#i have an entire fucking section of my brain dedicated to these guys

[foxqlove-draws]

Elytrian Lifecycle Concept

First post! Messy elytrian lifecycle concept. Their lifecycle works more like insects than birds. Females tend to lay three eggs at a time. The first one to hatch into a larvae usually eats the others. This is expected and a cultural norm as elytrians tend to have a very warlike and violent culture. They then attach to the elongated feathers of their mother’s chest and grow into a pupa, emerging as an imago. Larvae are not considered to have feelings by the majority, but this is still a controversial topic. This info is subject to change.

#elytrian #elytrians #minecraftart #minecraft art #spec bio #spec evo #sortof? #its spec bio with a sprinkle of eldritch magic #life cycle #avianhuman #minecraft origins #origins mod #foxqloveartz #i will vomit so much worldbuilding on this website #i have an entire fucking section of my brain dedicated to these guys #original species #not really #but might as well be #alien #aliens #again not really #ill dive into their lore later #they are aliens #sort of? #but also not really #oml i forgot the elytra shell on the last one :skullemoji: #i also forgor the spiracles on the last two #worldbuilding #projectaentheria

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Auditions

Hajime wants to get closer to Komaeda. The rest of the polycule isn’t convinced. (4k words of komahina chaos, heavily feat. best girls Chiaki & Sonia. Spoilers thru the 3rd trial.)

“Ohh!” Komaeda gasps, his eyes positively glowing. “Hajime! How fortunate I feel, to be privileged with such a hopeful sight! And how lucky to have found you here!” “...In my room?” “Yes! Exactly! Your company is in very high demand, Hajime! Always out and about! But when I passed by your cottage I saw a butterfly land on your door; and as luck would have it, I found a cockroach in my coffee this morning!” Hajime squints at him. As usual, he’s having a hard time keeping up.  “Please don’t worry, Hajime,” Komaeda says earnestly. “It would be a travesty to waste your feelings on a worthless animal like me. After all, I'm a sort of human cockroach myself! Haha! I felt a sense of kinship, watching his little legs twitch amongst the grounds.”

(This wildly frivolous story is dedicated to my gf & I playing the Danganronpa series for the first time and learning, with mounting incredulity, that maxing a social link rewards you with the other person’s UNDERWEAR??? And that we are presumably sleeping with all of these people????? After that, the plot kinda went out the window in favor of auditioning new members for the polycule.)

Before coming to Jabberwock Island, Hajime almost never napped. There were barely enough hours in the day to finish his homework and study for entrance exams and read enough of next week’s material to avoid looking like an idiot in class. He just couldn’t find the time. 

…Now he’s got nothing but. 

And it’s not like there are any exams to prep for out here, in the middle of the fucking ocean. For the first few weeks, he tried to keep up with his studies in the library. Then he flipped open a chem textbook to brush up on the basics and realized that the entire organic chemistry section was total bullshit. Which kinda threw a wrench in his curriculum. Not studying feels bad, but not as bad as learning stuff that’s wrong.

It still makes him anxious. You’d think the constant threat of sudden death would put it in perspective but… nope! Turns out that Maslow guy was full of shit. You can be scared of getting murdered and scared of flunking your college entrance exams, all at the same time. Or at least, Hajime can.

So even though it’s 2 in the afternoon, with sunlight streaming in through the huge, unsettlingly breakable window above his bed, Hajime is fast asleep when he hears the knock. 

It’s a weird knock. The human brain loves patterns, so most people wind up knocking on some kind of rhythm. A nice even knock-knock, or a brisk rat-tat-tat. ‘Shave-and-a-haircut,’ etcetera etcetera. This sounds more like a woodpecker playing a round of whack-a-mole. One loud knock and then two quick ones, then a weird protracted silence followed by four more. 

“Mh,” Hajime mumbles. “Uh. One sec.”

He doesn’t bother with a shirt. It’s hot. And he’s tired. And it’s not like there’s anyone left who’d care. Koizumi would've hit him if he tried to open the door half-dressed, but Koizumi is dead. Hanamura might’ve made a pass at him in the grossest way he could think of, but Hanamura’s been fish food for weeks. Probably Tsumuki would full-on scream, but there is no Tsumuki anymore. Half his friends are dead and Hajime can’t find a shirt. Literally who fucking cares. 

He yanks the door open to find Komaeda, one hand outstretched for another chaotic, arhythmic, totally bizarre fucking knock.

“Ohh!” Komaeda gasps, his eyes positively glowing. “Hajime! How fortunate I feel, to be privileged with such a hopeful sight! And how lucky to have found you here!”

“...In my room?”

“Yes! Exactly! Your company is in very high demand, Hajime! Always out and about! But when I passed by your cottage I saw a butterfly land on your door; and as luck would have it, I found a cockroach in my coffee this morning!”

Hajime squints at him. As usual, he’s having a hard time keeping up.

“Please don’t worry about me,” Komaeda says earnestly. “It would be a travesty to waste your feelings on a worthless animal like me. After all, I'm a sort of human cockroach myself! Haha! I felt a sense of kinship, watching his little legs twitch amongst the grounds.”

“Uh.”

“I didn’t eat the cockroach,” Komaeda assures him. “I spotted him before my last sip.”

“...You drank the coffee, though.”

“Oh, yes! Thank goodness! If I saw him any sooner, I might not have caught you at all!”

Right. The whole… karmic balance thing. Hope from despair, and vice versa. “Uh huh. So. Did you want something, or…”

“No, no, please, I would never! I wouldn't dream of imposing on your valuable time! It was only—hm, how to explain it to someone so, so resplendent… Only a whim, Hajime. The senseless, selfish impulse of a simple mind.”

Hajime is pretty sure he’s never met a less simple mind.

He wonders if Komaeda wants to come in. He sort of wants to invite him in. Which is pretty stupid, after all the mean shit Komaeda said in the hospital. (Hajime mentally crosses 'Ultimate Common Sense' off the list of possibilities. Might as well scratch out 'Ultimate Social Skills' while he's at it.)

Well. Whatever. Even if Hajime wanted to be hospitable, now is definitely not the best time. “Oh,” he remembers, “I got you something. Hang on.”

He closes the door before rifling around in his desk drawer, because if he doesn’t, he’s pretty sure Komaeda will come trailing after like a baby duck.

By the time he finds what he’s looking for, he half-expects Komaeda to be gone. Not that anyone on this island has anything to rush off to. Just because Komaeda is—unpredictable. You never really know what he’s going to do.

But when he opens the door Komaeda is waiting, still wearing that glittering smile.

“Here,” Hajime says, thrusting the gift at him. “It’s, uh. I already read it. But it’s interesting. It’s from another Ultimate, supposedly.” Unless the journal is just another of Monokuma’s tricks. But its author didn’t sound like Monokuma. They sounded sharp. Incisive. Humorless, and sort of… relentless? Not exactly Monokuma’s bag. “Some kind of investigator. ‘Ultimate PI,’ or something. And I know you’re into that stuff too, so…”

When he looks up, he can’t help but flinch. Komaeda’s smile has gone cold. Teeth bared in stiff straight lines, like keys on a piano. Eyes sharp and clear as breaking glass.

Reflexively, Hajime pulls his hand back. “Uh—”

“You really shouldn't waste your kindness on me, Hajime,” Komaeda says, all the words running together without any space between. “So much good fortune is an ill portent, haha! And luck is capricious; it has no sense of loyalty, or of… restraint. Of course you could never understand, fount of hope that you are, overflowing with—with generosity of spirit, with grace, but— You should step lightly, Hajime.” Even as Komaeda’s eyes go dark, his smile stretches wider. “That kindness of yours could be very dangerous.”

“Uhh.”

And then, like flipping a switch, the light flicks back on. “Ah! I'm so, so sorry, Hajime, for darkening your doorstep for so long. I could just die of shame. If you want to kill me, I understand. I promise to hold still."

"...I'm good."

"You certainly are!" Komaeda agrees, with a breathless little shudder. "I can't even begin to imagine. But if my worthless presence brought you down on such a hopeful day I just couldn't bear to live, so I'll get out of your sight. But I'll treasure your gift for the rest of my miserable life. I'd build a shrine for it but I know I'd only ruin it, with my disgusting talent, I'd probably bring the whole cottage down in flames—but I'll keep it close! I'll wear it over my heart, so I can bring you with me into the very trenches of despair!”

“You don’t have to—” Nope, that’s a lost cause. “Okay. Well. Glad you like it.”

“Very much so! Yes! So be vigilant, Hajime! Despair lies in wait around every corner!”

“Right. I mean, uh. You too.”

Hajime watches, nonplussed, as Komaeda practically sprints down the boardwalk to vanish through the gate. He takes a moment to reflect on the fact that he can’t even tell if Komaeda liked the gift or hated it. Or liked it so much that he hated it, or… hated it so much that it drove him to despair, which then filled him with hope? You can never really tell, with Komaeda.

"Ugh," he sighs, kneeing the door shut. "I dunno. I don't get that guy. Do you think he's mad at me?"

Chiaki makes a cursory effort to sit up before flopping back against the pillows. “Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t listening. What did he say?” 

“That he was very happy to see Hajime!” Sonia reports promptly. “But that good luck portends catastrophe, so Hajime would be wise to feel accordingly endangered! And that he’s going to put the present in a shrine!”

Chiaki yawns. “It sounds like he liked it.”

“Yeah, but… I dunno. Sometimes I think that pisses him off even more? Like he only gets really upset if you do something he likes.”

“That sounds very confusing,” Sonia says loyally. “I can speak only to my own experience, but I greatly enjoy receiving something I like from someone I like.”

“I like video games,” Chiaki contributes.

“We know, Chiaki.”

“And sunflower seeds.”

“Komaeda likes them, too,” Hajime mumbles. 

Sonia tries to exchange a significant glance with Chiaki, but it rebounds off the brick wall of Chiaki’s total lack of socialization. She settles for giving Hajime a sympathetic look. “Oh, Hajime. You give him too much of yourself! In Novoselic, children are taught never to put too much faith in any one paramour, lest you be cast adrift should they betray you, or lose their life in an evacuation drill.”

“…Why would they die if it’s only a drill?”

Sonia looks appalled. “Drills are very dangerous, Hajime-kun!!”

“Rock drills deal piercing and slashing damage,” Chiaki agrees. “Plus AOE staggering, sometimes.” 

“It’s important to be prepared for every possibility!!”

Hajime knows a losing battle when he sees one. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Now come back to bed,” Chiaki complains. “Sonia’s too pointy without a buffer. She’s got too many bones.”

“My sincerest apologies!! I shall remove them at once!!” 

“Please don’t,” Hajime sighs, flopping back onto the mattress. He spent half the day sleeping and he’s already exhausted. There’s never any homework and there aren’t any exams and he’s always, always tired. But the warm arms wrapped snugly around his ribcage help a little.

###

Hajime couldn’t tell you how he wound up in bed with two different sort-of girlfriends, one of whom is a NEET and the other a literal princess. (Though Chiaki is only interested in the actual sleeping. And sometimes holding hands.) 

Probably the mortal peril played a part. The sort of sinking, sickening dread that fills your lungs up with tar; makes you feel like you’ll never take a deep breath again. No shit, they could all use a little comfort. 

But mostly it was Sonia’s doing. She approached him, very matter-of-fact, after the first trial, and laid out a pitch on the benefits of oxytocin in the face of stress, and how citizens of Novoselic are encouraged to share their bed with at least one trusted comrade in times of war. (Hajime is starting to suspect that half of these Novoselic traditions are just Sonia doing whatever she wants).

At the time, he was speechless. Obviously. It’s not like he had any experience with this stuff, unless that’s just one more thing they scrubbed off his hippocampus. But Sonia is beautiful and unwavering and also, not that it really matters, a literal princess. It’s not like Hajime wasn’t sold.

He’d swear his heart stopped when another voice rang out from behind the arcade cabinet.

“I want in,” Chiaki said blearily. Had she been there the whole time? Hajime could only hope that she’d slept through most of his pathetic sputtering. “On the sleepovers. And feeling safe.”

Hajime looked toward Sonia, nervous, only to find her positively glowing. “Oh! Wonderful! Tanaka-san informs me that three is a very lucky number! And as our adversaries sew distrust among our ranks, it will be a great comfort to have two such dependable companions by my side!”

Chiaki blinked up at her, a little starry-eyed. Hajime got the sense it was her first time being called dependable. (Not that he could relate.)

So that’s good. It’s… really good, actually. It’s just everything else that’s the problem.

Every time Hajime thinks they’ve finally scraped bottom, Monokuma blows out the foundation and sends them tumbling deeper into the dark. Maybe there really is something to Komaeda's stupid theory of equivalent exchange. For every out-of-your-league girlfriend you pick up, you get one bonus trauma, free-of-charge. 

Kazuichi keeps trying to follow Sonia home, which kinda makes Hajime want to grab him by the throat and give him a Very Firm Lesson about consent. But of course Sonia insists that there’s no problem, because Kazuichi is pathetic but harmless, and also because she knows six different ways to kill a man with a hairpin and a pack of floss.

Chiaki takes a sudden, uncharacteristic interest in Fuyuhiko, who's too lost in his grief to even notice. (Though it probably doesn't help that, for Chiaki, 'taking an interest' mostly means 'playing the same handheld games as usual, but in your line of sight.')

Gundham tries to train a pack of special-ops attack squirrels and actually succeeds, which is way more worrying than if he’d failed. Kazuichi challenges Hajime to a duel for 'monopolizing Miss Sonia' and then bursts into tears when Hajime just says, Yeah, okay. Sure. If it'll make you feel better. Akane picks a pointless fight with Monokuma that takes Nekomaru out of commission without warning, overnight, with no way to know if he’s ever coming back or if he’s just—gone.

And Komaeda keeps pissing people off.

Hajime is pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose. Pushing people’s buttons, pushing his luck. Needling Fuyuhiko and goading Kazuichi and baiting Akane like he actually wants her to take a swing at him, even though Komaeda is made of tissue paper and Akane could deadlift a fucking tank. (Hajime has to intervene on that one personally. He’s really not interested in putting a classmate on trial just for sneezing a little too hard on Japan’s brittlest psycho). 

“Why would you do that?” he demands, after dragging Komaeda away. “You know you can’t take her.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of raising a hand against one of the Ultimates! Each and every one of you is my greatest inspiration!”

“So, why?” 

Komaeda’s eyes glitter. “Could it be that Hajime is worried about me?” 

“Of course I’m worried,” Hajime snaps. “I’m worried about all of us! On murder island! Where apparently they can just—release a virus to wipe us out, all the time, at any time, except it’s more fun to make us do it for them. And the rules keep changing, and everyone’s just…” His eyes burn. He swipes at them roughly with one hand. “Yeah! Yes! Jesus! I’m fucking worried about you! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Hajime is too kind,” Komaeda purrs. “Such an undeserved honor for a wretched, worthless—”

“Will you stop that? It’s gross. And I know you’re just messing with me, so just—spare me.” 

Komaeda looks sideways at him. In the fading gray of twilight, his eyes shine like mirrored glass. “Do you have dreams of heroism, Hajime-kun?” he asks: a little softer, a little colder. “The knight in shining armor, come to save the villain from himself?”

Why is it always fucking riddles with this guy? “Huh?” 

Komaeda lets slip a little giggle. “I only mean to say… If my actions are so loathsome, why come to my rescue at all?”

Because I want you alive. Hajime bites it back. Komaeda would only laugh at him. “Maybe you forgot that killing someone gets you killed?” he scrapes out, instead. “I’m not really looking to execute any more friends.”

“Ah. Of course. Hajime is a sensitive soul.”

Right. Sensitive. ‘Sensitive’ is when you don’t want to watch a bunch of people die horribly. Hajime barks a laugh, blinks the blur out of his eyes. “Yeah. I guess you’ve really got my number.”

###

Sonia and Chiaki corner him in his cottage that same night.

“Hajime-kun,” Sonia greets him, when he opens the door. “Chiaki and I wish to speak to you. About us.”

“O-Oh yeah?” 

“‘Yeah!’” Sonia repeats, and you can actually hear the air quotes. “We are growing concerned that—”

“Can we go inside?” Chiaki asks plaintively. “I need to use an outlet.”

Hajime has no idea what to expect. It’s not like he’s got any points of reference. He’s never had one girlfriend, much less two. He’s probably never been this close with anyone. Or, if he has, he can’t remember. 

“Hajime-kun!” Sonia says fiercely. “We are concerned that you mean to bring Komaeda-san into our bed!”

Hajime chokes. “Wh-What???” 

“Not literally,” Chiaki says. She thinks about it. “Not necessarily literally.”

Hajime tries to laugh. Maybe he manages it. “What are you guys even… What? Komaeda?” 

It’s ridiculous. Not that Komaeda isn't—sort of—a certain kind of beautiful. And exciting, in the most stressful sense of the word. And kind of... magnetic? Like how you can’t help staring at a smoldering eight-car pile-up. The way he can turn on a dime. Like he’s playing a whole different game. 

…But that also makes him more than a little terrifying. 

“Come on,” Hajime protests, in the face of their deafening silence. “I wouldn’t—I mean. That guy is nuts.”

“Exhibit A!!” Sonia shrills, planting both hands firmly on his desk. “You court him with books and shiny baubles!”

“Wh– I give everyone gifts!”

“Exhibit B! You speak of him more often than of any other classmate! Typically with no small fervor, and—and at great length!!”

“At least once a day,” Chiaki agrees.

“Well, sure,” Hajime concedes. Komaeda is a dangerous guy. “He’s unpredictable. But it feels like there’s an underlying logic… Like, if I could just figure out how he thinks, then—”

“Exhibit C!” Sonia cuts in. “ You are still talking about him!”

…Ah. 

Hajime rubs the back of his neck. “You’re getting more into this courtroom stuff, huh?”

Sonia’s eyes shine with resolve. “Our very lives hang in the balance!!!” 

Chiaki elbows her. 

“…And I discovered a VCR player in the library,” Sonia admits. “And a trove of— But I am not the one on trial here!!”

“And I am?” 

Sonia hesitates. 

Chiaki just nods. 

Hajime sputters. “On what charges??”

“We think you have a crush on Komaeda,” Chiaki says calmly. “From how you’ve been mooning over him.”

Hajime chokes. 

He—what? On Komaeda? The same Komaeda who jerks him around, and fucks with his head, and insists on inserting himself into all of his plans? The same Komaeda who would be perfectly happy to watch them all die, as long as it sewed the seeds for some completely hypothetical, totally irrelevant ‘future hope’? That Komaeda???

…Maybe in the really early days, when Komaeda woke him up on the beach and ferried him through the most stressful day of his life with soft eyes and an easy smile... Maybe Hajime had kind of, sort of, very briefly thought of him as someone he could learn to rely on. And look how that turned out. 

It’s not like Hajime hates Komaeda. He… pities him, probably. The hunger in his eyes; the lie behind his smile. The way he keeps insisting that everyone leave him alone but still jolts to attention when anyone comes close, like a dog whose owner just said the word ‘treat.’

Though it would be easier to pity him if he didn’t insist on being so Komaeda about everything. Fervid and frantic and all too eager to peel back his skin and lay himself bare. The freaky self-flagellation jags; the way his voice goes all breathy when he goes on one of his ecstatic little tirades about hope. Like an open wound, all too desperate to bleed. 

Of course Hajime watches Komaeda. Someone has to keep an eye on him. That doesn’t mean he has a crush.

When his ears start working again, Sonia is still talking. 

“He does not make me feel safe,” she’s saying, shrill with defiance. “And he is not a good conversationalist! He discomfits! Seemingly deliberately!!”

Hajime frowns. But… that’s not true, is it? Komaeda is a great conversationalist. A little showy, maybe. And more than a little alarming. But taking all the weird little shards of himself that he gives you; trying to piece them together into some larger mosaic… It’s fascinating. It’s exciting. Like a puzzle box. (A puzzle box full of knives. An undisclosed number of which may or may not be spring-loaded.)

But Sonia probably won’t find that very convincing. Hajime grasps for another angle. 

“You’re dating Tanaka,” he points out.

“Yes! Yes! An excellent example! Gundham-kun would never ‘leave a homie hanging’! He is responsive! Adaptive! Creative and, and constructive, with a strong sense of play!!”

Hajime is pretty sure that’s just her experience. No one knows how to ‘yes-and’ like Sonia. “Nagito’s playful,” he tries. 

“No, Hajime! He is—mischievous, at best! He cannot commit to a bit! He insists on changing the rules, or changing the game, without deigning to inform anyone else!” 

…Yeah. Totally. “But isn’t that what makes him so interesting?”

“No!!”

“Yeah, no,” Chiaki agrees.

“You too?” Hajime asks, a little crestfallen. He’d got the sense that Chiaki at least sort-of liked Komaeda. She never seemed to turn on him like everyone else. But maybe that’s just because Chiaki never really turns on anyone. 

“Oh,” Chiaki mumbles. “Um. I like him okay. He seems like he’d have a secret route, and those are usually the most interesting. But I don’t think I want him to ever touch me.” She falls silent for a moment before adding, a little plaintive: “Can’t we date Fuyuhiko instead? I like his little smirk. And when he calls you a bastard.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “He said he thinks of me as a brother.”

Chiaki considers that. “He said that about Peko, too. Maybe he’s just stupid?”

Hajime snorts, and then settles. There’s something still bothering him. “Wait. Hold on. Why am I in trouble here? Even if I was into in Komaeda—and I’m not saying I am!—it’s not like you guys have to date him.”

Sonia hesitates. “Things have been—trying,” she says, uncharacteristically softly. “And… we come here to feel safe. And I fear that, so long as we fail to grasp Komaeda-san’s true intentions, his comings and goings might make this place feel… less safe.”

Hajime’s defensiveness evaporates. “Aw, hey. Come on. You know I wouldn’t…”

Komaeda never actually tried to hurt anyone, part of him wants to argue. Except by tampering with evidence and manipulating a murder trial toward a false conviction that would very much get all of us killed, the rest of him points out.

“Look,” he says instead, taking both of her hands in his. “I’m not gonna put you guys in danger. Or make you feel like you’re in danger, or—whatever. If—I mean—in the totally impossible, fully hypothetical world where I wound up d-dating Komaeda…” He refuses to acknowledge the way his stomach lurches at the thought. “We could just… I dunno. Hang out at his place.” Or the motel, his traitorous brain whispers. Or the stacks at the back of the library. Pressed up against the shelves. 

Stop that, he tells it. You’re not helping. 

Sonia is still considering what he’s said. Weighing the intrinsic risk of Komaeda against the obvious hypocrisy of telling anyone who they can and can’t date when she’s dating the fucking Blue Exorcist. 

“I suppose that I cannot rightly stop you,” she says slowly. “It is not as though you are one of my subjects. Alright, Hajime-kun. I trust you. But please keep us apprised of any further developments.”

“Of course,” he promises. “But honestly, I just… really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Sonia’s mouth tugs up, wistful. “Haha. Yes. Wouldn’t that be nice.”

[I still haven't decided if I'm gonna build this out into series or just leave it as a oneshot, so if you wanna find out about future updates, feel free to subscribe on ao3!]

#komahina #polyshipping #supportive but exasperated partners #chaotic inscrutable crushes #danganronpa 2 #hajime has the most exhausting crush of all time #the boy deserves some confidantes

[its-short-for-jackalope]

the second prompt for Slowtember is wind, so I decided it was the perfect excuse to draw Zadock doing some magic and having their clothes flapping in a magical breeze and just looking epic... and maybe a little creepy. they have a talent for unsettling smiles.

I did not think I'd be able to get this one done in time since it got pretty detailed & complicated, but I finished this at 2 am, so I'm hardly late at all, lol! I am REALLY, REALLY proud of this one & absolutely in love with how it turned out!!! (I also had sooooo much fun doing the different little knickknacks in the background, so I forsee more drawings of Objects in my future, lol)

more chatter & my first public reveal of some necromancer lore below the cut! <3

okay so before I get to the Lore™ I have to finish gushing, haha.

at this point, I have filled several pages in my sketchbook with drawings and diagrams and notes about the magic in my story, including many sketches of souls & threads/tethers, but this was the Very First Time I got around to experimenting with drawing them digitally!!!

I was so excited, and I'm so beyond thrilled with the results. Like, guys, this is the closest I've ever been to showing just how I imagine it in my brain. 🤯

this is also like. the coolest thing I've ever drawn in my fucking life—and I have drawn some cool stuff lately!!!—so if nobody looks at this then you are all missing out, lmao. <3

alrighty, now that I am done experiencing a rare surge of self esteem, let's get to the Lore™

I have an entire section of a binder dedicated to how the magic in my story works, so this post will NOT be a super detailed guide whatsoever! I'd need SEVERAL posts for that, lmao. I just wanted to try and run through a bit of background stuff to provide some context for this artwork.

You will notice that I have included two versions of this drawing—one with the crazy glowy lights, and one without. This was not (just) to show off Duck's shirt and their badass top surgery scar that was unfortunately covered right up by their dang soul (😂😭💀), but for lore reasons!

There is only one kind of magic in this story, and it can only be gained as blessings from the god-like entity humans named Death; if the god agrees to give you power, It takes a tiny, tiny portion of Itself, Its essence, and puts that right into your soul. (It hurts, btw. In case you were wondering.)

The first blessing makes you Sensitive, allows you to perceive and sense other souls and to properly bear witness to magic. You aren't able to do any other magic besides seeing/sensing unless you receive more essence. Going back for additional blessing(s) is what makes you a necromancer (if you claim that title) and lets you do some real magic. But we'll get into that some other time.

For now, I will leave you with this handy little comparison thingie I threw together on my phone at 3 am instead of sleeping. <3

the regular folks are really missing out! poor bastards.

#i cant believe im actually Talking about my story/lore where people can read it 😳 #ive only told friends & family about this stuff #they will continue to get the juicy details (they have no choice) but i am once again reminding you that #if you have any questions about my ocs or the story or the worldbuilding i will happily talk about them #(prolly not EVERYTHING bc i gotta keep some secrets & spoilers to myself. but there's a lot i can share!!!) #and i would honestly be so so so happy to blab about this all day forever <3 #jack jabbers #my art #slowtember #slowtember23 #slowtember2023 #zadock severine #oc #original character #my ocs #necromancer story #necromancer & musician story #necromancer lore #necromancy #magic #worldbuilding #story lore #writing #magic system #souls #artists on tumblr #digital art #clip studio paint #csp #art

[zenith3501]

The Minotaur and the Goblin

The Sun, The Hills, The Quiet…

It might have taken us a while getting out there but damn if it wasn't worth it!

The whole idea had come up four days earlier, when my closest friend and I both left our final exams together, mentally exhausted, sleep schedules a shattered memory, with eating habits that could make any nutritionist worth his low sodium salt fall to his knees and scream his lament to the heavens.

Us, and about four hundred other kids.

The exams had been a bitch, and we didn't have all that much time for each other. I was forced into remembering the entire history, from the greatest triumphs, to the most disastrous defeats of three different world conquering empires.

From the first time a guy kicked a rock into place and called it Rome, to the last guy who bore their eagle standard into battle, I'd packed it all into my brain case… Somehow.

Toren, on the other hand, had spent every free moment dedicating the blueprints of entire train engines to memory, and even finding time to make a few scale models for extra credit.

Truth was… We were fucked.

Fucked from school, fucked from classes, from family who didn't get that yes mum, I love you too, but god DAMN IT this list of Emperors and their many, many, many accomplishments isn't going to remember itself, woman!

We needed time away from… Everything.

When I sent a picture of the old family van to Toren later that evening while I was knee-deep in the decomposition process, with just the words, "Come see the sun with me?" Her answer was as simple as I'd hoped.

"Yes. I'll bring drinks."

The next day, I managed to kick the damned thing back to life, and pick her up, giving the grand tour of our luxurious hotel on wheels.

Front seat. Boot. Bed replacing the back seat. Four wheels and an engine that went from 0-60 in my dreams.

I noticed the slight quirk of her brows… Hard to miss that kind of thing on a minotaur. Specifically, it was when I had shown her the only bed, but I quickly brushed it off, pointing out that the thing was plenty big enough for the both of us to lay down on it without getting into Frennies with Bennies territory..

Toren was about as pretty as a minotaur got, but we weren't best friends because of her looks.

Mostly.

Admittedly, a girl with muscles that could bend a steel bar was always a benefit, but still.

I… Couldn't help but enjoy her company.

It was something about the way that she snorted when she laughed, and how she was one of very few people I knew that could enjoy a quiet moment together with a drink and a calm evening, no ingrained need to fill the silence with pointless conversation.

Toren had a less than traditional ring through her snout. Golden, rather than silver, and set with a stubby, squared emerald that really brought out the meadow green and flecks of dandelion yellow in her eyes.

Her horns were pretty eye-catching too, a pale, bone white, rather than the usual deep brown or black. Though, really, working on cars and other mechanical things all day kind of made sure they were never perfectly clean.

I, on the other hand, am a goblin.

Really, that was the biggest reason Toren and I were friends.

While she was outcast for her size when we first got into highschool together, I was judged as probably becoming a trouble causer and eventually, likely to end up behind bars.

Later on, people matured around us, catching up to the emotional age our own weirdness had forced upon us early, but even now, when everyone knows Toren as a gentle giantess, and me as the guy who only steals a book to finish it all in one night and flex on the other history nerds… we stick together.

Two cogs that just click.

A couple of pages that belong together.

The road-trip was honestly everything it needed to be. Snacks as we drove, beautiful countryside, and getting the van up to the fabled sixty kilometers an hour when the wind, the straight roads, and the downhill sections lined up just right.

At night, we'd light a fire, play card games, drink what we'd smuggled or bought along the way, and shared all of the drama and tidbits of news we had both been way too busy to indulge in over the last couple of weeks.

Toren’s tutor had left their final exam in a blur, moving faster than anyone expected a Gruff of that size could, leaving his teaching assistant to make sure none of the engineering students took the opportunity to do a little “Post-Prep studying.”

From what Toren had said, Mr. Clove’s wife had given birth to three healthy, loud little boys.

Despite the interruption in our social lives, really, we just fell right back into place, and I was flooded once more with all of the reasons I’d invited her out on this trip to begin with.

By the third evening on the road, we'd reached the coast, just in time to set out a blanket on the roof of the van, pour ourselves a couple of drinks, and watch the sun setting together.

I think that Toren knew that something was up, but she let me work through the nerves myself, always knowing me to be happiest when I solved something alone.

"You know, it's been a while since we got to be alone like this, with the exams and everything…"

I thought it was a pretty okay start, and so I drank to avoid mouthing the other possible ways I could have said that.

Toren nodded thoughtfully, sniffing as she looked back out to the falling ball of flame that now flushed her fur a bright amber, and set my own pale skin to some unusual tones.

"I know… Kind of missed having you around to just… Bullshit with, y'know?" She asked, her deep and steady voice so much more certain.

I nodded, swallowing my beer.

"It… Kind of made me realize just how much I missed not having you around. It… Actually, it kind of made me realize a lot of things…"

Toren didn't speak. She only gave me a glance, enough to know she wasn’t going to say anything yet, her eyes almost looking like green fae-fire in the sun.

"It's been on my mind for a while, but I didn't want to bring it up while we were both stressing over the exam and surrounded by people asking us how we think we did…"

I felt the tension slowly building in her… Anticipation? Concern? Hope? Who knew…

"Toren I… I just wanted to asked you ifff…" I squeezed the can, metal crumpled in my hand, louder than I expected it too.

Maybe that's what forced me to just sort of…

"I think I have a big fuckin' crush on you, and I'd kinda like to-"

There was a blur of fur.

The van rocked.

The remains of the beer can flew from my hand.

I was pinned down under a pile of muscle, passion, and five hundred "YesYesYes!!!!"'s a minute!

I felt her holding me tightly and hugged her back, though gasping…

And… That's… The story.

That's how it happened.

That’s first time I broke a rib.

#fiction #romance #oc #writing #fantasy

[buglife]

Quirrel finally snaps. Royalty au. (He deserves it)

In Which Quirrel Has Enough :O

The morning started off just like any other. Waking up next to Ghost was always wonderful for Quirrel, especially in the big comfy nest gifted from Deepnest. It was like sinking into softness itself, something he and his spouse both appreciated, and there was plenty of room for cuddles. He yawned, stretching a little and turning to nuzzle his spouse to wake them.

“Morning, love.” He whispered, trying to gently wake them.

Usually they would be awake instantly and nuzzling back. Quirrel wasn’t sure if they actually slept now, having taken over the aspect of dreams. Even if they didn’t, they still made sure to be in bed every night to be with Quirrel, and stayed there until morning.

But today...they blearily blinked awake and didn’t nuzzle back right away. He instantly knew something was the matter.

“Dear, what is the matter? Are you alright?” He touched the side of their head and rubbed it in an effort to comfort them.

“Tired….” Came the soft quiet voice in the back of his head. Ghost had a measure of telepathy, but it was something they only did with friends and family. They tended to use sign language everywhere else, afraid of frightening their subjects. The Pale King had it as well, but used his to intimidate and issue orders. Ghost was doing everything in their power to be the complete opposite of their sire, even if it meant limiting their communication. Quirrel was trying his best to convince them otherwise, that their subjects loved them, but it’s taking a while to actually make Ghost believe it.

“You look tired. What where you doing last night?”

Ghost’s mental voice dissolved into a murmur of numbers and figures and laws hundreds of years old. The feeling Quirrel got along with it was an even measure of frustration, bafflement, and an extreme sense of mind numbing exhaustion.  

“You were trying to rewrite the tax code last night, weren’t you?”

Ghost sank further into the pillows with a wheeze.

“You know I could have helped you, you silly thing.”

They sank further and didn’t look him in the eyes. He sighed and patted them gently, thinking about the situation to himself. For a long time, Ghost pretty much did everything, leaving Quirrel with the task of planning the rebuilding efforts once they took the throne officially. Ghost was the sole ruler, and the weight and pressure of that all had started to weigh down on them. Sure, they had their friends and allies to help them, but some things you just have to do yourself. Now that he was a king himself (something he still had trouble believing some days until he looks at the ring on his finger), he felt like he needed to do more to help his partner.

“Today, you are going to take the day off.”

They turned their head to look at Quirrel, a look of mild panic on their blank mask. Before they could ‘say’ anything, Quirrel beat them to the punch.

“Look at yourself dear. You are beyond exhausted. You haven’t had anytime for yourself in so long, you need a break. I’m your spouse, your equal now, let me help you take some of the load off yourself, please?”

“But...court? The new code…” They were too tired to properly argue, but Quirrel could feel their worry leak through their words.

“I can do them for once. It can’t be harder than what I usually do.” He thought of his duties, how much traveling he does to other parts of the kingdom to keep up good relations with their neighbors. Some ambassadors were pricks, to be frank. They seemed to enjoy trying to get a rise out of the Scholar King, but Quirrel used his wit to go toe to toe with them. It was fencing, but with words, a subtle dance where each tried to pick out weaknesses and use them to their advantage. Talking to the actual rulers though, was a lot more pleasant. In fact, he’s due to have a meeting with Herrah soon. Hornet would demand he spar with her, but she at least was completely honest with her desires. He thinks Herrah gets a kick out of watching her daughter beat the hell out of a King. She was at least kind enough afterwards to patch up his wounds.

Surely, sitting in a building and talking to the public won’t be that harder than having to actually fight someone every-time he needs to do his job.

Ghost gave them an incredulous look, and then sighed and nodded.

“Excellent, shall I make a pillow fort for you?”

They nodded excitedly, and Quirrel took all the extra pillows from the cabinets to add to the pile. After some time stacking and slinging blankets around, he had made a pillow fort that passed his personal inspection. Ghost retreated inside, and then promptly fell asleep, which vindicated his feeling that Ghost was too damn tired to do anything today. He made sure to put a note on the door for people not to disturb them and made his way through the palace.

It was not the White Palace, that one never came back from the realm of dreams. Ghost had told him that it was for the best, as no sane ruler would have that many buzzsaws. Quirrel inclined to believe them and not ask further questions. Instead, a new one was built, and it couldn’t quite consider it a ‘palace’. It was more of a government building and a place to house the knights of the kingdom. It was a hell of a lot more modest than the White Palace, but it was still nice. The citizens insisted after all and Ghost did not say no to them.

Quirrel would have to admit that the top floor where they both lived was really nice. Their friends and family had gotten their own rooms too, for them to live in or just stay in when visiting. Once Ghost had gotten their deserved family, they refused to be apart from them and was more than happy to have visitors around.

Quirrel made his way down to the ground floor, where court was held. It was just a simple room, decorated in shell wood and tapestries to give it a more calm feeling. A part of the room was dedicated to chairs and benches where petitioners could sit and wait their turn. There was a section where the workers would sit, such as the recorder and paperwork keeper, and next to that, was the thrones, sitting a bit higher than everyone else. Quirrel wasn’t too sure if it was required or not to have the thrones elevated, but just shrugged and went along with it.

Usually Ghost held court with at least two of the new knights of Hallownest keeping guard. In reality, Ghost really didn’t need guarding, but they appreciated some wranglers to deal with the public and the emotional support. It seemed today it was Tiso and Cloth.

“Heya Quirrel.” Tiso gave Quirrel a funny look. “Where’s the Squib?”

“I made them take a day off. They are in their pillow fort at the moment, resting.” He internally snickered. Tiso never stopped calling Ghost ‘Squib’, which would cause nobles to have a conniption whenever they heard it. If they complained, Tiso invoked ‘big brother rights’ and that was that.

“Good, they work too hard.” Cloth adjusted her club over her shoulder. “So you’re holding court today? By yourself?”

Quirrel nodded. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I mean, I will have to do it sooner or later. Why not now?”

Tiso and Cloth shared a look. They looked...apprehensive.

“Just be prepared, you get a mixed bag of people. Some are rather um…”

“Super fucking stupid. And spoiled.” Tiso finished for Cloth, gesturing to the still closed doors.

“They can’t be that stupid!” Quirrel took his seat on his throne (which is still completely unbelievable to him). There were two, the other was for Ghost, built side by side. There used to be just one, but well, now there was a need for two. At least they were comfy. For a moment he did want Ghost to be here by his side, but he was firm in the believe that his poor spouse was in dire need of a break. So, he will endure.

“They can and they are. Don’t get me wrong, most folks that come in are really nice, but you get a few every-time that cause trouble. We’ll be here to help you out, no worry.” Cloth gently patted Quirrel on the head. Cloth the Strong was the title given to her after she was knighted, and he was glad to have her here.

“Yeah if you want us to throw them out the windows, just say so.” Tiso of course, didn’t give too fucks. They couldn’t call him Tiso the Ant Who Doesn’t Give Two Fucks, so instead he became Tiso the Daring.

“Thanks guys.” Quirrel felt a little emboldened by the support of his friends. “Go ahead and open the doors, we’ll get set up and I think we can start court for the day.” Tiso flashed a thumbs up, opening the doors to let the various workers of the court come in to take their positions. Once settled, he nodded, and the first petitioner was called in. Quirrel sat up straight, making himself as approachable as he possibly could. He was a pillbug after all, they are usually considered cute, so it wasn’t like he had to try hard.

He smiled at the beetle who walked in and stood before him.

“Hello there, my friend, what can the court do for you today?”

The beetle took a breath before speaking. “I’m petitioning the court to ban nails entirely.”

Quirrel boggled as his brain ground to a halt, did he really hear what he just heard? It took him a moment for him to be able to speak properly.

“Ma’am, we use nails to protect the people and for individuals to defend themselves. Why in the world do you want to ban nails?”

She tutted “Well my little Perler keeps trying to pick up other people’s nails and he could get hurt! It’s dangerous to have those around anyone, let alone children!”

“Well then, if we do ban nails, how else would you expect the royal guard to defend you from threats? How do you expect travelers to protect themselves when alone? How do you expect the average citizen to defend themselves should they be attacked?” Quirrel tried to use logic, but to no avail.

She looked Quirrel straight in the eyes. “That’s for you to figure out, right?”

Quirrel sighed.

---

It was official, he wanted to be anywhere but here. He kept glancing at the ornamental hourglass in the hall, watching the grains of sand fall one single piece at a time. It was like the sand wasn’t draining at all, that he was trapped in this one moment forever. This was officially torture.

Sure, a few legitimate bugs came in with reasonable requests. Asking for information to form a legal town militia? Sure go down the hall and to the left and there’s a bug to help you with that. Asking for funds to renovate an empty building for printmaking? That’s reasonable, we need all the books we can get. Asking for a possible sliding scale tax model for citizens based on income? Thank you for that idea, we will look into it when we can. Hell, some little kid somehow managed to make their way inside and asked Quirrel if he could make it illegal to deny dessert. He said he’d discuss it with his spouse but most likely they’d agree to make it a law. The kid left, skipping in glee and Quirrel felt himself smiling. He mused a bit of a possible ‘kids only’ court session just so they all can hear whatever these kids could come up with. It would be a welcome break, maybe a holiday? He’ll talk to Ghost later about it.

However, for every reasonable bug, came three that was dumber than a bag of hammers.

“I propose a tax cut for my business because making gold plated luxury monocles are essential to society.”

“Those Deepnest beast-folk are poisoning our society and corrupting our children! I request that they be deported entirely!”

“I’d like to propose a debate on lowering the age of consent.” (Quirrel had that one hauled off by the guard for questioning).

“I want this book banned because the author argued against the noble class and it hurt my feelings.”

On and on, it steadily got worse as the more opulent members of society came out to air their ‘concerns’. He had started to just dismiss them when they came at him with ridiculous requests, only prompting them to start whining. And boy, could they whine. He could feel his antenna vibrate under his hood with the shrill pitch of entitlement. He did his best to be polite, to gently let these people down. But they just kept coming, and coming.

When the next noble asked for him to tear down the local children’s playground because he wanted to build a second business there, Quirrel snapped.

“ENOUGH!”

He stood up from his throne, staring down at the weevil before him.

“No, I will not tear down a source of enrichment and enjoyment for our citizen’s children to satisfy your selfish desires!”  Quirrel’s words were tense as he hissed them through clenched mandibles.

The weevil, that before was so bold, now cowered. Quirrel was someone who was rare to anger, that had a sense of calm and warmth that made most folks comfortable. But here, he had a dangerous aura about him, eyes glinting with chaos and the sense that he probably caused some destruction on purpose before. Here was a scientist, raised by Monomon the Teacher, a being known for her inability to take shit and being able to dish it back twice as bad. That was a terrible mix indeed.

Tiso and Cloth looked at each other, and then stepped back. Quirrel will let them know if he needs them, and they want to see what goes down.

“I want everyone, who’s court petition would only benefit themselves, to leave. This is not a place to fulfill your want for power and riches. This is a place to hear the concerns to the citizen and to help them with said concerns. This is a place for anyone, rich or poor, big or small, to bring awareness to how we, the court, can care for them.”

He glanced down at the weevil who was still cowering, and narrowed his eyes.

The weevil, had a smidgen of bravery to comment. “Okay, my liege, we can just come back later and ask Sov-”

“You will NOT, bother my spouse with your wretched and idiotic statements!” Oh, he was angry now. Children being told no asks another parent for a different answer, but not an adult. He could scarcely believe it. He has seen selfishness before, but not to this degree. “ESPECIALLY since you think you are above the happiness and joy of all the children in the city! And let me tell you, if you asked my spouse that question, you’d earn yourself a stint in the dungeon to rethink your priorities. They love children a hell of a lot more than arrogant pricks like you. Now get the hell out of my sight!”

The weevil booked it, a sizable portion of nobles scurrying after. It didn’t take long for the room to nearly clear out completely, leaving only a handful of bugs. As Quirrel took a deep breath to calm down, a spike of fear shot through his heart. He had lost his cool, here, in front of his subjects. Were they going to be afraid of him? Would they be afraid to come to court now and bring up legitimate problems?

He took a second look to see that most of them were in various fits of laughter.

He sighed in relief and slumped back in his throne.

Tiso leaned down to whisper “Nice one, nerd, I think you scared them off for a while.”

“Here’s hoping.” Quirrel sighed in return and rubbed his eyes. Once composed, he sat up again, and called the next petitioner to him with a smile.

“How can I help you, my friend?”

“Yeah um.” The ladybug looked back at the door where the group of nobles had fled. He recognized her to actually be one of the nobles that had stayed. “I propose a request to strip nobles of their titles should they prove that they do not have the best interests of the citizens in mind.”

Quirrel grinned. “You know what, that is a fine idea!”

---

Being a king was exhausting. Quirrel barely dragged himself up to his bedroom, the day had turned to night and finally, all the work was done. All he wanted to do was not have to think at all for the rest of the night. How the hell did Ghost manage this every day? Especially before when it was just them doing most of everything? Quirrel now had a better appreciation for what his spouse does, and is still determined to lighten their load and share the burden equally.

He barely made it in the room before he was snatched up by Ghost, who was instantly purring and nuzzling his face. “Ah! Ghost!” He couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a little better as the love of his spouse seeped into him. It was wonderful. “Hello to you too, my darling.”

Ghost chuffed and gave one last head bonk, and carried him to the still stable pillow fort. They crawled inside, dragging them within where a few lumaflies fluttered about to provide light. It was warm and cozy, and Quirrel sank into their arms with a sigh. Ghost snuggled up, making them comfortable in their little nest. “Today was...interesting.”

Ghost touched their mask to his and felt the quiet voice in the back of his head. “Yes. Tiso told me when his shift ended.”

Quirrel groaned. “Did he now?”

Ghost nuzzled him affectionately. “He told me you handled court splendidly.”

“I don’t know, I lost my cool. I should have been able to deal with it all like an adult, not by loosing my temper like a child.”

“Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.” Ghost leaned back, pulling Quirrel down with them so they can sink into the various pillows. “I am also sure you have just endeared yourself to our subjects doing that.”

“Are they always that bad?” He asked, sighing. He snuggled up to Ghost, who rested their head on his. “The nobles?”

“Yes. But that just gives us some...amusement.”

“Amusement? I felt like someone was digging into my brain with a pickaxe!”

“Think about it. The opportunity for pranks. Like how father and your mother took them out during the coronation ball. It was splendid.” They chirped softly in laughter. Quirrel couldn't help but smile at that. Indeed, that was absolutely hilarious. Especially when Oro punted those stuck nobles out of the door and sent them flying. He could deal with a bit of a headache here and there to see that sort of thing again.

“You know what?” He said, grabbing a blanket and pulling it up around the both of them. Ghost sighed sleepily and Quirrel knew he won’t be far behind.

“What?”

“I could get used to this.”

Ghost was both delighted, and terrified.

#hollow knight #fanfiction #terra lumina canon #ruler ghost #king quirrel #quirrel #ghost #quirrel/ghost #tiso #cloth #the new palace has no buzzsaws #ruler au #terra lumina #doctor prescribed pillow forts #yes hornet beats up quirrel everytime he's in deepnest #but to be fair he beats her up right back #herrah thinks it's great #hollow-kin #royalty au #my writing

[yeojaa]

up all night.

inspiration:  “i'm sorry I keep staring, but you're really the hottest thing i've ever seen in my entire life and i don't know what to do about it.”

i’ve never written for joon before so please don’t burn me at the stake! 🥺 this is dedicated to @sahmfanficbts and ty mucho to @salvejoon​ and @moonmintrails​ for reading through this for me 💖 part two will be forthcoming!  

pairing.  knj x f!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  mc is a recreational drug user (nothing hard!  just gummies!) and there’s mentions of like, boning and booze.  but generally, just a warm n soft fluff piece.  wc.  1.1k.

The neighbourhood bodega is your happy place.  

It’s where you go when you’ve had a long day at the office and want to drown yourself in six different types of Ben & Jerry’s, the likes of which it always has in stock and in all the flavours you want (Cherry Garcia, Half Baked, Peanut Butter Cup).  It’s where you go when you’re too lazy to make dinner and want to inhale a perfectly made, smooshed down deli sandwich piled high with all your favourite accoutrements.  It’s where you’ve cried quietly, standing in the snack section after a terrible breakup.  It’s also where you’ve, perhaps, spent too much money on beer after an impromptu decision to wake up with a pounding headache.

It’s somewhere that’s seen you grow up, from your shitty pre-teen days - when you’d had that godawful fringe and those ugly sneakers your parents had bought from the Super A Mart in Chinatown - all the way to now, with your slightly cuter shoes and significantly better hair.  It’s watched you grow as much as your family has, a figurative presence in your life that’s shaped you through the years.

It knew when your time of the month was and how much chocolate you ate when it came around.  It knew the sheepish way you’d scuff your toes when you were buying things you shouldn’t:  beer using a remarkably bad fake ID when you were fifteen, cigarettes during a brief stint during your first year of university, and condoms when all of your friends had started fucking like rabbits and you didn’t want to be left out.

All of that to say, your neighbourhood bodega knows you well and with that comes the uneasy acceptance that someone else - someone with a heartbeat and a brain and big imposing shoulders - knows you just as well, if not better.

Kim Namjoon.  Son of Mr. and Mrs. Kim, card-carrying pantydropper, and the guy you’d harboured a crush on for the better half of your adolescent years.

You weren’t really sure when it’d happened - just that it’d followed you from the tender age of thirteen when you’d first gotten flustered over his big dimpled cheeks and slow, tight-lipped smile.  It didn’t matter that he was four years older than you - now an astounding twenty-eight - or that he’d witnessed you embarrass yourself since you were old enough to stick your own foot in your mouth.  You simply couldn’t help it.

He was cute in a way that snuck up on you, that you didn’t need reminding of but that presented itself at the strangest times.  

Like when you’d be half-baked and stocking up on munchies, dressed in running shorts and an oversized tee shirt because you were too lazy to change into anything else.  He’d flash that goddamn smile of his as he rang you up, biting back laughter when he’d scan the fifth bag of Goldfish.

Or when he’d catch you huffing and puffing at absurd times, lungs heaving from having jogged all the way from Crown Heights station.  He never had to ask what you needed - would only silently pop the locked door back open and let you in to get whatever you seemed so desperate for.

You knew they weren’t the best impressions - little facets of your wayward personality presented like a whirling dervish - so you’d never thought more of it.  

After all, he was Kim Namjoon and you’d heard about all the ways he broke hearts.  Never on purpose, fortunately, but with increasing frequency since you’d started running in the (surprisingly) same circles.  He was as unattainable as the specialty imported chocolate on the top shelf of his parents’ bodega - always enticing but terribly out of reach.

Which is why you’re gaping at him now, a not-very attractive fish out of water.  

“What?”  You’re not sure whether it’s the fact that you’ve got one AirPod lodged in your ear, but you don’t trust what you’ve just heard.  It makes zero sense, like 400-level mathematical equations.  You were a political science major, for crying out loud.

When Namjoon responds - in that confident, measured way of his - you have to focus hard on the words.  “I asked if you wanted to get drinks with me.”  

Drinks.  With him.  With Kim Namjoon.  The Kim Namjoon.

You feel like your brain’s short circuiting and not just because of the THC gummy you’d taken right after work.

“You… want to get drinks?  With me?”  You know you must sound a little stupid - though you swear you’re not and you think, despite all signs pointing to it, Namjoon doesn’t believe so either.

He laughs as he bags up your purchases:  candied almonds, a bag of sour Skittles, chocolate milk, and three things of chips.  The sound keeps you occupied, wholly focused on the way it echoes out of that big cavernous chest of his and battles the lofi that’s playing in your ear.  You wonder how someone can be so effortlessly charming.  

It probably has something to do with your crush.

“Is that so hard to believe?”  He spares you the sympathy, instead offering a playfulness you’ve never seen up close and personal.  It feels nice - sun-warm and organic, like spending a day at the park.  

You decide in that moment - in your oversized boyfriend jeans and big sunglasses pushed up in your hair, with your absurd amount of goodies resting on the counter between you - that you want more of it.  You want more of Kim Namjoon, even if you’re unravelling his mysteries as you go.

“I guess not.”  

“So, drinks tonight then.  10 PM.  I’ll meet you at your place.”  There are no further questions - just statements that pop off his tongue and sink comfortably beneath your skin.  It feels good, if not a little strange.  You’re still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this is happening.

Your lips move before you have a chance to stop them, words tumbling out in a haste you attribute to your high but that seem more like nerves.  You hate that it makes you sound so uncertain because you know you’re funny and you sure as hell know you’re cute, but it feels like you’re a little leaguer facing off against Jose Canseco.  “Can I ask why?”

He shrugs - an impressive roll of his shoulders beneath the plain white cotton that hugs him in all the right places and makes his skin glow honey gold against it.  “You're really just the hottest thing I've ever seen in my entire life and I know I’ll hate myself if I don’t do something about it.”

You thank your lucky stars for the Kim’s bodega then.  You promise you’ll never visit another one for the rest of your life.

#heartsforbts #cypherwritersnet #ficswithluv #magicshopnet #networkbangtan #thebtswritersclub #bts #bts au #bts imagines #bts imagine #bts drabble #bts crack #bts fluff #kim namjoon #rm #namjoon #namjoon fic #namjoon fluff #namjoon imagine #namjoon imagines #namjoon scenarios #namjoon au #namjoon drabble #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x oc #work.zip #drabble.zip #allnight.doc #rm.doc

[samwrights]

Pining After You [hc]

Just some Haikyuu!! head cannons about my favorites pining after the object of their affection—you. I’m gonna limit myself to only one Seijoh 3rd year >_> instead, I’m just gonna make Makki’s super long bc love.

I might turn these into one shots. I’m planning a special series to be released for the entire month of May—let me know what you guys think!

Hanamaki;

Ya know, with my last head cannon, I had such a hard time writing for Makki and now that’s all I wanna do.

Cause THIS BOI is too easy-going, too cool, to ever be blunt and up front about his feelings for you. He can’t ruin his image by stumbling over a confession.

Definitely has been in love with you since your guys’ first year—all thanks to your laugh.

Every time he hears you, even if said laugh is occasionally broken with a gentle, genuine snort, Makki feels every single electrical pulse being sent into his nerve endings.

It was a huge part of the reason that he had started owning the class clown trope, cracking jokes with his peers and even the teachers even though that definitely was not kosher. But his almost dry, sarcastic sense of humor always seemed to be rewarded with the angelic gift that was your laughter.

But he doesn’t know how to talk to you. At all.

He tries really hard not to stare at you, or at least tries not to make it super obvious and fails considering you sit on the opposite ends of the classroom

Makki always has lunch in Mattun’s classroom just so he can freely talk about something you did in class that made him laugh or smile, even if it was something stupid like you dropped your pencil or you raised your hand to answer a question.

In your third year, Mattsun is tIRED of it all.

“Just go fucking confess your feelings, I swear to gOD, or I’ll tell her.”

“Dude no, I can’t she’s way outta my league.”

Did I mention Mattsun is over it? So over it that one day, instead of waiting for his best friend to come to his classroom for lunch, he decides to pay yours a visit.

Makki’s freaking out because the fCK was Mattsun walking over to your desk?!

“She’s coming to our tournament this weekend, so bring your A game.” Was all he said before leaving the poor wing spiker to drown in the blood rising up his neck.

You weren’t friends with anyone on the VBC, but you did actually end up at the tournament with a few friends.

Exhilarating was the only way to describe it, up until Seijoh’s loss to Karasuno.

After the team thanked the spectators for watching, you noticed all the third years crying, signifying the end of their careers.

“Thank you for inviting me to watch, Matsukawa. It was really fun.” You said politely, approaching them afterwards.

Mattsun shoves his best friend towards you, “actually, he wanted to invite you. He just didn’t know how.”

Makki.exe has stopped working. He’s too busy spluttering because he literally has no idea what to say to you now. Cool boy? Not even close.

“I’ve actually wanted to come to one of your matches for awhile. I just thought it was weird because I’m not friends with any of you.”

Oh. O H.

“Y-you could’ve asked me...”

“I was hoping you’d ask me. Why do you think I always laugh at your jokes, Hanamaki?”

“Wait, does that mean you don’t think I’m actually funny?” 💀💀💀 Rip.

“I do. You’re funny, talented, handsome, and I’ve liked you since first year.”

Makki.exe has stopped working.

Akaashi;

Akaashi has studied everything he could about you without ever having actually interacted with you.

He knew you were in Bokuto’s class, he knew your name, and that the two of you interacted often, but never outside of the classroom.

He knew that you always carried your school bag over your left shoulder, and tucked your hair behind your right ear when you felt it was in your face.

Your energy somehow matched his best friend’s while simultaneously calming the owl captain like a gentle wave. You reminded Akaashi of the sun rising over the ocean.

Bokuto, oblivious to nearly everything, never realized that his best friend’s calculations went beyond analyzing the ace. One small section of his brain was dedicated to your ass.

Really, there wasn’t anything extraordinary about you, or at least that’s how you felt about yourself. But every time Akaashi swung by Bokuto’s class to walk with him to practice, his eyes were immediately drawn to you for .067 seconds before he’d look away, so as not to make you feel uncomfortable.

Once in a while, Bokuto would let small details about you slip, like how you were in the art club and that you had a showcase coming up displaying the portfolio you had built over the last three years.

He definitely didn’t ditch practice to be there for your showcase.

Showing up to the venue where the showcase was being held, he suddenly felt very under dressed seeing other third years and teachers adorning formal attire while he showed up in black jeans and a grey button up.

Wandering around the venue, Akaashi looked for you or your artwork, his breath held in his lungs when he saw the arsenal of works displayed on large black boards with your name written elegantly at the very top. Made with various mediums, he was stunned by different paintings and drawings of surreal, exquisite landscapes that could not possibly exist.

Then again, he didn’t think you were real either.

One particular painting invoked a strange emotion in him—a large, desecrated shipwreck amongst of field of bright flowers with the sun setting in the back. Titled “Crack The Sky”, the piece emanated joy and grief in one. It was almost as stunning as you were.

“This one’s my favorite.” You announced sheepishly from beside him and he realized he had never heard your voice before. The setter turned to look at you, drinking in your appearance up close for the first time. “You’re Bokuto’s friend, aren’t you? Akaashi?”

He was kinda hurt to hear you mention Bokuto for reasons unknown to himself jealous much?

“Yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” He bows slightly, remember that no matter how infatuated he was with you, you were still his senpai.

He began walking with you as you explained the creation process of your different pieces. Not that he was actually paying attention, though he’d never admit that. He just liked hearing you talk and he would definitely never admit that.

You excuse yourself as your phone rings, though you don’t walk away, allowing him to hear your end of the conversation. “Yep, he’s here. I owe you dinner. You wanna talk to him?” Akaashi cocks a brow in your direction, staring at your cellphone that you’ve now held over to him. Bokuto’s name flashed on the screen.

“Uh, hi?” The setter asked, confused.

“I made a bet with her that you would ditch practice to go to her showcase because yOu LoVe HeR.”

Aight, imma head out.

Before he could run away out of embarrassment, you grabbed his wrist though you were still on the phone with Bokuto.

“Would you like to join us for dinner? Seems kinda unfair for him to get dinner when you’re the one who made the effort to be here.”

Akaashi graciously accepts to which you respond by telling Bokuto where you would meet him for the evening.

“So you love me, huh?” 💀💀💀 If Akaashi could magically disappear, he would. Or even better, if his blush ran hot enough to melt the skin off his face, that’d be great too.

But you never let go of his wrist until now, opting to wrap an arm around his instead.

“I like you too. Why do you think Bokuto and I made a bet about you coming here, silly?”

Kenma;

Poor Kenma. The worst part of his whole situation was actually being friends with you, knowing he would never get to have you.

Why would you want him, anyway? You were more fit for someone like Kuroo—someone who was as boisterous and confident as you were. He anticipated the day you two announced your relationship and left him behind in your little trio.

Not even Kuroo knew that he was in love with you and maybe that was a mistake on his part but he could never tell his best friend that you were his entire world. It was too embarrassing for him.

It took entirely too much energy to even sort through his feelings alone, how much more exhausting would it be for him to run through every single thing he felt about you to someone else?

Like the way you would nearly skip out your home every morning when the boys came to fetch you to walk to school together.

Or the way you unabashedly asked almost too personal of questions, or questions that were just soooo left field of you were friends with a person. “Hey Kuroo, how many brushes do you think you would break if you finally decided to brush your hair after 17 years?” Was one of Kenma’s favorites.

The way you sing along to every song that plays on your iPod or even the radio, even if you didn’t know the song, you would try to sing along anyway.

Some days, Kenma would look out the window and see you practicing some form of a dance routine in your backyard. He would watch you for hours until you went inside, suddenly feeling shame for being so creepy.

Nearly every night, Kenma just wished he could turn his feelings off while simultaneously wishing you were next to him so he could hold you while he slept.

Your smile was his favorite. Seeing you smile every morning as the three of you walked to school together was what got him through his day. “Hey, hey are you guys coming to my dance competition tomorrow?” You asked in your typical, jovial lilt.

“Of course.” Was all he was able to reply, while Kuroo enthusiastically responded about their attendance.

“Great! I can’t wait to see you guys in the crowd!”

The “C” word, was almost enough to make Kenna regret his decision to come. Even more so when he was surrounded by the masses, all waiting to watch their respective dance teams. But it was for you, and he would do anything for you.

Kuroo was right beside him, a small bouquet of roses in his hand to give to you after you competed. The blood red flowers made Kenna glower and glare in secret, or as secretive as he could be. “I got these for you.” The captain says quietly, handing them over to his best friend.

“Sorry, Kuroo, I can’t say I return your feelings—“

“For you to give to her, you idiot.” 🤡🤡🤡 “I’m not that dumb, Kenma.” The setter really wanted to argue and say that he was, but your school’s dance team was up to perform so he opted to stay quiet.

Have I mentioned that Kenma loves watching you dance? There was a reason he would watch you practice in your backyard. You moved with elegance and grace that was foreign and so opposite to his own demeanor, it was no wonder he was always so captivated by you.

After you compete, there’s a bit of downtime between the other competitors and the awards ceremony, giving you the chance to hang out with your besties.

“These are for you.” The second year says quietly, handing you the bouquet with a blush dusting over his cheeks. The red rivaled that of the roses.

“Aw, thank you, Kenma!” You squeaked out before giving him a kiss on the cheek, his skin burning even hotter. Kuroo’s just over there laughing but ya know.

During the awards ceremony, you’re sitting in a circle with your team not too far from your friends while they announced that Nekoma had taken first. Everyone in the dance troupe began screaming and hugging each other, while you ran straight to your boys.

While still jumping, you were hugging Kuroo so tight, arms squeezing around his neck while sharing the joy. Which made Kenma just a little bit jealous.

Just a little.

Until you’ve settled down from your jumping before wrapping your arms his neck as well. But rather than going for a hug—

Wait what is hAPOENING

You brought your lips to his briefly before burying your face into his neck out of embarrassment because wHY you had thought that was a good idea was beyond you.

Deciding you couldn’t just keep holding onto him, because he was probably embarrassed too, you stepped away, ready to run back to your team. But Kenma didn’t let go, his arms seated securely at your hips as he stared at you.

“I-I’m sorry, I-I don’t know w-w—“

“I love you.”

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[jeogiyall]

To The Beat; P.SH

Word count; 12.1k (i have absolutely no self control)

Genre; Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Seonghwa x Reader, Marching Band! AU

Additional; Featured Ateez, Entirely Self Indulgent, Flute Player! Reader

Warnings; Mentioned Sex, Swearing, Suggestive

A/N; so this is one of the more embarrassing things i’ve written,,, we’re just not gonna talk about the fact that i’m both a band kid and a kpop stan!! i’d also like to say that it is based entirely off of my experience with band! yes, we are poor, yes the kids are actually this mean, and yes they are this horny! the bus incident actually happened at my school y’all! band kids r a mess bye- also if u want to know more about marching band please ask me! i love to talk about it!

There were few things that you wanted more than this. Maybe a boyfriend in middle school, or first chair, but looking back even those pale in comparison. The want of those is pathetic compared to how badly you wanted to be woodwind captain your senior year. After being section leader for the flutes you were sure that it would end up how it was meant to, but sometimes even things that aren’t supposed to happen do. Like freshman year when the pit captain got his mallets stuck in the bell of a tuba, or when your newly appointed drum major (Kim Hongjoong, best friend since freshman year and previous woodwind captain/saxophone section leader,) cried on the field after stepping on a moth. Some things just end up wrong.

But here you are, sitting in the cafeteria of your school surrounded by the people you decided to spend all of high school with and feeling as full as ever. Your director's voice boomed, “(Y/n) (L/n,) woodwind captain,’ and you thought that no four words had ever sounded so perfect together. You stood quickly, legs carrying you to the front of the crowded space. People were clapping, as they do every year, but this time it was for you. For your hard work, and dedication, and everything that you’ve put into this program for the past three years. You cast a smile to your band director, heart soaring incredibly high that you don’t think it’ll ever come down.

“Congratulations.” She whispers while giving you a firm handshake. You murmur thank you before taking your place beside Hongjoong.

“We made it.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, using his free hand to pinch your bicep. You smile even wider, something that probably shouldn’t be possible, and open your mouth to respond. 

“Park Seonghwa, brass captain.” The words coming from your band directors mouth erases any thoughts from your head. He stands from his seat in the back of the cafeteria, face taking on a smug smile. You want to kick him. Instead you stand taller, spine pulled so straight that it could crack.

People clap still, but instead of responding gratefully he smirks (Seonghwa is always smirking or grimacing. You’re not sure which you hate more.) Hongjoong turns to you wearing an expression of annoyance. Normally, you would comfort the boy and tell him that it’s whatever. Tell him ‘Who cares about Seonghwa? We’re going to be so good at our jobs that he won’t even exist.’ But he will exist. He will exist, and you care.

“Looking forward you working with you.” He says lowly while extending a hand to you. If it weren’t for your band director watching you would’ve spit on him.

“Likewise.” You respond coldly, taking his hand into yours. The skin is obnoxiously soft, no doubt from his habit of never doing anything.

After a long winded speech from your director, you and Hongjoong return to the table where your friends are. Everyone wears a grimace.

“Does he have to be brass captain?” San complains before pouting his lower lip. If he weren’t obnoxiously drumming his fingers on the table you’d find it cute.

“Why does it matter to you? You're the drumline captain, you don't have to interact with him!” He pouts even more, shoulders shrugging into his ears.

“I’m just like... Sorry for you and Hongjoong.” You sigh at the words while relaxing against your chair. It’s easier said than done, seeing as the chair is far too small and made of cheap plastic.

“Me too, but I’m trying to not count him out. No one succeeds when everyone thinks that they’ll fail, even self righteous assholes.” San snorts, then returns to exchanging banter with Yeosang. You, however, are not as lucky.

Brass and woodwind captains are the people in band who have to work together the most, everyone knows that. Everyone also knows that you and Seonghwa do not get along, a fact that was solidified when he made you take four props to the field by yourself during a competition. He dropped your flute on the way to the field, and caused you to arrive on the field almost two minutes late by refusing to help. You earned a nice time penalty and got yelled at by the director, ever since you and the boy have fought like it was a war.

But maybe this season would be okay. He said he was looking forward to working with you, and he’s not a liar. He might be rude, arrogant, and full of himself. But he’s not a liar, if Seonghwa says something he means it. And sticks to it.

So maybe this won’t be so terrible.

*

Being wrong was hands down your least favorite thing. It was something so rare that you didn’t really have to worry about, but this marching band season seemed to be all about being wrong. Well all about being wrong, and Seonghwa.

The first day of band camp he scolded Jongho, your only flute freshman, for not bringing water. The poor boy looked like he was about to pass out and all Seonghwa could do was tell him to bring some tomorrow. You took him out during lunch break and apologized for your fellow leaders tone deaf behavior. 

But the second week of band camp was when he really started to get under your skin. It was the groups first time marching while playing, and fifth time running a lap for the night. As everyone settled back into place and brought up their instruments Seonghwa mumbled under his breath ‘Maybe if the woodwinds knew their damn music,’ then cut you a painfully pointed glare. No matter how much your brain tried to write the comment off as tired frustration, there was no denying that you wanted to punch him in the jaw. It would probably break him, you’re not sure that you cared.. 

And of course, there’s now. Band camp is over, and now you’re two weeks out from the first competition. Around this time last year was when Hongjoong started up woodwinds sectionals, so you figured you’d do the same. Why try to fix something that isn’t broken and all of that. Unfortunately Seonghwa had the same idea, seeing as he’s standing in front of you and clapping his hands harshly while the block messily executes a visual from your opener.

“Reset,” He barks, hands wiping sweat away from his forehead, “that was messy. We don’t do messy. Let’s go again.” It’s almost scary how regimented he is. Like for a minute you forget that he’s Park Seonghwa of your graduating class, and instead he’s the person that decides whether or not you’re allowed to breathe.

“Seonghwa!” You chirp, trying desperately to keep annoyance from seeping into the lines of your voice, “When will you guys be done? Just wondering, it’ our first sectional today so-”

“First? This is our fourth.” His voice is painstakingly polite, but there’s a smirk spreading across his face and you want to hit him until it hurts. Your teeth bite on the inside of your cheek, which is still pushed up into a smile.

“Yea, first. I just wanted to gauge everyone’s skill set-” you don’t owe him an explanation, you don’t owe him an explanation, “When will you be done?” One of his perfectly shaped brows raises, pink tongue darting to the corner of his mouth. His eyes quickly flick to his block, who are standing still as statues, then back to you.

“We’re staying until rehearsal tonight, you guys can have the gym.” The tone of his voice is back to normal, more commonly known as cold and infuriating. Hatred boils in your gut as you uphold a smile.

“But the gym doesn’t have yard lines. We need yard lines to practice marching, and since you guys seem to be just doing visuals you don’t really need them. I’m sure it would make everyone else happy too.” If looks could kill you’d be dead. Or whatever’s worse than dead, because he’s looking at you as though you’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to strangle him.

“Let me get one thing clear, I do not fucking care what would make everyone else happy. I care about doing my job properly, as you should. If you wanted the field then you should’ve started sectionals earlier, so go to the gym or cancel your sectional. I don’t care, just get off.” You’re left fuming and ready to burst at the seams as he returns the block of brass. 

Later that day you talk to your band director about implementing a sectionals schedule. Something that would be made at the beginning of every week by captains and section leaders then posted in the instrument room. Something that would prevent today from ever happening again, but of course you don’t tell her that.

“That’s a wonderful idea, (y/n!) No one has ever suggested something like that before, nice job!” She smiles approvingly over her desk, hands typing fervently on her keyboard. You thank her, then duck out of the room. It feels wrong to accept her praise when the only reason for it is to piss off Seonghwa.

*

He’s here. It’s your scheduled time to have the field, 3:00 pm on Tuesday, and Seonghwa is here. Seonghwa is here, standing on the front sideline and looking at your group as though you interrupted him.  

“What are you doing?” You demand while stomping up to where he’s leading stretches, “You know I scheduled my sectional for today, you’re in the group chat.” He pulls his right arm across his chest, definitely flexing on purpose. 

“We’ve been having sectionals at this time for three weeks now, I’m not planning on changing it.” If it weren’t for four years of constant arguing you’d think he’s being polite. Everything from the relaxed facial features to his calm voice, but you know that this is always how it starts. A polite tone, quickly turned into sneers and words that taste like poison.

“Well plan on it.” You spit, stepping closer to the boy. He’s surprised by your boldness, so much so that he drops the stretch, “You’re not above the rules, adhere to the schedule and stop being an ass.” His shocked eyes morph into slants, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey.

“I may not be above the rules, but that doesn’t mean that you are the rules.” And there it is, the devilish quirk of his lips. It’s so blood boiling that you think he could be struck down by lightning and you would celebrate

“Oh you piece of-”

“Hey!” He shouts towards the bleachers, where the entire winds section is gathered. The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn’t even notice them leaving, “Did I say that you could leave block?” A bead of sweat rolls down the hollow of his throat, which is definitely not what you focus on as the brass scramble back into place.

“Seonghwa, I’m using the entire field. I’m the person scheduled, so you either have to stay on the front sideline or you have to leave.” He chuckles lowly, then turns to face you. His tongue smooths over the corner of his mouth again, you want to scream.

“I don’t take orders from you-”

“How about we just do the sectional together?” The low brass section leader, Mingi, offers quietly from his corner spot at the back of the block. He’s leaning one elbow on his contra, which is on the ground bell first, and trying desperately to hide his face behind his own hand. All that he manages to hide is his right eye, but it’s certainly an a for effort.

“No.” Seonghwa answers as soon as you sigh, ‘fine.’ His eyes shoot up to meet yours, finally filled with something other than anger or disgust, “Really?” An eyebrow quirks up so hard that it might as well grow into his hairline.

“Well if you’re not going to leave! I have things to get done and you’ve now cut into my sectionals time twice! So if sharing the field is what I have to do to get shit done then fine.” He stares at you in a way that makes you feel small, then shrugs. 

“Fine, get into a block on the back hash.” You’re about to tell the woodwinds to stretch, but when you face the dented bleachers they’re all sitting in a circle with outstretched legs, exchanging laughter and smiles. Whatever Seonghwa took hold of in your stomach releases as your heart swells with pride.

“Woodies!” You call, smile spreading as everyone's eyes shoot up to meet yours, “Join the block!” 

They shout back, “Yes mam!” Which makes you feel painfully old, and painfully happy.

*

The sectional went fine. Well, as fine as it could seeing as two people who nearly killed each other twenty minutes prior lead it. 

“You were bad ass, (y/n!)” Resident bari sax, Yeosang laughs, “I really thought that fire was about to shoot out of your eyes.” 

“I thought fire was about to shoot out of his eyes!” Yunho, the clarinet section leader, adds, “And you just stood there like ‘yea asshole, set me on fire! I can take it!’ No guys, I’m being serious-” All of the previous laughter from your boys halts as Seonghwa enters the room, steely eyes settling on your cluster of woodwinds. His eyes stay there, though you can’t blame him. If two sweaty teenage boys were staring at you like they’d been caught doing something wrong, you would stare back too.

“What?” He asks, the word so sharp that it could cut. Yeosang shakes his head while Yunho finishes putting his instrument away. The latter mumbles something about waiting for you in his car, to which you nod curtly. 

“Okay, well... I’m gonna go.” Yeosang drawls, leaving the instrument room with the bari sax around his neck. You laugh to yourself at the sight of him waddling away, then return to what you’re supposed to be doing.

“You know, whoever holds a sectional is supposed to sweep the instrument room afterwards.” You exhale while moving to retrieve the broom from it’s corner.

“Oh, like you were just now?” He quips, hands moving deftly against his metal padlock. He doesn’t even need a padlock, the band director locks the instrument room door after everyone leaves. It’s just something else that he has to be annoying.

“Maybe it would go faster if you would help me, seeing as you held a sectional too.” They’re normal words, but your throat physically chokes on each syllable. The boy drops his lock, eyes narrowing as they come in contact with you.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t take orders from you?” He takes a step closer, until his crossed arms are brushing against your knuckles. His skin is soft, almost like he waxes. It makes your head pound.

“I guess until I stop asking you to do your job, and not just the part of it that gets you praised.” You continue sweeping, trying desperately to get away from the boy. But of course he picks up on it and follows you.

“I do my job perfectly fine, thank you very much.” You scoff loudly, chin tilting up so that you’re eye to eye with the boy. He smirks.

“Clearly, you don’t.” The tip of his nose brushes yours, then his lips are crashing into you. His lips are crashing into you, and you kind of like it.

It’s an aggressive motion, filled with him gripping onto the collar of your workout shirt and you dropping the broom. The part of you with a brain thinks that you shouldn’t kiss him back, seeing as you hate him and what not, but then he bites your bottom lip and there’s no hope. Anyone would melt at that sensation.

And melt you do, body going limp as he pushes you against the closest wall. You bring up a hand to trace the hollow of his throat, copying the trail of his sweat from earlier. His moan vibrates against your palm and it’s all that you can do to not die right then and there. Pressed against the instrument room wall, in the arms of the boy that you hate.

“What were you saying?” He growls into your ear while pulling you in by the waist. If you were anyone else you’d moan something incoherent and let him keep kissing you with lips that feel like pillows. But you are not anyone else, you are (Y/n.) (Y/n) who is stubborn to a fault.

“That you’re an asshole, who sucks at your job.” He smiles down at you, eyes filled with a certain kind of thunder. A hand wraps around the back of your neck, then slams your mouth onto his. Hot breath hits your cheek as kisses you senseless. As you let him kiss you senseless. He tastes like coconut lip balm. 

“Wrong answer.” The boy exhales before attaching his lips to your jaw. You’re about to argue with him, because you just don’t know what’s good for you, but then your phone starts ringing. Probably Yunho telling you that he needs to get home. You need to as well, but it’s impossible to think about that when Seonghwa is devouring every part of you as if he’s been paid to do so.

“Seonghwa,” You start, but it sounds far too much like a moan so you have to clear your throat before continuing, “Seonghwa! I have to go.” He doesn’t let up, tongue running against the spot where your jaw pokes out.

“I’ll take you home.” His voice comes out rough, like if your hands ran over it they’d come back scraped. It’s almost enough to make you stay, but then there’s the idea of having to tell Yunho that Park Seonghwa is taking you home. That you were making out with Park Seonghwa, and it was so good that you didn’t want to leave so he offered to take you home. The thought of your friends reaction is enough to turn you off.

“No, Seonghwa, I have to go.” You pull his head off of your neck, running one hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It’s sweaty, but doesn’t smell bad which is just infuriating, “Um... Do this again?” He smiles, but this time is a little different. His lips are still in a wicked curve, but his dark eyes have sparkles now. You almost think that he’s going to say something nice.

“You wish.” You want to tell him that he’s right, you do wish. Instead you sigh, push his body away, collect your bag, and leave with his gaze hot on your trail.

*

Seonghwa is still the thought that keeps you up at night with boiling blood. Everything from his evil smirk to the way his eyes always look unbelievably disapproving of everything. He’s infuriating in a way that evades words.

But there’s also other things to keep you up. Like the thought of his soft honey skin touching yours, or the way his throat feels vibrating against your palm. There’s him pushing you against the instrument room wall, but there’s also him yelling at you in front of the entire winds section. The line is slowly starting to blur and you’re not sure whether or not you like it. You are sure of two things, though. You’re sure that when you fall asleep all you can dream about is Seonghwas coconut flavored lips on your skin, softly whispering affirmations of hatred.

And that sometimes, things that aren’t supposed to happen do.

*

Before this season there were few things that you loved more than marching band. Maybe cookie dough ice cream, or speeding through downtown in the passenger seat of Yunhos mom van while Hongjoong and San yelled song lyrics from the backseat. Those were both good things, and the only things that even came close.

But then there’s now. There’s you and Seonghwa getting drunk off of each other while crammed into your school's equipment closet. There’s his soft hands pushing you onto the counter, his sweet lips growling crude words into your ear. There’s him kissing you, and then there’s something else that comes close to marching band.

*

Ever since freshman year your favorite feeling has been the one that you get after rehearsal. The feeling when your instrument comes off your face and pride swells all the way up to your cheeks. When San breaks from his final set next to you and offers up a childish grin, always accompanied by a high five and the words ‘Nice run, captain.’ 

Tonight doesn’t feel like that, tonight feels like your stomach is in the throat. Like the world is tilting and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Nice run captain!” San shouts, yet the words sound so far away. You nod slowly, high-fiving his outstretched hand while your free hand wraps around your own waist, “(Y/n?) Are you okay.” It’s all you can do to flash a thumbs up before falling to the pavement. Everything goes black for three minutes, but when yours eyes slowly open you can hear San curse. That, and also the entire band crowding around you.

You can still hear snippets of what they’re saying, but the thought of responding or comprehending is so exhausting that it could make you pass out all over again. Someone yells to give you space, a small part of you hopes that it’s Seonghwa.

For the record, it is Seonghwa. Seonghwa with furrowed eyebrows and frowning lips. His next words are to San, “Why didn’t you catch her?” 

“I have a drum strapped to my body!” The taller boy shakes his head, setting down his freshly polished instrument and crouching next to your limp body. If you were more coherent you would’ve moved away. Or loved it. You would’ve moved away or loved it.

“(Y/n,) can you hear-”

“Hongjoong, (Y/n) died!” Wooyoung shrieks from across the field, causing actually everyone to flock to you. 

“She didn’t die idiot, just passed out.” Yeosang responds while rushing to help Hongjoong off of his podium. The boy tries to jump the last three steps, which ends just as well as one could imagine. Everyone’s too busy staring at you to even notice.

“I told her that she should’ve eaten lunch!” Your drum major chides, “(Y/n!) (Y/n,) can you hear me?” He’s kneeling down next to you, sandy blonde hair tickling the tip of Seonghwas nose. You don’t even know why Seonghwa is still here, but a small part of you likes that he is. Almost like you two are more than boiling hatred and stolen kisses.

You hold a thumbs up to your friend, it takes every single ounce of your strength. Of all the reactions that you get, Seonghwa sighing in relief is the most satisfying.

“Told you she’s not dead.” Yeosang mutters from where he’s standing over you. Wooyoung sticks his tongue out to the boy, you almost want to laugh at their antics.

“Okay, Yunho is taking care of your field mics and prop. Do you think that you can walk by yourself?” You frown while turning your thumbs up into a hard thumbs down, eliciting a chuckle from your sweet friend. Seonghwa doesn’t laugh though, eyebrows still harshly furrowed while he stares down at your frail body.

“I’ll help her down to the band room.” He offers, causing Honjoongs eyes to go as wide as quarters. Along with Yeosangs, Wooyoungs, Junghos- pretty much anyone who knows anything about either of you, “I-I just don’t have a field job, and I can get Mingi to take my stuff down for me. She needs to get off the field soon, it’s slowing down the clean up.” Hongjoongs eyebrows clench slightly, but he eventually shrugs. You don't know whether to be grateful or to fight him.

But none of those thoughts are in your head as the tall boy scoops you up in his arms bridal style. His usually soft skin is tacky with sweat, yet he smells like fresh pine and spices. You think that it’s not fair that he smells good after a three hour rehearsal.

The last thing that you hear before dozing off against his chest is “You’re an idiot.” It’s whispered into your ear in a tone that almost makes you think that he’s being sweet.

The next time that your eyes open Seonghwa  is propping your body up on the counter in the equipment closet. Something in your chest burns bright red at the memory of what the two of you were doing here after last rehearsal. It consisted of your hair in between his fingers, and bright purple hickeys blossoming on his neck. Now he’s forcing a huge water bottle into your face while trying desperately to hold you up by your shoulder. Considerably less sexy, to say the least. 

“Drink.” He says curtly while handing the see through bottle to you. You accept with a shaky nod, then drink the water like you’ve been in the desert for the past fifteen years. It takes a minute before he manages to pry it away, “Hey! Not too fast you’ll get sick, and stop chewing on my straw!” A dry laugh escapes your lips, head tilting back ever so slightly. You don’t see the way that Seonghwas eyes trail on the hollow of your throat with a gaze so intense that it threatens to burn. 

“Why’d you offer to bring me up?” You croak while reaching for his water bottle once again. He relents with a sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“No reason, just didn’t want you blocking up the clean up. Everyone was so focused on you that nothing was getting done.” His voice is flat, holding no traces of emotion, but you know that there’s something more. There was a reason that he was the first person to fall to his knees next to you. A reason that he scolded San for not catching you, “Don’t overthink things, (Y/n.) And stop chewing on my straw!” He snatched the water bottle away from you once again, causing both of you to laugh softly. 

“Sorry.” You sigh, body relaxing as his soft hand comes to rest against your jaw. It’s a gentle touch, something so foreign in this relationship that you’ve created with your fellow captain, “About your straw, not the overthinking. Not that I was overthinking.” He exhales a short laugh at your witty remark, a signature smirk tugging gently at his lips, “Come on Hwa, just admit that you like me.” He leans in closely to you, hot breath fanning against the place where your neck and jaw meet. 

“Okay,” He exhales, mouth dangerously wet and sweet, “I like you.” The words ricochet against the shell of your ear, teeth tugging against the skin where they’ve imprinted. It feels so good that you could collapse. He pulls away slightly and presses a tender kiss to your temple. You think that while you like when he throws you against a wall and kisses your lips numb, he’s good like this too, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still hate you.”

And then he leaves you in the musty equipment closet, with nothing except for his water bottle and your burning hot cheeks for company.

*

It happens like this; forty minutes after everyone’s finished clearing off the field. You were putting your flute away into your assigned locker when Seonghwa barged in grumbling about something that you couldn’t understand, then pushed you harshly against the lockers.

“Hwa, wait! I still have my flute, I can’t drop it!” He bounced back at your exclamation, head hanging cutely as he let you finish.

“My bad.” He muttered while reaching into his pants pocket to apply coconut chapstick. The part of you that hated him wanted to gag, but the part of you that kind-of-sort-of-maybe liked him was excited to kiss the taste off. You shut the locker door with a loud slam, then turned on your heel once again to face the tall boy, “Okay?” He questioned with a quirked eyebrow. You nodded eagerly, hands screwing into the collar of his cotton t-shirt.

“Okay.” Then his lips were crashing harshly into yours, hands touching your body with a fever that can’t be measured. You all but collapsed beneath the sensations, “Your diagonal at the end is shit.” He whispers against your needy lips. Instead of responding, you tightly pull on his hair. It’s as if to say ‘Fuck you just follow the form.’ His low groan is a simple answer, ‘Absolutely not.’  

He’s just starting to do that thing that you really like, the thing where he pulls you as close as humanly possible by your waist and the nape of your neck, when a high pitched scream erupts from the instrument room door. Even though it sounds like one of the freshman girls, you both know that it’s Wooyoung without even having to look. 

“Shit!” Seonghwa curses, hands detaching from you so fast that your back collides with the lockers, “Oh gosh, (Y/n) are you-”

“Can’t talk, gotta run see you tomorrow!” You rush in one breath, dashing out of the door and into the band room. Wooyoung is about to walk out of the exit and into the parking lot, the parking lot where Yunho and Yeosang are waiting for you, “Woo, wait up!” You pant, stopping him right at the exit ramp.

“Do you guys do that after every rehearsal?” He questions, eyes blown wide as saucers, “Oh no, is that why we all leave so late? Ew, gosh, gross, gross, gross! That was so gross, like actually the grossest making out I’ve ever seen! It was so weird and hateful, a-and... And weird! I would’ve rather walked in on you guys fucking- nope take that back, I would not have liked to walk in on that. Wait, have you guys-”

“No!” You shout, hands coming to clamp on the frantic boys shoulders. Your eyes check the room while you lower your voice before continuing, “We’ve never done that, it’s just kissing. Weird, hateful, kissing.” He nods, face still twisted up in disgust.

“Why would you do that to yourself? Like, he’s kind of a dick to you.” You sigh heavily and bring up a hand to wipe the lines off of your forehead.

“Yea, but he’s also sweet sometimes. Not to mention like, really good at kissing-” Wooyoung gags dramatically at your answer, you think that if you weren’t so panicked that it would be funny, “Look, just please don’t tell anyone. Especially not my friends, I think that this is supposed to be like... A secret thing? I just want it to stay a thing, and I just know that they’d lose their shit...” You trail off, words turning into nothing but indecipherable noises and flailing hands.

“Why does he want to keep it secret?” Wooyoung asks with an uncharacteristically soft voice. It’s a question that’s been nagging in the back of your mind since last week in the equipment closet, when he softly whispered the affirmation against your sweaty skin, “You’re obviously into each other, so why?” You don’t answer, opting instead to bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you think it might start to bleed, “Maybe ask him about that before you worry about your friends.”

*

It’s late after your thursday rehearsal. You’re pressed flush against the door to the equipment closet, Seonghwas plush lips hot on your throat, when silent tears start to fall down your cheeks. For a moment they remain silent, mixing in perfectly with the whimpers you were letting out just moments ago. But then it hurts too bad to hold in, and you let out a loud sob.

“Jeez, it can’t feel that good.” The boy teases, face falling harshly when he sees tears mixing with your post-rehearsal sweat, “Oh no, oh gosh, was I too mean? I didn’t mean it, you’re really good at marching!  Like-” You wave him away, not wanting to be doted on. While you and Seonghwa have definitely gotten... Closer over the past two weeks, this is certainly overstepping. More than that, it’s like barreling past the line and leaving everything around it crushed.

“It’s not that,” You respond, hands releasing from the fabric of his shirt (a black tank top that perfectly highlights his toned arms.) He wants to tell you that they could stay there, that they could stay wherever you want. So long as it makes you stop crying, “It’s... I don’t know what it is.” The words are flat, clearly a lie. You don’t want to tell him why you’re actually crying, that you think some part of you has actually started to like him. But not just like him as a friend, as someone that you wouldn’t mind spending a day with. More like, someone that you fall asleep to. Someone that could kiss you for days and it would never bore you.

“I, uh, I don’t know-” He doesn’t know what to do, which is painfully clear. You don’t particularly mind that he doesn’t know, just that he’s here. Here for you to hold if you need to. Until he also starts crying, that is, “why are you-”

“Shut up. I just, I cry whenever other people cry!” You cast him a questioning gaze, mind jumping to all the cases where he did not do that.

“That’s so not true, Mingi literally cried two days ago and you laughed at him!” You wipe at your cheeks fervently, hoping that he wouldn’t say anything about the red that was definitely painting your face.

“He cried over DCI! That doesn’t count, I cry for things that matter...” You want to ask what he’s about to say, to tell him that there’s no real reason for you to be crying either. But you don’t, because he’s crying. Sad, crystal tears that paint his sun kissed cheeks, and his arms are open for you, “Can I hug you? I feel weird not doing anything.” 

You don’t say anything, just fall into the open space and inhale sharply. He smells sweet, and feels warm. Not the gross kind of warm that touches every part of you, but the comforting kind. The kind that feels like wearing fuzzy socks and sipping on hot chocolate.

“Don’t feel weird.” You mumble, lips moving softly against the fabric of his tank top, “I-I have to go soon.” He shushes you, hands softly rubbing the line of your shoulder blade.

“Just five more minutes.” It’s almost like a plea, like he needs it too, “You can’t go out crying, they’re gonna think that I did something.” He didn’t... But in a way he did. In a way, he made you fall for him by having lips that taste painfully like coconut. He made you fall for him by kissing like he’s made of fire. He made you fall for him by always smelling like a fall candle.

“You didn’t do anything.” You whisper, but it’s a lie. Because he did do something, something that he doesn’t even know about.

He made you fall for him, which is something that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

*

In your freshman year there was an... Incident on the bus (one that consisted of a girl, her boyfriend, and very loud sex) which unfortunately resulted in separate boy-girl buses. Which meant no more sitting with Yunho, no more sharing snacks back and forth with Yeosang, no more geeking out over music with Hongjoong and San, and no more ignoring Seonghwa for hours at a time (a task that you found very satisfying as a meek little freshman. It was clearly before you learned how to argue.)

But then Junior year rolled around, and there were too many girls and not enough boys. Your director said that it would be fine for some girls to switch over, which equated to being back with your friends. The first time that you climbed onto the bus all of your friends cheered, to which you responded with bowing down jokingly.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes harshly, then muttered something that you couldn’t hear. What you could hear, however, was Wooyoung laughing and telling his friend to lighten up. He’d always been so sweet, up until two weeks ago you didn’t understand why he’d be friends with someone like Park Seonghwa. You’re starting to get it now.

“(Y/n!)” San cheers from the back, eyes crinkling into an excited smile. Someone starts clapping, the same way that they always do, and you laugh. Seonghwa claps as well, to which Yeosang shoots him a look that reads ‘what the fuck.’ 

“I’m sorry, the only seat left is next to-” Seonghwa. The only seat left is the aisle chair next to Seonghwa. Yunho’s eyes look apologetic as he tells you, but then there’s Mingi curled up next to him with hot cheetos and a gallon jug of water and you can’t even be mad at him. Even if you still despised Seonghwa, you wouldn’t be mad.

“It’s fine.” You respond quickly, one hand coming up to pinch the boys cheek. He smiles brightly, “Since when have you been friends with Mingi?”

“I guess as long as you’ve been friends with Seonghwa.” The comment is quick, painless. Almost like you could tell him everything and he wouldn’t mind.

“Fair.” You slide down comfortably into the seat with Seonghwa, pulling a pack of dried apple slices and sour gummy worms from the stuffed book bag around your shoulders, “Hey.” The word is tiny, almost a whisper.

“Hi, love the snack selection...” He opens up the bag of apple slices, popping one into his mouth before offering them back to you, “Good to see you.” It feels like there’s more that he wants to say, but instead of pushing you giggle and accept an apple.

“You saw me two days ago, dummy!” He smiles softly, heart going limp at the (now friendly) teasing. You turn away before he can keep talking, jumping immediately into banter with your friends, “Hey, Wooyoung! Can you call Jongho back?” The boy in question glances at the empty seat beside him then moves things for a second before cupping his mouth to shout to the front.

“Jongho!” Your freshman looks up with wide eyes, “Sit with me!” He grins widely, throwing back a thumbs up before gathering all of his things. You mouth ‘thank you’ to Wooyoung before turning back to Seonghwa.

“Do you know who has the speaker?” Seonghwas eyebrows furrow, making it painfully clear that he was not paying attention when the boys decided this.

“Yeosang, I think. Him or Hongjoong, somewhere in that seat.” You know immediately that it’s Joong, Yeosang never takes his speaker out of the house, “You better not play that shitty playlist-”

“My playlist is fire, thank you very much!” You slap his bicep with one hand while the other clutches your chest.

“No it is not, half of it is Hannah Montana!” His laugh is sweet, with a slight edge seeping through. Like there’s a dash of liquor in your coffee, “Joong, I have the playlist!” Your friend smiles affectionately and cheers, accepting your phone with a radiant smile.

“Everyone say thank you, (Y/n)” He teases, which unfortunately results in the entire back half of the bus chorusing back ‘Thank you, (Y/n.)’  You giggle softly, a sound that ricochets through Seonghwas head. 

“Thank you, (Y/n.)” He whispers into your ear. If you two were alone in the instrument room he would’ve nipped at the skin there, the loss of that touch makes your body shudder. Seonghwa smiles at the way you roll your neck back, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re welcome!” You respond to everyone else. Right as you turn back to Seonghwa, Britney Spears floods the entire bus, “You’re welcome, Seonghwa.” He smiles, you almost think that he’s going to kiss you.

But then the bus starts moving, and everyone is cheering ‘First comp! First comp!’ You join in with a smile, Seonghwa rolling his eyes at everyones antics. Like he’s much too cool to have fun. Two weeks ago it would’ve been obnoxious, but now you think that it’s painfully endearing.

That seems to be the nature of things with Seonghwa. Everything that used to be the worst part of your day now brightens up any situation. You think that you hate it. Yet it’s also painfully okay.

*

Right as the band is done warming up for the competition your band director tells everyone to find a buddy to zip their jackets. You’ve always been able to do it by yourself, but before you can maneuver your hands to the space in between your shoulders Seonghwa is there.

“You’re gonna rip the jacket,” He grumbles, fingers making quick work of the zipper (there are definitely not sparks flying down your spine as his fingertips brush against your show shirt.) He pats it once after finishing, “good luck out there.” You turn around, hands dusting off the orange and black jacket. It hasn’t been worn in months, yet it’s like putting on your favorite dress. Comforting, empowering... Almost normal, yet if you were to wear this to a school or a grocery store you’d feel entirely insane.

“Let me get your-” He waves the question away right as you notice that Wooyoung is already taking care of it while chattering excitedly, “Oh... Good luck to you too!” Something about the lights of the warm up lot on his tan skin mixed with his uniform that elongates his legs and broadens his shoulders makes your stomach fill with butterflies, “You look good.” He grins in a way that’s shy.

“Thanks, you too.” In that moment you know that he must like you, because there’s sweat on your brow and a light slump to your shoulders. Every ounce of hair is plopped to the top of your head so it’ll fit in the shako, but Seonghwa said that you look good. He said that you look good, and he never lies. Not even to you.

*

“Mingi!” Wooyoung screeches, barreling towards the taller boy (who’s conversing excitedly with the drumline captain,) “Can I have an Oreo pleaseeee-” Mingi’s face twists a little bit, but eventually shifts with a wide smile.

“I don’t know, they’re Yunho’s so-” The boy in question shifts ever so slightly in his spot next to you. He flashes an apologetic smile to you before running up to take his boat of fried Oreos. He pinches one between his fingers and drops it into Wooyoungs mouth, who catches of the air like an excited puppy, and then offers one to Mingi, “Okay I guess it’s fine.” The contra player answers through a full smile.

“They’re so cute.” Yeosang coos while slinging his arm around your shoulders, taking Yunho’s spot. You smile and grab onto the boy's hand where it hangs down, “Before you ask, Joong is getting food with Jongho. Now, how was your run?”

“Fine, good. Always room to improve, y’know?” You both nod, knowing the exact feeling that you’re talking about, “But it was good.”

“And Seonghwa?” The question comes out so calmly that you almost miss it, but when the words finally settle in you’re left sputtering and confused.

“W-what?!” He looks confused, but you feel panicked. Down to the core of your body, you are panicked. 

“Well you guys are friends, right? Like you seem to be friends now and... It’s okay to be friends with him. You don’t have to pretend like he’s not your friend, and it seems good too. For him, he’s nicer lately.” Warmth blossoms in your chest, rising all the way up into your ears as your eyes involuntarily move over to where the boy sits on the bleachers. Where he sits alone, “Go ask him to join us.”

“Really?” Yeosang nods, hand releasing from yours as hope rises along with your blush. A small giggle slips past your lips, “Okay. Yea, okay! I-I’ll be back, um... Yea.”

When you settle down next to Seonghwa he greets you with nothing more than a curt nod. It’s strange, to say the least, but you brush it off. He’s probably just pissed about something, because he’s Seonghwa and always pissed.

“Hey,” You exhale, “h-how was your run?” He shrugs, shoulders tensing violently.

“It was good.” He’s supposed to ask how you did, and you’re supposed to say what you always do. But he doesn’t ask, so you don’t answer.

“U-um... So I was just wondering if... L-like if you wanted to have- not have, if you wanted to-” He looks you square in the face with a glare that could cut, “I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with us.” One of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows quirks, tongue darting to the inside of his cheek.

“If you want to make out you can just say so.” Something clenches around your vocal chords, throat closing up so hard that you think you could choke, “You don’t have to make up some bullshit excuse about wanting to be friends.” It’s not quite clear what tips you over the edge, maybe the biting tone of what he says. The hatred in his eyes that you were so sure you had moved past. The flicker of excitement that dies in your chest, but prickly tears start to gather in your eyes.

“What?” You squeak, swallowing hard, “I-I just wanted to-”

“To make out like we always do.” Those are certainly the words that come out, but they can’t be right. He can’t be actually saying that, because it’s not what you always do. Just two days ago this boy held you so tenderly that you could’ve broken, and now he’s looking at you like he doesn’t even know your name.

“Oh, um...” There’s a part of you that could cry. But then there’s also the part that could bite back, the same way that you would at the start of this season, “Just, fuck off.” 

You barrel out of the stadium like a train that’s on fire, mind focused on nothing other than sinking down into your seat and crying. Or screaming. Or doing anything to get something out of your body. You’re halfway there too, weaving in and out of the rival schools buses with ease, until somebody's hand grips your wrist tightly.

“(Y/n) stop!” Seonghwa. His pink lips are parted and panting. You pull your hand away and cradle it into your chest, fire forming on the tip of your tongue.

“Do not touch me.” The words are spat out like venom, causing him to physically recoil. It’s strange honestly, how less than a month ago this was your normal form of communication and now it’s something that hurts, “Don’t touch me, or talk to me, or even fucking look at me.” His eyebrows crinkle, the soft skin there folding ever so softly.

“I-I just thought that-”

“Thought what? That you could make out with me, and comfort me while I’m crying, and fucking carry me to the band room, and that I wouldn’t care about you? That’s what you thought?!” Earlier this season, back at the second woodwind sectional, Yeosang said that he thought fire was going to shoot out of your eyes. You didn’t get at the time, but now you do. Now, with anger pulsing through every last vein in your body, you understand. Because you want to slap that stupid confused expression off of his face, you want to make him cry the way that you’re going to cry, “Fucking answer me, Seonghwa!”

“I... I definitely didn’t think that you would care about me?” He knows it’s the absolute wrong thing to say as soon as your jaw solidifies into a harsh line. It’s one of your tell tale signs, along with steely eyes that pierce straight through his chest. It seems that pissing you off for three years had some benefits, “Nope, no. Definitely not that, I-”

“Fuck off.” You bite harshly before turning on your heels and storming off towards the bus. He’s about to follow you, but something about your clenched fists and shoulders that are raised so high that they could mold into your ears tells him to stay behind. You’re not sure whether to be grateful or pissed. Maybe both.

When your back finally slides against the cheap leather of your seat, it’s clear. Definitely both. Grateful because there are fat, snotty tears falling down your cheeks with reckless abandon. Because your sobs are so loud that the people on the next bus can probably hear you. Because you’re crying in a way that you never have before. 

But pissed, because no one has ever held you as tightly Seonghwa did just two days ago. Pissed, because the person who you were supposed to hate more than anything just broke your heart. Pissed because something that wasn’t supposed to happen did.

After hours (or minutes. Maybe seconds, you don’t really know) of crying you sit up and assume the natural post competitions pose. Knees hugged to your chest, fingers touching knuckle to knuckle, and head resting softly on the sweating window pane. When your eyes close Seonghwa is the first thing that you see, followed by dark sleep.

An hour later all of the boys crowd onto the bus, filling the space immediately with loud dialogue and banter. Hongjoong leads the group, holding a trophy nearly as tall as his torso and wearing a smile brighter than the sun. You quickly scan down the line for Seonghwa but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Hey! Where were you, we got fir-” Hongjoong halts at the sight of your tear stained cheeks, jaw falling slack at the sight of your wrecked appearance, “What happened?” Seonghwa ducks onto the crowded bus just as your mouth opens. You don’t know whether you should let it all out or pretend like everything is fine and go back to sleep.

“It’s nothing, just tired.” You don’t believe yourself, and the drum major's tight lipped smile let’s you know that he doesn’t either. With an exhale and a soft ruffle of your hair, he moves back to his shared seat with Yeosang. Making just enough room for Seonghwa to slide in next to you.

“(Y/n,) I-” You twist to the seat behind you and drop the half eaten bag of gummy worms into the drumline captains lap. San looks up with a thank you already on his lips.

“Wake me up when we’re twenty minutes from the school?” He nods with a smile, hands already ripping into the bag of candy as if he’s starving. You poke the tip of his nose softly before falling back into the seat, where Seonghwas legs are touching nearly every part of you (really only your thighs, but it feels like he could sit farther away. Like he should sit farther away,) “I’m going to sleep, San’s going to wake me up so don’t bother with it.” His eyes look sad in a way that makes you want to scream.

“(Y/n-)”

“Goodnight, Seonghwa.” You manage through the fresh lump forming in your throat. 

Though your head hits the glass immediately, you can’t fall asleep for almost twenty minutes. Chattering boys and Mingis terrible playlist isn’t exactly the best backdrop for sweet dreams. But they settle down, cheers turning into yawns and a bluetooth speaker into Mingi and Yunho sharing earbuds. You do fall asleep eventually, but it’s not the booming bass of Mingis meme rap.

When you fall asleep, it’s to the beat of a rattling windowpane that won’t fully close and Park Seonghwa breathing deeply next to you.

*

There’s always a trend of depleting motivation after the first win of marching band season. Like freshman year after the regional competition, the following rehearsal was absolute torture. Color guard flags colliding with brow bones, entire passages of music forgotten, and too many dropped drumsticks to count. Then there was junior year (which painfully mirrored the season prior,) in which everyone was sentenced to laps until the sun went down. Each year you’d huff dramatically while complaining about the lazy members, to which Hongjoong would listen with a heaving chest.

Needless to say, that’s changed for the worst (just like everything else this season.) You spent the first lunchtime rehearsal moping drastically while refusing to make eye contact with Seonghwa. All of your friends asked you what was wrong, to which you made up a lie about having an empty stomach. Yeosang saw right through the lie, seeing as he watched you wolf down a chicken biscuit, but he didn’t say anything. In all honesty he probably knew what was wrong but was too conscious to bring it up, an act of kindness that you couldn’t thank him enough for.

Then there’s now, Tuesday after school. Four hours before rehearsal, more commonly known as sectional time. Even more commonly known as designated argue with Seonghwa time, which you don’t want to do today. A small part of you wants to make Yeosang fight him, but the other part knows that it has to be you. It’s not as though you have any other way to get out your anger with Seonghwa (there’s messy makeouts in the instrument room, of course, but you’d rather cut off your own lips than kiss him. Or you’d give the world to kiss him again. Somewhere in between the two.) 

You take the final step onto your practice field, fully prepared to see a block of brass being run ragged by Park Seonghwa. But he’s not there. No one is except for your group and Wooyoung, who’s at the front of the field busying himself with tangled field mic cables. You glance around wildly before bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. It’s genuinely infuriating how upset you are that Seonghwa isn't here, but there’s no time to think about that now.

“Um... Yunho and Yeosang, can you guys lead stretches over by the trailer?” The trailer which is parked on the exact opposite side of the field from where Wooyoung is, “Jongho too, just... Go through the basics, please.” They nod dutifully before leading the group away, Jongho doing so with an earth shattering smile. You wait until they’re all seated and chattering before moving over to Wooyoung, who’s adorning sad eyes and hair that’s too long tied back into a ponytail.

“Hey, (y/n.)” He greets quietly while placing the mic cable into its case. Your stomach churns tightly at the conversation that’s about to happen.

“Hey... Where’s Seonghwa?” The words feel like slow acting poison, the kind that’s threatening to eat you from the inside out and leave you for dead.

“He’s having sectional in the gym, said that you’d probably need the field.” That’s when it kicks in, burning a gaping hole into the center of your chest. You want to scream, or cry, or for Seonghwa to hold you so tightly that it hurts. Instead you stare blankly at the space next to Wooyoungs head, eyes glazing over and body going numb.

“... Oh, h-he was right.” Wooyoung nods before moving on to the next mic cable. It’s so silent and awkward that you almost think that you should leave, even with poison burning in your chest. Even with sadness eating at your skin.

“He told me what happened, and like... The stuff that he said. He doesn’t want to miss you.” Your band director always says that silence is the most impactful thing in music. You never got it until now, because there’s Wooyoung saying these things. Saying all of the right things that you want to hear, a call that waits for your response. Then there’s your response, that leaves a gaping hole in the score of this conversation, “He seems sorry.” You mull it over, words ringing sweet in your skull like an isolated harmony.

With a soft nod you respond, “Me too” before rushing away to where the woodwinds are assembled already in a block. The poison leaves you as sectional bleeds into rehearsal, but for a brief moment your eyes meet Seonghwas and you’re made painfully aware of the hole that it’s left where your heart should be.

*

The last moments in the warm up lot are spent with you trying to zip up your own jacket, and then Seonghwa swooping in to do it for you. His fingers brush the space between your shoulder blades, sending a shock through the core of your being. Goosebumps raise on your neck as his warm breath hits the skin there.

“You’re gonna rip it.” The words come out so much softer than the last time he said them, completely void of any teasing. If anything there’s tenderness, akin to the night that he had to carry you into the equipment room. Caring, gentle, loving. Everything that you’ve learned about Seonghwa in the past two weeks shining through in four words.

“Yea.” You swallow harshly, gloved hands moving to adjust the front of your jacket. It’s already pristine, but you need to do something with your hands or else your body will explode, “Good luck.” 

The director calls everyone into show lines before he gets a chance to say “You too.”

* 

It’s always a struggle to get dressed on the bus after a performance. For starters, your band has to get the cheapest buses possible so there are a grand total of three lights which flicker in and out of commission. You’re also one of the only girls, which just makes things weird, but your seatmates are usually pretty good at helping you hide..

Like now, with San holding up your oversized cardigan while you rumble through your book bag in search for clothes. The space is filled with rambunctious chatter, including Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung arguing over who’s going to buy the fried oreos (Yunho suggests three way rock paper scissors, which ends just as poorly as anticipated.) For a brief moment Seonghwa is speaking too, laughing with Jongho about a field judge that they accidentally knocked over, which is the only thing that your brain hears for the next five minutes. 

“(Y/n,) are you almost done? My arms are getting tired.” Even without seeing the drumline captain you just know that he’s pouting. It’s basically laced into his voice, causing guilt to pang in your chest.

“Yea,” You exhale while pulling out the more comfortable clothing (a dark green crew neck sweatshirt with fuzzy black sweatpants. You’ve been dreaming of the moment that you get to change since waking up,) “I just can’t see!” The boy chuckles with a nod that shakes the cardigan barrier.

“Hongjoong and Yeosang want me to tell you that they’re leaving and they hate you-”

“San that’s not what I said!” 

“Hongjoong is saying to never speak to him or his family ever again.” The drum major sighs dramatically before slapping the side of Sans head, causing the boy to cry out like a child. A laugh bubbles out of your throat as the sweatpants come to a halt on the curve of your waist.

“I’ll text you where we’re sitting!” Yeosang calls from the front of the bus, which is now entirely void of people, “Joong I’m leaving you!” 

“They’re a mess.” You grumble while pulling the sweatshirt over your head, “You can go San, I have to repack my bag and stuff.” He drapes the sweater over your head and tosses a packet of fruit snacks into your bag.

“Alright, I’ll probably be with the three amigos.” He’s already halfway out of the bus before you fully process the words, resulting in a giggle.

“Is that what we’re calling Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung?” He smiles the smile that makes his eyes crinkle and flashes a thumbs up before ducking out of the bus, leaving you to hum quietly to yourself. There’s something special about seeing an empty space when it was bursting with energy less than two minutes ago. Clothes are thrown around everywhere, uniforms hanging from cracked windows that let in an autumn breeze, bags thrown haphazardly into seats. Like a mist of peace has been pumped into this broken down bus, and you’re the only person lucky enough to see.

The only person until Seonghwa walks onto the bus, that is. You scramble to hide underneath your seat, praying to every being above that you managed to remain unseen. That you wouldn’t have to endure the painfully awkward conversation that’s about to come. 

“(Y/n?)” He calls. While it sounds sweet, he’s biting back a laugh from the loud ‘thud’ that you made by rolling out of your seat, “Can you get off of the floor?” There’s a small bite in his tone. Where it should make you angry, it just makes you want to cry. 

“No.” You answer, body curling in on itself. A small part of you is genuinely considering staying on the floor, but there’s something sticky about two feet from your hand Seonghwa moving back to where you sit. While the thought of facing him is embarrassing, the thought of him seeing you sitting on this disgusting floor is much worse, “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.” His nose is almost touching yours when you stand up, sparking a flame in your stomach (you so badly want it to be anger. Red, hot anger. But he’s looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows, warm light flickering against the plane of his face, and you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.)

“I’m sorry.” He swallows heavily, pink tongue smoothing over puffy lips. You try to shove past him, but you’re halted by a hand on your shoulder, “Can we just talk? Please?” Sparkles form in his eyes, twinkling at you like stars. It hurts your stomach.

“No.” The word is hoarse, definite as you harshly push past the boy and storm towards the front of the bus. He’s trailing behind, hands still trying to grab at your own.

“(Y/n!)” The boy pleads, which does nothing to help your growing frustration. If anything it makes the tight coil of anger in your stomach snap, covering your body in nothing but fire.

“Seonghwa!” You bite harshly, turning around so quickly that your foreheads nearly bump together, “Leave. Me. Alone! It’s insanely rude to make someone like you, to kiss someone like the world is ending, to convince them that you care all for some weird sense of validations and then demand that they hear you out. I don’t owe that to you, so stop acting like I do!” Despite the firm words, your feet stay planted in place. As if leaving means that this is over forever.

“I know you don’t owe me that, I just... I want to explain myself, please just let me do that.” The light starts to flicker again, allowing you to see the sharp lines that compose his face. You’re supposed to say no, to leave and sit down in between your favorite people and make fun of other bands horn angles. Every part of you is screaming to go do that.

“You have ten minutes.” Clearly, you aren’t doing what you’re supposed to.

“Okay, well um... I’m a dick? Like, just a huge dick and it’s just now setting in that I can change. S-some part of you showed me that.” When the light flashes across your bodies you can see that his eyes are brimming with tears. They’re different tears from last time; more timid and less silly. You want to dab at the one that spills down his soft cheek, “And I’m sorry. For tripping you in rehearsal freshman year, when your elbow got scraped?” You nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. There’s still scar tissue travelling up your shoulder from that night, “And for telling you that your solo at regional auditions sounded bad. It actually sounded really really good, which you probably already knew... Oh, a-and um for blaming the woodwinds for not knowing their parts, because honestly we didn’t either I was just being... A dick.” You inhale deeply, trying to push down the hope bubbling in your chest. While the words are promising, you know all too well that apologies are meaningless without action.

“Why?” The hope is quickly replaced with tension that’s definitely trying to make you cry.

“Why am I sorry, or why am I a dick?” In any other context it would sound funny, but now it’s just a question. A genuine, innocent question that Seonghwa is asking you with a face twisted into sweet confusion. You shrug with a deep exhale, trying desperately to stall your erratic breathing.

“Either... Both. I just want to know why.” Seonghwa sucks in a breath, then runs his hands through his ink black hair before releasing the air. It’s embarrassing how you follow his movements as if they’re the tip of a conductor's baton.

“Um... Well, I think I was a dick because I thought that having people didn’t matter if you were good. That if I worked hard enough that it wouldn’t even matter that I was lonely, but you have both. Good and loved, not to mention kind. Always so kind.” The light has stopped flickering, leaving the two of you in complete darkness. It doesn’t matter, because his voice wavers slightly at unspoken memories and you know that he’s smiling, “Which is why I’m sorry too, I guess. Because you never did anything to me other than show me that I didn’t have to be like... This.” The next words are so quiet that you barely hear them, “And for making you think that I don’t care about you.” 

“Don’t say things if you don’t mean them.” Your eyes find his through the darkness, locking together like it’s the only thing happening in all of the world.

“I mean it.” It’s a deceleration scribbled into the space between his body and yours, signed by the weight of his hands cupping your jaw, “I care about you.” Goosebumps rise on your forearms as they wrap around the boys slim waist.

“Seonghwa-” There’s probably a right way to do this. A right way to fall for the bane of your existence turned friend. It’s out there somewhere, written up in perfect cookie cutter steps that are easier to follow than words on a page. They definitely don’t include him whispering the affirmation, ‘I care about you,’ against the skin beneath your ear while covering the space in wet kisses.

The boy wraps a hand around the back of your neck before pulling back. You can see him clearer now, all pleading eyes and taunting lips, “Can I kiss you?” It sounds like the climax point of a piece, the part where a chord rings out as the tempo slows just enough to make it itch. You nod while snaking a hand around his jaw.

Seonghwa moves in as if you’ve never kissed before, noses bumping softly. There’s a soft giggle, the rattling of uniform hangers against window panes, and then Seonghwas lips touching yours as if you’re going to break. So much is the same, like how his lips taste like coconut or the spicy scent that floods your nostrils, but it’s different too. Different in the way that he moves against you, in the way that his teeth don’t bite at your lower lip, in the way that his hands cradle every part of you that they touch. He feels like a caricature and more like a person, like a person who’s kissing you softer than you’ve ever been kissed. 

“I like you a lot.” He whispers while moving to kiss the corner of your mouth. Old Seonghwa would tease you for the whine growing in the base of your throat while trying desperately to hide the way that you’re affecting him, “Cute.” He exhales, becoming putty in your hands. 

“Please stop talking and kiss me.” It’s clear that he tries to smirk, but the moment is too soft for it. Too gentle for the fire that his quirked lips elicits in you; instead he gives off a perfectly soft smile. Gentle and caring, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” His thumb runs across your cheekbone, then to the crease of your nose, and finally all the way down to the set of your jaw. It feels like he’s setting you on fire, “Okay.” His lips brush yours softly with the movement, followed by him leaning in so terribly slowly. You think to yourself that you’re going to love him.

In the moment before his lips touch yours there are two things; two hearts beating faster than is safe, and his phone ringing loudly. Your eyes shoot open right as the boy mouths ‘fuck!’ with a dramatic eye roll. You offer him a quiet laugh along with a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, “It’s okay, answer it.”

“No, I don’t need to. Just Wooyoung telling me to bring him his wallet.” You nod silently, nearly crying at the way that his hands untangle from you, “I’m really sorry, I wish i could stay but-” You silence him with a quick peck to the lips, he thinks that he’s going to love you back.

“It’s okay.” You whisper, “We can pick this up later.” He really does smirk now, the familiar look tempting you to stay and kiss him until your lips fall off, “Go get his stuff, I want to see the bands!”

After ten minutes of Seonghwa fumbling through Wooyoung's bag in the dark, the two of you finally leave hand in hand. It feels strange, yet at the same time like what’s meant to be.

*

“Seonghwa, wait!” you call as your boyfriend pulls you into the shared bus seat by your book bag straps. He was only trying to be sweet, but unfortunately failed to think about how pulling you would probably result in falling. There’s a yelp, and you tumbling into him, then of course a loud groan as your palm collides with his collarbone. 

“Oh my, oh gosh, I’m an idiot. Ow.” Mingi is laughing at you two, and it’s only a matter of seconds before your so called friends start throwing things, “Let me help you up, also did I mention ow?!” You laugh brightly and press a kiss to his temple before pushing yourself up into a sitting position.

“I think so.” You swat his hand away from your arms and pull out a box of tissues (packed in preparation for the last competition tears that were almost a guarantee,) “I need to check on Joong, okay?” He smiles gently with a nod.

Hongjoong is in the very back seat laughing his ass off while crying violently. It would be weird if he hadn’t done it three times before, each time at the last competition of the season. Sophomore year you asked why he was crying, to which he responded that it makes the crying less awkward. And that it makes everyone else laugh.

“Has anyone told him a joke yet?” You ask while ducking into the huddle of your friends. San is sitting next to the drum major and passing him candy, Yeosang dabbing at his cheeks with tissues that are quickly depleting. He accepts your fresh box with a silent nod. 

“Not yet.” Yunho answers while throwing a sealed water bottle to Mingi, who also has tears rolling down his face.

“Okay um... What do you call a cow with no legs?” The boy looks at you with wide puppy dog eyes and a gummy worm hanging from his mouth, “Pork chop! Oh no, that’s not right wait-” The boy starts to laugh even harder as you shout ‘Ground beef! Stop laughing I meant ground beef please-’ 

“Did she just say pork chop?” Wooyoung asks through a screeching laugh while breaking his way into the circle. You nod as your sides clench, stinging tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Seonghwa eventually comes back too with Jongho, taking purchase in the seat across from the slowly dispersing huddle. Somehow you fall to the floor of the aisle and settle between your boyfriends legs. He plays with your hair in a manner so relaxing that Mingi’s meme rap is barely audible (still audible though, sadly.)

Similarly to the first competition, you fall asleep. Only this time it’s to the drum of your friends shouting excitedly and Seonghwas heart beating in perfect time with yours.

#ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez #seonghwa ff #writekpop #admin reid #if u enjoy pls like or leave something nice! #sorry if it's hard to understand

[miss-pearlescent]

LIFE UPDATE (lol)

Hello, this is going to be a long-winded life update because I simply want to just talk about things that have been going on and why I don’t update on a consistent basis :)

One of the reasons is above! Last week (two weeks ago??) I covered Naughty with a friend! Please check it out :D Honestly, this didn’t take away from my writing at all because I do random covers all the time, but I just want the views lmao HUMOUR ME! (I’m the one in white). Oh, and please don’t comment anything about my writing/fanfiction/tumblr on that video! I keep this blog pretty private.

Anyway, what did take away from my writing is A WRITING COURSE! Can you believe :) the :) irony :) I signed up for this writing course because I’ve always really wanted to publish a book aka basically give birth. As a teenager, I followed a few YA authors like they were gods, and when I attended signings, I was starstruck! I’d be like, “Girl, your mind!” So there I was, looking up how to publish a goddamn book and realizing that there were so many things to it other than just writing. It was discouraging to say the least! Then two years ago, I mentioned my hobby to my therapist and she suggested taking a writing course.

She (bless her heart) even searched up local colleges for me and opened my eyes to the fact that educational institutions held entire courses dedicated to romance writing. Wow. Of course, I rejected her idea because of the kind of person I am.

I’m kidding.

I’m not.

LOL ok so I was like “I don’t want to take a writing course because I don’t want people to judge my writing and tell me to write romance a certain way or else it doesn’t feel organic. And what if I lose my interest in it? Then what will I do with my free time? And what if people find my shit really fucking weird? etc”

I put the idea off for a year and finally came back to it last year when I found myself taking frequent trips to the library to write for a whole day. I would buy a Booster Juice, some sushi or Subway, and then I would park my ass on a plastic library chair for 5-8hrs straight. Come Fall/Winter, with the knowledge that I had some basic self-discipline (lmao), I looked into writing courses. I decided to take an online romance writing course that would start February 2020.

Guess when my country began seeing COVID cases? February 2020. Oh boy!

So my lifestyle changed, my work changed, and then I have school work?!?! My dumb ass hasn’t touched anything school related in three years. I was like “you know what? I’m going to try! I’m going to want to learn, and I’m going to put in effort.” Holy shit!!!!! I’ve learned that school still stresses me out lol it doesn’t matter that my grades literally don’t matter in this course. I’m still stressed.

That’s not to say I didn’t like this course. I really enjoyed it because I actually did learn a lot. My instructor (professor???) was also really...ELOQUENT LMAO Her lecture notes would spill mad tea but in the most polite way possible. I have yet to see any of my marks or read any of her comments (due to my fragile ego) but I am excited to do so.

One example of her brilliance in getting her message across is this little section about active vs passive verbs. We’ve all done this lesson hundreds of times in high school, but OMG the line that she uses at the end really solidifies the difference! After reading that, I decided not to skip any of the other readings lmao home girl had my respect.

OK ANYWAY! Back to me stressing! I was very stressed with every assignment. It was nice to be challenged to write differently (creating better mood, fleshing out characters more) because the end products were all...”nice”. But that shit took so much energy that I couldn’t write anymore! I couldn’t think of new plots that I was interested in :( It also didn’t help that I was going through other personal issues, and my libido was nonexistent. As a result, I have so many intros to stories because I’ve had to force myself to think of something for this course, but I never was truly interested in them to actually write it all out from start to finish. Not to mention, I have not written a sex scene since February lol

Then came the final assignment that I just submitted two days ago. OMG. It was a straight up publisher’s package. You had to have a 20pg manuscript. You had to write a query letter/cover letter. You had to research which publisher you would submit to. IT WAS SO SCARY.

I was going to write a whole new story for this manuscript but after writing 4k words, literally nothing was happening in the story and I was so bored. So I scrapped it all and took one of my most recent stories (Universal Differences, but in third person lmfaooo) and tried to tweak it. It was soooo difficult!!! Of course, I also procrastinated this whole thing because procrastination is one of my character traits. On the last three days, I pulled 8-10hrs non-stop everyday to finish it (unrelated, but I watched the SuperM 100 MV after one of these days, and I had to close my laptop immediately after the video because I felt like the MV was attacking me to stay awake LOL). There were so many times where I legit hated myself and my writing and nearly cried because I would think back on all the love that you guys gave to that story and then I’d be like “THE STORY (and, in turn, me as a person) IS SO UNDESERVING OF ANY LOVE AT ALL.”

See, this is why I went to a therapist a few years back loooool I had to rewire my brain to dissociate my writing from myself. I had to keep reminding myself that even if my prof didn’t like it, I would still get good feedback at the end of the day and none of that feedback would reflect me as a person. That even if she told me that I was never going to be able to ever publish anything, there are many writers who were told the same thing and came out of it alive and prosperous because they continued to work hard. I have a whole ass template now of what to send to a publisher/agent. If I wanted to, I would have the skill base to take a story and know where to direct it for publication.

And I would have the confidence to do that!!! Because I’ve already done it once!!!

Something cute my prof said when one of the students said they were overwhelmed:

[ I think it can help if you just think of it as the business processes of that industry - and not you laying your heart and soul out in front of some stranger to judge. :)]

;____________;

OK that is all for now, I think! Since I have submitted my final assignment, my imagination has come free of its reigns so I hope to get more stories out to you guys! Thank you for the requests too! The wilder they are, they more they get my brain going hehehehehehehhehe have a good week everyone~

#There is no need to read any of this #I just wanted to talk through my stress

[lnarizakis]

ranking haikyuu!! schools based on their school spirit

before you grill me with my rankings please know that i! love! all! of! these! schools! equally! i do not hate any particular school; i am simply ranking their school spirit. this is also lowkey crack because what everyone said made me laugh and honestly i came up with this idea for the laughs. so, like, don’t take this personally.

thanks everyone who helped participate by filling out the google form!! everything you’ve said i used in this. we will be going from last place to first place, so let’s start!! btw i ranked 11 schools into 10 places, so there are two 10th placers HAHAH anywayssss

10: ITACHIYAMA, NOHEBI

Alright, so let’s start with Itachiyama. I got one person who mentioned them in my last category, which was “any other school i didn’t mention? & why” and honestly we don’t know anything about them. But perhaps the mere fact that they were winners says something I guess?

❝ itachiyama bc the school are WINNER WINNERS i wanna see their hype ❞

❝ i’m sorry who ,,,, i deadass don’t know that team eye— are they from the last season ???? if so that’s why LMAOSNAKBS WAIT IS THIS GERMAPHOBES TEAM ??? THOSE NEON PISS PUKE LOOKING BOYS SOSNSJNSJDHS bro i’d drop tf out of that school if they gave me that ugly ass uniform OH MY GOD WHAT DOES THIER SCHOOL UNIFORM LOOK LIKE SKBAIABSJS BRO IMAGINE ❞ (about Nohebi but referring to Itachiyama)

Moving onto Nohebi: their tactics, as we’ve seen in the OVA, aren’t the most...... ethical. Though, they’re still supported by their cheering section so I guess it’s fine by their entire school?

❝ From what I recall, the schools pretty implicit in the teams techniques so at the very least they take pride or believe in the teams tactics enough to support them. ❞

❝ they be cheating >:( ❞

❝ nohebi scares me for no reason❞

Despite this, they’re still a team that shows solid support for one another.

❝ support all teams because all of them could trash me if it came down to it ❞

❝ they have fighting spirit alright but i just don't approve of their methods❞

❝ their stage play SLAPPED ❞

9: WAKUTANI

Okay, the team as a whole shows support for one another, especially their captain, Takeru. However, from what I recall, there’s not much... school spirit coming from their actual school. From Takeru’s family? Definitely, but they’re not the actual school.

❝ wasnt wakutani pretty good i don’t remembee ❞

❝ wakutani - a solid 8 ❞

❝ wakutani south because takeru’s family carried the cheer period ❞

8: JOHZENJI

Their whole team radiates spirit, but I don’t remember if they actually have a cheering section. Unlike Wakutani, where most of their spirit/support came directly from Takeru, each one of the members of the team had their own school spirit. Their school spirit isn’t that recognizable to be remembered by most people, though.

❝ a six cause i don’t really remember if their school was even there like ???? all i remember is baby teru and his fellow goofball second years that i absolutely adore, i am them. LMAO if i were to— fuck how do you spell realistic THERE SINSNSJ if i were to realistically join one of the haikyuu schools it would be johzenji cause i just vibe with those boys so much ksbsksj no brain cell squad ❞

❝ they ARE the spirit ❞

❝ not serious enough askdjsa ❞

❝ they appeared onc but even when they wanted to win, they just wanted to win to play around? there's that i guess ❞

❝ i don’t remember ❞

❝ I don’t remember much about them tbh ❞

❝ well... ❞

7: KARASUNO

Much apologies to the OG team. For one thing, their cheering squad, while I must admit is very impressive and loud, is not Karasuno High School itself. It’s literally coposed of a bunch of outside associations. And when their cheering section from the actual school does show up, they’re not even synchronized; they practiced for one day and called it “school spirit.” They showed up for one match and that was it.

❝ did you see them at the shiratorizawa match? they weren’t even synchronized ❞

❝ they mean to their vb team and they had a wack ass cheer team but character development ❞

❝ chaotic good but crows ❞

❝ mmmm we don't see too much of the school rlly apart from the vbc,, but what we do see is pretty supportive ❞

❝ LMAO remember during the first season when the school REUSED an old banner for the boys but not only was it a old banner but a banner for a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT sport yea lmao that’s just fucked up jsjsj also i don’t really see that much school spirit like ???? no taste at all ❞

I guess their school spirit within the team, their fighting spirit, makes up for it. Again, my greatest apologies to Karasuno. You can do much better than that.

❝ The way the whole school came out to support the vbc before the shiratorizawa match,,, I love them so much!! Also Saeko coming in with a DRUM TEAM for the Inarizaki match,,, like they’re so so supportive and Karasuno’s not a rich school like Shiratorizawa, it doesn’t have a highly ranked band like Inarizaki but like the team itself they’re plucky and do the best they can with what they’ve got. ❞

❝ They have the most dedication to me ❞

❝ they're so supportive of each other and very chaotic, all of them ❞

❝ kageyama tobio could get some !! ❞

6: NEKOMA

Honestly, I had a hard time choosing whether to put Karasuno or Nekoma in sixth place. I went with Nekoma because of Kuroo’s “inspirational” pep talk, which really shows the bond between each of the members of the team, but they’re still ranked pretty low because I can’t get that one scene out of my head from the manga where it’s this one match (I won’t say which one) where students from Nekoma attend the match and a couple of them go, “Wow, this is my first volleyball match that I’ve been to!” Like, dude, seriously? Wow. They also take sixth since their cheering squad, also composed of students, is led by a Nekoma Junior High student. We love supportive sisters.

❝ stage play cheer stage play cheer stage play cheer stage play cheer ❞

❝ i just love nekoma ❞

❝ chaotic good but cats ❞

❝ kuroo tetsurou ❞

❝ deadass it’s 2 am and i have no idea what i’m doing but anyways 7/10 cause i like their stage song/cheer ya know NEKO NEKO NEKOMA like it’s cute ksjsjs besides that i have no idea LMAO ❞

❝ they're very subtle even tho they have chaotic moments, they're more focused on defense while playing ❞

❝ Some of them really care and some dont ❞

❝ they’re all so into it! Like, Akane with the megaphone, Alisa screaming Lev’s name, they’re all pretty devoted. ❞

5: FUKURŌDANI

I would have ranked them a little higher if it weren’t for other more spirited schools. The whole school knows how to hype up Bokuto, along with cheers of their own. The team itself knows each member so well that they’re able to adapt to whatever their ace is feeling.

❝ stage play was good but not as good as nekoma stage play ❞

❝ they have to hype up bokuto ❞

❝ CHAOTIC ENERGY + BOKUTO SUNSHINE BOY and i am bias + THEIR COLOURS + JERSEY OMG ❞

❝ owl boy & pretty setter ❞

❝ FUCK why can’t i think of any of the episodes where they show the student body like ??? school spirit is nonexistent in my eyes i can’t recall a thing— anywhore 9/10 for my owl babies because i believe bokuto hypes up the students ALOT and therefore they are more into ya know spirit woo ❞

❝ have u seen their dynamic? they're strong and so supportive of their ace, their captain, the family bokuto needed - i could go on but yes, i think u get the picture ❞

❝ They love Bokuto so much 🥺 they’re all v supportive of the team and it seems like they also know how to get him to perform better and Fukurodani’s a powerhouse so I feel like they get into it. ❞

4: AOBA JOHSAI

Their cheering squad is so synchronized and so well-performed. They know what they’re doing and when to do things. You can tell they’re devoted. School spirit within their team is pretty strong, and they have a good bond with each other.

❝ fangirls can do anything ❞

❝ oikawa kinnies ❞

❝ chaotic good but plants ❞

❝ i don’t know whether they have school spirit or they’re just fans of oikawa LMAOOO AND YOU CAN QUOTE ME ON THAT KSBSKSJS like deadass it’s just his fan girls ya know what i’m saying ❞

❝ MANNN THEIR *CHEERS* I'M- ❞

❝ OAHAISOAOAHAHHA SEIJOHHHHHHH ❞

❝ i love them for the 3rd years but that's about it ❞

❝ From what I can recall there’s nothing super special about them? I do love how they say olé for all of Oikawa’s serves (but ppl do that for other schools, so) ❞

3: SHIRATORIZAWA

So much to say about them. From their entire cheering squad that consists of both cheerleaders and drummers, to the fact that when they feel like they’re being challenged with who can cheer louder they start singing their school anthem? Absolutely powerful.

❝ cheerleaders ❞

❝ i would not want to be in preppy school but i do love SHIIIRATORIZAWA ❞

❝ they are close like family uwu tho they seem to be SUPER STRESSED bc studies ❞

❝ 10/10 cause have you heard their cheer? god tier. that shit would distract me so much during a game like what’s the purpose of being so god damn loud and extra other than distracting the enemy ??? i rest my case ❞

❝ SHIIIIIRATORIZA (also ushiwaka has his own lil cheer so like yes i support) ❞

❝ i dont particularly like or dislike anyone from them and simple is best so ?? ❞

❝ The Shiratorizawa chant is so simple, so good,,, I think they were also the first team we saw with actual cheerleaders too! Nice big rich private school cheersquad money right? ❞

2: DATEKO

Need I say more?

1: INARIZAKI

There’s too much to say. They’re so extra it’s unbelievable. The entire cheering section knows how to adapt to each members’ likes and dislikes, and will call others out when they need to do so. For instance, when that one guy asked the two girls not to cheer while Atsumu is serving? Absolutely wild. And when they start booing or play a tempo to throw off the opponent whenever it’s the other team’s serve? Their practice and precision really shows. It’s crazy. And I’m pretty sure that they’re the only school that brings their entire orchestra to play during the matches.

❝ according to the wiki their marching band literally works to throw off the other team and if that’s not dedication idk what is ❞

❝ atsumu, shush me anytime ✨✨ ❞

❝ idk them asdas ❞

❝ deadass i’ve been on episode two of the latest season ( is it four or three?? i can’t fucking remember,,, 2 am is no brain cell hours ) for w e e k s because of second hand embarrassment. periodt. like hinata baby pls i’m begging. anyways suna is a god in my eyes, i deadass thought sakusa ( the germaphobe right?? ) was on the same team guess not i don’t know his uniform is ugly tho looking like a fucking germ himself ( THAT WAS GOLDEN SISJSJ IM PROUD OF MYSELF ), and lastly i have fallen in love with the man that is osamu, he can cook,... and he can do a whole lot of other things but my brain is malfunctioning so we’re gonna stop right there. #stanosamuforcleanskin ❞

❝ they have a fucking BAND ❞

❝ another chaotic team with their very own freak twins, i ranked them high because holy fuck that cheering band?? ❞

❝ Inarizaki’s cheer squad,,,, personally I lowkey hate them because deadass BOOING another player is tacky at best and kinda rude but my GOD do they put in the work. Cheerleaders, top ranked band, the timing and tempo thing? Insane. Oh, and the way they actually go silent for Atsumu like how the fuck did he pull that off?? ❞

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks for reading! I’m glad you read this far. I hope this made you at least smile just a little bit because it definitely made me smile. And please don’t think that I don’t like any of the teams! I love each and every one of them; it’s just that some have more school spirit than others... anyways!

Whoever sent this, I just wanted to let you know that you made my entire day when I first read that. It was so unbelievably funny HAHAH

#idk if i could classify this as something that hqwn would reblog so im not gonna add a tag hehe #uhhhh #please enjoy #haikyuu!! #haikyu!! #haikyuu #haikyu #itachiyama #nohebi #johzenji #karasuno #nekoma #fukurodani #seijoh #aoba johsai #shiratorizawa #dateko #date tech #inarizaki

[cowboyshit]

I feel like Hangman is the kind of guy who (these aren't connected imao) has an entire section of the wardrobe dedicated to his lovely shirts and is the kind of bf/hubby who sends flowers or a small gift he spots just bc it made him think of you. I also think he kisses his ring before he takes it off and then kisses the tape in its place before wrestling but that's just me🤷‍♀️

🥺🥺🥺 what the fuck???????? that’s literally so precious? oh my god???? that’s so cute my HEART. I’m too weak a bitch and too in love with love that I AAAAHHHHH that’s so cute that’s so cute. headcanons accepted all around. also could you imagine how cute his lil section of his closet would be with all those shirts hanging up? also, he’s clearly the kind of person who isn’t going to be wasteful and buy something and only wear it once. I know he’s said he’s not an “effort” guy, but I do see him as someone who’d take care of his shirts maybe not neurotically, but enough so that he can get a good run out of them. I mean hell, I caught recently that one of his shirts he wears today he’s been wearing frequently over the years (I’ve noticed it a few times in a few bte episodes and old roh interviews), and I notice when he likes a shirt he tends to wear it a lot (my favorite “have a willie nice day” he wears a lot, he also wears the grey tobacco road one a lot, he’s worn the american flag horse wrangler one a couple times and also the green willie nelson austin one a couple times too) and yes I am fully aware how much of a freaking lunatic I am for knowing his shirts right off the bat. It’s not MY fault I absorb all the media of him that I can come across, often multiple times and he wears the same shirt multiple times so I see them A LOT okay.  and also I have some weird encyclopedic brain for him for some reason and I don’t know WHY

#i love him im crazy this ask is cute #that's all you need to know #ashley answers #also fuck i reread the kissing his ring thing and fucking MELTED ALL OVER AGAIN #got me fucked up on this monday

[interesting-blog-name]

SLIGHTLY NEW ALBUMS I LIKED (Little Simz - GREY Area; Monsune - Tradition; Backxwash - God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It)

More loose reviews that I write and instantly want to get out of my Word document and into Tumblr without much of an overlaying theme between the albums or any planning as to which ones I’ll be releasing at which point, but it is what it is. This time I’ll be compiling some recent-ish albums I’ve enjoyed, two of which I’ve come to know from TheNeedleDrop (I try not to watch reviews before writing down my opinion btw), and one EP from an artist I like. Here it is.

Little Simz – GREY Area

Little Simz, the 26-year-old British rapper, is an artist I’ve loved the first time I heard her, when I listened to Selfish for the first time and saw her cover of Feel Good Inc. in triple-j’s Like A Version. Today, May 30th, I was planning on listening to White Chalk by PJ Harvey, but from what I read, it’s a pretty depressing album, and I’m not in the mood for that right now, so I picked GREY Area from my future listening list.

It’s really nice to hear a rap album like this once in a while. The instrumentation is organic and well thought out, her flow is amazing, and her lyrics have so much substance and personality to them, ranging from the happier, more reminiscent tone in 101 FM to the much more aggressive tracks Offence, Boss, Venom and Pressure, she’s always giving her take on life, telling the experience of what it’s like being a black person with big dreams in England, seeing friends die while she tries to go somewhere in life through music.

The main tone she picks for her self-narrative is an unapologetic view of the world around her; she tells the listener: “’til now I ain’t ever been the selfish type, ‘till now I ain’t ever told nobody no, don’t get it twisted. This shit ain’t happen overnight” in the biggest song off here, Selfish, featuring the most calming and lavish pianos and violins in this album, and an amazing feature by Cleo Sol on the hook. Pressure features an amazing batch of verses all about. Same thing with the intro, Offence, with its bold, empowering chorus; although the track comes off more playful with its cartoonish sound effects nearing the end than the raw message of the track mentioned previously. A great, high-spirited track to start off the album.

What isn’t as high-spirited is the next track, Boss, or, to be fair, almost all the other tracks in the album. Boss is a big fuck you to anyone you might dedicate the song to: the hook has Simz’s most aggressive delivery in the whole record, and the entire message is about getting over those who hurt you and coming up.  The second verse is something else.

Wounds, featuring Jamaican singer Chronixx, deals mostly with the gun/crime problem ever-so-present in marginalized communities all around the world, and she tells the story from the perspective of both herself and as a companion of the “gun man”, repeatedly mentioned in the song (“When a gun man only knows self-hate, them bullets show no love”). I’m not super crazy for Chronixx’s hook, or the much slower tempo of the track, but it fits well with the groovy instrumental. Venom, on the other hand, is a super exciting, menacing song. She goes all out over the violins playing in the background, but unfortunately, the track burns twice as bright to last half as long.

To lighten the mood a bit, 101 FM brings the most electronic instrumental, with cheerful, banging 808s and synths, and lyrics about her come up as a rapper, probably the verses where her British accent and slang dominate the most, giving them a more personal feel somewhat. Pressure doesn’t feature the most compelling instrumental or hooks in here – the Little Dragon refrain is mixed very poorly and the vocalist just doesn’t do a great job -, but the verses compensate for that, especially the first one, probably one of the most heartfelt and important ones in this album. Therapy talks about Simz’s struggles with finding comfort in therapy. The instrumental is average for the project, but still slaps, so that’s nice.

Sherbet Sunset is an ode to a broken relationship, and a theme that could be handled so poorly by other artists is handled masterfully by Little Simz. In three verses, she displays so many sides to what I assume is one relationship, so many emotions and thoughts that she shares, it really feels like she’s transcribing something of a focused, bright mind rush over the track, and it amazes me how she can reveal her feelings so well on a track like this, progressing from the regret of not seeing how it’d go wrong, to the anxiety that comes from spending all that time for seemingly nothing, to coming to terms with it in the last verse (although not quite). It’s a stunning song now that I listen to it again.

To close it all off, we have Flowers, mainly a tribute to various artists from the 27 club, with mentions of Jimi Hendrix and Amy Winehouse in the verses, trying to relate to their struggles with drug addiction and quick fame. It’s incredibly powerful and a great finisher.

I don’t dislike one track in GREY Area. It’s well conceived, a great statement, it really feels like she gives her all to make every track memorable, and even though her delivery is mostly monotone throughout the whole album, that also works to her favor, as she has a very unique and recognizable voice. So the lyrics are extremely well written, and the only reason I don’t give more examples of that is because I got a whole lot of school shit to do, the instrumental work is clean and precise, and I don’t have a whole lot to complain about. Check this shit out if you haven’t.

 FAVORITE TRACKS: 101 FM, Venom, Selfish, Offence, Boss, Pressure

LEAST FAVORITE TRACK: lol nah

 8.7/10

“Why you wanna all dress lies as truth? Have you ever seen what silence do? I don’t wanna see no violent troops putting out fires that haven’t been started”

 Monsune – Tradition

Damn I did not expect to like this as much as I did.

Monsune is a Chinese-Canadian singer who has recently been gaining some popularity from his amazing song OUTTA MY MIND, which features a funky bassline and high-pitched guitar playing that some have compared to Childish Gambino, specifically his album “Awaken, My Love!”. I decided to check out this short EP by him to see if he had anything more to offer, and it’s safe to say, he does.

The first track off Tradition already shows what this guy can do with his production. It starts off with the same vibe off of his previously mentioned biggest track, but on steroids: a prominent bassline, pitch-altered backing vocals, sunny guitars, and drowned out drums. His voice is also reaching higher notes in this song than in OUTTA MY MIND, but then in the middle of the song it all slows down for a very welcome beat change that shifts the song from this summer anthem to a very chill R&B tune. It’s amazing stuff, although I don’t understand why he chose to put some very noticeable autotune in this part.

CLOUD is my least favorite from the EP, but it’s still a very solid song, it’s just not amazing. The bass is still very strong, and the bridge later on in the song is addictive as shit. After that track comes OUTTA MY MIND, and then his style completely switches in MOUNTAIN, which starts off with some solo guitar and his low, beautiful singing. It’s actually really moving for some reason lol. It then picks up in the hook, the drums kick in along with what I assume is a keyboard, and his voice reaches the top of his range for the backing vocals, it’s a very well-made song.

JADE finishes Tradition off extremely beautifully, with a smooth acoustic guitar intro over a nice-ass bass, some ethereal, trippy scenes of Monsune floating over the ocean and appearing out of thin air in front of you (probably not you, the listener). And then all of a sudden this madman screams off the top of his lungs in the middle of the track and I fucking love it.

The flaws this EP has are mostly related to the mixing, which I think can be a little too harsh in some sections such as the big breakdowns in JADE and MOUNTAIN. Plus, I know lyrics aren’t a focus on a project like this, but it would be nice to get something more than love songs in the future perhaps. Still, loving this EP, so glad I checked Monsune out. You should too.

 WORST TO BEST: CLOUDS, 1998, JADE, OUTTA MY MIND, MOUNTAIN

 8/10

“Don’t you wanna come down? Cause I’m so bored of walking on the same old sky”

 Backxwash – God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It

God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It is an album by American rapper Backxwash, who received a new wave of attention after Anthony Fantano reviewed this album in his channel and gave it a decent 8. I haven’t watched the review yet, but I was interested in checking it out because of the high score, and especially since when I looked it up on Spotify, the songs only had around 8000 views.

Dark subject themes and the whole dark trap aesthetic are the core of this album. I, personally, have always been a fan of aggressive, heavy rap music, from more underground names like gizmo and Fukkit, to the more mainstream variant of these sounds, like XXXTENTACION. This album, however, operates in somewhat of a separate lane.

Many of the dark, edgy rap I used to listen to religiously back in the day was borderline mindless. Shit about ripping someone open, hollow flexing, except separated from mainstream rap only because the rapper in question is screaming their brains out when talking about designer clothes, instead of mumbling like your average Lil Baby, and, of course, personal problems, depression, being mad about whatever it was. Unlike its other contemporaries, however, it seems Backxwash has much more thought and elaboration into what she wants to yell about. Instead of hiding behind bass-boosted rather formulaic instrumentals, she takes the more scenic route, with still very dark, but more intricate gothic beats, sampling various religious speeches and implementing them into songs about black magic and overall unhappiness. The Black Sabbath sample that opens up this album should be enough for any listener to immediately understand what they’re about to get into, as the title track brings heavy percussion and some of the most graphic lyrics in the album, which it already doesn’t lack. Lines about downing pills and vodka, contemplating suicide, and blank vocalizations of anger (“I want war with these bitches, I want corpses and weapons”).

The track that resembles an average edgy Soundcloud rap song the most is Black Magic right after, with its own interpretation of the “ay” flow, shouted with a tone reminiscent of someone like Craig Xen. The big difference comes with the much grander production, especially the growling guitars that get introduced halfway, reminding the listener of Backxwash’s skill as a producer. From what I could tell, she was responsible for the production of the tracks in here, and considering there are no vocal guests except for Malldate’s quick appearance in Into The Void, I’m assuming the features listed in the tracklist are all producer credits as well, the feature in this track being Ada Rook, providing the amazing guitar work for this song.

Spells is mixed for me. I don’t enjoy the attempted singing in the chorus, and it falls completely flat to my ears; the beat is hard as ever, but the lyrics feel slightly disconnected with each other. At one point, she’s talking about going to Hell to her mom, at the other she mentions doors opening and closing in an office and how there’s no one in some corridor, and it doesn’t go anywhere from that, with lines such as “heart is so dead with tissue” not exactly evoking any sort of emotion or imagery.

Black Sheep is the most effective song out of the first four; it seems to filter all the positive aspects of the other tracks and package them into one quick serving. The beat is chaotic and in a constant state of unrest, the lyrics are centered and aimed at various of Backxwash’s problems in life, such as her father, people who want to bring her down and put her “in line on the X and O’s”, and overall venting. After that comes a brief interlude, the first of two that don’t have much use in the album except as pallet cleansers. It’s followed by Into The Void, a track that mentions her paranoia of being harassed and possibly killed when walking around in the streets and the deli. It’s haunting, and definitely the best song in here; it is laser-focused in the exact way I wished the previous tracks would be. Her vocal delivery is extremely expressive, and she tells the story in a way that gives the listener a brief, but at the same time immense glimpse of the reality that trans people face and have to go through, in a morbid fashion.

Adolescence is very short and eases the pace a bit after the intense emotions of the last. It’s a message to her younger brother that quickly descents into a confession of her inner struggle, mentioning possible overdoses and being too old for the 27 Club and fearing going to therapy. What’s great about this song is the fact that, even in such a short amount of time and with a less explosive instrumental, Backxwash manages to evoke her emotions so well; this is definitely what she does best in this record, and it overcomes the times where her delivery is flawed and her words are slurred and hard to understand. After this comes Amen, and holy fuck is this an angry song. Criticizing the hell out of the church, Backxwash comes at greedy pastors and their irresponsible spending when the churchgoers who support him are in need. My big problem with this song is the fact that the hook, as impassionate as it is, doesn’t do much for the subject, and the verse is way too short to have any impact with its theme. Lines like “these politicians politicking” don’t help much either.

The very distorted second interlude, Heaven’s Interlude, takes us to the last track, Redemption, the least intense song in here, which is appropriate as a sendoff. She expresses her frustrations towards her dad’s frustrations towards her being trans, and while the entire sentiment of the song is great and well formulated, I can’t find a way around the lines “Fuck these fucking boomers, fuck these fucking losers. Fuck theses motherfucking fuckers in their fucking two truck. Fuck these fuck(sic)abusers, and fuck these fucking rumors.”, they just emanate Limp Bizkit energy.

God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It is a very passionate, real, well produced and well-conceived album; it bears themes that are immensely important to be brought to the music scene, and by mixing that message with its explosive and polished production, it amplifies it a ton. However, as powerful as her deliveries are, I believe Backxwash can go much further with her songwriting and song structuring in the future, as well as her intonation, because that was really all that was keeping this album from being legendary. If she can do more of this in songs that are longer and super focused around whichever topic she decides, she can make something legendary. And thank God she got reviewed by Fantano, I hope she can take this opportunity and make something huge out of this.

 FAVORITE TRACKS: Into The Void, Black Sheep, God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It, Adolescence, Black Magic

LEAST FAVORITE TRACK: Spells

 7.7/10

“Chosen one, sad bitch, lowest scum. Coldest, huh, black sheep talk to ‘em. If the situation changed I would have said the same shit, exactly the same.”

#little simz #grey area #monsune #tradition #backxwash #god has nothing to do with this leave him out of it #album #review #albume review #ep #ep review #rap #uk rap #dark rap #indie pop

[heartslogos]

the declassified texts of the inquisition’s elite [91]

(919): This may be the most redneck thing I've ever said, but I know all there is to know about farting dogs

-

(469):I have only been here for a week and might contributed to a dumpster fire on accident.

-

“Are you sure?”

“That I know everything about farting dogs? Hell yeah I’m sure,” Sera says, looking strangely offended. “You think I’d lie about that? The only reasons someone says they know everything about farting dogs is because it’s true. That’s a stupid thing to lie about. If I was gonna lie something about my general knowledge I’d lie about — knowing everything about the stock market. Which is like. No one knows everything about the stock market.” Sera points a finger at Dorian. “Before you say anything, no one. Know. Everything. About. The. Stock. Market. Period. And anyone who says they do is lying out of their unwashed asshole.”

“You, as always, paint the most color picture. Have you considered writing copy?”

“I didn’t mean that you didn’t know everything about farting dogs,” Malika says before Sera and Dorian can get into the woes of advertising, “I mean are you sure that’s the most redneck thing you’ve ever said?”

Sera falters. “I mean. I don’t think I’ve ever said anything more redneck than that. It’s not possible.”

“Are you sure?” Malika presses. “Like, really sure?”

“Also, how are you saying you’re redneck? Weren’t you raised in the inner city? You went to private school.”

“I was kicked out of private school, Pavus. Because I wasn’t posh enough. And I was adopted into the inner city but like — it’s different. I wasn’t born to it and I pretty much fucked off back to my roots as soon as I could get away.” Sera rolls her eyes. “Besides, you gonna tell me that the entire country of Ferelden doesn’t count as country?”

Dorian opens his mouth to argue and then closes it. “Alright. You have me there. Even Denerim is more suburb than urban. I still can’t believe that their capital city doesn’t even have a railway. And only four bus lines.”

“It does, but it’s a railway that goes to the other side of the country with like, five stops.”

“A point to Denerim’s favor is that they mostly ride bikes and walk everywhere.”

“Because everything worth doing is in walking distance? Yes. Right. Top marks for having things to do. I can knock out touring Denerim in one day, maybe two if I go very slowly.”

“Guys, we’re not here to rag on Ferelden.”

Sera and Dorian pointedly close their mouths but Malika can see them having some kind of mental exchange.

“Anyway Sera, are you sure that’s the most counter thing you’ve ever said? Because sometimes you and Cullen go off and it’s like…really entertaining. Also kind of eerie because sometimes I forget you both are Ferelden stock.”

“Rutherford is way more country than I am. He’s from a hand to god farm.” Sera hesitates. “Shit. Do you remember me saying something more country than knowing everything about dog farts?”

“Not off the top of my head, but if your ceiling or red neck country is knowing everything about dog farts I’m pretty sure that…like. You’ve passed your own limit.”

“Well shit. Alright, fine. I still know everything about dog farts. But maybe it’s not the most red neck country shit I’ve ever said or will say. I guess I’ve got to leave that option open from now on. Fuck. I’m kind of scared to know what my peak is now.” Sera grabs her phone. “I’m gonna ask Rutherford if he thinks he’s peaked. Or what the most country thing he’s ever said is. If I haven’t beat that I’m fine.”

-

“Kaaras. Are you sure Kaaras? Our Kaaras? Six foot four, curly horns, hunched shoulders, soft mid-section, slight stammer, Kaaras?” Evelyn repeats dumbly. “That Kaaras? Started a dumpster fire?”

“Based on the picture I got from Malika, it looks like a pretty tame dumpster fire,” Max says, examining something on his phone. “Yeah. Looks fine. Under control and everything.”

Evelyn looks dumbfounded. “Wait, are you sure it’s our Kaaras though? I can’t — a dumpster fire?”

“A small one.”

“I don’t care how big or small it was. I care that it’s a dumpster fire. I can’t comprehend it.”

“Facts don’t require comprehension from you, Lyn,” Max replies. “I’m so proud of him. All grown up and setting fires. Herah and I have to take him out to celebrate.”

“Arson isn’t something you celebrate.”

“Delinquency is something we do,” Max points out. “Controlled delinquency, of course.”

“You’re just making terms up now,” Evelyn groans. “Why were they starting fires?”

“Presumably to burn stuff,” Max says. “Or stay warm.”

“You don’t even know the context behind it do you? You didn’t even think to ask?”

“Evelyn, why would I ask? You think I ask everyone about the context of everything they tell me? Don’t be ridiculous. It’d be a non-stop series of automated ok but why. I don’t have the time or brain capacity for that. It’s best to just — accept things as is, you know? The why will eventually come to light when necessary on its own terms.”

“Max, that’s a very, very lax way of going about things.”

“And you’ll notice I’m not stressed about anything.”

“Yes you are, you just live your life in constant repression,” Evelyn replies. “It’s not any healthier than having the stress out in the open for everyone to see.”

“Ah, but no one can see it and therefore no one can bother me about it,” Max grins, giving his cousin a cheeky finger gun. “And one day all the stress will give me more internal bleeding than normal and I will die. But that’s a problem for future Maxwell. Current Maxwell is just going to enjoy his friends sending him cool pictures and developing into fire setting adults.”

“Max, you worry me.”

“Chill, cousin. Alright, and look — it was a practice fire! For later.”

“What do you mean for later.”

“I mean for later. I guess they’re burning something bigger tonight.”

Evelyn reaches for her phone even as Max is texting away on his, looking quite cheerful.

“I’m glad they’re taking their jobs seriously,” he says. “Practicing an entire day before hand. That’s dedication to the craft. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

[jack-andthestalk]

Our Son, Arc II, Obligations, Chp 5.

So almost 3000 words.

My heart literally hurt yesterday to see that the beautiful @kalendraashtar felt she couldn't continue writing because of horrible anons. It is 100% jealousy, and they are pathetic bitter individuals, who hide behind anonymity. Anyway I want to dedicate this chapter to her because if it wasn't for her her inspiring work I would never have typed a word of fanfic. I don't have an ounce of her gift but I will keep writing anway!I ​ 

Anyways thank you for your comments and asks, it fuels the fire guys! I want to thank @balfeheughlywed and @ladyviolethummingbird  who got me to move the first section of this chapter to a later one and they were so right because I am so much happier with the flow. There is reference to NSFW language below the cut.

Brian patted my hand, a tight smile swept across his face. “There ye are Jamie lad, I was just about to tell ye that I found Claire!” his tone overly light, nervous almost.

Jamie nodded, arms folded defensively keeping his eyes locked on me. “Aye,” he said plainly.

  Brian sensing the tension, made one final attempt at smoothing the waters, “Son I have told Claire that this is not our wish for ye, I ken that might not help yer explanations but…I”

Before Brian could finish his sentence, Jamie’s face grew grim. “This is bullshit” he snarled, “I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t”,  pointing one finger at his father “you absolving yourself of my decisions isna going to make things any better, so dinna bother trying that judicious bullshit with me!” he spat.

  Brian visibly flinched at his words, but he walked towards Jamie calmly, eyes full of sympathy. “I am sorry son. I ken this is very difficult on ye.”

  Before we could speak another word, Willie came bounding energetically into the stables, and we all made a conscious effort to take a step back. 

  “Ma” Willie shouted excitedly “Me and Da have been looking for ye all morning!”, he jumped up into my arms “Where have ye been?” his brows creased together questioningly. “Oh well” I replied, infusing a brightness in my tone that I didn’t feel, “I have been out walking and helping Grandda.”

  Willie nodded acceptingly. “How many friends can I invite to the wedding?” he blurted out, his mind running onto his next plan. 

“The what?” I asked my addled brain failing to follow Willie’s quick turnaround.

  “yer and Da’s wedding,” Willie explained rolling his eyes. “I wanna invite my new friends from School.”

  Jamie stepped forward, taking Willie from my arms. “As many as ye like son”, ignoring my half opened mouth he smiled reassuringly at Willie.

  Brian cleared his throat and started shuffling towards the stable door. “Come with me a bhalaich” Brian beckoned; Willie duly leapt from Jamie’s arms to follow his grandfather.

  “Don’t do that” I hissed as soon as Willie was out of earshot.

  “Claire,” Jamie said ignoring my temper. “Will ya let me explain” his hands outstretched pleadingly.

  “your father has explained it all” I said and stormed off.

_________________

  If my dress had sleeves, they would be wrung within my fingers nervously. "Fuck", I muttered to myself "I am too soft that's my problem".

    The three swift brandies I had downed before arriving had numbed my yapping stomach but done nothing to quench the anxiety roaring around my body.

I had no one to blame for my attendance at this farce but myself, given that my first thought this morning was to board a plane to Boston. My resolve had weakened under Jenny's pleading words.

    "Ya ken mam willna ask it of ye, but she has invited everybody and their mother to this party, if ye dinna show with Jamie, she will would be shamed", seeing my expression she held her hand up haltingly, " I ken right now yer not too concerned of shaming Jamie, but I know ye willna shame mam."

  My answer was quick and wounding "I will do it for Ellen." I said sharply, stamping out the flash of hope that flickered across Jamie’s face.

  Jamie's soft knock on the bedroom door came sometime later, "Are ye ready Sassenach?" his anger from earlier had dissipated somewhat, and instead his eyes held a sadness, the sight was like an invisible hand churning my gut. Part of me longed to pull him to me, missing the solid feel of him but I was still too sore to bridge the gap.

    To occupy my mind and avoid Jamie, I had spent more than the average amount of time readying myself for a party. If I dressed as if going to battle, it might conjure up bravery I didn't own, and to hide the utter devastation that I felt inside. I would be damned if the Dunsany's would know what they cost me.

  Jamie's face when I opened the door, fortified me with just enough courage to face them. "Ye are stunning," he said simply.

__________________

"I dinna want the Dunsany's in my home either" Ellen whispered as we entered through the kitchen door, "but they will be gone tomorrow, and for now we will hold our heads high, aye?"

I heard her message and greeted each guest as warmly as I could.

  Yielding to Jamie's warm hand on the small of my back, just as much an act of compromise as need.

    The Fraser's neighbours and friends eyed me with a mixture of curiosity and something like compassion. I was a stranger, the Sassenach pet name Jamie called me was somewhat different on their tongues.

  To most of them, Jamie's engagement came entirely out of the blue, and they weren't even aware that we were dating, which technically we weren't.

  The flow of congratulations, followed with "sure it will be lovely for Willie" spoke volumes. Our engagement perceived as a necessity, an arrangement almost. Just a girl Jamie had got pregnant, and now he was doing the decent thing by marrying her.

    Everything coloured by the move to Hellwater, I couldn't see our story anymore. Focusing only on the bare facts of mine and Jamie's history, I saw myself from their eyes. A mistake.

    Panic and humiliation were fighting each other for dominance in my mind.

  My status as an obligation was driven home when I heard an elderly neighbour of the Fraser's bend to Jamie's ear. His ruddy cheeks wobbling in merriment "Ye got caught son" he said nudging Jamie playfully in the ribs, "happens to the best of us...our Ann was six months gone when I married her, ye did well to escape the ould ball and chain for four years."

  Jamie's head snapped instantly to me first and then he lent to the man again, muttering something between gritted teeth and stormed away leaving me alone with strangers.

  Hours seemed to pass since I lost Jamie's presence by my side. I  listened to stories I had no part in or knowledge of. I was ignoring the stares and curious looks and raging silently with him for leaving me.

  I pressed my lips together to try and still the scream that threatened to fall from my mouth.

     “Claire?”  Jenny's concerned face was peering at me.

  I moved across the room, away from her searching for an exit I bumped straight into Jamie. Geneva Dunsany trailing behind him, "where are ye going?"

  He was leaning over me, not helping the circulation of air I so desperately needed. “It doesn't matter, I can’t do this”, I swallowed hard and took a deep breath, I glanced over his shoulder at Geneva and Jamie followed my stare, he turned back to me quickly to say something but before he had uttered a word a cold hand reached for my forearm.

  Geneva Dunsany's concerned eyes watching me "Claire are you ok? You've gone a terrible shade."

    "Fine," I said smiling tightly.

  Her blue eyes gazed at me sympathetically this coinciding with Jamie's equally concerned expression made me want to slap something, was he with her when he left me alone? "Look I am sure none of this is easy," she said mildly, "newly engaged and about to be separated."

  Jamie moved a step closer to me as if anticipating my propensity to turn violent. "I just want you to know that we will take excellent care of him" she smiled sweetly.

"I dinna need your family's care Geneva, I am there under coercion. let us be clear, aye?."

  Suddenly it was too much, Geneva's wounded face, Jamie's defensive words. They were all involved in this mess, and I no longer wanted to be.

  Bolting for the nearest door, I breathed apologies while squeezing myself between guests as I left.

   _______

  It was an hour later when Jamie snuck into the stables behind me. "I thought ye went home," he said quietly, tentatively edging closer to me as if approaching a spooked horse.

  "Home?" I snorted sarcastically "and where would that be?"

  Jamie took a moment to consider "I would like to say yer home is with me, but I dinna think ye see it that way anymore?"

  I was at a loss for how to answer him. "Do you have any idea how it felt in that room? I have never felt so alone... so... " searching for a word to sum up how I felt, "so far from home" I finished, hoping that he couldn't hear the break in my voice.

    When his hand snuck around to pull me close, I shrank from his touch.

    "I am so sorry Claire" he held on firmly, ignoring the attempt to sever myself from him.

  "Sorry?" I asked disbelievingly "sorry doesn't come close, Jamie."

    His face fell, and his hand rose to cup my cheek.  Eyes brimming with tears,  I could see the exhaustion weighing down his shoulders.

  Fixing my eyes on a vacant point on the floor, I bit my bottom lip,  it hurt to look at him.

    "Do ye think it is easy for me Claire? It's like ripping my heart out and living without it" his voice falling to a whisper at the final word. Swallowing hard and blinking rapidly, he moved towards me.

  “Do ye not think I am fucking broken at the thoughts of leaving ye?” he persisted.

My mouth curled up in a sneer, "and here you are still only thinking of how this affects you, Jesus Jamie" I snapped.

  His hands reached out and held me firm by my forearms. There was no sound but a ragged drawing of breath. He stood staring at me, eyes searching up and down my face.

  "What would you have me do? Let them leave my parents without a home, a business? Throw away everything they have worked for?"

  "What I would have had you do is not put all that at jeopardy without getting fucking advice first" I spat.

Something flickered in his eyes before he roared "fuck" and kicked an upturned bucket halfway across the stable. Running his hand through his hair he turned from me, his head thrown back.

  I wasn't done.

  "No matter how I look at it, I can't get past that we are not your priority, we weren't your priority when Willie was born, and we aren't your priority now," I said flatly.

    “Claire” Jamie breathed, “That couldna be further from the truth” he shook his head incredulously.

  "This is pointless" I retorted rolling my eyes, "you can't even see what your actions mean Jamie?"

  His bewildered glare told me he didn't have a clue.

    "Look," I said feigning reason. "Our circumstances have changed. It's like you proposed a lifetime ago. I am not naive enough to think that Willie and I may have seen like an obligation."

  Jamie's eyes widened, and he put his hands up haltingly, moving in small steps to stand in front of me.

  "Obligation?" he asked incredulously. I didn't answer, the whispers and swirls of gossip still circulating in my mind from the party.

  "Claire" he breathed, one side of his mouth turning up in a smile. "When I asked ye to marry me, I meant every word, it doesna matter what happens around us Sassenach, what it is between us doesna change."

  His imploring eyes and soft intake of breath made me want to fall into his arms, but Jamie's reluctance to admit the enormous problem our future faced grated on me.

    “Oh ok, so when do you think we should get married then? Where do you think we should live?

When he opened his mouth and failed to say something.  My lips curled up into a sly smile. "The truth is, the day you agreed to move to Hellwater, you ended any future you and I could have."

  Jamie's mouth dropped open, but something close to recognition passed over his face.

  I raised my hand halting the start of his protests, and my voice trembled slightly when I said  "it's not just because we will be separated, your actions speak volumes, Jamie. I gave up everything to come to you, and yet again, Willie and I are down the pegging order."

    His eyes flashed angrily, and he loomed over me "Do – ye – not – think – I – regret –it" he said through gritted teeth.

    "I don't fucking know; maybe it is what you want? Running the show at Hellwater, everyone thinking you're some sort of fucking demigod come horse whisperer, maybe you get your kicks out of that, hmm?"

  Jamie's eyes went as wide as stalks, his hands bunching into fists at his sides before he sent one pounding against the wooden frame behind me. I was reasonably sure I had never witnessed Jamie so furious. I revelled in it, matching his glare with gusto.

    “Are ye crazy?” he asked incredulously. Part of my brain was begging me to stop this before Jamie’s head blew clean of his shoulders, the other half wanted me to provoke him until he said something he couldn’t take back and I would have justification for my loathing.

    Jamie grabbed the top of the gate of the horse stall directly behind me, my eyes followed his hand, and I could see the whites of his knuckles as he gripped it. He was boxing me in, leaning over me to demonstrate his power, it irked me considerably.

  I cleared my throat and gave him a smile that didn't quite meet my eyes. My voice was like honey now.

  "Look you'll be fine I am sure…those Dunsany sisters will be certain to make you feel welcome, I think one of them might even want to fuck you too…so your bed will be warm", the cold gaze that I gave him under my lashes was the perfect accompaniment to the utter filth I was suddenly capable of spouting.

    Jamie grabbed me roughly “What the hell has gotten into ye?” he growled. “Oh come on” I persisted. “You’re pretending it’s a death sentence…when I am sure the Lady Geneva will make it an altogether more enjoyable affair”, my disused British accent now slanted, mocking.

  A rumble came from Jamie’s chest that I knew was going to exit his mouth as a roar.

“Ye think I want to fuck somebody else, is that it Claire, ye think I want to leave you and Willie so I can fuck Geneva Dunsany?”

    I turned my face away, staring at nothing on the wall. "Answer me!!" Jamie roared.

  Turning completely, back to his face I breathing deeply trying to calm myself.

  Jamie's warm breath came fast against my ear. A spiteful tone to his words.

    “Well more fool me because you are the only woman I want to fuck even when yer out of your mind!”

  He pulled me back against him, his fingers pressing into my hips until my bottom met his cock. Hard, aching.

  "Can ye feel that" he hissed against my neck.

  "Even - now," he said haltingly. "I want ye when ye canna even look at me."

  He was rousing something in me that I wasn't sure what to do with.

Heat spread through every inch of me at his touch.

  Another breath.

  "I only want you” he whispered.

II craved him, anger be damned, intense pleasure clawed up my spine and I rotated my hips against him. Teasing.

  "Can ye no look at me then?" teeth snaking into my neck, his chin heavy on my shoulder.

    "No," I said hoarsely "I can't".

    "Do ye want me?"

  "Jamie" I pleaded. "This won't help" My body sending a different message as I slipped my hand back and ran it over his arousal, which earned me an eager groan and a breathy "fuck".

    Slow and steady Jamie's hand crept up the hem of my dress, sure fingers gliding up my thigh until he reached between my legs and felt the wetness there. "Ye do want me," he said while biting and licking the soft skin below my ear.

  Jamie's hand journeyed down my arm and he entwined our fingers where my hand rested above the gate. One knee shoving my legs apart he continued to move his fingers inside of me, teasing the wetness there. I could barely breathe around the need.

  Moaning loudly I thrust my bottom against him, and Jamie drew in a sharp breath.

   I wasn't aware of one other coherent thought, but the sound of the metal clang of his belt buckle hitting the floor as he dropped his pants, and his fist driving himself inside of me.  Losing all heed for where we were or who might see.

  Over and over we punished each other every time Jamie thrust into me, I pushed back.

  Frantic breaths and screams were barely audible over the pelting wind and rain outside. Furious coiling, in my belly, when Jamie slid his hand down to our joining I bowed over at the waist, his soft cries of "Jesus Sassenach" as he stilled and came inside, was just low enough that I wouldn't hear his voice break.

  He slumped over me and grasped me to him. We stood like that not moving and buried deep until Jamie's voice came back against my ear, he pressed a wet cheek against my neck.

   "Are ye going to leave me, Claire?"

#outlander fanfic #ourson

[distant-rose]

Seal of Fate Ch. 1 (2/8)

Notes: I actually love this chapter a lot for all of the wrong reasons, mainly because I’m kinda turning this entire selkie thing on its head. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Please note there is a lot of discussion on the icky side of the male selkie myths which I find problematic and have decided to voice here. So, yeah, there’s talk of dubious consent and sexual harassment but nothing overtly triggering in my opinion. A special thank you to @aerica13​ who is my amazing beta and a godsend because I’m shit at editing my own work. Also a thank you to @shireness-says​ and @katie-dub​ for being my cheerleaders. I really appreciate you guys. Also a special thanks to @cssns​ and @drowned-dreamer​ for making my CS Supernatural Summer pretty epic. Kerry did an amazing job making me art for this story. Check it out below! It’s absolutely gorgeous and unfortunately the kiss in this chapter isn’t as romantic but we’ll get there. Summary: Emma Swan is looking for only one thing - answers. Abandoned outside a police station in Menemsha, Martha’s Vineyard, Emma has dedicated her life to finding out where she comes from and why she was given away. She finds an unlikely partner in Killian, a selkie she inadvertently summons in a fit of frustration over her cold case. Word Count: 4,600+ Chapters: Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Epilogue Rating: T+

Emma hated the Vineyard. Though she wasn’t a people person, she preferred the anonymity that came with living in the city and the phenomena of being alone without actually being alone. It was easy to lose yourself in the hustle of the city, to turn your brain off and just walk aimlessly until you found something to distract you from the world for a while. There was no word to describe Menemsha except empty and she could feel that emptiness echoing inside her. While she had found some sort of companionship in Ruby whenever she went to the diner, it never went beyond casual conversation. Emma wasn’t necessarily looking for friendship - she was a loner by nature - but she found she couldn’t lose herself in Menemsha the same way she lost herself in Tallahassee, Boston and Portland. The silence of the village amplified the violence of her thoughts and her mind had become a torturous reel of her darkest moments. She couldn’t sleep with the echoes of the loud piercing shriek of a baby she would never hold, the compassionless voices of police officers reading her Miranda rights and the false platitudes of the countless foster parents who gave her away ringing in her ears. Normally when her demons came to bite her in the ass, Emma would throw herself into work but she found no solace in researching on her own case.

Emma knew when she decided to finally look into her own case that it was going to be a difficult and thankless job. She knew that it was possible that her attempts to unearth the truth of her past might end in disappointment and failure. It was a fact that hung over her head like guillotine. She had been born into an era before computers and in an age where social services was less than careful in their documentation. It was possible that what she was looking for didn’t exist or, even worse, had been destroyed.

Menemsha was a small village and technically a part of the town of Chilmark. Though it had a police station, it did not have a town hall, a library or even a post office. Rather, Memensha had more restaurants that it needed, a fish market, one bed and breakfast, a general store and an art gallery that belonged to the Mills family. The more essential amenities were located in Chilmark which was a twenty-five minute trip by car. Normally such a distance wasn’t such a bother to her but when gas was five dollars per gallon, Emma couldn’t help but be a little resentful of it. Though, the librarian at the Chilmark Free Public Library had been helpful and had campaigned on her behalf to give her access to the archives in the Town Office.

Emma had nearly cried when she saw the state of the archives. She didn’t have high expectations to begin with but it was literally a hundred boxes of old documents that had been shoved carelessly into a musty basement to be forgotten about. On top of the distant lack of organisation, there was obvious water and mold damages to some of the boxes which made her nervous at the state of which actual documents inside were in.

It took her more time than she would have liked to go through all the boxes and pick out all the files marked 1983 but once she was able, she was left with four boxes out of the bunch. She didn’t bother asking for permission when she loaded them up into her car. It wasn’t worth the headache and Emma strongly suspected that they wouldn’t be missed considering the state of the archive.

Nearly a week into her time in Martha’s Vineyard, Emma found what she was looking for.

Or so she thought.

Her heart nearly stopped when she found the thin file that had been marked with the her case number. It was covered in watermarks and already she could feel her optimism fade away as she noted how thin it was. There couldn’t have been more than a few documents in it.

The sight of her Chapter 46 Section 1A certificate was nothing new. The documentation that marked her as an abandoned child had long since been in her possession and she was still fighting with the Massachusetts Department of Children and Families for them to release documents made by her social worker in regard to the circumstances around her initial adoption. Despite the fact they were nearly thirty years old, the Department had a tight hold on them and wasn’t at all sympathetic to her cause.

Aside from her foundling certificate, there was only the police report. It wasn’t a long one but it was written in messy shorthand that seemed to convey the officer’s disinterest just as clearly as his words. Under the description section, they had written: “Just another unwanted souvenir most likely left behind by one of the fishing boats coming in from down south. No point in interviewing them, they’ll just deny it anyway.”

She read the lines over and over until her eyes blurred over, breath shortening and skin feeling too tight over her bones. Suddenly, Ruby’s house which had felt too big before now felt suffocating. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to run.

Without bothering to put on her shoes or her coat, she sprinted out of the house and ran out onto the beach. She stumbled when her feet hit the sand, entirely unfamiliar with the sensation and lack of give. She collapsed along the shore line, pressing a hand to her throat and vomiting into surf.

When she was finished, she stared out at the ocean, trying to calm herself. It was nearly dusk and there was no one around to witness her hysteria, something which Emma was incredibly thankful for. She didn’t need her nosy neighbors to witness her existential crisis.

As her panic attack subdued, Emma closed her eyes and reviewed once more in her mind the callous words on the police report.

An unwanted souvenir.

The term brought tears to her eyes once more. She had to bite her lip to keep back the scream that was burning her throat. She couldn’t remember the name of the man who had written the report, only his words, but she had never felt such an intense hatred for another human being before, not even when Neal had set her up and sent her to prison.

How dare he! How dare he not think she was worth investigating! She wasn’t a souvenir! She was a person! A person who deserved a real investigation and deserved to know the truth! This man, this nameless officer who had become the focal point of Emma’s anger, had robbed her of the truth, of the justice that an abandoned little girl deserved.

More angry tears slipped down her cheek. Emma didn’t bother to wipe them away as she stared out at the setting sun, more heartbroken and more alone than she had never felt in her entire life.

“Hello love.”

Emma jumped, she hadn’t realised she wasn’t alone. However when she saw her uninvited visitor, she let out a loud yelp. A pale man was emerging from the surf, naked as the day he was he was born, and coming towards her with purpose. She stumbled backward into the sand, wincing as her ass landed on a decidedly sharp shell. She grabbed an abandoned beer bottle and tossed it at him. She missed by a mile.

“You’re naked! Why the hell are you naked? Does Menemsha not follow any public decency laws or something!” Her eyes bulged as another thought occurred. “Oh god! Is this a nude beach? Is my house in front of a nude beach? What the fuck!”

The man stared at her in a mixture of startlement and confusion. He tilted his head to the side, regarding her the same way a dog did when it realised its master had tricked it out of a treat.

“In all of my years, I’ve never gotten that reaction before!”

“Dude! For real! You’re naked! Put some goddamn clothes on!”

The man ignored her. Instead, he advanced forward. She took a few steps back but his stride was longer than hers. He touched her arm gently with one hand and framed her cheek with the other, thumb wiping away a stray tear.

“Your sadness called to me. I couldn’t ignore it.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Emma asked in a harsh whisper, trying to pull away.

“I can make it go away…if only for a little while…” he murmured before leaning down and shocking the hell out of Emma by capturing her lips in a fierce kiss.

She let out a shriek of surprise before pushing him away with all of her strength. As soon as she broke free, she struck him against the face with a closed fist and then raised her knee to strike him in the groin. He let out a groan of pain before crumbling to the sand and swearing violently at her.

“Bloody fucking hell! What was that for? You nearly destroyed my nadgers there, love!”

“Because you’re a fucking pervert!” She hissed hotly at him.

“Not a pervert! I’m a selkie!”

“What the fuck is a selkie!?”

“Do you not know your legends, woman? Have you never heard of the seal folk?”

“Am I being punk’d?” Emma looked around, trying to find any hidden camera men but there was no one around. She looked down at the man still keeled over in pain with narrowed eyes. “What the fuck is going on!?”

“You dropped seven tears in the ocean…”

“And what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?” She asked, placing her hands on her hips.

The man let out a pain chuckled, still holding his tender parts as he looked up her with a look that was caught between amused and disbelieving. “You honestly know nothing, do you?”

“I know how to work a taser and frankly, I think that’s all I need to know at the moment.”

“I don’t know what that is but it sounds menacing.”

“You bet your ass it is. Start talking. Now.”

The man licked his lips for a moment, eying her warily. “You really are a fearsome lass.”

“And you’re stalling.”

“You dropped tears into the ocean, love, and not just any tears. Tears of genuine distress and loneliness. Selkies are attracted to loneliness. It’s a siren’s call to us. We thrive on turning loneliness into pleasure.”

“Right,” she replied with a snort. “Pull the other one.”

“It’s the truth,” he replied seriously, looking her straight in the eye.

Emma studied him closely. Though he was complete pervert with zero sense of personal space, he didn’t seem to be lying. If he had, her superpower would have picked up on it.

“You know I’m not lying,” he whispered.

“I know one thing and that’s that you believe all of this. That doesn’t mean it’s true. What it means is that you’re certifiable and there’s probably a mental institution nearby.”

“I’m not from a mental institution,” he frowned.

“Maybe not,” she said before she finally noticed the wet pile of black fur next to him. Her eyes widened as she realised it looked exactly like one of the seat pelts hanging on Mr. Gold’s property. “Maybe the local jail? Considering you’re a thief and all.”

She reached out to pick up the pelt but the man let out an inhuman snarl and snatched her hand than she could blink. When she looked up at his face, his eyes looked more black than blue.

“I would prefer if you didn’t touch that,” he said in an eerily calm voice. “I find myself in less than ideal circumstances when a woman touches my pelt.”

“You’re not human,” she whispered, fear rising up her throat.

“No,” he agreed as he released her hand. “I’m not.”

That’s when Emma’s self-preservation kicked in. As soon as she registered his words, she ran back to the safety of the beach house. She proceeded to lock the door and all of the windows, parking herself on the ancient loveseat located in front entrance. She toyed with her cell phone, passing between her hands as she kept her eyes trained on the door.

If she were anywhere else in the world, she would have called the police. However, Menemsha only had three cops whom Emma had met and found incredibly lacking. She had more faith in a mall rent-a-cop than she did in the men who were supposedly Menemsha’s main law enforcement. She could always call the Chilmark police but she had a sneaking suspicion that they were just as helpful.

On top of that, what was she going to say? She highly doubt that they would believe the naked man on the beach wasn’t human. They would probably just brush it off as the ramblings of a woman who had blown the issue of a nude bather out of proportion.

Instead, Emma went to sleep with her bedroom door locked and her gun underneath her pillow.

When she awoke the next morning, she found neither the windows or locks on the doors had been disturbed. Satisfied, she made her morning hot chocolate and nibbled at a strawberry poptart before deciding to finally retrieve the Vineyard Gazette , which had arrived faithfully at her door everyday despite never applying for a subscription.

She almost screamed when she saw the man from yesterday sitting casually on her front porch, stilled naked save for the pelt that was draped over his lap, and reading her newspaper.

“Staying attuned to happy accidents is a part of art, don’t you agree?” He said, not looking up from the newspaper. “Or at least that’s what the local potter is saying about the newest design on her trade. She calls it ‘the Wave,’ because it’s a deep blue glaze with a white line through. How original. Though, as someone who is more intimately acquainted with the ocean, I can tell you right now that water isn’t truly blue.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Because I answered your call.”

“I didn’t call you,” she replied in annoyance, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Ah, but you did when -”

“My tears went into the ocean. So you said,” she cut him off. “I didn’t mean to call you. I didn’t want anyone in that moment, let alone a naked weirdo.”

“I’ve gathered that,” he muttered, finally looking up from the paper. “I feel I must apologise for yesterday. Normally, I’m better at sorting out which type of company women want. I should have known you’re a lady-loving lass.”

“Wait. What?” Emma stared at him in confusion.

“Yesterday. You were not receptive when I kissed you. I’ve never seen that happen before but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Me not wanting you to kiss me has nothing to do with my sexuality!” She hissed, clenching her fists. “That was me not wanting to be sexually harassed!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Normally the women I come across are quite happy to be kissed by me.”

“You must come across some strange women then because most I know don’t like being randomly kissed by a stranger no matter how attractive they are!”

He perked up at this and a sly grin crossed his face. “You think I’m attractive?”

“You entirely missed the point of what I was saying and I’m seriously not afraid to tase you.”

“You keep using that phrase...tase...what exactly does it entail?”

“It entails me shocking you with 50,000 volts of electricity, mate ,” she replied, mocking his accent on the last word.

“That doesn’t sound particularly pleasant.”

“That’s because it isn’t.”

“I going to reaffirm my previous statement and say you’re quite a fearsome lass.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she responded, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, I need you to leave, dude, because as wonderful as this conversation is, I would really rather my neighbors not see you and ask uncomfortable questions.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, newspaper crumpling under his tight grip. “Oh, lass, you really think if I was able to go back to the ocean, I would be on your porch right now? If I was capable of that, I would have left last night after you ran away.”

“What?”

“I cannot return to the ocean until you feel some form of happiness,” he said seriously.

“You gotta be kidding me! No way!”

“I’m afraid I’m quite serious. That’s how it’s done. That’s how it’s always been.”

“That’s some Grade-A bullshit!” She protested.

“It’s never been a problem in the past,” he said with a huff.

“Well, it is now. Look, how about this? You leaving? It would bring me tremendous happiness.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” he replied, looking mildly offended.

Emma sighed and rubbed at her temples before looking at her watch. It was nearly seven in the morning and the few people who actually lived in the neighbourhood would be up and about soon. She really needed to get him out of sight.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” she said with a shake of her head before opening her door. “But get your ass in here.”

“How hospitable of you,” he remarked sarcastically before tidying up. He grabbed his pelt and slung it against his hips the same way any man would with bath towel, except the pelt was much larger and pooled around his feet.

“Just get inside.”

He obeyed her, following her into the house. She didn’t miss how his curious eyes seemed to drink in the style and makeup of the interior. When he met her gaze, he raised both eyebrows at her in question.

“This is….quite cheery, love.”

“It’s not mine,” she replied shortly. “Listen, have a sit in the kitchen and don’t touch anything. I’m going to into the basement and see if I can find you anything to wear.”

It was a long shot but Emma was hoping that there was at least something he could wear. She didn’t know how much longer she could handle talking to him while he was just in his birthday suit. It was making her uncomfortable and his complete nonchalant attitude towards it wasn’t helping.

She couldn’t help but feel like she was retreating again as she descended down into the half-finished basement of the beach house. The cement floor was uncomfortable underneath her feet but she braved through to peruse through the plastic bins next to the washing machine. It was a little invasive to be going through Ruby’s things like this but Emma reasoned that if she left them behind then she wouldn’t mind too much.

There wasn’t much in the top bins except blankets and table clothes but the bottom one held some promise in the form of old sweats. Much of it looked too small to fit her uninvited guest but she found a tent-sized cat sweater and a large pair of hot pink sweatpants. They looked as if they belonged to a robust-sized grandmother and smelled like mothballs but Emma figured beggars couldn’t be choosers.

When she returned to the kitchen with the clothes, she found the man hunched over her kitchen table and looking over the files she had left there from last night’s research. Her face coloured in annoyance.

“I said not to touch anything.”

“I’m not touching, I’m reading,” he replied airily.

“Same concept. It’s rude to read someone else’s stuff.”

“Sorry, love. Though, if it’s all the same to you, you shouldn’t be leaving things like this out for anyone to read.”

“I wasn’t expecting company,” she snapped, shoving the clothes in his lap. “Look, put these on, okay?”

He raised them up, inspecting them with a look of disgust. She couldn’t help but feel so much satisfaction at his obvious irritation.

“These are ghastly,” he stated, wrinkling his nose.

“They’re temporary. Quit whining and put them on.”

He made a frustrated noise before standing up and unceremoniously dropping the pelt around his waist right in front of her. Emma’s jaw dropped.

“Dude! Seriously!”

He gave her an amused look, lips tugging up into a smirk that made her want to smack him. “I’ve always found it amusing how human beings get so hung up over nudity. Nakedness is natural, clothes are not.”

“Spoken like a true nudist.”

He didn’t reply, merely pulled the cat sweater over his head and down over his torso. Emma knew that it had been large but it practically dwarfed him with the sleeves limply hanging over his hands and the stretched out collar went nearly half way down his torso. She held back a snicker.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked after he had pulled on the sweatpants.

“I’m pretty sure you’re going to anyway.”

“Who was he?”

Her eyebrows furrowed at the question. “Who?”

“The man who broke your heart and abandoned you…”

In her mind’s eye, there was a flash of crinkling brown eyes, dark hair and the sound of rich deep laughter. She turned away from the stranger at her kitchen table under the guise of turning on the kettle.

“Who said it was a man…”

“So, it was a woman then.”

Emma opened the cabinet, pulling out two mugs and placing them down on the counter a little harder than necessary. She emptied Swiss Miss packets into them instead of giving a response to his comment. After filling the mugs with water and half-heartedly mixing them, she returned to the kitchen table and shoved a mug in his direction. He caught her wrist, the sudden stop causing the hot chocolate to slosh over the rim and splash across his front. He didn’t pay it much mind, but rather kept his unnervingly intense focus on her face.

“You’re an orphan.”

“Was I?”

“Not was. Are. You’re something of an open book. You’ve got a look in your eye.  The look you get when you’ve been left alone for too long.” He released her hand and tapped his fingers against the police report. “And this. This is you, isn’t it?”

“I’m a private investigator,” she responded.

“It doesn’t make this any less about you,” he said softly, still studying her face with such severity that she had to drop her gaze.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for something normal to happen.”

“What’s normal about this?”

“Normal would be you kissing me, love.”

“You’re going to be waiting for a long time then.” She snorted, placing his hot chocolate in front of him and putting some distance between them by sitting in the adjacent seat. She clenched her mug with both hands like it was a lifeline.

“Human women, especially women attracted to men, normally aren’t so resistant to selkie charm. You’re unique.”

“Or maybe you’re not as charming as you think are,” Emma shot back.

“I don’t think you quite understand…” he said with shake of his head, drumming his fingers against the table in agitation. “We aren’t like your human blokes. We, as a species, have a...it’s sort of a hypnotic charm, if you will...to make women more receptive to us...it sort of a preservation technique…”

“Sounds more date rape-y to me,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

He jolted at the accusation. “We never take what isn’t freely given.”

“You say that but you’re basically “dazzling” them into sleeping with you. How is that not sketchy?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking distraught by the very thought. Emma watched him warily, wondering if leaving her gun upstairs was a bad idea. He let out a huff, pushing his mug away.

“I..I see your point...but rest assured that was never my intention...you’re immune to the “dazzling” as you say, so you need not worry about that and you need not worry about me placing an unwanted hand on you.”

“Oh, I’m not worry,” she responded with a snort. “If you did, I would tase your ass so fast that I would be serving fried seal at my next barbecue.”

“You’re quite fond of that threat.”

“It’s very entertaining to see a scumbag get shocked with 50,000 volts.”

“I will take your word for it.”

Silence fell between them and they sat, drinking hot chocolate and studying each other. Since the moment she met him, Emma had avoided looking at him. However, now that she had the chance to, she could slightly see why the women he spoke of weren’t so quick to kick him out of bed. Even while wearing stained grandma sweater and hot pink pants, he was attractive; messy dark hair falling over startling blue eyes, feminine lashes and a strong but sharp jawline. He looked lost though, a fish out of water in this situation just like her.

“What would make you happy, love?”

“Emma.”

“Pardon?”

“My name is not love, it’s Emma,” she said, looking back down at her mug. “I would prefer you to call me by name rather than love or sweetheart or any annoying pet name you could come up with.”

“Alright, Emma,” he affirmed with a nod. “I’m Killian.”

“Killian,” she repeated, testing it out. “It’s...unique.”

“It’s a name,” he shrugged. “But, really, Emma, what would make you happy? Because it’s obviously not sex. You’ve made that quite clear.”

She snorted at his bluntness. “I know you’re a seal but I’ve gotta tell you, sex rarely ends in happiness as far as I’m concerned. It leads to disaster.”

“I’m sorry you think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know so. It can be great, don’t get me wrong, but once that high is gone, you’re back to square one. It doesn’t solve anything. If anything, you find out he’s married and his wife’s on her way back early and it’s just messy.”

“We’re getting off topic,” he said, looking uncomfortable and fidgeting slightly. “What would make Emma happy?”

She pulled the police report out from underneath his elbow, staring at the callous words scribbled messily across the page.

“The truth,” she said, meeting his eyes. “The truth would make me happy.”

“What truth do you seek?”

“I want to know who they are and why they left me. I want to look them in the eye and make them remember me, to remind them that I was a person, not something that could just be left behind.”

“Okay. How do we do that?”

“We?” she looked at him in surprise. “When did this become a we?”

“When you called me, Emma. Haven’t you been paying attention? I can’t go back until you’re happy and if that means finding your parents then it means finding your parents.”

“And how the hell is a fricking seal going to help me?”

He smiled at her and it was a smile that was so blinding that she wondered for a moment if he had succeeded in finally dazzling her.

“Oh, love, I think you’ll find that I have an honest knack for reading and research.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfiction #cs fanfic #captain swan ff #cssns #my shit #my fic #seal of fate

[astronomicalegotism]

And Winding Away

Revenge Is Best Served Together (BOOK ONE)

Part Thirteen

Nate screamed as the door slammed behind him, stumbling forwards a little and almost falling flat on his face. Eyes wide, he frantically turned around and tried to open the door again, only to find himself grasping at air.

"Oh fuck no!" Nate's eyes darted around, seeing only darkness. It was like he'd fallen into the void, the darkness both swallowing him and making him feel smaller. For some reason, this emptiness was worse than all of the bullshit from earlier. A sinking feeling settled in and he called out again.

"NATEMARE YOU PIECE OF SHIT COME HERE RIGHT NOW!!" Jesus what was he doing? "ASSUMING THAT I'M HERE CAUSE YOU WANNA TALK, SO TALK!"

There was a shift, and suddenly the darkness started to swirl around, like someone had pulled out the plug in a sink. Nate squinted at the sudden growing light. Soon, all of the shadows had congregated to form his copy. Except he looked...Different from when Nate had last saw him. Earlier he had looked purposefully deformed, Now he just looked positively demonic, although Nate noticed that the three shadows behind him were looming over him, almost like strings. Wait, Red Black and Blue? Wasn't that like Mark's...weird ass vampire roomie... Jesus Christ how badly was he hit on the head?

"You come here often?" Nate asked casually, wishing he had something to lean against for both dramatics and also because he still wasn't feeling all to good and was pretty sure he'd pass out. Something flashed in Natemare's eyes before his face went blank.

"It's six am." Natemare spat, causing Nate's eyes to widen.

"That's...Thats not possible, Time doesn't pass that fast." Natemare snarled, the action almost animalistic.

"This dimension is mine to control and do whatever I wish!"

"Natemare please-"

"SHUT UP!!" Natemare screamed, his own voice being underlaid by a deeper voice that wasn't his own. Nate shook his head, soldiering on.

"Natemare, I just wanna talk with you. Please, Just tell me why you are doing this, What I've done wrong! We can fix this, I'll try make up for whatever mistakes I've made. You seem like a pretty cool guy, We can work this out." Something in Mare must of broken at those words, as the empty black eyes shifted to a somewhat reassuring vibrant purple. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment, Nate's unwaveringly calm gaze meeting Natemare's now terrified one.

"I...I don't want to die." Natemare whispered suddenly, curling in on himself. "Not again, I can't...Please..." Nate could see the shadows looming over his double, looking ready to strike. Pools of black started to grow again in his eyes. No way, Nate was not having this.

"Natemare, What do you mean?" There was a choked sob and Nate yelped, jumping back quickly as the part of the floor underneath him seemingly disappeared.

"This whole place was falling apart!" Nate thought frantically as more pieces started to shatter or disappear as Natemare's distress grew. He had to hurry up.

"I'm an ego...A creation that's brought to life by the attention of its fans. We live on attention, it's what powers us and keeps us existing I guess." Nate listened carefully to Natemare, taking his words in. "Except... Attention it's reliable." Natemare laughed, Although it sounded horribly forced. "When people slowly begin to forget us be begin to fade, until eventually we are shattered from existence!" Natemare flinched, gripping at his hair. He mumbled something, practically inaudible to Nate. "Fuck I'm losing control..."

"Wait..." Nate's eyes widened. "You're saying that if everyone forgets about you, You die?" Oh god...

"WHY DO YOU CARE?! YOU NEVER DID BEFORE!! Fuck!!" Natemare repeatedly whacked himself in the head, like he was trying to get something out. Nate could only watch in horror as he double struggled, clawing at his own eyes. Nate wanted to stop him but the ground underneath his was unstable, the holes too big and preventing him from reaching him. When Natemare eventually did open his eyes, they were back to pitch black.

"They forget, find another toy to play with!" That part in particular was said practically murderously, almost like he was referencing someone. "They move on. They don't give a shit about us, even the dedicated ones loose interest when there's nothing new. Not that you helped matters at all." Natemare glared daggers at Nate.

"I couldn't of known!! Besides, The fans haven't lost interest in you, I've seen it!!" Nate was yelling now, but he was desperate for Natemare to hear him. "Fanart!! Mentions in the comments!! Hell, Even fanfiction!! They haven't forgotten you at all, despite you barely having anything they still love you, I know that!!!" It was true, Nate remembers it clearly. In the comments section, fans theorising and talking about even the smallest glance to the camera about what it could mean. The blue and red shadows around Natemare flickered.

"Then why did I... Why did I fade?!" Thick black tears were streaming down Natemare's face now. "You have no idea what it's like, having your entire being be ripped to shreds!! Having to live in constant agony for what feels like years, your mind scattered everywhere and burning burning burning!! It's just nothing but constant pain non stop!!" Natemare was shaking his head furiously. "I can't go back, I can't I can't I can't!! I had no one!! Those fucking Markiplier egos had Darkiplier to stop them from fading!! He brought them all together, knowing that that would protect them!! Even fucking Anti had the other septics, BUT I HAD NO ONE!!! The only person I could ever call a friend...I pushed him away, I acted like an ass and ruined everything..." Natemare looked like he was going to collapse, utterly exhausted and over whelmed.

"My thing is fears...I control them, Contort them, use them for my own means. I can see it you know? I can see when someone is scared, How it twirls around a person like smoke. I control that smoke, making it strike and overwhelmed. You'd think...I spend so much time around over people's fears that I would have any of my own." Natemare shivered. "And I didn't used to, But now look at me?! I'm fucking weak, so fucking terrified of dying again!! I'm pathetic and willing to do anything, So when Dark proposed a plan to help prevent that of course I joined in. I'm basically fading again already as it is, you saw earlier. I'm like a ghost, I'm not even supposed to be here. I only am because Dark went to the effort to bring me back.." Nate remembered the room with puppet, How Natemare seemed to keep flickering from existence, How he kept phasing through him. Nate didn't know what to say.

"How could Darkiplier help you then?" Nate settled for asking. Natemare hesitated before answering.

"Like Mark, Dark technically created the egos, him and Warfstache where were it all began. They're basically creators."

"Creators?"

"The ones that have more power than the fans, the ones with the final say." Nate blinked, it all clicking. His face shifted into one of a smile.

"Well then why don't you come with me?"

"What?!"

"I'm your creator right? So I should be able to keep you from fading easily! You could be my weird demon like roomie." Natemare looked taken aback, and for a split second he looked almost exactly like a normal teenager. No creepy shadows, no flickering or grey skin, no tar like tears, just a scared pale face and a way too thin of a body. He was basically just a younger, annoying taller, version of Nate with too much eyeshadow on Nate realised.

"You'd...You'd really do that? After everything?" Nate nodded, like it was obvious.

"Yeah, Although you are going to have to let me and my friends go." Natemare nodded, and Nate noticed for the first time that the purple smoke around Natemare was almost hugging him.

"Yeah...Wilford's pocket dimension is getting hard to keep together anyways..." Natemare's eye suddenly widened, and the shadows came back at him with full force. "Shit."

Nate didn't have anytime to react before it happened. Nate was slammed back at full force, agony coursing through him body and his head feeling like it was going to split in two. Purple smoke was attacking him like wasps, engulfing him. Nate heard someone screaming, a horrific almost inhuman sounding scream and it took him a few seconds to register that it was him. Alarm bells were going off in Nate's head and he'd never felt so terrified in his life. Pure, unfiltered terror was coursing through his veins, all of his worst nightmares and more piercing at him brain and making it impossible to think straight. It was never ending and Nate knew right there and then, He was going to die. He was never escaping this hell.

Natemare started in horror as Nate's body contorted and twisted in agony, his owns powers ripping into Nate without mercy and tearing at his sanity. Nate's screamed filled the air and Natemare wasn't going to be sick but he couldn't move he couldn't control his own powers he couldn't do ANYTHING!!!

Suddenly, almost as soon as it started, Nate stilled. Natemare wanted to run over to him because he was still, unnaturally still why wasn't he moving why couldn't he sense anything?!!

Natemare felt like he was drowning, submerged in disbelief in horror because no, He couldn't of, He didn't, He was okay right?! Nate was okay!! Everything was fine everything was fine everything was fine fine fine fine-

Natemare could feel himself on the verge of a panic attack, unable to do anything as the energy was drained from his body. He trembled, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips.

"Quite a disappointing show that was." Mare sobbed, his legs giving way and feeling completely utterly drained. He didn't want this he didn't want this-

"Quit lying to yourself, you are just as much as a monster as I am." Natemare felt his head get yanked up, and he was met with two powerful red and blue eyes staring down into him. Darkiplier's suit was as perfect as ever, a bored expression on his face that Natemare wanted to rip to shreds.

"Fuck...You..." Natemare hissed, his eyes drooping against his will. He could do nothing but yelp as Darkiplier's grasp shifted from his hair to his neck, squeezing hard and almost crushing his windpipe. Stars exploded in Natemare's vision as he struggled for oxygen, his form flickering.

"No wait, You're not even that." Dark sneered, his face filled with some much hatred that Mare didn't even know was possible. "You are completely insignificant. A puppet, nothing more than a tool for me to use and now your use has run out. You. Are. NOTHING!! No one gives a shit about you and no one ever will!! You are nothing more than a stepping stone that I have to crush to get what I want. You're only purpose in life is to serve me, got it? You aren't your own person, you aren't anything. You are going to die without ever serving a purpose on this dead and empty rock."

Natemare was thrown harshly back down to the ground, but he couldn't find it in himself to move. The world around him was glitching violently, falling apart at the seams and he knew he would be able to hold it for much longer.

"I'm going to do the same thing that I've done to you to every single ego out there, I'm going to take your powers and use them for my own purposes. I'm going to create a world filled with fear and hopelessness and nothing with stand in my way. Course, don't worry, I won't kill you. I can't, If I get rid of you I'd loose your powers. But that doesn't mean I can't hurt you in other ways. Once again, Your cowardliness will be your down fall, You are so terrified of dying, so I'm going to make sure your continued existence is hell! You wanted to be able to live forever and I'm delivering just like the deal. You wanted revenge on Nate and you got that to, So why the long face? You got your wish!! Celebrate!! This’ll be the last chance you get after all.” Natemare squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating. He couldn't find enough strength to warp the pocket dimension as much as he would like but maybe he might be able to use its powers to-

The dagger materialised and Darkiplier laughed. Natemare used the remainder of his energy to get to his feet.

"Do you seriously think that you'll be able to kill m-" Natemare smirked, his throat burning but for the first time in a while he felt confident about something.

Darkiplier's eyes were wide, a look of utter shock on his face as Natemare did the last thing Dark ever though he would do.

There was the sinking of metal in flesh and a scream of rage.

Natemare had plunged the dagger right into his own heart.

#markiplier #darkiplier #natewantstobattle #natemare #youtube #markiplier egos #fanfiction #Revenge Is Best Served Together #RIBST Part Thirteen