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Writing Notes: Clothing Textures

When you think of textured clothing, you might imagine a scratchy wool sweater or a soft fur coat, but every clothing item has some kind of texture. The texture of fabric is often determined by the type of weave, so it’s a good idea to get to know the 3 major weave types:

Twill: The distinguishing characteristic of the twill weave is its diagonal rib pattern. Twill weaves have a distinct, often dark-colored front side (called the wale) and a lighter back. Twill has high thread count, which means that the fabric is opaque, thick, and durable, making it perfect for chinos, upholstery, and bed linens. Denim is a twill weave fabric, as are tweed and houndstooth.

Satin weave: The satin weave creates a fabric that is shiny, soft, and elastic with a beautiful drape. Satin fabric has a lustrous surface on one side and a dull, matte surface on the other side. Satin is perfect for haute couture-style dresses and clutches.

Plain weave: Plain weave fabrics, including canvas, taffeta, and muslin, are made by overlapping the warp and weft (vertical and horizontal threads) at right angles. This forms a criss-cross pattern that looks the same on both sides of the fabric.

Common Fabric Textures

The types of fabric you’ll encounter when looking for different textures include:

Denim is a strong cotton fabric with a twill weave that gives it a subtle diagonal ribbing pattern. The diagonal ribbing is what makes denim fabric different from canvas or cotton duck, which are also sturdy, woven cotton fabrics.

Broadcloth is a plain-weave fabric that is traditionally woven from thick wool yarn—the fibres of which felt together as the cloth is made. Broadcloth is sturdy, stiff, and resistant to wind and water.

Seersucker is a type of thin cotton cloth. The way it is woven causes the threads to pucker and bunch, creating crinkles. Seersucker often comes in narrow white and blue stripes and is popular in summer fashion.

Corduroy is a soft, durable fabric. It is distinctive for the tufted cords—called “wales”—that run in parallel along its surface. Corduroy is typically made from cotton, but it can also be made from wool.

Leather is any fabric that is made from animal hides or skin, with cowhide being the most popular.

Suede is a type of leather made from the soft underside of an animal skin. It is softer, thinner, and more delicate than traditional full-grain leather. Suede is ideal for footwear, jackets, and accessories like belts and bags.

Brocade is a particular style of jacquard fabric that uses additional threads to create a raised pattern, resulting in an embossed or embroidered effect. Due to the technique used to make it, brocade fabric is not reversible, and it may appear rough or unfinished on the underside.

Silk is a natural fiber produced by the silkworm. Silk is incredibly durable, with a shine and softness that are unmatched. Silk fabric is used for formal attire and accessories like pocket squares.

Cashmere is a type of fabric made from the wool of cashmere goats and pashmina goats. Cashmere is a natural fiber with an extremely soft feel and great insulation. Cashmere is significantly warmer and lighter than cloth made from sheep’s wool. Often, cashmere is blended with other types of wool, like merino, to give it added weight, since cashmere fibers are very fine and thin.

Jersey is a soft, stretchy knit fabric that was originally made from wool. Today, jersey is also made from cotton, cotton blends, and synthetic fibers. The fabric is usually light-to-medium weight and is used for a variety of cotton clothing items, such as T-shirts.

Flannel is a soft woven fabric typically made from cotton. It is a common material for plaid shirts.

How to Mix and Match Clothing Textures

Texture is an easy way to add visual interest to an outfit. By layering different textures, you can create a distinct look.

Identify neutral textures. Mixing and matching textures is similar to mixing and matching patterns and prints. In the same way that certain classic prints appear neutral, simple textures can serve as a neutral base for wilder textures. Denim, cotton fabric, leather, and suede are some of the most basic textures that play well with other textures. Neutral textures that are smaller and less visible to the naked eye—like merino wool—pair well with more attention-grabbing textures.

Consider a texture’s typical context. Textures evoke specific moods. Silk lends a luxurious vibe to any outfit. A plaid flannel shirt can look cozy with corduroy, but it becomes more serious when paired with a black leather jacket. Denim is a casual texture you can use to dress down other fabrics: Pair a satin tank with jeans—rather than something like brushed wool trousers—for a relaxed yet stylish look. Think about the context in which you might wear a particular material, then pair that material with other textures to subvert expectations.

Mix textures, match colors. Sticking to a more limited color palette will give you free range to play with different kinds of textures. That doesn’t mean you have to dress in monochrome: You can use neutral colors to anchor your look, or choose two or three solid colors that work together.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ How to Describe Clothing

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READ FROM LEFT TO RIGHT!!!

Light-hearted comic for your travels!

Inspired by the real experience of growing out my hair for the past few months (as in putting off going for a haircut) and asking my friend if I should get it cut. I could not get a straight answer, but I did feel flattered.

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Having an artstyle crisis every time I join a new fandom has become routine at this point what the f

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I think I forgot how to draw

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What do you MEAN skills can degrade over time bro I learned that shit 😭😭😭

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Sometimes, loving a character means drawing them again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and

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in your reverse au, in the scene where Jinu and Rumi have a k-drama slow-mo meeting in the alleyway, I keep mentally adding Daeun rolling his eyes in slow-mo in the background. Like, Jinu getting lost in Rumi's eyes, Rumi walking by all soulfully, and then also Daeun is there, completely over it. Like, he thought Jinu was the only one on his side with the whole "don't go crazy for the cute girls" thing. And then Jinu immediately folded as well lol. So Daeun is the only reasonable one left.

I was imagining that too lmao. He’s just side-eyeing his friends the whole time. He’s so done with all of them.

Jinu: *switches up as soon as Rumi appears* *having his dramatic slow-mo k-drama moment*

Rumi: *playing into it* *being her beautiful elegant self*

Daeun: *in the background* *😑😒* [How could you do this to me? I thought you were on my side, Jinu.]

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I'm browsing through greasy fork looking at ao3 extensions and folks, someone tell me that I shouldn't try to learn javascript?

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^q^

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Theory:

What if the reason Rumi doesn’t hear Gwi-Ma's voice is because she doesn’t have his marks, she has her father's

She's not Gwi-Ma's minion, but she is her father's daughter.

In the end it's the love that comes from her demon father and hunter mother that gives her the strenght to resist the monster that tormented them both

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Screen recording of sensei's process for drawing 'hikaru''s insides?? HECK YES

Edit: adding a gif I made of the recording (trying to compress this gif to 10mb was painful, but you can see aspects of the process which we're finally being clued in on! Just let the gif load is all)

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Can I request hcs for Saja Boys reacting to his fem s/o telling him that she's flustered when he introduced you as his girlfriend because you never dated anyone else before him please?

OOPS—DID I SAY GIRLFRIEND?

You, flustered beyond repair— and all five of them, so stupidly proud to call you theirs.

pairings - Jinu x reader, Abby x reader, Romance x reader, Mystery x reader, Baby x reader.

type - headcannons | 1.2k words

warnings -

JINU SAJA

• Jinu doesn’t mean to say it out loud. It just… slips.

• You were standing near the rest of the Saja Boys at a press thing. Someone offhandedly asked who you were—manager? stylist?

• And Jinu, very quietly, kind of under his breath but still audible, says "She’s my… girlfriend."

• He’s testing the word out for the first time. Like it still tastes new.

• Everyone hears it. YOU hear it. JINU hears himself. Immediate panic.

• Tries to casually sip water and ends up drinking from an empty bottle.

• Doesn’t look at anyone, especially not you.

• He’s mentally screaming: 'WHY DID I SAY THAT? WHY OUT LOUD? WHY HERE? WHY EARTH??'

• Meanwhile you're not holding up well either, Face hot. Ears on fire. Your fingers twitch like you’re not sure whether to hold his hand or flee the country.

• You whisper, "You can’t just say that!"

• You nearly trip over your own feet backing away from the attention.

• He looks so guilty. So red. "I didn’t mean to embarrass you," he mutters, tugging at his sleeve.

• You keep glancing at him, then looking away.

• backstage, he quickly rushes over to you.

• He gestures vaguely toward you. "you're my girlfriend. I think. Are you? I mean, you are, right?"

• Then immediately regrets all his choices and stares at the floor.

• You try to say something like, "

• You surprised me today," but it comes out like "You—surpr—me—thing—ughh."

• You know you’re gonna replay that moment in your head forever. Every time someone says 'girlfriend,' you short-circuit all over again.

ABBY SAJA

• He says it SO LOUD. So PROUD. Zero warning. Zero subtlety.

• You’re just hanging out near the Saja Boys, sipping your drink, doing nothing suspicious.

• Romance asks innocently, just eyeing you with that fluttering lashes. "Who’s she?"

• And without skipping a beat, Abby grins and boasted "she, is MY girlfriend."

• Like it’s the best news he’s ever shared. Like he just won an award.

• You spit out your drink. Choke. Stare. Sputter. Make a strange dying-kitten noise.

• You’re blushing so hard it radiates off you like a heatwave.

• "What? You are my girlfriend?" He looks genuinely baffled. Did he say something wrong? Did he mess up?? He thought he was being romantic!

• "You don’t wanna be?" He pouts, already ready to crumble.

• You try to pull yourself together, but it’s impossible with the way he’s still looking at you.

• hiding behind your hands, trying to pretend you’re not seconds away from melting into a puddle on the floor.

• oh he loves it, will definitely use it to tease you.

"Girlfriend," he says again, whispering now.

"My girlfriend."

"My pretty girlfriend."

"My smart, warm, amazing—"

• "ABBY!!" You shove a pillow over his face.

ROMANCE SAJA

• The café is small and dreamy—fairy lights in jars, rose-shaped pastries, latte art that looks like swans.

• He picks the table by the window, because 'the light hits your eyes better here.'

• You share a dessert. One fork. One plate. He insists on feeding you a bite or two, of course.

• You’re already flustered. Like, before he even says anything.

• The café owner comes over to check on you two. "You two are adorable. Are you a couple?"

• You’re about to mumble something incoherent like "I—uh—we’re—uh—"

• "Yes, and she’s my girlfriend."

• You literally freeze mid-bite. Fork in hand. Mouth slightly open. Brain not responding.

• You drop the fork. It clinks. Your eyes shoot to him in absolute panic.

• He just calmly sips his rose latte. Like he didn’t just drop the most heart-stopping sentence of the week.

• He gently pulls your hands away the moment you hid your face, smiling like you’re made of moonlight. "Don’t hide. You’re so pretty like this."

• He kisses your knuckles. You let out the tiniest gasp.

• Every time you try to speak, your voice comes out in little startled hiccups.

• Romance keeps feeding you bites of cake with extra sweetness in his eyes, like he’s rewarding you for surviving the moment

• When the server returns, he says it again.

• Not for show. Just naturally, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world. "We’ll have one more of those to share. My girlfriend likes this one."

MYSTERY SAJA

• Mystery doesn’t talk much. Ever. Not in public. Not around the boys. Maybe not even around you, unless it’s quiet.

• He prefers to act—holds your wrist when you walk too fast, rests his head on your shoulder when you’re sitting together, steals your hoodie and stares until you take the hint.

• So when he brings you into the practice room? No one expects him to say anything.

• The boys are stretching, joking, messing around. Abby’s trying to stack water bottles on his back. Jinu clocks you first, raises an eyebrow like, "You brought your little friend?"

• He slides his hand into yours. Glances at the others.

• Calm. Blank. Unbothered.

• Then says, in that sweet voice. "She’s my girlfriend."

• The silence is instant.

• Baby literally stops mid-stretch and goes, "You’re kidding."

• And you? You forget how to breathe.

• Eyes wide. Mouth open. Heart beating like a war drum.

• You weren’t expecting words. You definitely weren’t expecting a title.

• The others won’t let it go.

Abby: "Since WHEN???"

Romance: "I KNEW it. The hoodie sharing. The snack feeding. The staring. THE STARING."

Baby: "Tch. You really let Mystery beat you all to dating first. You all disgust me."

• His expression doesn’t change, but you can feel how proud he is.

• Like he’s been thinking it this whole time and finally decided to say it out loud.

BABY SAJA

• Baby’s lounging on the couch in the Saja Boys dorm, hoodie half-off one shoulder, hair messy, drink in hand.

• You’re behind the camera at first—just helping (aka babysitting). He’s reading comments, making sarcastic replies, doing little eyebrow wags when people say he looks hot. You snort. Bad move. He hears it.

• "Come here." You shake your head, but he's already moving, arm outstretched, grabbing you into frame like a cat with a toy mouse.

• You stumble onto the couch beside him, wide-eyed. "B-Baby! I’m not—!"

• Too late. You are now Live.

• Fans are exploding in the chat.

sajadaily._ :WHO’S THAT??

zoeyluvsmystery : SHE’S SO CUTE HELLO??

🍊|artists : wait wait WAIT—

• Baby grins like he’s in a romcom and you’re the main character he just tripped.

• "Everyone say hi to…" he pauses, dramatic, looking right at you. "...my girlfriend."

• You go into full ERROR 404 mode. 'Wha—I—I—excuse me—!"

• Your entire body heats up. You freeze. Your voice squeaks.

• The chat goes feral.

• He boops your nose while you sit there, mortified, eyes wide, mouth half-open. "We’ve been dating for a while,” he adds casually. “She steals my hoodies. And my food. And she kicks in her sleep, by the way."

• You smack his arm. He gasps, overdramatic. Making that adorable baby face infront of the camera. "Ow!"

Note : my shaylaaaas, i love them sssOOO MUCH and ik yall do too.

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Any chance you have any for writing, uh, adult scenes? They're really difficult to implement I feel

writing adult scenes that aren’t cringe, soulless, or weirdly mechanical

first of all, SORRY for the delay responding to this!! i've had this sitting in my inbox like a cryptid under a tarp because i wanted to actually give you something thoughtful and helpful (and not just go "lol same" and vanish into the mist). so. let’s talk ✨writing adult scenes✨ in a way that actually works for the story, not just for shock or spice or vibes.

the biggest challenge with adult scenes (and what makes them feel awkward to write) is that they can’t be written in isolation. they need to grow out of character dynamics, narrative tension, pacing, and tone. otherwise, they feel dropped-in or even emotionally hollow. so here’s a breakdown of how i approach them:

🌙 1. what does the scene do for the story? before writing any intimate moment, ask why this scene needs to happen here. is it a turning point in their relationship? a power shift? a moment of vulnerability? a manipulation? a step toward something breaking or healing? → if the only answer is “it’s time for a sexy scene,” pause and reassess. the strongest scenes usually have subtextual contradiction or tension. two characters who want different things. one character who's lying. one who thinks this will fix something. one who wants to feel nothing but feels too much. etc.

🕯️ 2. tone over terminology. you don’t need to use graphic terms to make a scene powerful. and you don’t need to fade to black to keep it tasteful either. it’s all about what suits your voice + genre + POV. → are you going clinical, detached, raw, euphemistic, poetic, awkward, sensory, or restrained? for example, if your POV character is repressed or emotionally numb, describing the absence of feeling can be more impactful than heat. if your POV is hyperfocused or obsessive, then focus in with close detail on one or two things (the way the other person breathes, touches, reacts). use sensory anchoring to make it immersive: temperature shifts, breath patterns, pressure, skin texture, muscle tension, silence vs noise. this doesn’t mean just listing body parts, it means grounding every action in how it’s being experienced.

💔 3. stay in character. your characters don’t become blank slates just because the clothes are off. this is a moment where everything about them should heighten, their pasts, fears, walls, wants, emotional limits. → how do they usually communicate (or avoid communication)? how do they handle vulnerability or control? if one of them is more experienced and the other is nervous, that’ll shape their pacing, their responses, even their internal monologue. if it’s two people with history (or tension or resentment), that should bleed through too. even breath can be laced with emotional weight if you write it in character.

🔥 4. skip the step-by-step. you do not need to narrate every movement or article of clothing. that’s where scenes start to feel mechanical or awkward. → instead: zoom in on a few potent, emotionally-loaded actions or lines of dialogue. linger on what those moments mean to the character. you’re not writing a how-to manual, you’re writing a turning point in intimacy, trust, conflict, or emotional unraveling. if you need to, write the whole thing once clinically just to get the beats down. then go back and revise it for tone and feeling.

💡final notes from me:

if you're writing in 1st person, filter everything through that character’s emotional lens. if they're overwhelmed or dissociating, show that. if they're hyperaware, describe what draws their eye.

awkwardness isn’t bad! sex can be weird or fumbly or vulnerable or funny. don’t sand down the edges unless your characters are perfect robots.

don’t try to make it universal. make it specific. what does this character notice? how do these two people move around each other? what are they afraid to say out loud?

i hope this helps!! and if you ever want examples, writing exercises, or scene critiques, feel free to send more asks 🖤

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Good Traits Gone Bad

✧ Empathy → Emotional Exploitation

Empathy is the heartbeat of connection. It's he ability to feel alongside others, to hold space for pain, joy, fear. But when someone becomes hyper-attuned to emotions, they might begin to use that insight as leverage. What began as compassion shifts into subtle control. They know what others fear, need, or hope for. Then, they exploit it, nudging choices and reactions under the guise of care. The warmth of empathy cools into quiet manipulation, wrapped in smiles and soft voices.

✧ Intuition → Paranoia or Presumption

Intuition is powerful. It guides, warns, and illuminates. But when someone relies too heavily on gut instinct, they may stop seeking context or clarity. They begin to assume intentions, predict betrayals, or treat hunches as fact. What once helped them understand unspoken truths now drives wedges between them and others. Intuition becomes a filter that distorts rather than reveals.

✧ Bravery → Recklessness

True courage inspires others. It faces fear while acknowledging the cost. But courage without wisdom can spiral into recklessness. The brave character begins to leap before looking, refusing help, or seeking danger not to help others but to prove something. Worse, they may sacrifice themselves repeatedly in ways that seem noble but are fueled by guilt, ego, or escapism. What once protected others now isolates or endangers them.

✧ Uniqueness → Alienation or Superiority

Being different is a gift -- a perspective the world needs. But when a character’s uniqueness becomes their identity, it can harden into alienation or quiet arrogance. They begin to believe no one can truly understand them. Or worse, that others are too ordinary to matter. They stop connecting, start dismissing. Their individuality, once empowering, becomes a lonely throne.

✧ Honesty → Weaponized Truth

Honesty builds trust, clarity, and integrity. But when honesty becomes detached from compassion, it cuts instead of connects. The character may justify harsh words as "just being real" or “telling it like it is,” ignoring the emotional wreckage left behind. What began as transparency turns into a shield for cruelty. Truth without tact becomes a blade.

✧ Optimism → Denial

Optimism sees hope in hardship, light in shadows. But relentless positivity can blind someone to real danger or silence the pain of others. The character insists everything will work out, even when it won’t. They dismiss warnings, ignore wounds, or refuse to acknowledge their own struggle. What started as radiant hope becomes denial in disguise, robbing others of permission to feel.

✧ Loyalty → Loss of Self

Loyalty is sacred. It anchors trust and sustains love. But loyalty without discernment can turn into self-erasure. A character might defend the wrong people, tolerate mistreatment, or silence their conscience -- all in the name of loyalty. They stay, even when it hurts. They follow, even when it breaks them. What began as devotion becomes a chain.

✧ Humanity → Overwhelm or Emotional Collapse

To be deeply human is to feel joy, rage, sorrow, wonder -- all fully. But a character might become so open to the world's weight that they drown in it. They struggle to regulate emotions, internalizing every injustice or heartache. Their humanity is profound, but it becomes unsustainable. Their openness turns into fragility, and their emotional world consumes them.

✧ Altruism → Disintegration of Boundaries

The altruist gives freely, loves fiercely, and seeks nothing in return. But when they give too much without limits, they fade from themselves. They neglect rest, silence their needs, and begin to believe that self-worth is earned only through sacrifice. Eventually, others begin to rely on them, but never truly see them. Their selflessness becomes a slow disappearance.

Follow || Like || Comment || Repost || My Novel ⇚⇚⇚

thank you, i am farkle :)

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Bad End

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Saja Boys—You Keep Leaving Me 

Summary: In the quiet moments between them, memories begin to slip away—fragile and fleeting like whispers on the wind. As the bond between you and the Saja Boys is tested by forces beyond control, you all struggle to hold onto what once was.

⚠️Content Warning: This is angst, no comfort, and deals with memory loss. Because of this, I am not adding the usual taglist. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with these topics. 

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The first time, it was small.

You blinked at the kitchen table, hair still mussed from sleep, and asked Romance if they’d gone grocery shopping yet—when the fridge had been stocked just the night before. When he said so, you frowned like someone had moved the world half an inch to the left.

“Must’ve forgotten,” you mumbled, and kept stirring your tea.

They chalked it up to stress. Late nights, bad dreams, lingering side effects of the last demon hunt. Jinu even made you an herbal tonic—something to “realign spirit-body memory.” You laughed at the bitter taste.

Then it happened again. And again.

You forgot you’d already eaten lunch. You forgot whose shirt you were wearing. You forgot Abby’s name.

But it was Mystery who noticed it first—really noticed. You flinched when he said your name too softly from the shadows, recoiling like you didn’t know who he was.

You didn’t.

That night, the rooftop was silent, heavy with things unsaid.

“She doesn’t remember me,” Mystery said, arms folded, voice unreadable. “Not at all.”

“That’s not possible,” Jinu murmured, flipping through one of the older demonology texts. “There was no ritual. No interference. Her soul’s stable.”

“Then why is it happening?” Baby snapped, pacing. His flame mark burned faint red against his spine, his control slipping. “Why does she look at us like we’re strangers?”

Romance’s voice was quiet. “Because we are, to her.”

He was the first one you stopped recognizing consistently.

The glamour magic he used, the illusion haze he always gave off—it made him forgettable in the wrong light. His was the first name to vanish from your memory entirely, even though you had his hoodie folded on your pillow.

“I keep thinking I’m dreaming you,” you whispered once, sitting beside him. “You feel like a memory someone made up.”

Romance smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

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

Jinu started writing.

At first, it was just a way to track the anomalies. Short entries. Times, dates. Incidents. Forgotten appointments. Names missed. Tea steeped too long. He recorded everything with the methodical calm of someone trying to rationalize an unraveling world.

Then it became something else.

A journal. A memory keeper. A tether.

He began transcribing whole conversations, capturing the cadence of your laughter, the phrasing of your jokes, the questions you always asked about the stars. He sketched the way you sat cross-legged on the couch, the curve of your favorite mug, the particular look on your face when you forgot someone you loved.

The margins were filled with hope.

And then, regret.

Each page grew heavier—less clinical, more desperate. Small slips of poetry began to appear between the bullet points. Frantic, aching lines scrawled in the middle of records:

She forgot me again today. She said the soup tasted like home. Then she asked where her home was. I don't know if I should keep writing this. But I don’t know how to stop.

He kept the notebook by your bed, and each morning you woke up and read it like it was a story someone had gifted you. A tragic, lovely story about a girl surrounded by demons who loved her, who made her laugh, who followed her into the dark.

“That’s a lot of pages,” you whispered once, fingers running over the warped corners.

He just nodded, quiet. “We’ve had a lot of days.”

Sometimes you cried halfway through, overwhelmed by the intimacy of words you didn’t remember living. Sometimes you didn’t finish it at all, afraid of what the next page might say. Once, hands trembling, you looked up and asked in a small, broken voice:

“Who’s writing this for me?”

Jinu had prepared for everything—contingency spells, soul-anchoring charms, memory-fragments woven into talismans—but he hadn’t prepared for that.

He swallowed hard, managed a smile, and said, “Just someone who loves you.”

Then he stood, walked out of the room, and didn’t come back that day.

The next morning, the journal had a new page. You didn’t know it was written at 3 a.m., his hands shaking, his eyes swollen from crying silently at the foot of your door.

It read:

If she forgets again tomorrow, I’ll still be here. Even if she forgets forever.

This is for both of us now.

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

Abby stayed close.

Closer than anyone, really. Not because he thought he could fix it—but because someone had to make sure you still felt human.

He was the one who walked you to the kitchen every morning like it was a ritual. Who handed you a warm drink before you could even ask for it. Who made toast the way you didn’t remember liking, but always ate. He never said anything when you blinked at the teapot like it was foreign, or when you asked him, soft and uncertain, if the couch was yours too.

He answered every question like it was the first time.

“You want honey or sugar today?” he’d ask, offering both, even if he already knew you’d choose sugar—because you always did, when you remembered.

And when you didn’t… he still smiled like it was okay. Like it didn’t tear him apart inside.

He didn’t flinch when you stared blankly at the boys mid-conversation, confusion flickering across your face like a stormcloud. He just reached for your hand beneath the table. Grounded you. Softly murmured your name like it was sacred.

But he broke—just once.

The day you forgot your own name.

You had frozen in the hallway, fingers clutching the edge of the wall, your breathing gone ragged. Panic painted your features. Eyes wide. Childlike. Empty.

“I don’t—”

Your voice cracked. “I don’t know who I am.”

Abby was at your side instantly. Dropping low. One hand on your shoulder, the other brushing your hair back with trembling gentleness, like you were something fragile carved from glass.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, voice hoarse with trying not to cry. “I got you, okay? You don’t need to remember anything right now. I’ll hold it for you.”

But you looked at him like a stranger. Like he was just another shadow in the too-bright hallway. There was fear behind your eyes—not just of the world, but of yourself. Of what you’d lost.

And that—that shattered him.

He held it together until you were asleep again, curled up under the blanket he wrapped around you. Until you whispered “Thank you” like it was muscle memory, not memory.

Then he disappeared into the training room.

When the others found him hours later, his fists were torn raw. The reinforced stone was cracked. Blood ran in small streaks down his arms where he hadn’t bothered to wipe it away.

He didn’t speak when they called his name. Just sat with his forehead pressed to the wall, breathing like it hurt.

No one tried to stop him the next time he threw a punch.

Because they understood.

Because Abby was the strong one. The unshakable one.

And even he was breaking.

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

It was Baby who fought the hardest.

Not against you—never you. But against everything else.

The curse. The silence. The helpless way time kept slipping through their fingers, faster and faster, dragging you with it.

He wasn’t built for this kind of loss. Not the slow kind. Not the kind that made you vanish piece by piece. Baby had always been fire—volatile, wild, burning too hot to contain. But this… this wasn’t the kind of fire you could control.

This time it burned because of grief.

He started pulling all-nighters. Slamming through pages of old demonology texts until his eyes bled from exhaustion. He demanded they try reversal spells that cracked the floorboards and shattered light bulbs. He went hunting alone, again and again, chasing rumors of memory demons and cursed relics—anything with a trace of magic that might break the curse.

He came back every time with ash in his hair and nothing in his hands.

Once, Jinu caught him screaming at the gate. Punching the earth, shouting until his voice broke. He’d carved a dozen protective sigils into his skin that night. Not one of them worked.

And still—he kept trying.

“You’re gonna remember us,” he muttered one night, tucking a blanket around you with careful hands even though you were already fast asleep. “You have to. We’re not done yet, okay? We’re not done.”

You stirred slightly. Just enough.

Your eyes fluttered open—unfocused. Empty.

You stared at him like he was a stranger.

“…Who are you?” you asked, voice soft, unafraid—just curious.

And that did it.

The breath left his body like a blow. His hands froze where they hovered near your shoulder. Something in him—some stubborn, furious flame—sputtered.

He left the room before the tears could spill, stumbling out into the hallway like he was running from something on fire. Like if he stayed a second longer, he’d beg you to remember. As if begging would matter.

They found him hours later on the rooftop, sitting in the rain, shirt soaked through and fingers curled into fists so tight they’d gone white.

He didn’t speak. Just stared at the sky like he was waiting for something—anything—to fall down and fix you.

But no miracles came.

And the next morning, when you woke up, you didn’t ask where Baby was.

You didn’t remember him at all.

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

And Mystery…

He never left your side.

Even when you stopped remembering your name, even when you couldn’t look at him without shrinking away, he stayed. Silent, constant. A shadow cast by loyalty too deep to sever.

At first, you were afraid of him.

The shape in the shadows. The flicker in the hallway. The golden eyes you didn’t understand.

He never minded.

Then came the day you didn’t flinch at all—because you didn’t see him.

That was worse.

Still, he stayed. Guarded. Watched from the corners like a sentinel with no orders but one: Protect her. He stood behind you during every curse recoil—when your body jolted like you were being ripped backward through time. When you blinked and forgot the word for tea. For music. For him.

He was there when you screamed into your pillow because the mirror was wrong again. He was there when you forgot how to laugh.

He was always there.

But the curse wasn’t content with names and faces. It wanted everything.

The final stage began like dusk falling.

You started forgetting the world.

Colors faded. The blue of Mystery’s jacket became gray. The red ribbon in your drawer turned pale. You couldn’t recall what strawberries tasted like. What rain sounded like. One morning, Abby caught you staring at a spoon like it was a foreign object.

You woke up one afternoon and screamed at your own reflection—clawing at your arms, begging it to stop looking at you.

That night, you didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

You sat perfectly still, lips parted slightly like there were words hovering behind them—but they’d been forgotten, too.

And when your eyes met theirs across the room, there was no one left behind them.

Nothing. Just emptiness.

Not confusion.

Not pain.

Just the terrible silence of a soul erased.

And that’s when they broke.

All of them.

Romance didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. Just sat in the corner, hands open in his lap like he couldn’t remember what they were for. Like he’d lost the ability to comfort at all.

Abby stood in the hallway with his forehead pressed to the doorframe, unmoving. No one could get him to look away—not even Baby.

Jinu’s journal was still open on the desk. Half a page written. The final sentence trailing off where the ink dried mid-word. He hadn’t picked up the pen again.

Baby didn’t sleep. Just curled up beside your unmoving body, fingers wrapped around your hand. Whispering stories into the skin you no longer reacted to. Hoping—just hoping—something would stir.

And Mystery…

Mystery was simply gone.

No goodbye. No final glance.

Just an empty patch of wall where his shadow used to fall. A chill in the air where he once stood. It was like the moment your soul slipped away, the shadows swallowed him whole.

Like he couldn’t bear to exist in a world that no longer had you in it.

And the worst part—the very worst part—

Was that you didn’t even know he was missing.

You didn’t know any of them were.

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

The next morning, the bed was empty.

No sheets rustled. No sleepy murmurs. No quiet call for tea.

Just the sun bleeding through the curtains like it didn’t know better. Like it didn’t know someone was missing.

The room felt colder than it should have.

None of them spoke. Not right away.

It wasn’t silence—it was numbness. A stunned, fragile quiet like the breath before a scream.

Abby was the first to step inside.

He didn’t say anything. He just stared at the tangled blankets, at the pillow still shaped like your head had rested there. His hands shook, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because if he touched anything, it might mean it was real.

Jinu stood in the doorway. The journal hung loosely from his fingertips, open to a blank page. The pen had rolled under the bed. He didn’t reach for it.

Baby paced. Once. Twice. Three times. Then stopped in the middle of the room like he’d lost the memory of why he was moving. His lips trembled, jaw clenched, eyes dry but far too wide.

He looked so young like that. Too young for this kind of loss.

Romance sat down at the foot of the bed. Slowly. Carefully.

He touched the blanket like it might still be warm. Like maybe if he believed hard enough, you’d wake up again. Smile. Call his name.

But the bed was still. Cold.

The ghost of you lingered—but you were gone.

And Mystery…

No one saw him.

Not even his shadow.

No one had the strength to say it aloud.

No one dared ask: Where did she go? Because deep down, they already knew.

You hadn’t run.

You hadn’t died.

You’d just… slipped away.

Erased, one memory at a time until there was nothing left to anchor you here.

When they looked around the room, it hurt in ways words couldn’t reach.

The fridge still held your doodles—some smiley faces, a badly drawn tiger, a list of snack requests you used to tease Jinu with.

Your sweater still hung on the back of the chair, sleeves stretched from too much love.

And that mug—your favorite chipped one, the one Abby had glued together three times already—sat on the counter, untouched.

The house was full of you.

But you weren’t in it.

You’d left them.

Not by choice.

Not physically.

But piece by piece—smile by memory—you’d drifted so far that even your soul forgot the way home.

And the worst part—

The part that left all of them cracked and quietly dying in their own ways—

Was that you didn’t even know it.

You didn’t even know who they were.

Didn’t know who you were.

You just vanished.

And they stayed behind.

With every memory you dropped.

With all the love you forgot.

And a grief that had no one left to grieve with.

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

M-List

[timecaptcha]

Can I request a saja boys (separate) x reader who is goth (so like trad goth makeup and stuff?

Thank you for the request! I did not realize there were so many differing goth styles before this lol. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Goth!Reader

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🧿 Jinu 

He squinted at you from the doorway, holding a Tupperware of leftover kimchi jjigae and a visible crisis of confidence.

“Are your—uh.” Jinu gestured vaguely toward your eyes. “Is it…supposed to look like you’ve been crying blood?”

You glanced up from your eyeliner touch-up, one hand steady against the mirror. “It’s just red liner. It’s a vibe.”

Jinu stepped inside like the room might reject him for being too pastel. “I don’t get it. But. You look…very committed to it.”

“You mean cool?”

“I was gonna say devastating in a sexy, death-flavored way, but yeah. Cool works too.”

You turned on your stool, eyes narrowing. “Jinu.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you like it?”

He looked startled by the directness. “I—yeah. I mean, I don’t understand it, but it’s very you. Powerful. Kind of…mysterious. Like you’re about to hex me for touching your mug.”

“That’s because I will hex you for touching my mug.”

Jinu chuckled, nervous but earnest. “That’s fair. Also, your boots? Terrifying. I swear they clacked at me.”

“Maybe they did,” you teased. “They only like people with good taste.”

“…Okay. That might be the nicest insult I’ve ever received.”

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

💪 Abby 

You stepped out of the dressing room in full goth regalia: black velvet, lace sleeves, thigh-high boots with chunky soles. Abby looked up from his protein shake and promptly whistled.

“BABE,” he declared. “You look like a Victorian vampire assassin. Ten outta ten. Would follow you into a crypt. Would carry your coffin. Would start a cult in your honor.”

You raised one brow. “You’re very excited for someone who asked if black lipstick was ‘edible paint’ last week.”

“I was just curious!” he said defensively. “It looked shiny, okay?”

You laughed. “So now you’re a fan?”

“I’ve always been a fan. I didn’t realize how much until you just strutted in looking like Dracula’s hottest problem. Like—damn. Those sleeves could take flight.”

“I do collect bat motifs.”

“You are a bat motif.” He leaned forward, eyes wide. “Please tell me you have spooky jewelry. Like skulls. Or spiders.”

You smirked. “I have both. Also: coffin-shaped purse.”

Abby put a hand to his heart. “I’m dating a legend.”

“And you’re not even scared.”

“Honeybun,” he said solemnly, “you could raise the dead and I’d still be like, ‘do you want me to carry your bag?’”

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

📚 Mystery 

When you walked into the room in your full traditional goth ensemble—lace gloves, bold eyeliner, silver jewelry that caught the light like moonlight on a blade—Mystery didn’t blink.

He just looked up from his book and watched.

“…What?” you asked, a little self-conscious under the weight of his gaze.

He blinked, slow. “You look like a dream someone would have right before they died.”

You paused. “Thanks?”

He nodded, solemn. “It’s a compliment.”

You sat beside him. “I didn’t peg you for someone who liked dramatic fashion.”

Mystery tilted his head. “I like intention. You wear yours like armor.”

You glanced down at your rings. “I guess that’s true.”

He added quietly, “And you wear it well. You look…unreachable. But not cold.”

You blinked. “Unreachable?”

“Like something people want to get close to, but they know it’ll cost them. It’s elegant. Dangerous.” He hesitated, then added, “It suits you.”

You stared at him for a moment. “...You write poetry when I’m not looking, don’t you?”

Mystery smirked faintly. “I plead the fifth.”

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

💋 Romance 

“Wait, wait, don’t move!” Romance held up a hand like you were a painting and he needed to preserve the light.

You froze mid-step.

“You look like a cursed bride,” he whispered reverently, walking a slow circle around you. “I’m obsessed.”

You twirled the lace parasol. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, no. It’s perfect. You’re giving ‘married a demon in 1874 and never got over it.’ I want to dress up just to match you.”

You smirked. “You couldn’t handle the boots.”

“I’d train for the boots. I’d do squats. Stretch my ankles. I’d suffer for fashion. I do already.” He gestured to his perfectly fitted pants. “These are a war zone.”

You leaned closer. “What would you wear?”

“Black lace shirt, red velvet blazer, maybe a bloodstone ring? Smoky eyeliner, obviously. A choker that screams ‘I write tragic sonnets in my sleep.’”

“Romance, are you planning a couples' goth shoot?”

“I am now. I’m going to start a Pinterest board tonight.”

You laughed. “Okay, but if we do, I get full say in poses.”

“Deal. Just promise you’ll look at me like you’re about to stab me lovingly.”

You took his hand. “Only if you return the favor.”

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

🔥 Baby 

You stepped into the kitchen, gothic as ever—black mesh, silver chains, and those boots he claimed to hate.

Baby choked on his ramyeon.

“Wh—” he sputtered, trying to recover coolness. “What is this. What are you. Who gave you permission.”

You smirked. “Too much?”

“Not enough,” he muttered. “What is it with the lace? Why does it look like you could kill me in a cathedral?”

“Because I could.”

He looked genuinely overwhelmed. “You… you look like you cursed a priest and laughed about it in Latin.”

“Would you be impressed or terrified?”

“Yes,” he said, voice faint.

You walked over and leaned on the counter beside him. “Didn’t you say I looked like a Hot Topic vampire last week?”

“I was trying to be cool. But honestly? You look like a death goddess. Like, if you told me to kneel, I wouldn’t ask why.”

You leaned close. “Then kneel.”

Baby blinked. “Okay this is getting out of hand. Do it again.”

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M-List