at once. An apartment that you owned, with framed pictures of everything you loved scattered all over the place, and stupidly cute fairy lights that you often see on Pinterest, and an unfathomable amount of plushies that your inner child was never indulged in. A peaceful and quiet life, at least to some extent. 

The honest answer, the one that you didn’t tell him, was you wanted to not live with regret.

But as you lock eyes with him, for a split second there, you know that you will.

About twenty years down the line, when you look back on your life and think of this chapter, you’ll think about a boy who loved you and whom you loved. How you broke both of your hearts trying to protect your own. You’ll wonder if he’s married, if he has kids, if he still reminisces about the girl he used to love when he was young. If he’s happy and if his dreams came true. If the sadness you caused yourself was worth it, if the pain meant anything at all. If you could go back in time and undo everything, would you?

You’ll get over it eventually – surely you will; heartbreak isn’t the end of the world – but you’ll live with the grief of what could’ve been if you weren’t afraid. You’ll be left to mourn the road not taken, your almost but never was. 

You’re the one who moves first, when it starts to become a struggle just to breathe. You stumble away from Minho’s line of sight, until you find a wall that you can rest against.

Seungmin is quick to follow. “Hey, woah, are you okay?”

Your hands alternate between balling themselves into tight fists and attempting in vain to grab at the flat surface of the concrete. There are no words that you can form to answer him. Only your ragged breathing and your pathetic effort to take in some air through your mouth.

“Okay, shit, uhm,” Seungmin sputters. “Hang on.”

Then he’s taking off. You don’t know how long he’s gone for, where he’s gone off to, and frankly, you can’t really bring yourself to care. Your hands abandon the wall in favor of your dress, something that you can actually hold onto. Your trembling fingers clutch the hem of your dress like they’re pretending it’s a lifeline, bunching and twisting the fabric in your sweaty palms. Hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t at all.

Even over the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear new footsteps coming out into the empty garden. Rushed at first, then they stop for a brief moment. You know who it is before he even approaches you.

Damn that Kim Seungmin.

The familiar scent of his cologne greets you before his voice. You spent hours and hours enveloped in this scent until it was dulled by sweat from the activities you were engaged in, if it wasn’t already softened by the kisses you would leave all over his skin.

When he calls your name, it comes out so soft, like you never broke his heart in the first place and that night was only a figment of your twisted imagination. He sounds so gentle, yet it sends you further down the crippling spiral. You don’t deserve him; maybe you never did, despite what Seungmin tried to put through your head earlier.

“I’m fine.” But you know your appearance has already betrayed your words. The first thing you say to him in weeks, and it’s a lie. You’re still leaning against the wall with your arms wrapped tightly around your trembling frame and your eyes squeezed shut. It’s a pitiful sight. Even more so when it registers in your brain that it’s Minho of all people who’s witnessing it. 

He doesn’t say anything else, only lets out a sigh, and then his hand is on your body, a warm palm touching the small of your back out of habit before he moves it upward to rub between your shoulder blades. “Can you breathe?”

His question makes you all too aware that there’s something gnawing inside of your chest, makes you think for a second there that you’re going to die though you know that you won’t. You shake your head with your eyes still closed, your breathing coming out more ragged by the second. You can’t even bear to look at him and absorb the worry in his eyes; you’re sure you’ll only cry if you do, and it’s the last thing you need right now.

But it turns out that seeing Minho’s face isn’t the only thing that can bring you to tears. When you feel him tug at your arms, his warmth on your bare skin, you start crying anyway and that makes it even harder to breathe. There’s not a single ounce of resistance in your body, your limbs obeying him easily when they untangle themselves around your waist to fall by your sides as he pulls you into his chest, with one hand over your sternum and his thumb rubbing back and forth. He’s careful about it too, like he’s handling broken pieces of something that used to be beautiful.

“You’re okay,” he says, but you’ve got your face pressed into the crook of his neck and your tears are staining the collar of his shirt. “You’re gonna be fine. Just… listen to me.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to speak next.

“Name three things you can see,” he says. “You don’t have to say it out loud. Just think about it.”

You open your eyes finally, angling your head until most of your vision isn’t obstructed by the proximity of his body. Minho tightens his arm around you, and you blink away some of the tears.

Your black heels that your mom got you for your birthday a while ago.

The grass, darkened green and damp.

Him. 

“Three things you can hear.”

Light chatter coming from inside the gallery.

Cars passing by on the adjacent street.

Him, the sound of his breathing.

“Three things you can touch.”

The soft material of your dress against your skin.

The bracelet, hugging your wrist, weighing you down like an anchor.

And… him.

Him, him, him.

You don’t know what reason Minho makes up to excuse you for the rest of night, but you don’t bother asking. There’s really no space left in your head to think about it twice, to care about leaving your friends or feel guilty about Hyunjin because he was so excited about today. It’s too much; all you want is to go home, get away from here.

Minho calls you both an Uber back to your place. During the entire ride, he doesn’t say a word and neither do you. And even though you mostly opt for looking out the window at the other cars and houses and people passing by, every now and then you could feel his eyes on you from the other side of the backseat.

When you arrive, he keeps a hand on the small of your back as you make your way up the stairs. When you unlock the door, you leave it open so he could follow you inside. You suppose that one is a force of habit. You’re not used to shutting the door in his face. At least, not in the literal sense anyway.

Then it returns, that gnawing feeling. A feeling far too colossal for your body to house. It sits somewhere inside your ribcage, sharp and desperate, with claws trying to dig its way out. And for the first time in maybe ever, you understand what it truly means to want something this badly. You love him, and it hurts. You love him even though it hurts.

Minho moves around the place while you remain frozen in the middle of your own apartment, as if he’s the one who lives here and you’re just visiting for the night. You let him take off your makeup (with a wipe; you’re going to hate yourself in the morning), let him help you change into clothes that you can sleep in, even let him tuck you into bed like you’re a helpless child. If he notices the bracelet on you, he doesn’t say anything. Everything is done in silence.

You don’t look him in the eye. You don’t think you can handle what you’ll find there.

But you do reach for his hand when he tries to leave now that there’s nothing left for him to do here. There’s not a single thought behind your action, just a need to have him near.

“Can you…?” 

You aren’t brave enough to finish the question, your voice trailing off and the words dissipating like smoke after a lonely cigarette drag. You’re being selfish right now, you’re awfully aware of this.

Minho doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even let out a single sigh. For a second there, you think he’s about to leave you here, cold and alone, just like you had done to him. It would be nothing less than what you deserve.

But then he’s shrugging off his blazer and your heart is in your throat. When he slips into bed beside you, something hurts, the kind of ache that spreads all across your chest and makes your lungs burn.

Earlier tonight, he could’ve walked away and let you be somebody else’s burden. Your friends were all there, it’s not like they would’ve left you stranded.

You’re not really sure what to think. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hate you, but maybe it’s just enough confirmation that he doesn’t hate you more than he loves you.

You break the deafening stretch of silence with a whisper, “I’m sorry.” You don’t know what the apology is for. Are you sorry for that night, for the things you said to him? Are you sorry that you’re only yourself, that he just had to go ahead and fall for you of all people? Sorry that you’re too much of a coward and a lost cause to love him right? You don’t know, but it feels appropriate to apologize. You owe him that much.

“Don’t…” Minho says after a while. “You don’t have to do that.”

The familiar sensation returns – the one that stings the back of your eyes, burns your nostrils and makes you all choked up. You try to hold your breath and will it away, but the first tear spills without your permission, and you can’t help the shaky inhale – close to a gasp and followed by a sniffle – that punctuates your lungs when they start protesting against the sudden lack of oxygen. 

You grip the sheets so hard you think you could rip through the fabric and dig into your own palm. It’s a pathetic feeling, like a strange kind of embarrassment that you can’t quite describe. The room is deadly quiet; you know there’s no way he didn’t catch the noise.

You hear Minho shift from where he lays behind you, some rustling when he moves against the duvet and the mattress. “Don’t cry,” he sighs. And it’s still so gentle. You’ve never known him to be anything but gentle.

You bite the inside of your cheek, blinking some of the tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t cry.” It sounds like he’s holding something back but you aren’t sure. “Don’t cry. Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning, if you want.”

You sniffle some more, and maybe that makes Minho think he still needs to appease you even further. He reaches out finally, to brush a comforting hand against your arm. “Go to sleep. Promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You don’t know if you want to talk in the morning, because there’s nothing for you to say. All you really have is what he’s already heard – I’m sorry, like an utterly broken record. But you want him to stay even if it’s only for the morning. Even if all he’ll get is silence at best and choked up breaths at worst. Your last-ditch attempt at grasping straws, a futile effort to chase running water.

“Okay,” you tell him, and neither of you says anything afterward. The tears keep falling for a while, and at some point it tires you out enough to slip into a dreamless sleep.

When you open your eyes hours later, the sun is already up. The clock on your phone reads 7:06AM and the first thing you register is an uncomfortable dryness in your throat. Behind you, the bed is still warm. You can actually feel it underneath your fingertips when you reach out, the warmth dwindling from the side of the bed that’s been left vacant. Minho has never broken a promise to you before.

He’s gone, and you sink again.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.01.2025]

[hypvalsqr]

Part 3: Lesson Learned, Freedom Earned

Feat. a touch of forcefem

As soon as her presence was gone I returned to something resembling a normal headspace. I could still feel a ghost of her fingers tickling the back of my brain but I tried to ignore it for the time being. For the time being it was just me and this gray box I was trapped in.

I was naked apart from the dense iron collar around my neck. A few firm tugs at varying angles confirmed it was not coming off, and whenever I tried to cast a spell on it it just fizzled out. My attention turned to the door. It was the same metal as the collar and engraved with runes. I snapped my fingers to attempt a simple searing spell. It puffed out sadly on the surface of the door, no luck there either.

At least it wasn't too cold. Which was baffling.

The top right of the room had one small barred window that revealed an open air view at ground level, dusted with snow. The fact that neither the cold nor any of the snow nor cold had seeped in didn't add up. I stood and grasped two of the bars in my hands. They felt real enough; the cold stung my palms. Sunbeams streaming in were vaguely warm on my skin but only vaguely. I recalled something my charms professor had told us early on. "In the absence of any reasonable explanation, the brain will fill in the gaps without your noticing." Fuck. He was dead now...his essays were always a massive pain in the ass though...

Fuck, stop that. No need to disparage the dead. Bad habit. You need to remember how he taught you to see past your mind's tricks. Eliminate stimulus. That was it. Close your eyes.

Deep breaths filled my lungs as I extended my arcane presence. It never felt like my breath whenever I touched the aether. I slowly spun in a circle and a few purple dots faded in and out of view behind my eyelids. Strips of green and gold light wove in dances in the eigengrau. I waved a hand before the spot where the window was and there I saw it, plain as day. A silver ripple beneath the dark. Magical fingerprints. This window was not real.

As I delved deeper into the fabric of the spell I came to realize that this was no Illusory magic at all, but naturally a complex web of enchantments. My professor had never taught us to craft anything like this but seeing it first hand it felt so elegant. With Illusion magic you had to take the time and effort to manually craft each beam of light, each grain of metal, each pore of stone. But this...Enchantment...allowed you to work with base concepts and mental delusion. If you believe that there is a window hard enough then your head will simply produce it wholesale. More than that, when you see through the illusion magic you can usually line your eyes and mind up just right to see through it but here there was a direct line and loop from spell to observer. It could only be broken by dispelling or something more powerful. Something I didn't have the capabilities for. I was hopelessly trapped in a house of mirrors and lies. Unless...perhaps I could spin this around.

I shook my arms out and squeezed my eyes tighter. With 7 centering breaths I reached out with my magic and my hands unconsciously followed. When my fingers breached the area with the silver ripples it felt warm and wet and tight. My arcanum grasped one strand and bent it. There was little resistance. The weaving would take no time at all.

It was an interesting sensation working with charms this deeply embedded into my psyche. Each twist in the air returned an opposing twinge inside my skull. The work was intuitive and instinctual. I let my knowledge of the fundamentals guide me and within the hour my handiwork was complete.

My eyes opened to reveal the window gone, replaced with a humble hearth burning away. I knew the warmth wasn't real but it was telling all of the parts of my brain that mattered experientially that I was warm and safe.

The thought of working on a carpet next crossed my mind when I heard the door open.

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Miss I missed you sosososo much! Do you like my work? I'm reallyreally proud of it!" I was kneeling when she entered so I turned to face the door and sat up straight to show my respect for my Witch.

She chuckled, "It's quaint," A flick of her wrist wiped away the thought of a fireplace from my mind and the small barred snowy window returned, this time it was a bit more chilly, "Try something more creative later. And here, eat up." She clapped her hands once on her left side and again on her right and a platter of food appeared one inch above the ground before me, landing with a dull clatter.

A roll of bread, a small slice of steak, water, and wine. No silverware.

"Thank you so much for the meal Miss! Thank you than-fuck you fuck you fucking-" The door slammed in my face and her cruel magic went away again. I remembered what she'd done to me the other day though and quickly stopped my angry sputtering.

I bit into the steak, at least it was well seasoned. As I swallowed I sensed for the particles of Vitae the meat would give off and the levels were expected. The steak was also real which gave me some comfort that at least something I could see was real. The meal felt like just enough food to not go into starvation.

The false window showed me it was night outside but I had no way to know how accurate that was. I figured it was as good a time as any for rest and, too drained of mana and full of fatigue, I laid down on the cool stone and passed out. When I awoke pale orange light streamed into the room and nothing had changed except my empty platter was gone somehow.

I guess this was life now. There was some work to be done. I took my 7 centering breaths and dug my fingers into the silver matrix of the floor's auric potentia. It didn't appear to have any magic on it like the window so this would be a bit more complex. I'd have to lay the foundational charms linking the floor to my perception on my own.

It was tough, there were a few logic leaps I had to make, a few wrong turns that I had to twist back to, but eventually I was able to make myself a soft and thick rug for myself. It was a ruddy red with incidental lines of brown striped through it. It was fucking soft. It made me sleepy. Unnaturally so...perhaps I had subconsciously woven in a desire for rest? Who knows, I took the nap anyways and awoke to the door opening.

"Oh, cute. Not exactly a pretty enough pattern that I'd buy it if I saw it in the store but good work nonetheless. You must have spent a lot of time and mana on this."

"Wha-oh hi Miss. Sorry I didn't hear you I was uhh...I dunno..." I rubbed my eyes.

My Witch tilted her head to the side and held a palm out, "Oh no, dear. You've made yourself all sleepy. Here." She dug her fingers into the carpet and twisted and in one swift motion the entire rug rewove itself into a gorgeous pattern with a golden border around the perimeter and flowers of a dozen colors strewn about the surface. I also felt a measure of alertness return to my body. I guess I had accidentally put a sleep spell on myself. Lesson learned.

"Wowww! That was so cool! Can you teach me that please? Please please!"

She held my face in her hands to tell me, firmly, "No. You must teach yourself." And she left again.

It continued like this for several nights. She would leave, I would come to my senses, eat my meal, and then try to make my conditions a little bit more comfortable. Most days when she returned she would wipe away all of my progress forcing me to start from scratch, but occasionally she would leave me a small piece or some of her own magics as a "treat". I started getting really fast at it. I figured out that if I put some simple levitation spells into my mental chairs or benches then they could feel just as solid as the real thing. I learned how to change the texture of a surface in one motion. I determined that clothing was equally easy to emulate with Enchantment so long as I drew an image of it first. I taught myself so many things, and unraveled so many mysteries from observing her magic, but not a single one of these discoveries was enough for me to find a way out of this damned cell.

In fact, my escape was largely an accident. I was experimenting with producing the perception of shelves on the front walls when, deep into the fundamental weave of the object, I pulled on a stray thread and the entire trick crumbled before me. The truth was that there had been no walls this entire time. I was simply huddled into a corner of a basement. Where the door had been were merely two iron bars of its width, one on the floor and one on the ceiling. The only thing keeping me physically trapped this whole time had been my mind.

I stepped out into the open room. To my left and right were two nooks similar to mine. One was empty and one had a naked girl with a matching collar to mine huddle on the floor mumbling to herself. Too far gone for me to help, and I had to move anyways.

The basement was filled with alchemical and mechanical apparatus. Some vials of multicolored liquids bubbled above a massive boiling flask with green liquid at the bottom. A boy was blindfolded, gagged, and his...lower areas were strapped into some sort of standing contraption that kept his limbs bound. Every flat surface was littered with grimoires and codices.

I moved my way to the stairs and found the door shut with a massive padlock. I delved into its essence and found the same thread pulling trick made it quickly disappear from thought. The door was still locked with a simple bolt but a small blast of Evocative force was enough to knock it off its hinges.

She was waiting on the other side for me. Only this time when I locked eyes with her her magic didn't take hold. I felt scared.

"Just under two weeks, impressive! Not quite the fastest learner I've seen but good work nonetheless." She twirled a finger and my muscles all locked up. Her fingers clasped into a tight grip around my collar and I began to levitate a few inches off the ground as she dragged me into a parlor dotted with clothes, mannequins, and a few gaudy couches.

She set me levitating in place above the coffee table. I tried to speak but all I could manage was muffled moans.

"You have something to say?" She flicked a pinky from across the room without looking at me, "Out with it."

My lips were free, "What is wrong with you? What do you want from me? Why are you-why did you-"

She turned my speech off again and turned back to face me holding a pink strip of cloth, "Boring questions that deserve an answer. I am what some may call a poacher. I go to establishments who would teach my craft for war, I decimate them, and I take their talent for my ends. You're the talent by the way." She was literally sizing me up with a tape measure as she explained.

Her focus on it gave me just enough arcane wiggle room to free my vocal chords myself but my words came out in a rasp, "How is what you've done anything different from war?"

She didn't look me in the eye, "I call it justice. I'll teach you in time. But for now your escape proves you are fit to be a student on mine. That of course means, that you will be abandoning the title of 'Wizard'. I do not teach wizards, or mages, or sorcerers, or battlemages, or any of the other repugnant roles the Institution created. I teach Witches. And a Witch's proper uniform is a dress." The pink cloth was drapes across my body in an asymmetrical pattern and she began to do a precise series of arm movements coupled with chants as she sat on the couch below me.

I let out a muffled groan of protest.

She held her arms straight out at her sides, "I know, I know dear you've grown so used to the role of being a 'boy' but there's no use for such vulgarity within a student of Enchantments. Besides, you'll find manipulating the men, the wizards, up top much easier once I pretty you up."

She brought her palms together in one large clap and the cloth burst out into a heavily layered ballgown. The heart shaped neckline was strapless and low and highlighted how flat my chest was at the time. The skirt now had a wide puffy hoop cage inside and the many shades of pink which grew darker as they approached my heart reminded me of roses.

The only thing pinker than the dress were my cheeks. I became suddenly aware that the collar, and I imagined her utter control of me, remained. I guess I'd have to just go along with this.

"You look just spectacular dear," She released me and I struggled to find my balance on top of a damn table as she'd also conjured me some matching heels evidently, "I think we're ready to head out to our first lesson."

"W-what? Outside? Like this? What the-I don't-but I thought-please just-"

"Hush. I think you'll find this next lesson to be quite entertaining given your history of crime."

"What am I gonna go Command someone to kill themselves like you do you fucking bitch?" Is what I tried to say but the command of silence stayed my tongue.

"You are going to rob a bank with nothing but your words."

NOTICE: THIS POST IS ABOUT GETTING MURDERFUCKED AND MIND CONTROLLED BY A SCARY HOT TOXIC LESBIAN WITCH.

A lot has been said with regards to Enchantment being the true "most frightening/unethical" school of magic. I don't think you all quite grasp the full picture.

By the time the witch entered the house two of us were already dead. It was an insult to magic, really. Me and the other students had set up all of these sigils and wards and psychic defenses and yet hadn't considered that someone could slaughter us from outside, without ever laying a finger on us. It was me after all that had...but she'd made them attack me! And they looked like..

No matter. I don't have the luxury of time or guilt. She'd made me kill them. She did it. And she just stepped inside the house. I could feel her presence when she crossed the threshold. Like something slithering through reeds in the night. Something passing beneath your boat. I heard another distant scream. A girl? One of the underclassmen maybe. I had to move fast.

I wiped the blood off my blade and refreshed its evocation-edge. I headed to the front door of the classroom and waited to hear another sound. A flurry of magic missiles thumped into a wall upstairs. It was clear, and I rushed out into the main hallway, beneath the grand stair. In the corner was my favorite spot, an unassuming armchair with a potted plant next to it. If I stood in the just right way and wove some simple layers of illusion magic I could become completely invisible to all but the most trained illusionists.

I grasped my dagger.

I waited.

I heard two girls scream to the right of me.

On the opposite side of the house now, still upstairs, I heard a chorus of men scream war cries and the house lit up with lightning and flame and ether for a brief moment before falling silent. Save one voice. It was the Archmage. I'd never heard him speak like that before.

"No! No. Please! Fuck. NO! I can't move. What did you do to me? What did you do to them? Answer me! Your magics are foul. You-"

Then another voice, a woman, spoke with presence, "Hush. They're sleeping. You wouldn't want to wake them."

"Stop. No. No, please stop not that. Not-" Then he broke off into a series of unhinged wails. There was a thumping through the house. Then another, and another. Steadily I began to recognize the sound of an executioners axe crunching through vertebrae.

The Archmages last words, confoundingly, were "Thank you." Then silence.

I reached out with a simple life-detection spell. That was my mistake. It confirmed that the only two people left alive inside or out the house were me and the witch. I also detected her quickly whipping around and walking towards my location. Shit. Fuck. SHITSHITSHIT. I cut the life detection and shifted to the opposite corner of the room, taking my 'cloak' of invisibility charms with me. Just in case.

That's when I heard her in my head.

"I see you, little one."

She's bluffing.

"You're funny. Out of all the people in this school you're the only one who thought not to attack me head on. Or to mount some pitiful attempt barricading me out. Why is that?"

I gripped my dagger tighter to my body.

"I think, or at least I hope, it's because you will be more fun than all of these wastes." She stepped out into the open at the top of the stairs. As expected from a Witch of Enchantments, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. She wore an inky green ballgown, stained red at the feet. Her collarbones and face were exposed and seemed to shimmer in the light. Every breath of hers let out a jet of glimmering pink particles.

"I won't know if you are until I get a peak inside that head of yours."

I heard a girls scream to the right.

What?

That couldn't be...she screamed again. And again. Coming from all angles. My heartrate picked up. This scream was familiar, I'd heard it a few minutes ago. But the more it echoed throughout the house and pounded into my brain I realized with a growing certainty that this scream was mine. It was my voice. This was the sound I would make when I die. How did she know that? How could she?

She took a step down the stairs but instead of descending she floated out gently into the space above me.

"Well, wherever you are in this room - plotting your little ambush - I'm curious. Give me your best shot. Let's see what you're capable of."

She had her back turned to me, about 5 feet off the ground. It was an easy kill. I should have seen it was too easy, or that she was clearly goading me into striking. But something inside me wanted to. It felt like I needed to. So I took my dagger and with a great leap I thrust upwards directly into her spine.

I felt it sink through her muscles, into her guts. I blinked and was face to face with the Archmage. My knife in his stomach. The light fading from his eyes.

The oldest trick in the book. I fell for it thrice, and now I was surely dead. I tried to cry but instead of tears I felt fingers, soft and delicate on my cheeks.

She whispered in my ear from behind, "Good job, darling. That was so wonderful. Now it's time for you to give up, alright?"

"Okay!"

I broke my useless dagger in half and dispelled all my defensive magics. The school had decided to-

"-hire a new teacher who was going to show you real magic. And-"

turn me into a real witch! I didn't need anyone else but her. I was on my knees now, looking up at her gorgeous face. Her brown curls framed her amber eyes and ochre brown skin. She was perfect. She would take care of me. She was saying something to me still that I couldn't quite understand but she was smiling and petting my head and face all over while she said it so it must be good. Then she turned to walk out the door. I stayed kneeling because she hadn't ordered me to follow her yet, I had to follow my Witch's orders. She walked out the front door and turned left out of sight.

"AAAHHHHH! AuughG ASNnOOO NO PELase OGH AH!!" I scrambled backwards on my hands up the stairs. The terror had returned all at once unexpectedly. I think I'd managed to hit her once but I wasn't sure. I had to get moving or she would find me again. My dagger was missing, shit she must have disarmed me but when? And my head was spinning. Did she do something to me? I have to assume no. Just keep moving. As fast as you can up the stairs. God, I was so cold. Had I been hit? Was I bleeding? I took stock of my body as I went up the stairs and noticed I was suddenly freezing cold. My robes were...gone...and the stairs were snow and...

"What? Get over here."

Dreams in waking. Nightmares in sleep. Walking backwards. Falling deep.

"Oh, sweetheart did you get caught up behind me?" My Witch clicked my collar into place around my neck as we stood in the snow outside the house, "Silly me. I should have told you to stick close to me. The enchantments will turn off whenever I'm out of sight," she leaned in close as she conjured a chain and attached it to my collar, "Did you get scared?"

"Mmm! Yeah! You walked outta the house and I got really scared and missed you and it was really weird I didnt. Uhh, I don't uhm-"

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm going to take you back to my cabin and lock you up somewhere nice and safe until I can turn you into a good student. But only if you behave. Can you do that for me?"

I nodded while staring into her eyes, feeling a warm blanket of security and joy cover my naked body as it was dusted in snowflakes.

"Thank you!"

WILL CONTINUE IN PART 2

[pranabefall]

✸ — MISC NOTICE. ; minors dni. sentinel ! jing yuan x guide reader. a silly blurb for the most part. follows guideverse au concepts and such. yandere warning, i plan on expanding this into a proper oneshot soon enough XD. not edited!!!

it's your boss who issues the final warning after the third turn down. he'd given you a stern talking to, another chance and that repeated statement wedged into your head with corporate manuals and the like.

he's important, he tells you furiously. you can't just turn away from him when he comes to you...and he asks for you specifically. specifically, because he plays games you can't quite understand and inlays his conversations with double meanings and jokes you catch him chuckling over.

you don't know if you want to laugh or cry at the ridicule, at his persistence. but you kept quiet and collected your dues, silently letting yourself into his home after he summons you again.

your coworkers tell you you're thinking too much. the general is a kind man. the twisted do not hand feed finches and let cats nap on their knee. and yet you doubt. you doubt, doubt, keep doubting like it's the air you breathe, like every flex to his arm and every shift of his body is a trap.

( the general is a kind man. yet he does not feel any safer.

most sentinels, to you do not. )

one of his retainers points you to the gardens, and you find him seated beneath tree-cover, mulling over an unfinished chess game and the lack of an opponent. you don't think you could slip away at this point. you don't think you should.

his shoulders are hunched and his cheeks sallow, but he still holds that cheeky light in his eyes. annoyingly handsome. cloyingly so, in ways that make your stomach turn. and those eyes meet yours, and that smile filters through. you freeze and tell yourself not to run.

( that's not hunger you see there, you tell yourself. it's not. )

"good morning." he greets, patting the space beside him. "it's been quite some time, yes?"

you swallow. "yes." you nod, taking your seat just a little ways off. jing yuan looks amused. "it's best we get this session over with. i hope you don't mind general."

his eyelids droop and a languid tremor starts up in the depth of his chest. "mh. you're in that much of a hurry?" he half teases, holding his hand out. "i'd hoped you'd stay for some tea. it's a new brew master du has taken a liking to."

"i'm afraid i cannot linger." you repeat, a little firmer this time. you reach into that plunging darkness, tugging away the corruption that clings to his being with the finesse of threading a needle. guiding was almost second nature at this point, a mindless thing, a near instinct. and jing yuan had much to undo and unravel and pull out.

jing yuan exhales. it's long, deep, relieved almost, scraping to the borders of euphoric. you keep tugging. he lets himself pull into you, his warmth grazing against the apple of your cheek.

"it's taking longer than it should." you choke.

"is it?"

you try not to let the fear in. "sorry." you whisper. it's always like this. jing yuan's unsaid insistence, the desperation buzzing beneath his skin, the almost touches.

it's taking longer to unwind the wringing tendril, nick away at the emptiness and fill it up with something.

he has your left hand press up into his cheek. you want to snatch it back. the corruption comes undone easier though, so you let it stay there, let him touch you a little more than he should. jing yuan seems satisfied with this.

"much better, right?" he chuckles. the pads of his fingers press just above your pulse, taking in the quick paced beat. jing yuan stares long and hard at you.

you still want to run.

"you could say that..." you shove that urge back, lock it away, tell it it's not welcome. better this than feeling those hands elsewhere. the crawling terror may persist, but jing yuan wouldn't hurt you that way.

( "stay a little longer." he mumbles into your palm. "you seem so tired. did you have another long day?" )

...you hope he won't.

[lemotmo]

People are once again going off about Ryan being homophobic. Even when Buddie gets together, I know this unfounded claim will continue 🙄

Yeah, I have seen a couple of people posting about it and the discourse around it. It seems to be mostly contained over on Twitter though. Or I have really curated my Tumblr well, because I haven't seen anything like it yet. I'm not sure which one it is.

It's a laughable accusation really when you think of it. Ryan is the one who coined the Buddie name for the ship. How many times does he have to say in an interview that he wouldn't mind the story going into the Buddie direction? How many times does he have to say that it's important to support your loved ones when they come out to you, like Eddie supported Buck when he came out? The man talked about reading Buddie fanfiction and watching Buddie edits for crying out loud. He even reposted some Buddie stuff on his Instagram.

Anyway, I have accepted that some people will never give up making the guy into some kind of villian. Mind you, he isn't a saint, but neither are any of the other actors. They're all just people, like us. We've all made some dumb mistakes in life we wish we hadn't. But that's all a part of the journey of life.

Obviously I don't know the guy. None of us do. What we know about him is all very superficial stuff, but that's okay. I like Ryan and I'd love to get the chance to chat with him one day, but I admit that I'm mostly here for Eddie Diaz and what he has going on in his life. So I'm mainly invested in Ryan's bts or 911 interviews. I'm not as invested in anything he does outside of 911.

Look, it comes down to this: if people can't look past other people's mistakes after they have done everything in their power to apologize and show them they are trying to do better? If they can't move on after they have clearly been forgiven by the people that actually know them and love them best in life? Then that's on them.

So I don't care anymore. I just block the instigators that spread nonsense like that and move on. There is nothing to be gained by engaging these people. They already have their mind made up and nothing I or anyone can say will change their opinion of Ryan. I refuse to add fuel to the discourse. It only makes the discourse more widespread and problematic.

So let's all agree to do just that: ignore, block and move on. It will make everyone's fandom experience a lot more fun, I can guarantee you that.

I'm pretty sure that is exactly what Ryan does as well by the way. Him and Oliver are very similar in that regard. They just do what makes them happy, don't share too much about themselves and live their lives, ignoring all the social media shit. Combine that with a job they both seem to love? Yeah--

Good for them.

[dear-aubade]

Tainted Prayers

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Asylum AU

Notes: Religious themes, cultists, topics may be sensitive to readers

Hope you guys enjoy! I've taken some creative liberties (this is an AU after all) with adding in some of my own worldbuilding. I'd love to make a part 2 if there's interest!

Edit: PART TWO is up!

Every time Joel smelled that metallic tang curling beneath his nose, he tried to think of his grandfather’s farm. 

Old Grandpa Charlie had been one of those men who never did seem to lose their youth, even with age. He’d been robust, spry. There had been quite a few times when Joel had been out helping him clip the horses’ hooves or shear the sheep when his grandpa would suddenly halt what he was doing. He’d sniff the air, then turn to Joel with a twinkle in his eye.

“Smell that, boy?” he’d ask. “It’ll be rainin’ soon.”

The first time it had happened, Joel had made a frown of confusion so deep it was almost comical on his eight-year-old face. “But there ain’t a cloud in the sky—”

“That don’t matter.” The old man tapped the side of his crooked nose. “You can smell it, see. Smells like metal in the air.”

Sure enough, the next day there had been a downpour. 

It helped Joel to look back on such memories. Sometimes, if he pretended hard enough he was back on that farm, he could imagine that the metallic stench permeating the air was due to a coming rainfall rather than the blood spilled on the asylum floor. 

The poor woman stuck cleaning the mess met his eyes before he could avert them. She gave him a small, strained smile. “Father Miller,” she greeted.

He nodded back, stomach twisting. He didn’t stop walking. 

The woman went back to scrubbing the floor and Joel focused forward once more as he continued down the hall. His clerical collar felt tight, like a serpent squeezing his neck.

Eventually he was far enough where the metallic tang of the blood no longer reached him. Joel began to clear his mind, instead focusing on the task ahead. He’d been serving at the asylum for nearly twenty years and not once had he been assigned to patient collection. When he’d received the call for this particular assignment, he’d had half a mind to argue, but Bishop David had quickly reminded him that the task had been given by God, and as such rejecting this opportunity would be rejecting Him. 

Joel exhaled. God’s work, he thought. This is God’s work. It had become a sort of mantra these past years. He had to continually remind himself that Silver Lake Church had assigned him to the asylum because the tortured souls here needed him—he was meant to be a tool in God’s hands to aid Him in His mission of reformation.  

Joel held his keycard up to the lock beside the door. When he stepped outside, he squinted his eyes against the harsh sunlight. Gravel crunched beneath the soles of his shoes as he made his way out onto the drive and spotted another priest. 

“Mornin’, Father Clyde,” Joel greeted, approaching the man waiting beside the barbed wire gate. 

Father Clyde turned and a gentle smile split his face, calling attention to the wrinkles around his mouth. Joel didn’t know exactly how old the man was. Younger than Grandpa Charlie, yet still quite a few years older than Joel himself. 

“Good morning, Father Miller,” Father Clyde replied politely. 

“That the patient’s file?” Joel asked, nodding to the thin manila folder in Father Clyde’s hands. 

Father Clyde nodded. “This is your first time at collections, yes?” His voice was smooth—a contrast to his grooved face.

“Yes, sir.”

Father Clyde passed the file to Joel. “Today is going to be rather…unusual, I am afraid.”

“Unusual?” Joel opened the file to skin the information. “How d’you mean?”

“Many patients can be aggressive when we extract them from the bus, but today’s subject…well, her guardians submitted her blood scale number as a Ten.”

“A Ten?” Joel frowned. “And they only sent two of us to deal with her?”

“This one was described to be…different.”

The Blood Scale was an easy way for society to rank the color of one’s blood—and purity—from One to Ten. The general population fell within the range of Three to Five. Tens were the worst of the lot. Their blood was the color of the sky in the middle of the night—deep black like their demonic souls. 

On the other end of the scale, Ones had blood the color of snow on a fresh winter day. They were the purest humans to walk the earth, but the only Ones Joel had met were newly-born babes who didn’t even have the capacity to sin yet. By age thirteen, most people’s once-light blood had already darkened to at least a Three. 

Joel looked over the patient’s file once more. “If she’s a Ten, how come she’s not being sent to the East wing?” The East Wing was where they kept all Tens, with a few Nines sprinkled in there every now and then. Joel hadn’t ever been there, but the stories from that part of the asylum made his skin crawl. 

“If her guardians felt the need to send her here and Bishop David approved it, then that is all we need to know. It is not our judgment to make,” Father Clyde was saying. “That is revelation that Bishop David receives from God. It is simply our job to carry out the tasks we are assigned to.”

Joel frowned. “The file doesn’t say anything about what her crimes were.”

“It’s not about what she’s done, Father Miller. It’s about who she is. If she’s being sent here then that means her soul must be reformed, regardless of whether her blood is dark or light.”

The sight of the bus driving towards them halted their conversation. The gate opened with a screech, and the bus drove through. Its tires squealed to a stop.

Father Clyde took the file from Joel as the gate rattled closed. He nudged Joel towards the back of the bus, where the bus driver was pulling a keyring out of his pocket. 

“You the one collecting?” the driver asked, looking at Joel.

Joel nodded. The driver didn’t respond, he just merely twisted the key into the padlock on the bus’ back door and swung it open. Joel braced himself for an animal of a human being to throw themselves at him, for snapping teeth and sharp fingers…

Inside, fast asleep and curled up on one of the padded benches, was you. You were in a sweatshirt so large it seemed to swallow you whole. You looked tiny. Fragile. 

“Wake up!” The bus driver bellowed, thumping his hand on the side of the bus. The jarring sound echoed in the cramped interior.

You jumped awake with a gasp, scrambling to a seated position. 

Joel shot the driver an annoyed glance. “Was that really necessary?”

The driver didn’t answer him. He retrieved a small slip of paper from his pocket and approached Father Clyde. “I’m going to need you to sign this…”

Joel turned back to the patient. He had expected…well, anything but this. You were a Ten? Your hoodie was pulled up to your chin protectively and the cuffs of the sleeves covered your hands up to your second knuckle, fingertips barely peeking out. It was dirt-streaked and the hem was caked with mud. 

Your face was twisted into a fearful expression, but that didn’t make it any less darling. You had a soft face, strawberry lips, and there was a tiny little v between your brows as they creased in worry. And your eyes. They were wide, watery, and doe-like. You were shaking like a leaf, the poor thing. 

Joel took a step closer and you flinched. He paused.

“Hey, darlin’,” he tried in a soft voice. The nickname rolled off his tongue mindlessly. His hands were held out before him, as if trying not to spook a frightened baby deer. “Why don’t you come on out?”

You still hesitated. 

“We’ll get you all cleaned up and something warm to eat,” he continued. “How’s that sound, sweetheart?”

Joel could see the conflict in your eyes. You were obviously suspicious of the kindness in his tone, yet it seemed as if you wanted to trust him. You just weren’t sure if you could.

Slowly you got to your feet and approached him as one would a bucking horse. Your bare feet made no sound on the bus floor as you stepped—your shoes must have gotten lost in the scuffle to get her into the bus in the first place.

Your eyes flicked up and down his person, finally coming to rest on his outstretched hand. You stared at it for a painstakingly long time.

Then you delicately slipped your hand into his, your palm soft against his callused one. 

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Mezlan

CR 14

Neutral Medium Ooze

Bestiary 6, pg. 186-187

This one has been a long time coming. The Mezlan are one of my favorite monsters across all Bestiaries, past and future, for more than a few reasons; namely body goals, but we'll get to that. However, the Mezlan are the proud owners of one of the most obnoxious images to peel out of the PDFs in both of their appearances (Bestiary 6 and Adventure Path: Shattered Star: The Dead Heart of Xin), coming with so much artifacting that I was instantly put off by the effort needed to get them into a clean state. I COULD use their art from Second Edition, but I like this version more; it's got more elegance.

But anyway, enough about my difficulties, and onto the difficulties the party will be facing if they encounter a Mezlan! The Mezlan as a whole were created in ancient Azlant by powerful mages to serve as spies, assassins, saboteurs, or retrievers, and if you want to know what it looks like when a Mezlan is on a mission, I heavily suggest watching Terminator 2: Judgment Day. Far from some mindless Constructs or Ooze monsters guided by programming, Mezlan possess the sharpened minds and powerful souls of ancient Azlanti soldiers, spies, or mages (sometimes to the point of having class levels from their old bodies) and bodies which require no food, water, or sleep. Thankfully, just a few hundred of them still exist, and for each one that sells its skills as a mercenary or an assassin or maintains memory its pre-Earthfall orders and purpose, there are Mezlan content to live out mundane lives, serving no master but themselves.

This post is not about the latter. Prepare yourselves, this one's a little longer than average.

For those on the Mezlan's hit list, it is exactly as terrifyingly inevitable as the T-1000, the creature able to bypass any barrier in its way so long as there's space for even a single finger to slip through, its entire body liquefying to slip through or past any barrier. They are faster than you'd ever think they could be, moving at 40ft a round and having the capacity to generate additional specialized limbs to climb or swim at 20ft/round, giving them incredible all-terrain capabilities. They also have the power to freely shape their Morphic Body into ANY Medium or Small creature in the game with little restriction, including into specific individuals if they so desire. No matter what form they're in, they maintain enough superhuman strength (30) to throw entire grown human beings around with a single hand... but they have the intelligence and wisdom to know when subtlety will get them what they want.

Having thousands of lifetime's worth of patience and experience, Mezlan are almost never going to make a bold move when a careful one will suffice. They're more likely to bide their time, waiting somewhere nearby and listening to local conversation, building their plan slowly. Their Versatile Speech allows them to understand and speak any language they hear being spoken for at least 2 minutes (1 minute to understand, 1 to speak) without needing to be part of the conversation, letting them easily fit into any city in any country either as a tourist or a local. When solving problems without (and sometimes with) violence, their Skill Pool also lets them make any skill check untrained without suffering a penalty for it, and upwards to 5/day they can add a +4 to any skill check, giving them a reasonable chance at succeeding most rolls they make, especially if they've already got sizable ranks; a basic Mezlan has Escape Artist +9, Linguistics +11, Perception +20, Sense Motive +20 on the "defense," and Bluff +14, Disguise +25, Stealth +25 on the "offense" side of their skills, for reference, though many have additional class levels to augment specific skills further.

But let's say that their skills finally get them to their target! Their victim likely won't know what hit them, as Mezlan all come equipped with +3d6 Sneak Attack to augment whatever weapon they wield, more than likely dispatching most low-level creatures they may want out of the way... especially if they're attacking with their high-damage Morphic Weapons, capable of shifting their limbs into any number of implements of death which all deal 2d8+10 damage. They're not helpless from a range, either, and can shape their limbs into ranged weapons when needed, firing projectiles made of their own matter for 2d8+10 damage with range increments of 60ft, though their Point-Blank Shot and Sneak Attack incentivizes them to be much closer.

Even without switching to ranged attacks, Mezlan can still startle people who think they're safe from its Sneak Attack. Once per round without restriction of whose turn it is, the Mezlan can stretch its limbs out and make a Morphic Weapon attack on any target within 15ft. Anyone unaware of their extended reach will learn of it quickly when performing any AoO-drawing action, which can be devastating for any close-range caster who just lost their best spell... not that it had a high chance of working, given that Mezlan have 25 Spell Resistance. And speaking of spells, a Mezlan that secures a spellcasting ally can use Spell Storing to keep upwards to 10 levels-worth of spells inside itself as long as it needs, ready to spring out whenever needed. There is a little bit of ambiguity on whether or not the ooze can absorb hostile spells, seeing as how it has an entire sentence devoted to how it can lower its SR and ready an action to absorb an incoming spell, so I choose to believe it CAN overtake and absorb hostile effects IF it wastes its entire action to do so, but a less lenient DM can simply decide that Mezlan can only absorb spells from allied casters.

The sample Mezlan has Chain Lightning, Dispel Magic, and Mage Armor prepared, the last of which is almost overkill since Mezlan start with 30 AC, but more AC for hours a day is hard to say no to. If they have a caster ally, or are a caster themselves, Mezlan could have more or less anything tucked away for later use, as their Spell Storing allows them to absorb spells from ANY class or casting method, be it arcane, divine, or psychic, and they can also absorb spells from scrolls they may find. Given their ability to disguise themselves, a Mezlan could easily feign injury and absorb incoming healing magic provided by soft-hearted apothecaries and priests, storing it for any true injuries they suffer later! The ball is truly in the DMs court, and Mezlan can store spells for years if they must, pulling them out only in the most dire of circumstances.

And we haven't even touched on what's important: Resilience. Like the T-1000, a Mezlan can pull itself together from basically any level of damage, shrugging off wounds that would kill a lesser creature in just a few rounds as holes close, wounds knit, and limbs reattach or regrow entirely so long as its Regeneration 5 keeps ticking. A Mezlan also benefits from its Ooze traits, making it impervious to poison, sleep effects, paralysis, polymorph, stunning, and all forms of precision damage and critical hits. It can't even be flanked! But besides these written defenses, one of their most potent defenses is actually entirely un-written, as it relies on their appearance: In their true form, Mezlan appear to be glowing blobs of magma with visible heat trails rising from their body, and this is extremely valuable for them and should be emphasized by the DM, because an uninformed party would think that Cold damage would be their key to stopping the creature permanently, like cooling lava! Unfortunately, Mezlan cannot be killed by anything but Acid damage, a weakness they try and carefully hide (or protect themselves from via Spell Storage) lest the humble Acid Splash be used against their helpless remains.

But even this isn't the end. Unlike the T-1000, no method to permanently kill a Mezlan yet exists, with only plot contrivance and DM permission allowing one to be put down forever. Slaying one merely renders it dormant, its remains seeping swiftly into the environment, where it regenerates over the course of ten years. Thankfully, this imperfect replication has a very high chance of wiping out the Mezlan's memories, including its orders, and may simply see the creature laying low for several years to recuperate. In either case, though, players can rest easy knowing that a splash of acid will both thwart its plans AND keep it out of their hair for a long, long time.

Just pray the DM doesn't do a sequel campaign.

You can read more about them here.

[malinowaj]

2024 fandom review

thank you for the tag @nerdyfangirl76 and @almostlake 💜

warning: this got really long

fics written

in 2024, i posted 3 finished fics and one currently on-going WIP. in total that was 122,542 words and i keep looking at that number in complete disbelief.

i started the year by saying, multiple times, i'm not going to write anything because it's been nearly a decade since i wrote for fun. then i had an idea and was all "well, maybe if i wrote this one short thing, posted it and then dipped never to be seen again". insert my friend laughing at me at regular intervals because we all know that's not what happened.

always losing to win is very dear to me, for several reasons, and it'll never stop blowing my mind how many people have read it and been on that journey with me.

fics read

my AO3 history is about 300 fics, but i did not sort out my logins until months into the year, so the actual number is probably somewhere closer to 350.

i tried to pick a few favourite fics i read and limiting myself to just these is hard. i regret to say none of these have received the praise, comments and love from me that they deserve, because it took me months to get over my comment shyness. but i hope this makes up for it a bit. (new year's resolution: more comments for everyone.) in alphabetical order by title:

almost is never enough by @in-amor-veritas

there's a scene in this with kent's 747 that i have the strongest, plot-wise most insignificant headcanon about and i think about it every time i hear the song. which is often. and then i end up thinking about the whole story.

another dose by stargazers

it's such a beautiful version of wilmon, because it's so them. and it's hot.

chasing our sunlight by fitz_y

if there ever was a fic that lives rent free in my head, it's this. the way it deals with so many heavy topics has made me cry, but it's such an incredibly crafted story i come back to it often.

forever i'm yours by @goldenwilmon

the way the fall in love in this one? hands down one of my favourites ever. whenever i need some fluff and happiness in my life, this is the one i go for.

little light by @unfortunate17

possibly one of the first, if not the first, wilmon fic i read in 2024. it broke something in me, but also healed something in me.

reckless abandon by @zee-has-commitment-issues

i absolutely love the concept and the way all the characters are so well-rounded. one of the fics i could not stop reading and can't wait to read again.

so loaded, eye low by @enjoythesilentworld

the chemistry, the angst. the sweet, delicious angst. and hot as hell.

where be left off by @gulliblelemon

the best way for me to fight some physical pain? some emotional pain. and this one has it, in the best, most beautiful way. very few fics have i devoured like i did this one.

the wolf comes home by @phneltwrites

after months, i still keep thinking about a particular line in this one. the trauma aftermath, the way they deal with it. also my favourite established relationship wilmon.

looking forward to in 2025

i can't wait to read and see all the amazing fics and gifs and edits and everything this fandom comes up with. i already know there'll be so many wonderful things i'll enjoy.

as for my own writing, i'm trying to get a good chunk of hope and legacy written before the insanity that'll be my life from late january to the end of february. (no context chapter 4 spoiler: simon steals a flag.)

there is also in from the cold, the espionage AU i have about 10K written for - and that's barely the beginning. i don't know if it'll ever see the light of day, but i do love the concept and all the research i've done for it.

i have been thinking about space wilmon lately, and while i said i'm not going to go down that road myself, i did remember a few lines from record of a spaceborn few that may have sparked an idea. it might become something one day, or it might never be more than the few disjointed lines and ideas i have typed in my notes.

there's also a file with a list of songs that i might want to build stories around. in general i have a lot of ideas, but very few of them might become anything. i'd like to put it down as "english is not my first language so writing is slow" thing, and while it is that too, it's mostly me being a perfectionist and not able to let go. (which is why i should probably have a beta telling me 'this is fine, go post it'. if anyone feels up for doing that...)

the biggest, warmest thank you to everyone who's read anything i've written, left kudos or comments, sent messages, in any way engaged. it has made my year, and this fandom experience so special 💜

not tagging anyone, but if any of the authors i mentioned haven't done this yet and would like to, i'd love to read your reviews.

[pluck-heartstrings]

I was wondering if you have any advice on starting a story. I've have one in mind, but I'm so nervous about it. I'm asking you because you are far more experienced and skilled

Oh my goodness, you have nothing to be nervous about!!!! I was literally talking with @overly-dramatic-artist a little while ago about our different writing processes (sorry for tagging you multiple times today bestie) and how they're all so valid!

I start with a really rough outline of story beats that I want to fit, and then write some worldbuilding to make the world feel more complete. With Celestial Meridian, it was so different from writing PMH, meaning all projects are different and that's ok!!!

Scenes from these fics play out like a movie in my head. I can see the moments and I want to write them down and capture them as best I can. When in doubt, go to the five senses; what are your characters feeling, seeing, hearing? I'm a very visual person by nature, so I tend to rely on visual in a written fashion, and that kicks me in the pants sometimes haha.

The best advice I can give you (and I'm super underqualified) is that you just gotta start with a scene you like. Once you start writing, the hyperfixation will drag you back. At least, that's how it works for me.

Schedule time to write! And once the flow gets goin' you'll have something to work with. Having a beta helps too! And don't forget to edit, even a little! (I'm weak at that)

Have fun with it and remember that you're writing for you first. The readers come second

[junewild]

just in time for the year of our lord kaiju 1

not lovers, not friends, but a secret third thing (drift compatible)

[urstruly-ghst]

ghst's archive - twst masterlist !

legend: fluff - ♥︎ angst -  ⍨  personal fave - ✿ - more legends to come -

scarabia スカラビア寮 - a dorm based on the Sorcerer of the Sands' spirit of mindfulness.

kalim al asim

cuddling with kalim and fem! reader (scenario)

reader goes home but comes back (hcs)

little sister! reader gets bullied (hcs)

Sunshine Boy Series: (1)

aged up! dorm leaders with a child who wants to be a crewmate on among us (hcs)

Male! Gentle Giant Series: (1)

pov: you spill water on a delinquent, now they're chasing you. dorm leaders protect you (hcs).

poly!scarabia w/ reader going back home (hcs)

reader practices spell and lands on them (hcs)

reader is louder than sebek when mad (hcs)

dorm leaders with a sassy bilingual mc (hcs)

dorm leaders trying to woo fem! mc (hcs)

✿ dorm leaders seeing their gf being hit on (hcs)

dorm leaders with a tall s/o (hcs)

dorm leaders with a s/o from a different dorm (hcs)

dorm leaders with a s/o who can only eat sweets (hcs)

dorm leaders with a lazy s/o (hcs)

dorm leaders with a fed-up s/o who scolds crowley (hcs)

crush confessing then running away (hcs)

jamil viper

reader with lots of useless talents

Male! Gentle Giant Series: (1) (2)

poly!scarabia w/ reader going back home (hcs)

pov: you spill water on a delinquent, now they're chasing you (vice dorm leader edition) (hcs)

airhead reader is actually smart (hcs)

overblot (up to vil only) gang with an s/o who has nightmares of their overblot (hcs)

s/o with a sensitive neck (hcs)

✿ fem! reader suffers bisexual crisis over vice dorm leaders being turned female (hcs)

kissing their hair (hcs)

[sammyluvr]

✶ . ၄၃ . real cute — ruby

cw : gn!reader, smut, fluff, bratty & sorta subby ruby but also implied switch ruby and reader, car sex, kissing/making out, swearing, praise, teasing, nipple play, oral & fingering (ruby receiving), finger sucking, bushy pussy ruby <3, nicknames (baby, babe, honey, pretty girl, sweetheart), ruby sastiel shipper???, poorly edited, ft sam at the beginning, 3.5K words. MDNI !!! 18+ ONLY.

summary : you ask a pretty girl (?) out on a date.. she says yes, so you pick her up, but neither of you make it inside the restaurant because you end up fucking in the car.

the guy sitting across from her looks at you like you’re crazy for asking her out. you’re not sure if that’s a good or bad thing, mostly because you don’t mind your girls a little… off-kilter, maybe. 

but her? no, she looks at you with a pleased smirk that’s gorgeous enough for you to decide that the dude’s look means nothing to you.

“oh, come on, sam, quit looking ‘em like that,” she scolds him. “can’t a girl get asked out every once and a while?” she turns back to you. “don’t pay him any attention. sure you can, babe,” she says to your, ‘can i take you out on a date?’ 

you grin back at her. “well then, babe,” you parrot, “i take it that means you wouldn’t mind giving me your number?” she gladly punches her number into your phone when you hold it out to her, and the guy, sam, keeps looking at you like you’re making a horrible decision. it’s sort of funny, honestly. you pay him no mind and check your phone when she hands it back to you. she’s put the name ruby into the contact.

“just an fyi, you get bonus points if you bring me somewhere with good fries,” ruby grins, punctuating the sentiment by popping a ketchup lathered, greasy diner fry between her pretty lips. 

“well, then. thanks for the tip, darling. i know just the place.” you love how easy it already is to have this flirty banter with her. then again, you could see her eye roll from across the diner so it wasn’t too surprising at all that she matched this sort of energy.

when you first caught sight of her, walking in with the man, sam, you were highly disappointed. she’s just so pretty, there was no resisting the immediate attraction to her that you felt. her dark hair and high cheekbones, leather jacket, big belt buckle, and graphic t-shirt all pulled you right in. so, you subtly listened and watched them, triumphant when you heard her say something about his “angel boyfriend.” so you finished your food, paid, and walked right over to ask her on a date.

you hold your phone up definitively. “i’ll text you, ruby. you’d better text back, even if it’s just for the fries. you won’t regret it.”

she looks pleased to hear that, “you’re cute,” she tells you, clearly entertained. you’re starting to feel obsessed with the sound of her voice and you have to try very hard not to let that fluster you.

your shoulders shrug a bit, and you feel as though you do a decent job when you say, “so i’ve heard, but not from anyone quite as pretty as you.” you tell her the name you’ll be texting from and take a step back, still facing her for one more moment. “enjoy the rest of your fries, sweetheart.”

the words bad idea or she’s a demon! lay unsaid on sam’s mouth. he even parts his lips to say something, but you’re already walking away. either way, ruby would’ve easily played it all off as a joke. she won’t mess with you, despite sam’s belief that she might. maybe it’s just the fact that she could that worries him. she just wants a bit of fun, though. and she really meant that comment about thinking you’re cute. so she gives sam a cocky grin and watches as you walk away in satisfaction.

𓄲 ✶ 𓄴

the address she texts you to pick her up from is the motel on the edge of town. this information is a little disappointing, though you try not to assume. maybe she’s just staying there temporarily as she looks for a new apartment or something of that sort. or, maybe she’s only here for a few days and you’ll never see her again. that would be a poor loss.

when you pull into the parking lot, she’s already waiting outside, just as gorgeous as the first time you saw her. even more gorgeous, you think, now that you’re taking her on a date. she gets in the passenger’s side with that tantalizing grin of hers. you watch her get settled in her seat, wondering how her hair falls so perfectly. you’re starting to learn that you’re a little obsessed with the shape of her lips, the way they look slightly parted when she meets your eyes.

she’s barely dressed any differently than when you saw her two days ago, but something about having her alone in your car is getting you going. she’s just so stunning, so sure in her movements, so sweet looking when you greet her with a smile. her grey graphic tee has a little v-shaped slit on the top hem, and you can’t help but take a peek. her own eyes trail your form, looking greedy.

you back out of the parking lot and she shamelessly stares at the way your neck stretches when you look through the rear window. as you keep driving, she stares at your hands too.

“so, ruby, how long have you been staying at the motel?” you ask, trying to start up a conversation.

“just a few days,” she says, not bothering to expand on why or where she’s from. “don’t worry, though. i’ve got your number.” she seems to have read your concern for her just passing through, and says this as if it’s enough to fix any issues that may come up. ruby’s funny, hot, a little bit odd, and this is just a first date, so you suppose you don’t mind. she’s honestly adorable, too, and doesn’t really seem to favor subtlety. you glance at her and she licks her lips. it’s hot in the car, despite the bit of cool air flowing through.

she’s cryptic and doesn’t reveal anything too relevant about herself, but also manages to talk a lot. she chats and chats, babbling about the most random of things. sam, her friend who she was with before, is a bit uptight, she tells you. he doesn’t have enough fun. she like chocolate fudge ice cream and microwave ramen and irish honey whiskey, aside from french fries with too much ketchup, of course. she thinks that fruity little drinks are stupid, but will have a pornstar martini if in a rare mood. technology confuses her, and she admits that her blackberry was doing something weird and she couldn’t figure out how to respond to your texts until sam helped her. she sounds very bothered that she had to ask him for any sort of help.

and not a minute goes by where she doesn’t make some sort of snarky comment about something completely unimportant, but they keep making you laugh. she makes a few indecent jokes too. they all sound funny coming from her lips, biting in her sweet, sweet voice. honestly, her voice is practically bewitching. you think you would listen to it all day if given the opportunity. you’re already trying to learn each little nuance and inflection.

everything’s all in good fun, besides the way you have to fight to concentrate on driving rather than reaching over to touch her or at least just stare at her. until she plants her hand above your knee, not too high up your thigh, but solid and more than enough to make you realize just how badly you want her. you spare her a glance and catch that smirk of hers. you shake your head and fight a smirk of your own.

you give a soft huff of laughter. “you hungry? or would you maybe not mind a bit of a later lunch?” you ask, a hint of teasing in your voice.

“mm, i thought you’d never ask,” she complains, “took a hand on your thigh to get you there, baby.” you have to laugh at her again as you scan your surroundings for a place you could get away with fucking her in the car.

“oh, trust me, sweetheart, your staring was noticed. i just wasn’t sure if you were alright with anything coming between you and those fries you were wanting. you seem to be pretty passionate about those,” you continue to tease. she’s clearly confident and doesn’t really carry any shyness, but she’s certainly easy to tease.

“the fries can wait. i’m not all that hungry, anyway.” damn, she really wants you as much as you want her.

“i’ll take that as a high compliment,” you grin, pulling off the road into a small parking lot behind a building you know to have been abandoned for a few months now. no one comes around here. the second the car is parked and out of sight, you unclip your seatbelt and reach over the middle console to get her pretty face in your hands. her face feels small in your palms. she’s so damn adorable as she leans right into you and plants her lips on yours, the kiss nowhere near chaste or innocent. within moments, she has her tongue in your mouth, and you welcome it.

there’s a reason you couldn’t stop staring at her lips. they’re heaven against yours, her tongue even better. she’s greedy and handsy and her tongue battles yours for dominance. you don’t care much about that. you just want to have her, though it’ll be a bit funny if she tries to get you to do her perfect bidding. you’ll have your way too.

you would love to keep kissing like this, tongue to tongue, teeth knocking, saliva exchanged. but you want her laid out in the back seat of your car, so you part from her even when she chases after your lips. you pat her hip. “c’mon, ruby girl. in the back,” you urge her. she rolls her eyes, but complies, inclined to be in a bit more comfortable of a spot. and the sooner you’re both back there, the sooner you can fuck.

but she does surprise you by climbing right into the back rather than getting out first, practically shoving her cute ass in your face. her jacket and shirt ride up, and you have to resist planting your hand or even your tongue on the exposed skin of her lower back. once again, you have to laugh as you step out of the car to meet her in the back seat. she’s all over you the second you close the door, sweet fingers gripping the hem of your shirt and pulling it right over your head. she palms your chest and you groan softly before tugging her shirt off too. she already took care of the jacket as you went to meet her.

“fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you breathe out, taking her bra right off too. she sighs in pleasure when you push her against the door and climb over her before you attach your lips to one of her pretty nipples, already pebbling from the cool air of the car. your hand reaches up to pull her other nipple between your thumb and forefinger. she groans softly and you’re quite pleased by the sound.

you feel no guilt or hesitation in being lewd with her. sure, you’ve only met her twice, but the look in her eyes is one she’s showing you on purpose. she wants to be dirty with you, and despite all of her bravado, you can tell that she’ll let you take what you want.

shamelessly, you lick up her chest, tongue flattened and stuck right out of your widely opened mouth. her burning gaze when you make eye contact tells you she loves the sight. you practically lave at her neck and collarbone next, palming her pretty tits with both hands as your tongue and lips make their way back to tangle with hers.

her hands roam and dig into your skin, gripping at your shoulders. her soft fingertips are hungry and incessant as the back of her head presses into the cold car window. but she gets impatient, running out of breath as her tongue battles yours.

her hands find their way to your belt, then the button of your jeans, and you have to pull them away because you intend to feel her first. you want to see the look on her face when you pull her jeans and panties down and sink your fingers into her sweet cunt and tease at her swollen clit. you hold her wrists tight enough to keep them down when she starts to resist.

“have a little patience, baby,” you chide, your lips moving against the skin of her jaw. “you first. i know you want it.” she lets out a huff of frustration that, frankly, you find completely adorable. but her hips twitch, too, which makes the whole thing that much cuter. she’s bad at hiding how she feels, and you don’t mind it one bit.

“fine,” she grumbles, as if there’s something to complain about your intentions to work her open and please her first. 

“just wanna stretch you out, honey,” you coo, “you’re so little. bet your pussy’s all tight, isn’t it, babe?” the flush of red in her cheeks mixed with her cocky smirk is a sight you could get drunk off every night. it’s so damn gorgeous, so damn perfect, a rather endearing and hot mixture of poorly masked shyness and clear disregard for propriety. 

“you just wanna touch me,” she bites back, and you nip at the skin of her shoulders. she doesn’t deny anything about her pussy, which already clenches around nothing as you talk to her like that. you’ll have a pretty, glistening wet cunt to greet you when you actually make the move to fully undress her.

“‘course i wanna touch you,” you agree, slowly kissing and licking down her body. your teeth graze over one of her nipples and she can’t suppress the shiver that runs through her body, nor the moan that leaves her parted lips. “you’re so pretty.” you cup a hand over her clothed mound, her hips involuntarily bucking into your touch. “and so responsive.”

she groans all soft and pretty, as if in complaint to your teasing, but sounding more desperate than anything else. you give in, unbuttoning her jeans and helping her out of them in the tight space. she’s already pushing her underwear down too by the time you’ve pulled off her boots and pants. a shame, just because you wanted to tease a bit more, maybe rub at the darkened wet spot that you catch a glimpse of or kiss her over the fabric. but you’re greeted with the sight of her pretty pussy, and you really can’t complain about that at all. perfect pink lips, flush with want and the blood rushing under her skin, and dark, curly hair framing her cunt all prettily.

you run a finger up her slit, winning a little keen from the back of her throat. “already so wet for me. such a pretty pussy, baby,” you groan. she doesn’t seem to have any retort for that, but she’s still bossy, wrapping her hand around the back of your head and pushing it forward. you don’t resist, happily burying your nose in those scratchy little hairs to bump at her clit and inhale the scent of her musky arousal. your tongue darts out next, licking up her sweetness, teasing by barely pushing into her at all. she moans softly, her grip on you tightening.

you pull away despite her strong hand, grabbing her hips and pulling her up to sit with her back against the seat. her neck couldn’t have been in a comfortable position before. after getting a taste of her, you need more, so you’re rushed as you adjust the seat to let her lean back, then push the passenger’s seat forward as far as it can go before getting on your knees in front of her. your hands hook under her thighs and she’s tugged right back into your eager mouth.

this time, your tongue shoves right into her wet, fluttering hole and earns you a sharp gasp, then a throaty moan when she breathes out. you lap at her juices, messy and shameless as you groan into her cunt and relish at the way her thighs tense and squirm in your arms.

it’s easy to decide that this girl makes the most gorgeous sounds you’ve ever heard, and the sight of her heaving chest is addictive. it’s honestly an irresistible satisfaction to have her squirming and whining because of you, her wolfish grin replaced with eyebrows knit together by pleasure and greedy, fumbling hands.

“mm, fuck! keep going,” she urges, voice gone all desperate and high pitched. the tip of your nose to your chin is shiny with saliva and her slick when you look up at her, her eyes half closed and lashes fluttering.

“you gettin’ close, baby?” you murmur against her wetness, thumbs rubbing sweet circles into the spot where her thighs meet her hips. those hungry little hands of hers push you back down into her pussy as an answer, and you comply by nudging her clit with your nose, then attaching your lips to it to suck and lick like you’re starved.

“don’t stop,” she groans, trying to sound demanding, and you untangle an arm from her legs to shove two fingers right into her heat because you think it’s cute. she lets out a strangled cry as you curl them inside of her, finger fucking her just right as you suck on her throbbing clit. her moans rise in volume, and you soak it up, listening for the squelch of her pussy too.

if your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d tell her to cum for me, but a flick of your tongue followed by a harsh suck and skilled fingers pitch her right over the edge without need for any words at all. she gushes around your fingers with her mouth hanging open and eyes shut tight. the noise that leaves her lips has you working her through her orgasm with a fervor to make her feel better than she ever has. you want her to remember this, and from the way she shakes and moans, you think she will.

you ease off of her just a bit, stalling the movements of your fingers but keeping them knuckle deep in her warmth and giving her clit as soft, sweet kiss. “god, you are beautiful,” you murmur, looking up at her sweaty neck and lower stomach still twitching with the aftershocks. you could stare at her parted lips until the moment you die. “such a pretty girl for me, aren’t you?” you say sweetly, gently pulling your fingers from her and reaching up to put them in her mouth. she nearly rolls her eyes, but you tell her, “don’t be shy,” so she can’t back down from that challenge.

she takes your fingers in her mouth, running her tongue over them and suckling on them shamelessly, probably to turn you on even more. her half-lidded eyes make eye contact with yours, and the sight most certainly does get to you.

“fuck,” you swear under your breath. but you follow it up with a, “mmm, not just a pretty girl, but a good girl for me too.” she hastily covers up her reaction to that—fluttering eyes and a clenching pussy—by trying to pull away and remove herself from that title, but you grab her jaw with your remaining fingers before she can get far at all. with that movement, your fingers hit the back of her throat, but she doesn’t gag, only takes them like she’s meant to. “there you are,” you coo, pleased with her giving up on rebelling so fast. she glares at you and it’s rather adorable considering that she has her mouth stuffed with your fingers. you can tell by the way that she starts to drool a bit that she loves them there.

your free hand moves down to your pants, beginning to undo them, and her hands join you there, finally getting them unbuttoned to start pulling them down. you release your hold on her jaw and slip your fingers from her eager mouth, watching a little string of saliva follow until it breaks, then wipe at the wet corner of her mouth with your dry thumb. you smile at her sweetly as she tugs at your pants and narrows your eyes at you. you have to laugh a bit at that.

“sorry, honey. you’re just too cute,” you tell her, grinning.

she glowers at you. once she has your pants strewn elsewhere in the car, you let her push you back against the seat and crawl on top of you. half threat and half promise, she smiles back at you, grinding teasingly against your clothed crotch, “yeah, well, you’re about to get real cute too.”