#and the things i created with my own imagination

[pawberri]

To me, the difference is the intent of the medium or software. A book is not a game persay because it is intended for entertainment, but not play. A choose your own adventure book could be considered a game for this reason. An instruction manual for a ttrpg is a game, or part of a game. An ebook running on ebook software is not a game because it is practical software meant to import books into a digital medium. The software itself is purely practical, whereas video game software is designed for play. However, you could likely create a game that runs on ebook software, the same way you can make a game in excel. Tax software isn't usually a game, but that visual novel that does your taxes is a game because it turns taxes into something you play. A still png isn't usually a game because you don't play it, but a png of a boardgame might be a game if you can play it by moving your cursor around the image. You could also make a practical piece of software that runs on a video game engine if it no longer involves play.

Maybe we could define video games as software intended for play. "Play" is key here rather than entertainment or fun. If you play a game for research, not for fun, you've still "played" it. A professional soccer player is still called a "player" even if he doesn't have fun, and the same goes for esports players. You could also design a game that is meant to be played, but isn't meant to be fun or entertaining. Visual novels with no choices are one thing that has some ambiguity as to whether the user "plays" or "reads" them, but they require the user to do all the things involved in "playing a video game" besides tasks that are traditionally considered "challenging." No one would say they aren't "playing Persona" just because they're currently in the story section pressing A through text. But if a game doesn't have a separate section that has a challenge, some people feel that the impulse to say they "played a game" is wrong. However, the engine these games run on, the way they're interacted with, the way they are paced and controlled, its all within the medium of "game" rather than book or play or movie.

However, you could also mess with these categories. You can imagine someone enjoying taxes by "making a game of it." We usually assume this means adding points and rules and such, but you could simply say,"the game is that I do my taxes, and I win if I finish them." Or you could say "I play taxes" without even having a win state. That's not dissimilar from the rules of playing a visual novel. "The game is that I read the story, and I win if I finish it" or just " "I played Umineko."

Categories be so mutable

Its weird to me when I listen to gamer podcasts or just hear gamers debating and theyre like "the game doesn't really have a core gameplay mechanic you just walk around" likeee... walking around exploring is the core gameplay mechanic then... even in real life there are games where you just walk around and use ur imagination... #pretendmaxxer

[gay-dorito-dust]

OK NOW WRITE FOR ZOEY AND MIRA

With Zoey you found it easy to be yourself with her becuase she was more then welcoming to it within immedite affect. She's always making life alot more fun in her own way, time flies by when you were with Zoey and you couldn't have lived life in any other fashion then the fun way.

The sky is the limit with Zoey and she makes you feel as though you were soaring alongside her as her viberant grins and her occasional acts of cutness agression towards you, such as squishing your cheeks together and or hugging you tightly from behind and cheering when you retun her tight hug with your own. It was hard to feel anything other then overwheliming happiness and feel that you were capable of doing absolutely eveything when you were with Zoey and you love it more then anything and didn't want it to end.

Zoey may or may not have multiple books with lyrics based on you like how she had volumes of books filled with insults towards every demon imaginable. She is a creative idivisual and needs an outlet for that creativity and so the mountain of notebooks within her room was to be expected sight, most of which were filled with drafts of rap lyrics regarding to how she felt about you. You'll be able to catch her going over them under her breath and making the apropriate changes to them, something you loved to see as you got a glimpse of her hardworking mind, of her ability to create seemingly lyrical perfection.

Zoey would drag you to have movie marathons with her, wearing cute pyjamas and making a pillow fort out of bordom, strining up fairy lighs within it as you both lay upon every cushion you both could snag possible; enjoying the simplicities of life however they may come and whenever they come and knowing they were all the more sweeter with Zoey by your side. She was your light in the dark, the one you listen to to get out of a spot of trouble when it comes to your self worth, she was the one that would encourage any habit of yours as long as it wasn't going to do any damaged to you in the long run.

Zoey is under the believe that she's too much sometimes, or that she's never enough or was too suffocating. You don't see that at all, not one bit and you never could and would do your best to make this well known, mainly by giving her the affection -both verbal and physcial- that she never once failed to give you desite not being in the best of spirits herself. 'You're the best you know that.' You'd say as you squeeze her from behind, kissing just under her ear just the way she liked as her cheeks warmed up.

With Mira it was almost as if it was impossible to hide what was wrong and or annoying you, as though she could see through you and right into the root of your problem. She wouldn't leave you alone to deal with it, she pratically refuses to if she can help it, but wouldn't go as far as to constantly pester you into telling her either as Mira knew that things would only get better if you made the first step into doing so.

'The absolute best at everything you do.' You reitierate as you kiss the back of her neck before burrying your face in it, breathing her in, acting as though you were still trying to accept that being with her was your reality now. 'You're never too much, you're just enough. You're not suffocating, You're comforting and act like my weighted blanket, always grounding me and bringing me back when my mind feels like it's elsewhere.' You add on, caressing her sides as you felt her hands grip over yours, making you smile as you continued to speak words into existence in hopes of getting rid of those voices that tricks your girlfriend into beliving what she's not.

Zoey is everything you dreampt of in a partner and you were going to treasure her as such, whether it'd be spoiling her with affection or gifts and sweet treats, for she deserved to keep smiling as it's beautiful aspect of her that you love and will forever love.

'Something is wrong and i know you might not feel the need to let me know now, but know that i'm by your side no matter what, you shouldn't have to feel as though you are beyond help or are too late to being given help becuase that's not true.' She would say to you as rests a reassuring hand on your knee, letting you rest your head on her shoulder as she reminds you that help was just beyond your doorstep, and how it's whether or not you take that step beyond that doorstep to get it.

Mira is a person you found reassurance within and your relationship was one that had strong foundations of trust and acceptance of one another in you're entirity, but also a relationship that has bouts of playful teasing and moments where all either of you wanted to do was cuddle on the couch in your matching couple pyjamas. Something she enjoys to do with you when she's given the oppertunity as it meant she didn't need to travel far to be where she wanted to be the most after a tiresome day; you looking cute and like an absolute snack in your nightwear.

Truely a divine sight if anyone were to ask her.

'couch?' You ask.

Mira smirks as she shows you the armful of snacks she had. 'couch.' she replied.

You both feel asleep on the couch, but it's okay you were cuddling each other as well, so the aches in your necks was more then worth it.

Mira isn't vocal with her affection to you. It's something that she needs to warm up to, but that doesn't mean she didn't have other ways to remind you that she deeply cared for you, whether it'd be resting a hand on the small of your back or giving you small smiles that were reserved for you that never failed to make you feel warm and fuzzy within your chest. Relationships while being an idol was tricky buissness as there were a specific breed of fans that couldn't understand that what they were participating is an parasocial relationship, not an actual relationship, and thus dangerous situations arising where one or both of you could get potentially hurt.

So Mira makes sure to keep you from the public eye, yet also making sure that you knew it was never out of shame but saftey and security, from both demons and weird people in particular. She wants to keep you safe by whatever means necessary as the idea of you being hurt in any capacity is a fear she didn't wish to become true one day, so she takes measures to make sure it doesn't.

Mira often wonders in moments of vulnerability if her bluntness and straightforward nature would one day push you away, but you were more then ready to tell her that you wouldn't be with her if you did feel that way. You would let her put her head on your shoulder as you rub her back, telling her eveything that you love and admired about her, especially her blunt and straightforwardness. 'Alot of people are concious of what they say and often times it leads to being hurt anyway becuase they were so fearful of telling it how it is,' you tell her as you kissed her forehead, 'you do and it's the most refreshing thing i've ever had in my life as i don't have to unpack a lot of shit to understand whether you meant what you said becuase you always do mean what you say.' You finished.

[eddiemunsonsbabygirl]

Superman

Summary: A small little something I wrote of older!Eddie and smutty fluff 🥺🥰💕

A/N: Literally, need older!Eddie to take care of me. IK IK, “Ari that’s not usually youUUuuUUUuuUuuuuU~~” because it usually isn’t like- I don’t need it. But like, I do :( I just want him to hold me and treat me like I’m fragile. Yes, even tough baddies need love too mhm 😔 REBLOGS AND COMMENTS MUCH APPRECIATED!

WARNINGS: 18+ IT’S SMUT! Fluffy too, Spanish, reader is Latina 😝, older!Eddie is a sweetheart, I love him 🥺💕💋

Imagining older!Eddie loving and comforting me during hard times…

Fucking me missionary style, slowly thrusting in and out and pistoning his hips when he’s thrusting in but slowly pulling out to do it again. He’s got one of my hands pinned to the bed, squeezing my hand tight while his other hand cradles my face :(

His nose is right against mine, kissing me softly and when he needs to take a breath he pulls away just barely, lips still grazing the others. Soft moans are falling out of both of us and he’s looking at me like I created this world just for us, big heart eyes and much love and affection for a girl like me :(

Life’s been hard, he knows this. He knows all the things people say about me, what I’m told to do, all the flaws people like to bring up, how much I try and try but nothing is never enough for them. He knows. But doesn’t understand it nor believe it. I mean, I’m just a dream. An angel, he swears it. His doll, his baby, his girl. So, it’s confusing. A sweet, cute lady like me doesn’t deserve what’s thrown at me :( 

He wants to bash everyone’s head in that thinks of me otherwise. He wants everyone to choke on their own words. He wants them to feel the pain I feel. He wants them to think the worst because why do I have to? I’m his babygirl, his princess, his world. I don’t deserve that :(

And with every thrust, every whimper, every groan, every kiss that comes from him is a apology from the things that had been done to me. He moves my hands around his neck, hooking under my arms and cradling my head. His eyes lock on mine and he gently presses his forehead against mine, thrusting a bit faster but still, taking his time loving me and not going rough :(

“My baby, I love you so much princess. You deserve it all, doll. And I’m gonna give it all to you, I promise. You’re so beautiful, so sweet, fuck baby you’re a goddamn angel. Look at you, this pretty fuckin’ face. God, it’s a miracle this old man hasn’t busted yet. Only holdin’ it for you, baby. All for you. Want you to come first, babydoll. ‘M so proud of you, baby. You’re not what she says, not what he says. You’re so much better, baby. I love you so goddamn much, baby. Not just because of your pretty pussy or your cute face. That’s just a bonus. No, no you’re so sweet and kind and you got a beautiful soul. Oh yes, you do baby. You the only one who loves me too. You got a big heart. And I get to have that? Have you? Me? Baby, fuck angel, I love you so much.”

And his voice, his moans, his whimpers, his words, they mean the world. His lips crash on mine once more, holding the kisses for longer and with more passion and love and admiration and affection as he’s fucking me just the way we like it. A hand moves from my face and he’s rubbing my clit to get me to come faster. His lips never leave mine, not even to catch a breath :(

Soon after, when he knows I’m about to cum, he thrusts faster enough to get me to do so. And I do. Hard. His fingers never stop moving on my clit. My moans end up being the one to break his dam and he couldn’t hold it in any longer so he spills loads deep in me, fucking it in and make sure not a drop spills from me :(

And soon after both our orgasms have been ridden out, he collapses on top of me, holding himself up by laying more to the side. His face buried in my neck and he placed more kisses on my face and neck, gently nipping at my earlobe and panting softly :(

“You’re the most perfect girl in this fuckin’ cruel word, baby. I love you, so fuckin’ much. Mi amor, my baby, my sweet girl, my pretty girl, my Goddess, my everything. Gonna spend the rest of my old years makin’ you the happiest girl in the world. Fuck yes I am. Gonna make you so happy, make you feel so goddamn good. I make you feel pretty? I’ll make you feel so beautiful you’d start to think you should be a model. Because to me, you’re perfect. You are. You’re you, baby. And I want you to see yourself through my eyes. All I see, is a hardworking girl who’s so fuckin’ cute, sexy, and sweet all at the same time. I’m you’re white boy, you’re my Latina goddess. Forever. Baby, my baby, so beautiful, all mine, ‘m all yours. I love you, I’m so proud of you, you’re enough baby. Believe me, angel. Not them. ‘S just you and I baby, you and I.”

And I agree with everything. He’s never been more right. And this is all I want. He moves his arms around my neck to hug me right, cradling the back of my head and peppering the side of my face and neck with soft kisses. I’m hugging him back tight, praising him too because he’s so perfect and sweet :(

He knows how much of a stubborn girl I am and how I don’t need help. And how I don’t give a fuck about many things. But he also knows that once in a while, when times are shitty and things are just too much, I’m gonna need to be vulnerable as much as I hate it, and he’ll treat me just the way I like it. It’s all worth it when it comes to him. Yeah he may be older, but he’s perfect and he knows just what to say. He knows how to love because he’s a man, not a boy :(

I just want him to hold me and protect me at my lowest :(

Taglist: @eddiexmunson, @eddiesvixen, @shmeddieshmunson, @ali-r3n, @iheartgrayson, @violetcamryn, @robinbuckleywife, @keeryhours (hopefully this is okay 🤭), @spookydelusiondream, @spookybecc, @micro-kat, @mayo-nouns-blog, @dreamerjj, @daisy-rome, @herhideoutbluebird, @lily2105, @gwenmsblog, @wandamox, @downthewitchingwell, @caylieeh, @lil-quinnie, @fandomgirl1999, @secretleyastag, @atla08, @becausecorpseisworthit, @nightwitchlurker, @crybabydoll, @crow03, @yourvenusyour-love, @drowning-in-cosmic-hopes, @shadytimetravelstrawberry, @jadealex02, @rubidubisblog, @bunnygirlgracesworld, @multi-culti-girl, @rainybloo28, @liliglasermunsonquinn, @the-disaster-in-waiting, @bunnygirlgracesworld, @nikki-is-a-nerd, @gh0st-b1tcg, @littlesunandmoon! Lemme if you’d like to be added/removed from the taglist 💕

divider ♥️

[howlingguardian]

I think I'm going to do some worldbuilding on my superhero idea.

In a fairly typical superpower setting- costumed heroes and villains, the occasional giant monster, etc, plumber and single father Frank Bennett comes home from work one day to see a costumed woman standing in his apartment.

Naturally, he freaks- until said spandex-clad stranger transforms back into his 12 year old daughter Tammy, who excitedly holds up a drawing of the superhero she was a second ago. She'd discovered that she has the power to create drawings that can transform you into the subject of the drawing, complete with powers, for a limited time.

The next step is obvious- she's young, powerful, and driven by an innocent desire to do good like the heroes on the news. She's going to be a superhero.

Absolutely not, says Frank.

They argue massively, before Frank sends her to her room to try and think. Left to himself, he realises that she's too determined to be persuaded easily, and he can't keep her away from paper and pencils for the rest of her life. But he also doesn't want his baby girl running around doing some daring do, even if she signs up with a superhero team- and he's not eager for that, because there are stories about child superheros having the same problems as other child celebrities. So what's the solution?

Frank knocks on Tammy's door, and offers her a deal- no superheroics for herself until she's 18 and ready to make her own decisions. In exchange, he'll take her drawings and do the hero stuff himself.

Tammy likes the idea- what kid doesn't secretly imagine their parent as a hero at some point- and eagerly shows him her drawings and her ideas for various superheroes.

The thing is, most of the heroes in this setting are pretty grounded; less capes and more body armour. Whereas Tammy's ideas are more like something out of cartoons, or the stuff an excitable 12 year old would come up with.

Thus, over the next 6 years, the inhabitants of the city of Steelhaven are absolutely baffled by multicoloured goofballs with powers even odder than usual showing up out of nowhere for a day to help with whatever problem's going on- guys like Caffeinator the coffee-fuelled speedster, or Demo Dino the cyborg pachycephalosaurus construction worker, or Kanga-Fu the martial arts master from Down Under.

And then there's Yo-Yo Master. Nobody is forgetting Yo-Yo Master.

Over the years, Tammy's art skills improve, and her various teenage phases and personal life crises influence her art- her emo phase results in a rash of gloomy heroes with way too much eyeliner, while her love of fantasy books give rise to friendly ogres and benevolent minotaurs.

And Frank has to buck up and slip into the body and powers of all of them. Nobody ever said it was easy parenting a teenage superhero!

[hongjoongspoetry]

ajhbdajhsbfjahdfja this was absolutely amazing, gosh the emotions I went through reading this, I hope though all my thoughts and comments makes sense cuz I'm dead tired from work as I'm writing this (apologies in advance if some of it doesn't make sense😅)

Girl you have nothing to apologise for. Never did I once expect someone to write a bible-lengthy "review" on one of my fics, but im so fucking here for it!!

First of all what a cool but also kinda scary concept of having a metal chip in your arm which showcases how much in danger your soulmate is in!! And the name?! Soulometer!! That's such a good name for it!!

Now that I think about it, I could easily have made it into a horror story instead- Thank you for the lovely comment, imo, I thought "soulometer" sounded silly but I couldn't come up with anything better 😭🩷

Not the mc having Hongjoongs laugh as her ring tone💀 but also lowkey iconic of her to just let it be and own it even if it means she might be put in some awkward situations from time to time when her phone rings.

AHAHAHAHAAH personally, id never do that. considering we both are from sweden, imagine if you were on the bus and hongjoong's maniac laugh just rings out during rush hour- I swear on my cat, I'd make the bus stop and then throw myself in front of it 😭🤭

The light bickering between her and Hongjoong as they speak while she's on her way home made me chuckle because it feels so natural and fun. They kinda sound like me and my friends when we text each other😅

Sidenote: Reading your reblog made me realize just how much value I put in creating "a good" friendship for my characters. BUT DUDE IM SO HAPPY TO HEAR MY DIALOGUES ARE SOUNDING SOMEWHAT NATURAL AND REAL. Creating a good and realistic dialogue has been one of my biggest "weaknesses" when it comes to writing, as I tend to want everything to be perfect. and we all know real life dialogues are far from perfect, considering incorrect grammar, usage of words and flow is being used in a convo. so thank you so much for saying that 🥹

Another thing, I literally live for your reaction memes 😭 They fit so well into every scenario you wanna comment or thought you wanna share 🙂‍↕️

"[...] A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue." The last sentence🥺😭 it's like the both of them can't believe that the other one is there. I think it's clear from the way Mingi is reacting to her being in front of him that this was not something he had planned. Not even sure he knew it was her place he was in front of... Oh I also get the vibe that despite her not wanting to see him her feelings are conflicting with each other, like a raging storm within which cannot decide which way to go.

I love that your vibe/gut feeling is correct! Fate (literally) and the magic sprinkle of the soulmate bond brought them together 😈 Like they can't avoid each other forever, and Mingi knows that, obviously, but the MC thinks everything is just a coincidence 🤭

I do believe a part of her is relieved to see him hence why she invites him in to her home. Because even when you're sometimes furious at someone who hurt you in the past you might still be yearning to know they're okay, thoughts floating to them from time to time as you might reminisce on the past. I do believe both of them have been doing that from time to time even if one of them might not admit to doing it.

YES! And pair that off with the fact that they are soulmates. They are literally born to be together (whether it's romantic or platonic). They are the one song stuck in their minds that they can't stop hearing in their heads, no matter what. Their meetings are inevitable and all of their choices would lead up to them meeting again. So the MC inviting Mingi to her apartment, was both her own doing but also an invincible pull from the soulmate bond.

HAHAHAHAH I CANT GET OVER THE BLUSHY MEME PICTURES- WHY DOES THE POKEMON LOOK SO FREAKING MISCHEVIOUS AFKHAEKF

And the thumb on his lips moment!! Excuse me while I go giggle a bit to myself before composing myself lol🤭💓

The thumb on the lip moment is an event that lives rent free in my mind. Like it can either be a perfectly good move or a disatser 😭 But I love to use it 😈

I also am getting the vibes here that Mingi is not over her at all, mc might be closer to letting him go but Mingi is giving me the vibes that he truly never forgot about her and wants a relationship again but is unsure of how to proceed or how to even mend what has been broken in the past, you know.

Yeah, Mingi never really forgot about her. Like she was the one that got away and he has literally no one to blame but himself. And it takes so much on him because he knows they are destined for each other. As much as it hurts him to be selfless, it also hurts him to be selfish and "keep" her with him... my mingi 😔

Not Jongho and Wooyoung distracting her with all kinds of antics💀😭 but also those two are like the best combination of distraction because Jongho tries at first to gauge and see if she wants to talk and when the answer is no he immediately goes on to distract her in different ways together with Wooyoung. Like what do you mean Wooyoung slid her a package of gummies before sprinting out of her office?!😭 that's adorable and would get anyone in a better mood🥺💕

Wooyoung would literally KILL for his friends, so I just had to include him here. And Jongho, even if hes the youngest in the group, I feel like hed go over and beyond to help his members/other people he keeps close to his heart. And if that's not enough, what better combo than two menaces 😭 I also feel like we don't get to see Jongho be included, even if hes a "side character", and I really enjoy writing Jongho whether its his fic or not.

*sniff* he cares so much about her, he even got her tangerines😭 and PEELED ONES AT THAT?! 😩💓 he loves her so much like that's true love right there, even as a teen the fact that he took his time to get her her favorite fruit cuz she didn't eat lunch and then go on and peel it and make sure it's completely "naked" with no white parts and all of that jazz. It's acts of service like this that imo shows how much someone really cares and in this instant I feel like Mingi cares so much about her, probably memorizing small details like this one. Eg. he could have just given her the tangerine and not done anything more than that but no he knew her preferences and decided to make sure it was the way she liked it before giving it to her to eat.

"HE NEVER FORGOT ABOUT THE TANGERINES!!!!" I scream as they drag me to the dungeon. No, but fr, that would be my sign to return to my ex, boxing or no boxing. Listen, everyone, get yourself a partner like Mingi who pays attention to the smallest of details and who actually listens to you.

That must have been so terrifying, realizing that first of all your ex boyfriend and potentially first love is your soulmate and then realizing if you don't do anything now you'll potentially loose him forever if the soulometer is anything to go by. Sprinting as fast as you can as the world is probably moving in slow-motion as you hope you won't be too late in body slamming your soulmate so the car won't hit him. What a scary feeling that must be and oh so overwhelming with everything hitting you at once.

Literally imagine you find your soulmate and are on the brink of losing them in the same SECOND. Bro, I fear I'd never recover mentally. Like id be gone- And if it wasn't a fluff event, believe me Mingi would've died then and there. Just because im a menace who loves angst. But that's not related to this rn AHAHAHH. but yes, I really tried to explain the panic and fear the MC was in while trying to save her soulmate, and I hope I did at least convey some of it :3

And Mingi making sure to protect her with his hand protecting her head and the other one going around her waist to make sure she won't hit the ground too hard🥺

One thing about me I will always write gentleman!teez. I believe in gentleman!teez supremacy til the day I die and no one can convince me otherwise.

I'M GOING THROUGH IT HERE😭😭 Mina how can you do this to me😭 I need them both to never get into a single bad situation ever again I don't think my heart could take it💔

IM SO SORRY ESTHER!!! 😭 (muhahahahehehhehehe😈😈😈)

SO HE DID KNOW😭

HE KNEW ALL THIS TIME!!!! DOESNT THAT MAKE EVERYTHING HURT TEN TIMES MORE

oh boy... mc is so valid in her anger but I'm so conflicted because Mingi obviously loves her so much so he must have a good reason as to why he didn't tell her. Perhaps he felt as if he was only hurting her and that she didn't deserve to be with someone who only made her worry and get upset but at the same time that's not something he gets to decide all on his own without telling her first...

bro... did you like hack into my google documents planner? because why the hell have u been correct in every theory?? What is this sorcery????

asking shyly for permission to kiss someone is one of the best tropes to ever exist😌💕✨

On god, I don't even want a kiss if the other party doesn't ask like a lil nerd... LIKE YES OFC KISS ME DAMMIT KHFWKEJF

I'm in shambles at the ending😭 what a perfect ending to their story Minaaa😭😭💓💓 this was so good, so amazing the tension, the past coming back, the love between them and the way they care so deeply even if there is anger between them. ughhhh just everything 💗 Honestly just amazing spectacular and just everything you'd need in a soulmate au🥰

Thank you so much Esther. For reading and taking the time to write everything down. From your thoughts to the amazing pictures. I honestly can't thank you enough and I don't even deserve you 🩷🥹

Sparks and Bruises | Song Mingi

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to friends to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, explicit language, crying, kissing, car accident, pet names (love, sugar, sweets), mentioned hospital, flashbacks, not beta read

🥊 Wordcount: 12.5K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). I just got off work (it's like 10 pm here), so I'm super tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Anyway, this is the last instalment of the Cherry Blossom March Event and while I'm sad it's over, I'm also happy because now I can focus on finishing my other stories!! A big thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read, leave notes and comments on my works <3 Btw I am no real estate agent and everything you read in this fic is based on excessive research (which could very well be wrong).

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of minor injuries as well as matures themes. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard

The arrow inside the plate on your wrist, no bigger than a lighter, irregularly traveled back and forth, going from one end of the meter to the other. For some, it would be worrisome and  concerning, but for you, it was the opposite. You had yet to meet your soulmate. The person responsible for the occasional spike in your soulometer — the metal chip showing how much danger your soulmate was in. A mandatory procedure ordered by the government a couple of decades ago, probably one of the dumbest things the rulers of the world ever implemented into society.

“We have thought it over and… We’ll sign the contract!”

You were startled as the couple attending your showing returned from their not-so-private discussion on the other side of the kitchen. The faceless person you were supposedly destined to be with — as much as a machine could decide your destiny — occupied your thoughts more often than not, even while at work.

You put on your million-dollar smile and clasped your hands together. “Perfect. Shall we set a date for you to sign the papers then?”

The couple was expecting and in need of a bigger place than their flat, which could barely fit the two of them. After many buts and ifs, the newly wed pair eagerly agreed and a date was set. You didn’t usually have showings late into the night, but considering the husband worked early mornings until late evenings, and the wife wanted him to be present, you made an exception. Money was money, after all, and you were always in need of it.

Declining their offer to drive you home, you bid the happy couple goodbye and locked up after yourself. The apartment wasn’t too far from your place and you didn't think it would be necessary to order a cab for a ten minute walk despite it being quite late. The stiletto heels you decided to wear that morning made it feel like thirty instead and you quickly regretted being a cheapskate. Why did you have to make your life more insufferable than it already was? You only needed the sky to open up and let a waterfall of rain seep down on Seoul. At least you were smart enough to wear pants and a turtleneck instead of a dress or skirt. Despite it being late March where flowers decorated the bland parks and the trees grew out their long-awaited hair again, it felt like the start of winter. 

“This is what you get for listening to Iggy Azalea,” you hissed to yourself as a familiar burn spread through your pinky toes and the back of your feet.

A crazed laughter cut through the chilly air and you automatically reached for the phone in your purse. Setting the ringtone as your best friend’s giggle was a good idea when you were still in high school and just recently turned eighteen. It wasn’t as fun when you were a woman of twenty-something-something years old with an image to uphold and your face plastered on a few boards all through town with your phone number scribbled beneath in big, bold font followed by a text literally begging people to reach out. You swore to change it every time someone called, but the thought always got lost in the shuffle of your other hundred tasks waiting to be done.

You braced yourself for it to be another client calling in the dead of night, but it turned out to be one of your saved contacts. Swiping right and putting the phone up to your ear, you answered with a tired, “Hello.”

“Finally! She answers!”

“Some of us still have work, Hongjoong. Do you know how many times I had to apologize for my ringtone?”

The identical maniac laugh recorded into your phone years ago, erupted from the device and you rolled your eyes. 

“And yet you never change it. After all these years, you still have my voice as your ringtone… That’s quite romantic.”

“Watch it or I’ll have a wild Park come for my head.”

“Seonghwa would never do that.” You let the line fall silent and Hongjoong could hear your pointed look on the other side. “Okay, he probably would. Where are you anyways?! I can hear cars in the background.”

So the bass boosted headphones hadn’t ruined his hearing yet. All those times he ignored you were on purpose then. Good to know.

“I’m on my way home from work. Had a showing a few minutes ago and it went well actually.”

Another voice accompanied Hongjoong on the other line, but you couldn’t quite make out the words. 

“Seonghwa is scolding you for not calling one of us to drive you home and I have to agree with him, sprout. It’s not safe to be out this late.”

The nickname sent you down memory lane dating all the way back to middle school, when you and Hongjoong were the shortest kids in class but didn’t let that hinder you from showing off your talents and wits. Hongjoong a smart kid who excelled in everything from math to musical history while you burned everyone in debates, presentations, speeches, basically anything relate to public speaking. Hence your choice of profession.

“I know, but it really slipped my mind and it’s not even that far from my flat, I promise. Like I’m almost there, just a few more minutes. I can practically see the building lights from here.”

“Good. Stay with me on the call until you enter though. Now, let me tell you about this guy who tried to steal my laptop…”

If he could, Hongjoong would have talked for hours which was quite rare. The man was usually drained from being cooped up in his studio all day, running on zero sleep and five iced coffees. It was in fact how you became friends. 

The kid with round chipmunk cheeks and a menacing smile approached the girl sitting in the back of the class, not making a peep. Hongjoong kicked up a conversation by complimenting the pink bows in your hair — a little detail none of your other classmates had noticed, let alone found them pretty — and offering you a peanut butter cookie that you sadly had to decline because of your allergies. Instead of ending the interaction at your meek thank you, Hongjoong took it as an official proposition of becoming friends. Seven year old Hongjong refused to go back to his seat and even nearly threw a tantrum in class, leaving the homeroom teacher with no other choice than to make you seatmates. 

You and Hongjoong quickly became a duo. Wherever you went, he followed. It marked the start of a long lasting friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else. 

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.” 

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?” 

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips. 

“Long time no see, huh?”

Your eyes darted all over him. Red and blue blemishes covered almost the entire surface of his face and trickles of sweat ran down the side of his face. You didn’t want to think what hid beneath his clothes. 

The last time you saw him was all the way back in high school. A scrawny boy with legs for days, but the coordination of a newborn foal and a smile that lit up your world. The man before you grew into his big features and lost the youthful look. The pointy nose and plump lips were still there, but accompanied by prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a piercing gaze and a chiseled face that wasn’t the shape of a triangle. His hair, once black and short, was now a dark shade of brown and longer than ever, reaching below his nape and bangs falling over his brows. A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue. 

Ignoring the bitterness pooling in your stomach, you decided to keep the conversation civil. A stark contrast to how your last encounter went. 

”Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, no, I was on my way home, but just needed to sit down…”

You weren’t going to pry despite clearly seeing he was anything but alright. If he didn’t want to tell you, who were you to force him? 

Offering him a light smile, you tried keeping the tone light. “What are the odds of you sitting on my doorstep, huh?” 

“Yeah… How long has it been since…”

“Four? Five? Five years.”

Mingi whistled lowly and a silence occupied the street. Everyone decided to stay in as no cars or other people lingered around. You wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t pleasant either and you didn’t know what to do. Leaving him out in the cold wasn’t an option, but inviting him didn’t sound right either. After a long fight between your brain and heart, you decided to listen to the beating organ in your chest.

“Wanna… come up? To my apartment.”

Mingi looked up at you through his fringe and the soft roundness to his eyes teleported you back to high school. Keeping your composure, you hastily added on to the sentence.

“T-To, to clean up and maybe have something to eat?”

Had someone asked you five years ago what you’d say to Mingi if the opportunity presented itself, you surely wouldn’t have invited him to your home or offered him a free meal. The most he’d get out of you would be a one-finger salute. Fast forward one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days and Mingi was lent a helping hand instead. It was enough time for you to mature into a more rational woman who could, for better or for worse, put her feelings aside and think with her brain. 

Mirrors surrounded the entire inside of the elevator, even on the doors, and you held back from laughing at the reflection. There couldn’t have been an odder pair than you two. Mingi, dressed in all black with colorful blotches decorating his intimidating face, and you, wearing designer from head to toe. Even your bags were opposites — his a dingy gym bag that was a thread away from falling apart and yours from the recent Louis Vuitton collection. It was quite a funny look, but not a bone in your body vibrated with glee.

As the elevator doors closed and the mechanism carried you up the many flights of stairs, the reality dawned upon you. A multitude of questions you hadn’t thought of before inviting Mingi inside popped up like mosquitoes during summer nights — annoying, but unavoidable. The poor attempt of convincing yourself it was just a kind gesture, a friend helping a friend, you couldn’t shoo away the nagging fact that nothing of your and Mingi’s past was platonic. Shame and guilt curled in the pit of your stomach. Knowing your soulmate was out there somewhere, probably waiting for you, while you were cozying up to a man who wasn’t meant to be yours in the first place was sickening. 

The ding of your arrival sounded through the speakers and you quickly went first with Mingi hot on your heels. Unlocking your front door, you threw the keys in a bowl the shape of a fish — a housewarming gift from Hongjoong — and stripped your outerwear. It was first when you put your stuff aside that you realized Mingi was still standing by the door and hadn’t moved since crossing the threshold. The man was shamelessly taking in his surroundings and you wondered what he thought of your apartment. Was it to his liking? Did it suit you? Did he like it? Why did you care?

“Uhm, you can just hang your stuff here,” you gestured to the coat rack mounted to the wall, “while I get dinner ready.”

You didn’t wait around to see him subtly nod, instead you made an escape to the safety of your kitchen. It was weird having Mingi over. It was weird being civil to one another. The tension was still there since your last encounter, like static in the air that wouldn’t really go away. The soft pad of feet grew louder and you threw a look over your shoulder to see Mingi in the doorway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes darting all over the place. Aside from his appearance, it seemed that his habits hadn’t changed — good as bad — but it wasn’t your place to pry. Not anymore.

“Is it alright if I… wash up now?”

A heat crawled up your neck and attacked your cheeks. “Y–Yeah, of course!” You cleared your throat and continued, “The bathroom is on the left of the hallway and there are towels in the cupboard above the washing machine.”

Mingi nodded, but didn’t budge from his spot. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the doorframe to take on a relaxed posture, yet he looked anything but relaxed.

“I… I– Uhm, don’t… I kinda don’t have a spare set of clothes to change into…”

“Oh… Oh!”

“Yeah,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth, a low hiss escaping as he tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere. 

“That’s alright! I think I have something you can use. Uhm, you can start washing up while I see what I can do.”

Rummaging through your closet for your brother’s clothes to lend Mingi wasn’t something you ever imagined doing in all your years of living, but here you were. Hunched over, searching like a madwoman for an extra hoodie and some basketball shorts or a pair of sweatpants that wouldn’t be too small on the giant currently occupying your bathroom. Your brother had been in your apartment a grand total of three times and by some stroke of luck, he’d left behind clothes he thought might come in handy for his next visit. Who knew they’d be useful for more than just that? 

You didn’t find a hoodie, but you did spot a black compression shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants that would have to do. You just hoped they wouldn’t be too tight. To be on the safe side, you even snagged one of your brother’s boxers. It was one thing to share clothes and another thing to share underwear, but if you got to choose, you’d happily accept the fresh pair instead of reusing your sweaty undies. The choice was up to Mingi in the end. With the clothes neatly folded in your hands, you marched toward the bathroom and triple knocked on the door.

“Uh, I found some clothes you can use!”

The harsh drops of the shower abruptly stopped and you patiently waited for a response, but nothing came. You raised your hand, fingers balled into a fist, and as you swung it forward to knock again, the door suddenly opened. A cloud of steam escaped from the hot bathroom and Mingi’s very naked body appeared in the slight opening. His stomach was a perfect display of muscle, each of the six abs sculpted like marble. You would’ve ogled longer hadn’t the raspberry and plum colored blemishes covered a huge part of his toned skin. His hair dripped on the tiled floor and a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips. The warmth tickling your whole body evaporated into a numbing cold at the bruises. Swallowing nervously, you forced your eyes back up. 

Mingi flicked his head sideways to move the wet strands from his face and his tongue darted out to lap at his dry lips, a motion you followed attentively. The raise of his brow, a silent question urging you to speak up, had you stumbling over your words.

“S–So, I... I, uh, found something you can… change into!” 

The clothes were thrust harshly into his bare chest, and Mingi nearly dropped the towel in order to catch them. Before he could utter so much as a "thanks," you bolted back to the kitchen and whipped out leftovers from last night. Anything to keep you busy and distracted from the jaw-dropping image that refused to leave you alone. Mingi eventually joined you in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside the stove, where you guarded the kimchi stew from overheating, and crossed his arms over his chest. The already prominent muscles grew more defined beneath the tight fabric. It was difficult to ignore his gaze peering down at you, and you couldn’t decide if your cheeks flared from a natural bodily reaction or from the heat of the stove.

The circular table behind you was already set, with a pair of utensils and plates aligned opposite each other. You removed the pot and placed it in the center of the table, silently beckoning Mingi to take a seat. His hair was still wet, but not dripping and despite wearing clothes, you couldn’t muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. The late dinner was done in a deafening silence interrupted by the clink of utensils and lip smacking. Not able to bear the thickness in the air, you cleared your throat and asked the first thing to pop up in your mind. 

“Um… do you... want me to treat your bruises?” 

The confidence you spent years mastering and using in your daily life deflated like a dramatic balloon flying around the room until it fell limply on the floor. Mingi was mid shoving food into his mouth and froze as soon as the words reached his ears. His lips were parted enough for you to catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked front tooth and a wave of nostalgia hit you square in the nose. The man before you had changed so much, yet not at all.

Mingi took a bite of the kimchi and rice to buy himself time to think your proposal over. It wasn’t a bad shout as you did have experience treating his wounds considering you were the one tending to him back in high school. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and you were starting to regret ever opening your mouth.

“Sure,” he answered while giving his full attention to the bowl of stew before him and you  couldn’t have been more relieved. He didn’t have to see the way you bit the inside of your cheek, tightly gripped your spoon or raised your brows to your hairline.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and for once, you didn’t care if it wrapped around your throat and suppressed the air from entering your lungs. This was all so surreal. There wasn’t a day where you thought you’d be eating left-over kimchi stew with your ex-boyfriend and then agree to treat his wounds — the thing that drove you apart all those years ago. The universe worked in a funny way. Instead of bringing you closer to your soulmate, it led you straight to the past. 

Putting the bowls in the sink, you gestured for Mingi to return to the bathroom while you put away the dishes. It hadn’t dawned on you that by helping Mingi treat his wounds, you’d have to merge your personal bubbles into one and actually touch him, even if it was as much as a graze of your fingertips along his skin.

Rounding the corner of the hallway and stopping before the entrance to the bathroom with a medkit in your hands, you were caught off guard by the image before you. Mingi was seated on the toilet lid, hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. You could see the top of his head — something you rarely did back in high school — as he faced the tiled floor. A swoop in your stomach urged you to run your fingers through his strands, but the impulse was quickly shut down. You stepped into the bathroom with feigned confidence. Mingi looked up as your sock-clad feet came into view, your big toes wiggling nervously. You placed the kit on the sink and grabbed the things you needed, starting with alcohol wipes. There wasn’t much you could do about the colored bruises already turning an ugly shade of yellow and purple, but the few cuts — like the one on his bottom lip and around his eyebrows — were easier to treat.

“This may sting,” you whispered, shuffling closer to him.

Mingi parted his legs to give you better access to his face. You put a finger beneath his chin and tilted it upward before gently dabbing the wipe against his brow ridge. A hiss filled the bathroom, but you didn’t stop cleaning the wound. Despite not being in this situation since high school, when Mingi would get his ass beat in the boxing ring and show up at your door with new cuts adorning his face every other weekend, you still remembered all the steps of the treatment. They were etched into your spine and controlled your limbs without a strain.

Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows almost touching from how deeply furrowed they were and Mingi wanted to smooth out the skin between them, but did no such thing. Instead, he diverted his attention elsewhere and focused on your lips, which he’d argue was the worse choice of the two. Scooping a generous amount of ointment on a Q-tip, you dabbed it on the cut and finished it off with a small band-aid that smoothly blended in with his hue. You tried to put off treating his lips, but apparently even Mingi had a limit to how many punches to the face he could take, and you eventually had to bite the sour apple and just get it over with.

It had been silent since you warned him about the sting from the alcohol wipes, broken only by a few of his grunts and hisses. Yet, the silence never felt as loud as it did in that moment when you cupped his chin in your left hand and stared intently at his plump lips. A determined heat swirled in your eyes and Mingi couldn’t look away. It took everything in him not to instinctively bite down on his bottom lip or run his tongue over it.

“Relax your lips,” you said, brushing your thumb along the bottom row. 

You didn’t realize what you had done until a second later and Mingi couldn’t chuckle at your appalled expression, as he was equally frozen in place. Both of you were left wide-eyed, mouths hanging open and brains going haywire. A pleading sparkle glimmered in his dark eyes, but you refused to give in, keeping your focus on his lips — lips that were so kissable. Warmth washed over you and there was nothing you wanted more than for the ground to swallow you whole. The weight of his burning eyes was too heavy for you to bear, so you tried to redirect the attention by doing the one thing you did best — talking.

“Are you still fighting?”

It seemed to do the trick as Mingi broke out of the captivating spell. In an exhausted tone, the one you’d hear between a couple constantly bickering and reaching their end, he breathed out your name.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

You hastily applied the ointment and retracted your hand, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his thumb landing on the soulometer in the quick act and an electric crackle burst where your skin connected. A beat or two passed before he decided to speak up.

“I am fighting, just not as much… I kinda feel bad for my soulmate.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smirk and a chuckle followed at his poor attempt of easing the awkward air.

Your heart dropped into your stomach and you didn’t think it was possible for it to go any further from there, but hearing the rest of his sentence proved you wrong. Before the hollow feeling could reflect on your face, you forced the corners of your lips up in a fabricated smile. An identical smile to the one caught in a multiple of billboards all over Seoul. 

“I wish mine would do the same. They always seem to find themselves in some trouble.”

A thick gulp ventured down his throat and the shaking panic in his eyes morphed into a forced calm. “I’m sure if they knew you were this worried, they’d stop running headfirst into danger.”

Five years had passed since the soulometer was injected into your wrist, enough time for your soulmate to change their ways, to stop giving their other half constant fear every night. Yet, it wasn’t the distance or the lack of knowledge about each other’s lives that weighed on your heart. The true reason lay deeper — your soulmate simply didn’t care enough to stop or perhaps they lacked the means to break free from the dangerous path they’d chosen. It was never about being physically apart, but about the emotional distance — the helplessness of knowing that, despite everything, they continued to surround themselves with danger. You didn’t have the heart to confide in Mingi about it, to express the quiet ache you carried, because saying it aloud would mean admitting that the person you loved was still caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape, or didn’t want to. 

Truthfully, Mingi was also the last person you wanted to confide in about the matter.

“I guess so.”

The brief and accidental encounter with Mingi was supposed to stay a long lost media in your brain, cluttered together with other minor memories. That was what you told yourself as Mingi left your apartment, sweaty clothes in a trash bag and belly full of warm leftovers. The version of him you remembered from all those years ago still lived on in your imagination, the bitter note of how everything ended, a constant reminder as to why the encounter should just be that — short, consistent and insignificant. As the morning sun peeked from between the high buildings and the dark sky bleed out to a baby blue hue, you’d return to your everyday life of selling apartments while the dishwasher rinsed the memory of what occurred in the space of your four walls. 

The open PDF on the computer screen illuminated your face and the bazillion numbers would’ve been overwhelming if your mind wasn’t occupied by the thoughts of a certain man with feline-shaped eyes and annoyingly juicy lips. Whatever you did — drown yourself in work, spend time with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, try out the new restaurant in town — nothing was good enough to forget Song Mingi and that night. The situation just felt so right. A domestic reality you yearned for since you graduated high school and moved into your own flat. The wish to have someone by your side, to stuff your face in greasy food, stay up late at night and watch a plethora of rom-coms while cuddled up to them, and sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Mingi re-awakened those feelings you locked away in a chamber behind your heart.

A stack of papers fell on your desk with a thud and pulled you out of your wishful thinking. Jongho, your freakishly strong colleague, plopped down on a vacant plush sofa that was mainly there for clients to use while discussing potential deals.

“You excited to get drinks after work?” He asked, tugging on his perfectly made necktie.

You massaged your forehead, completely having forgotten about the collective outing you and your co-workers had every month. “Is that today?”

“Whoa, don’t tell me you, the most unforgettable person I know, forgot about our end-of-the-month-party!? Woo is gonna have a blast when I tell him!”

Jongho didn’t question your sudden loss of memory at first. The younger agent found the situation perfect for a round of teasing or perhaps even as future blackmail material. Concern flashed in his eyes when you made no attempt to defend your honor and instead buried the rest of your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey… is everything… alright?”

“Yeah… No? I don’t know.” 

Something was really wrong because you were never tired. In fact, Jongho had never seen you without a smile or a spring in your step. You were always collected, whether it was your clothes, hair or mood. Fire alarms went off in his head and plans be damned if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on. It was easier said than done, though, because he didn’t know how to approach the topic and ended up sitting there with his mouth parted like a fish out of water. The overthinking was starting to trigger a headache, so he settled on the simplest, but hopefully, most effective question he could think of.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous. “I need to not think about it.”

A mischievous gummy smile spread across his face. “You just signed yourself up for regret, my dear friend.”

As you were about to ask to elaborate, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the biggest menace in the company.

“Wooyoung-ya!”

Albeit curious, the pair didn’t try to fish out context clues or the story behind your emotional state. Wooyoung lived up to Jongho’s promise of making you regret joining them for drinks and it didn't stop there. They both continuously visited your office throughout the rest of the shift. Wooyoung would nonchalantly enter the room as if he didn’t have anything up his sleeve, step up to the window and inspect the wilted plant burning up from being in the sunlight for too long, when he was actually throwing you curious glances from the corner of his eye. Then, before quickly taking his leave, he’d subtly slide you a packet of gummies and run as if his life depended on it. One would believe you were engaging in some shady transaction that would definitely make you both lose your real estate license. 

Jongho was a different story. The youngest of the trio wasn’t good with his words, but the affection could be read through his actions. Although they were questionable. He, too, invaded your room in subtle fashion and touched everything that didn’t require human contact — your Sanrio figurines, picture frames, ornaments still up from Christmas. While it was annoying in the moment, their antics kept you from circling back to the one person who had made his grand return after five years of radio silence. Good thing you hadn’t planned on rekindling that flame ever again. But what was written in your calendar didn’t align with the universe. 

The happy hour had ended a while ago, and while Jongho and Wooyoung made sure to get you home first, your stomach rumbled the second you stepped foot into the apartment. What better meal to have in a tipsy state than some ramen? 

The trip to the corner shop was supposed to be quick and relaxing — a weak attempt to distract yourself from the headache blooming at the back of your head. Perhaps that was why you weren’t fully aware of your surroundings, stumbling into racks displaying different flavors of chips and accidentally knocking things out of place. You purposefully ignored the scorching gaze of the cashier and hastily moved to hide between the aisles. But what you didn’t expect was for another figure to round the opposite corner, causing you to bump headfirst into them. The ramen cups and energy drinks piled up in their basket tumbled to the floor, and you quickly crouched down to gather as many things as your arms would allow.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The person didn’t say anything and you expected them to be very annoyed, but that wasn’t the case. The familiar face looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile caused you to freeze on the spot.

“Hey.” Mingi flared his fingers in what was supposed to resemble a wave, but it came off more awkward than intended.

A painful cramp fluttered at the back of your neck as the position wasn’t the most comfortable, your head craned uncomfortably as you looked up at him, the strain making it feel like it might snap at any moment. Yeah, the university wasn’t on your side.

“Here.” 

He knelt down to be at your level, though it would never really match, and urged you to place the belongings in the basket. It was impossible to tear your eyes from him, but Mingi didn’t notice your stare as he gathered the unscattered snacks and drinks in the carrier. Once was a coincidence, twice is a pattern, you thought and swallowed thickly.

“Alright, let’s stand up.” 

He rested his arm on his propped-up knee, while the other hand was held out for you to take. On a count of three, you both stood up simultaneously and your hand immediately returned to your side. 

“What are you doing here?”

The question came off more like an interrogation than a casual inquiry and you winced at your loose tongue. Mingi didn’t seem to care though.

“Nothing much, just wanted a late night snack.” As if you didn’t understand, he grabbed one of the ten ramen cups in his basket and gently shook it. The contents rattling together and overpowering the whirring sound of the freezers. “What about you?”

“Ah, same here…”

Mingi glanced down at your empty hands and smacked his lips together, “Cool.”

“Yeah…”

The young cashier who couldn’t be older than a high school graduate nearly suffocated from the sudden thickness in the convenience store. 

“Uhm, you gonna get anything?”

“What? Oh! Right! Let me just…” You trailed off and darted over to the refrigerators, grabbing the first thing that came into view. 

You snagged a bag of shrimp chips on your way back too. Banana milk and shrimp chips, what a combination! The reasons for your late-night adventure had started with the craving for ramen, but somewhere between the aisle mishap and the distraction of other snacks, the noodles had been completely forgotten. In the meantime, Mingi moved over to the cashier register and patiently waited for the kid to scan his items. 

You shuffled behind him and Mingi turned sideways, one of his brows cocked up. “Here, give me that.” 

Before you could protest or dodge his advances, the items in your hands were stolen from beneath your nose and placed on the counter. 

“Hey, no, I can pay for that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Mingi–”

“I said don’t worry about it.” There was a certain finality to his tone that told you there was no point in further arguing. Mingi swiped his card as the cashier packed your things in two separate plastic bags. 

Standing outside the Seven-Eleven, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, the handles of the bag clinging to your wrist. “You didn’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”

Mingi’s breath escaped in a cloud of vapor, lingering in the cold air before it dissolved into the sky. The corner of his mouth lifted into a one-sided grin. 

“I know.”

Never letting you pay for anything was just another addition to the long list of habits he still clung to since high school. Mingi really hadn’t changed, and you couldn’t deny the disappointment that settled in as you witnessed it.

“Good. Then I’m leaving now. Good night.” You turned on your heel and began walking in the direction of your home.

“W–Wait! Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t spare him a glance. “No need for that. This is one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul, actually.”

Another ‘I know’ died on his lips. If anyone on this earth knew how out of danger you were, it would be Mingi.

“T–That’s good, but... it would help me sleep at night if I knew you got home safely.” 

After all this time, you still had a hard time telling him no. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, your resistance crumbling despite yourself. “Fine, you can walk me home.”

The walk was short, but lasted longer than ever and you were regretting your choices of not standing your ground against him. You would never admit it out loud, but his dimpled smile and two moles were your greatest weakness and there was no way you’d ever win against them. 

Mingi cleared his throat. “What have you been up to? You know, since high school.”

“Have you thought about what college to apply for?” Mingi asked and intertwined his fingers across his abdomen.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully. 

You lay on the grass, staring up at the night sky. The black canvas was dotted with a million, billion stars, leaving no space untouched. It had been Mingi’s idea to go stargazing, but considering neither of you had a driver’s license or the energy to trek up a mountain in the middle of the night, you figured the view wouldn’t be any different from your backyard.

He turned to you and followed the outline of your profile. God, you were beautiful. “Really? How come?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there are so many options, like how will I know what’s good for me.”

“Whatever you choose, sugar, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Now it was your turn to face him and he flashed you a reassuring smile.“Sometimes, the best choice is the one that feels right in the moment.”

“...Being with you feels right.”

Nothing could compare to back then. Sure, you experienced fleeting moments of happiness, but they didn’t last longer than the life of a snowflake. Did Mingi ask that to see if you were still stuck in the past? If your time together was the peak of your happiness? He didn’t get to do that. To slither his way into your heart and admire everything you had been through without him by your side.

“Nothing special. I’m a real estate agent, so I’ve been busy selling houses and apartments.”

“Nothing special my ass. That’s amazing. But what is expected of the smartest girl in our high school, huh? I always knew you’d achieve great things.” 

Blood pooled beneath your cheeks, burning hotter than a fever of thirty-nine degrees, and you hated how, despite everything, he still turned you into a giddy high school girl who made eye contact with her crush. To be fair, it wasn’t too far from the truth and that was a scary realization on its own. All it took was a measly compliment and you turned to mush.

“What about you? What are you doing these days?”

A silence stretched between you far heavier than anything you had ever felt before. It was as if the question had torn through some fragile barrier, leaving him exposed. His eyes, once sharp and filled with glee, now seemed distant, as though searching for something lost. You could feel the weight of the pause, like a storm brewing in the space between you. What was he really doing these days? More importantly, what had he been doing all this time out of your reach?

“A little bit of everything. Anything I can get my hands on, really.”

“You didn’t study after high school?”

“You know school wasn’t my strongest suit. Stuffy classrooms and obnoxious teachers talking my ear off never got me anywhere, I mean, I barely passed high school. I was more comfortable with my hands in motion and figuring things out as I went. School was ever it for me. It always felt like I was waiting for something that never came.”

Mingi wasn’t wrong. Although he was a smart kid, staying awake studying until the dead of night and then working an underpaid nine-to-five job wasn’t for him. But you couldn’t shake away the bitterness of how he threw away the opportunity of a normal life with you for a bloody ring and a life of unpredictability. The punches he took in that world weren’t just physical — they hit somewhere deeper, somewhere you couldn’t reach. You had always wanted something more stable, something real to hold on to, but Mingi had chosen the chaos, the fight, over everything else. Perhaps that was why the universe decided not to tie your red string to his pinky, knowing it would hurt you more than his decision.

Coming to a stop outside your apartment, the memory of your first encounter after a few years still fresh in your mind. 

“Like boxing?”

Mingi’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak, his mouth pressing into a thin line. The silence between you both was heavy, filled with things unsaid. It was the kind of silence that made your heart ache, knowing that there was so much left unresolved between you, yet you couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“Good night, Mingi,” you finally said, taking a shaky breath as you turned back to your door again. 

The finality in your tone hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. You didn’t look back as you reached for the door handle, but you knew Mingi was still there, standing in the same place, holding onto the same regrets.

Reaching your apartment, you flicked on the lights and quickly discarded your outerwear. You turned on the switches in every room and placed the bag of goods on the kitchen table. 

Disappointment fueled every movement. Grabbing a pot from the lower cupboard, you filled it with water, not caring as it splashed everywhere. When you set it down on the stove, you didn’t bother being careful, letting it thud onto the surface. You waited — oh-so-patiently — for the water to reach its boiling point and shoved a hand into the plastic bag. The expected rustling of plastic and cold drinks didn’t come. Instead, you felt the hard, smooth texture of something else. Knitting your brows together, you took hold of the square object, no bigger than a container of pudding.

In your palm was a plastic box of peeled and cut oranges.

Your head rested on your folded arms, eyes cast on the baby-blue sky taunting you from behind the windows. It was a beautiful day. What a shame you were stuck in a room with thirty other kids and no air conditioning. Your homeroom teacher was late — an uncanny occurrence, considering she always emphasized the importance of being on time and never failed to follow through. Until today.

The door to the classroom slid open with a thud, but the class had yet to quiet down, and by that single reaction, you knew it wasn’t Ms. Choi who had entered. The previously loud chatter of your friend group turned into hushed whispers and skittish snickers that reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to see what had gotten them so giggly. It was probably Jihoon, the new boy in class, who effortlessly managed to twirl every girl around his finger with just a look. He wasn’t your type — you preferred them tall, lanky, and clumsy. Jihoon was on the shorter side and had muscles that seemed unnatural for a sixteen-year-old. Plus, you weren’t into soccer boys. No, your style was more martial arts.

A hand, twice the size of yours, appeared out of nowhere and placed a clementine — your favorite fruit — on your desk, just inches from your face. Your eyes widened, staring at the bright fruit in disbelief. Groggily, you pushed away from the comfortable spot against the desk, only to quickly notice the figure looming over you.

Song Mingi.

“You skipped lunch,” he stated nonchalantly, offering an explanation for the sudden appearance of the fruit.

The muffled squeals of your friends, combined with Mingi’s unexpected act of chivalry, sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and unsure of how to react. Gift-giving and small acts of service weren’t foreign between you and Mingi. He always seemed to know your cravings, bringing you peeled fruit and sugary snacks without you ever having to ask. In return, you tended to his cuts, massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders after heavy training, and always seemed to find ways to care for him without words. But that was done in private, never in public. Especially not in front of your friends who were having a field day with his new revelation.

“Ah,” Mingi breathed out, picking up the orange once more. 

Silently, he peeled off the thin skin, revealing the vibrant fruit hidden beneath. But he wasn’t done yet. With a casual movement, he stuffed the citrus-scented rind into the pocket of his school uniform before carefully removing the white pith wedged between the clementine’s segments. You didn’t like the white parts. His towering form caught the attention of the rest of the class and by now everyone intently watched the exchange. 

The clementine looked bare now. He held out the fruit again, waiting for you to extend your hand, careful not to let it touch the surface of your desk. A yellowish stain colored his nails, a discoloration that wouldn't fade with just one wash, and the acidic smell lingered, even stronger now. It was the main reason you didn’t like peeling them in the first place.

Mingi, having heard your confession a few weeks ago, made it his mission to always give you peeled oranges. It warmed your chest to know he was keeping that promise.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t satisfied with your first and second encounters because the third one happened just a little less than a week later. You were meeting up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa at a nearby cafe to catch up on the hecticness of your lives — also known as gossip about your workplaces and bonding over the latest episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines. The name of the drama threw you down a steep hill of memories, but you stood up, dusted off your knees and trekked back up. You didn’t want to associate him with the family of fruit anymore.

The clock had just passed five-thirty AM and you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. It didn’t help that you hit every red light possible. At least the weather was nice. Not a single cloud occupied the baby-blue sky and the spring breeze scattered butterfly kisses along your body. It could’ve been worse. You thought of gloomy clouds and cold rain, and immediately shuddered. Yeah, it definitely could’ve been worse. 

The breath caught in your throat as a bus sped by, just a little over the limit. You exhaled in relief as it passed, but that relief was short-lived when you locked eyes with none other than Mingi on the other end of the sidewalk. It felt as if the universe were laughing in your face, throwing everything you didn’t want right at you. You’d take gloomy clouds and rainy weather over seeing Mingi again. The worst part was that it was a lie because even in the stormiest times, he managed to light up your surroundings, and the erratically beating heart in your chest served as your witness. 

A black hoodie swallowed his towering frame and a pair of chunky headphones covered his head. You couldn’t see him that well, but you assumed the shining reflection around his collar was from his stacked necklaces. The cuts along his face had healed nicely — in fact, they were completely gone — and you wondered if your last encounter had anything to do with it or if he had just gotten better at dodging flying fists.

You always seemed to end things on a bitter note, yet you ignored the sourness on your taste buds and raised your hand in a small wave. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle tug of his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead. Mingi bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly contemplating something. Coming to terms with his thoughts, he raised a finger, wordlessly telling you to wait and threw a quick glance at the red light as if it would hurry up from a single look. Although you had every right to ignore him, you just couldn’t. You had always been weak when it came to him, never really able to tell him no and it appeared some things just never changed. 

Mingi’s face lit up as the light turned to green. The man was so eager to cross the street — to get to you — that he didn’t bother checking both sides before walking out. Unlike the others, he missed the speeding vehicle heading zooming through multiple red lights and showing no signs of stopping. You felt it before you saw it. The spike in your left wrist, the rush of the arrow sky rocketing from zero to a hundred. Your legs moved on their own before you could form the first letter of his name. One moment you were rooted to the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted, and in the next you harshly collided with Mingi, hoping your spurt of strength was enough to knock him off balance and away from the dangerous metal chunk on wheels. 

The world didn’t stop spinning, but time slowed down as Mingi fell backward. His hand came up to cradle your head, while the other slithered around your waist. Your own arms were pressed against his chest from the push you gave him. The landing was harsh, but Mingi took most of it as his back slammed against the pavement and your face became buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. The passersby approached you with questions of worry and concern, their faces etched with confusion and anxiety at the entire situation. Everyone was a bit shaken up at the tragedy that could’ve been. Your body refused to cooperate and the only thing you could do was tangle your fingers into the material of his hoodie, clinging to it for dear life, trying to distinguish reality from imagination. How cruel — he had just returned to your life, only to almost be taken out of it again, permanently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers massaging your scalp as the other hand scrunched up the back of your shirt.

A stutter of words slipped out, none of which Mingi could make sense of. He sat up, trying to get a better look at you, but you refused to part from the comfort of his chest. You didn’t need to see it to know your soulometer had calmed down — you felt it in every fiber of your being. Your soulmate was safe, and you were too, now that you were in the arms of a living, breathing Mingi.

“Please, sweets, I need to know if you’re alright.”

Desperation dripped from his voice like sticky honey falling from a dipper and it struck sharply in your core, bringing you back to the present.

“Okay,” you mumbled against his clothes, just loud enough for it to reach his ears and Mingi exhaled in relief. He pressed a kiss on your hairline and your heart fluttered at the domestic gesture. 

A couple of strangers offered to call an ambulance, but Mingi waved them off, saying it wasn’t necessary and that no one was harmed — just a bit shaken up. He thanked them nonetheless and it did the trick as the crowd dissolved, the people returning to their everyday life, but with a story to slap down on the dinner table.

Mingi placed a palm beneath your left thigh as the other went around your waist to keep you sturdy as he got up from the pavement. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to tell him to let you down, that you could walk on your own and didn’t need a chaperone — the words wouldn’t roll off your paralyzed tongue. Feeling the stares of strangers burn into you, you hid your face in the crook of his neck and didn’t pull away until you were safely in your apartment. The entire journey home, you tried to wrap your head around the event: the near-death experience, your body taking over while your mind went slack, the sudden spike in your soulometer. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reached Mingi in time — if you were just a second too late, if you hadn’t noticed the car. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pressed your lips together to distract yourself from the tears threatening to soak Mingi’s hoodie.

You needed a distraction from the what-ifs, and you needed one pronto. Trying to focus on something other than Mingi being flattened by that stupid car, you racked your brain for something, anything else, when it suddenly hit you. In all the seven years you had your soulometer, it had never even grazed, let alone pushed hard against the other end of the scale. 

Back inside your apartment, you plopped down on the sofa and dropped your head into your hands. A throbbing ache pulsed through every part of your head, and the constant buzzing of your phone wasn’t helping. You had an inkling of who it could’ve been, and as you fished it out of your bag, the hundreds of messages and missed calls from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong confirmed your suspicion. You sent them a reassuring text, apologizing for bailing on them and blaming it on your headache. Mingi was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes never left your hunched form. He was waiting — for a call, a sign, something that would tell him when to reach your side and offer his help.

In another life, you’d be flustered — happy, ecstatic that he was there, worried for your well-being, wanting to make you feel better. But the nagging thought of the situation — too perfect to be a coincidence — wouldn’t let you go. What were the odds of your soulmate and Mingi both being exposed to danger at the same time? How was it that Mingi’s body was void of bruises just as your soulometer stopped acting up? 

Licking your lips, you inhaled shakily and found Mingi’s gaze. The pull to be wrapped in his arms was strong, almost unbearable and you wondered if he felt it too. The need to run your fingers through his hair, to rest your forehead at the junction of his neck and shoulder while he soothingly rubbed circles in your back. The feelings were more intense than back in high school, now full of want and need that you couldn’t satisfy by being in his mere presence. However, you were willing to put it aside in exchange for your question marks to disappear and there was only one person who could give it to you.

Your voice was raspy and weak, breaking mid-sentence as the words struggled to escape. With every ounce of vulnerability, you asked him, “Are we soulmates?”

Mingi didn’t move for a moment. He looked to the side, his jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the counter. It was inevitable, really. The question was bound to come up sooner or later, and he wasn’t a fool. Mingi didn’t live in a bubble separate from his worries. They were woven into his everyday life, especially since you’d crossed paths again after all these years, with you at the center of them. The anxiety hovered around you like planets orbiting the sun — always there, needing you to survive, but never able to get too close. Mingi never stopped thinking about you. Since your high school graduation, he’d found himself more often than not lying awake in the dead of night, thoughts circling back to you — wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. You had to be. Mingi only ever brought you pain and hurt, something he loathed himself for. The lies and secrets were the main reason behind it all, but the icing on the cake was his devotion to boxing, which had long surpassed his love for you. At least, in your eyes, because that was what he had allowed you to see — what he wanted you to think. It would make the end of your relationship easier, giving him a lie to hold onto instead of the truth.

But Mingi was tired of lying. He didn’t plan to re-enter your life to keep the same pattern in motion. He wanted to start a-new and whether he deserved it or not was up for debate, but he was going to try. For you. For himself. For your relationship.

“Yes.”

Then it all just stopped. The beat of your heart filled the silence of the world. The flicker of emotions was instant and irregular — shifting from relief and happiness to disbelief and anger. You couldn’t form a single thought, much less say anything. What could one say in such a moment? Realising your first and only love was more than that and had slipped away. The never ending fear and regret of losing the sole good thing in your life washing out to nothing, leaving you empty. It was good and bad. A war broke out in your head, scrambling to come to an understanding, but the tear between the two sides was so grave it was starting to hurt. The relief of finding your soulmate clashed with the idea that he was right beneath your nose this entire time, purposefully avoiding you for who knows how long.

A sting burned behind your eyes followed by a heavy pressure. Your throat closed up and yet you managed to get your question out.

“How… How long have you known?”

Mingi heaved in a breath. The weight of the situation pressed harshly against his chest as he realized the bear trap he set up years ago was beneath his foot.

“A little after the start of our third year in high school… When you were rushed to the hospital.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Someone thought it would be a funny prank to leave an opened peanut-chocolate bar in your locker, completely disregarding the gravity of the situation. That was almost a month after his eighteenth birthday — the day his soulometer was permanently injected into his body. Out of those three years, you dated for one and a half, and the last stretch of your relationship was apparently built on secrets and lies because he knew. 

He knew and didn’t tell you.

You rose from your seat, your expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. Your brows furrowed, and your lips were pressed tightly together in fury. Mingi had never seen you so angry — not even when some older kids were making fun of Hongjoong for his height or liking boys.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it? Mingi, we broke up and you didn’t think to tell me we were, are soulmates?!”

Your voice jumped from a whisper to full-out yelling, loud enough for your neighbors above and below to indulge in the dramatics, and Mingi flinched at the sudden rise in volume. A fire spread from his core to the rest of his body, growing hotter and more intense with each passing second. Despite how familiar the sensation was, it wasn’t his. You were angry beyond salvaging and no amount of water could douse the flames. 

Mingi’s chest tightened as the answer to your long-awaited question tumbled out of him. “Because you deserved a better soulmate!” 

Like that, a weight lifted off his shoulders. There was a very long pause where you just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

“Excuse me?” It was meek, barely above a whisper as you spoke and a sharp, breaking sound echoed in Mingi’s heart, like porcelain shattering. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Mingi hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. You seized the opportunity to step in front of him. Unshed tears lined your waterline, one blink away from spilling over and kissing your burning cheeks. Mingi wasn’t any better. His eyes were glossed over and throat was dry. His fingers turned an alarming shade of white from gripping the counter, the veins in his hands more defined than ever.

“Why?” 

“You weren’t happy with me…” Mingi’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to continue. “W–with me boxing… and I… I wasn’t ready to give up on that. I thought you d–deserved some happiness before you realized you were stuck with me f–forever.” His words came out choked, his chest heaving as the tears finally spilled over.

The salty tears extinguished the fire that had been brewing in you. What had felt like flames of hell now shrunk to nothing more than a spark, ready to fade. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? Mingi, I was never asking you to give up on what you love. I just couldn’t stand seeing you put yourself in danger, not knowing if you’d come back to me… alive.” Your heart ached as the soulometer inside you throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of how deeply connected you two were. 

Mingi had grown up in a boxing family. His father was a boxer, and his grandfathers on both sides were boxers too. It was only natural for the only child of the Song family to step into his relatives’ shoes and fall in love with the gruesome sport. However, it wasn’t the officiated matches or light sparring during training that had you worrying for Mingi. A little after Mingi turned eighteen, he realized that his talent could not only bring him medals, but money. A great sum of money, actually. 

As the fortune started to come his way, you began to notice the change in him. He wasn’t just fighting for the thrill or the legacy anymore — it had become a business. The sport he had once loved, the sport that had connected him to his family, was now something more — something dangerous, something that had started to consume him. You watched as he took on bigger opponents, harsher training regimens and increasingly dangerous matches, all in pursuit of a prize that was slowly tearing away at the person you once knew. 

You didn’t mean to put him in a tight spot, to choose between his first serious girlfriend and the illegal business that kept him independent. You also didn’t expect him to choose the latter. The decision stung more than you anticipated, the weight of it sinking in as you realized what it said about his priorities. 

You were both young and foolish back then, believing the world was beneath your feet and that one wrong decision could crumble it all. Had you known you were bonded, tied together for all eternity, you would’ve approached him differently and you certainly never would’ve let him go.

“I didn’t know about the soulmate bond. I didn’t know you knew... and you still let me walk away. You were willing to let me go without telling me the truth? How could you think I’d leave you forever, knowing we were meant to be?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I–I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. Every time I’d walk past your posters or hear about you from our mutual friends, I’d be one click away from calling you, but…”

The apology hung in the air like a weight, thick with guilt and regret. His voice trembled, each word choked back by the raw emotion clawing at him. The tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He turned his face slightly, the side of his cheek brushing against your palm, as if trying to hide from the pain, but your touch remained steady. You held him there, gently, as his sorrow poured out.

“Don’t hold back, Mingi. I’m not going anywhere, not now, not tomorrow, not ever… So please, talk to me.”

His chest hitched as he struggled to breathe, the weight of the words, the silence and the years of unsaid things crashing over him. Mingi knew he owed you this. An explanation, a reason for his sudden pull back all those years ago. He heaved in a breath and allowed the truth to spill.

“I just… I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Every time, I’d think about it and then–then I’d back out. I thought it was better this way. I thought maybe you’d be better off without knowing… that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d only mess things up. Jongho said you were ha–happy and I didn’t want to ruh–ruin that. ”

“You could never–”

“But I would!” He didn’t mean to shout, but the frustration and sadness, locked up for so long, didn’t hesitate to seize the first opening it saw. “I was still fighting… I never stopped. It only got worse after… after we broke up. The money was good, but the loneliness,” his voice wavered, “the loneliness was unbearable. The only time I ever felt anything was when I saw your face... or when I got beaten to hell.”

Your eyes darted around his face. Jumping from his eyes and lips to his nose and cheeks as if seeking a pressure point that would make all of his suffering evaporate into thin air. Mingi avoided your gaze and you massaged the apple of his cheek to catch his attention again. You never intended for the downfall of your relationship to put its claws in his back and leave a wound so grave it couldn’t heal on its own. In fact, you were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t think to take a moment and wonder how it would affect him. The guilt festered in your bones like a leech refusing to let go. 

“I never realized how much you were carrying… I thought I was the one who was struggling, but maybe we both were. I’m sorry, Mings.”

“No.” 

He shook his head in disagreement and your hand fell from his face. The loss of warmth was close to painful and Mingi, not wanting to be apart from you any more than necessary, grabbed your hand and guided it down to his chest, placing your palm above his beating heart — the organ that pulsed in rhythm to your own. Your fingers twitch to grab his shirt, to claw out his heart and keep it in the safety of your hands. To shield it from hurt and pain and agony. You never wanted him to feel such anguish again and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason behind it either. It tore you from within and the emotion wasn’t even yours to begin with. 

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Mingi–”

“Stop it. You know if I’d just listened to you, if I’d stopped getting involved in stupid shit, none of this would’ve happened. There’s no one to blame but me.” 

Tears still rolled down his cheeks and clung onto his lashes, though his eyes were sharp and firm as if daring you to challenge his words. If there was one thing you’d learned during the few years you dated Mingi, it was that once his mind was made up, nothing could change it. 

“We are both at fault, love.” 

The pinched expression on his face crumbled at the familiar call of endearment. His mouth parted slightly, and a constellation twinkled in his eyes — a sight you had missed incredibly. A twinge of hope flickered to life — hope that you could once be again, despite his careless acts of selflessness. His focus shifted between your eyes and with shaking hands he gently cradled your face, his touch not lighter than a ticklish flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Your own hands found purchase on his waist, fingers looping through the pouch of his hoodie as you instinctively leaned into the gentle pressure of his caress.

Mingi wetted his lips and brows scrunched together in a pleading demeanor. Something was plaguing his mind again and you could feel the train of thought reach out and graze your own, as if wanting you to get a glimpse. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt full, crowded.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Mings?”

“…You.” He took another breath, steadying himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I�� May I… I want to kiss you.”

Perhaps you should’ve said no. Perhaps you should’ve ignored him sitting on the steps of your apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him back into your life at all. But the thought of telling him no — robbing yourself of the feel of Mingi’s lips against yours — burned like hot acid in your stomach. So you did the one thing you were best at when it came to him, you gave in to your heart's desire.

“Then kiss me.”

Mingi didn’t need to hear you say it twice before he pulled your face up to his, lips smashing together as a flood of emotions erupted with the kiss — the kind of feeling only a romantic gesture like this could bring. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his wrists as if to anchor yourself in the moment. A low rumble vibrated from the back of his throat and you pushed harder against him. The kiss was intoxicating, yet liberating at the same time. You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he wasted no time parting them for you. The heat between you both deepened and each moment felt like it stretched on forever, the world around you fading into the background. His fingers grazing the side of your face, pulled you impossibly closer, as if there was no space left for anything but this shared intimacy. 

The pounding of your heart filled your ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency of his touch. You were caught in the gravity of the moment, caught between the need for air and the undeniable pull to stay, to keep kissing him like nothing else mattered and nothing mattered. Just you and him. 

You felt one of his hands slither down your spine, a trail of firecrackers following the wake of his fingertips and sending shivers down your body. You couldn’t pull away — not yet. Not when everything inside you was screaming for more. Mingi pushed you closer to him, chests touching and hips meeting in a delicious press, that radiated between you both, causing every nerve in your body to hum with anticipation. 

It was the need for oxygen that eventually broke you apart before the heated situation could be taken to the bedroom, with you pushed against the soft sheets and your legs tangling together. Your chests rose and fell in synchrony, trying to steady the breath that had been stolen in the heat of the moment. A crackle of electricity snapped around the room, the atmosphere still charged with the energy of your kiss, but both of you knew you couldn’t rush past this — there was so much more to say, the fact that you were soulmates, for one. 

Mingi rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your skin, quick and shallow, mirroring your own racing pulse. His eyes searched yours with a mix of intensity and vulnerability. He whispered your name, as if unsure how to bridge the distance between the desire in his chest and the emotions that were beginning to surface.

“We are soulmates,” you whispered before he could say anything else. It was more of a statement, a wake-up call for you than a fact. Your gaze dropped to the strings of his hoodie, the intensity of his stare made your knees feel weak.

Mingi didn’t reply. He rubbed gentle circles over your blouse on your lower back, a relaxing motion. You didn’t need to hear him say the two worded apology, you felt it in his soft touches.

“It was you… every time my meter went up… it was you fighting.” 

He nodded, a solemn smile gracing his swollen lips. “Yes.” 

“...But it hasn’t… gone up since–”

“Since you found me outside your apartment,” he finished for you. “I stopped shortly after that. I– uh, I realized that I wanted you. Or, well, I always knew, but that… that confirmed it. Mmm, I knew, though, that if I wanted us to be together, I’d have to change– stop! I’d have to stop doing the thing that made me lose you in the first place.”

“So… what does that mean for us?”

“It means… that if you want me to, I’ll peel your oranges for the rest of our lives.”

You wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Even the white bits?”

The corner of his lips curled up in a grin, giving a glimpse of his crooked front teeth, and his eyes lit up like the night sky in the countryside.

“Especially the white bits.”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2025. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[stbot]

Wait are you actually doing the Tile/Pairing/fic summary? Because that could be fun 👀👀

If so Yelena/Kate and title of fic: Please

Yes, I am, thank you <33

(send me a title and a pairing and I will give you the summary of a fic I will never write)

P.L.E.A.S.E.

A burst of artifically cooled air breaks across Kate's face, doing more to wake her up than the four cups of coffee with triple espresso shots that constituted her breakfast ever could. She shivers, the cold prickling at her skin like the edges of the excitement that kept her up all night before her first day. Wide-eyed and eager, she rubs her hands together and breathes hotly into her cupped palms, her spirits not chilled one bit. "This," Deputy Director Hill leads her into a massive room filled with rows upon rows of server frames, a handful of techs scattered throughout with laptops and tablets while a handful of dark camera globes in the ceiling track their movements, "is the brains of the operation. It- no, don't touch that." Kate yanks her hand back from a knot of cables plugged into a rack. Hill's eyes narrow — briefly, dangerously — and then she carries on with her little tour. "It's been a decade in the making and every other project combined is less important than this one. You will never set foot in this room again." And with that, the tour seems concluded. She turns on her heel and marches back out the sliding glass doors with a sharp, "Now, come on. We need to get your biometric scans done before my meeting at 9." With a nod and an excited hop in her step, Kate eagerly follows. But not before catching a glimpse of the S.H.I.E.L.D. symbol on the door, and the words etched into the glass beneath it. Predictive Linguistic and Empathic Algorithmic Security Enhancement. Kate snorts. Director Fury really does love his acronyms. And as she turns to follow Deputy Director Hill to go do all the boring, new-hire onboarding and paperwork, Kate catches a glimpse of a faint red light inside a dark globe as one of the cameras watches her go. (Or: S.H.I.E.L.D. accidentally creates a sentient A.I. Kate accidentally falls in love with her. Together, they accidentally find out she's not actually an A.I. at all.)

And since you are the first (and so far only) person to play, here have a bonus second summary for this same title lol

(Under a cut bc Yelena is a sex worker and some people may not want to read that even tho this is emphatically NOT a sex thing.)

Please

In this business, Yelena has encountered just about every shade of depravity imaginable. From the kind so commonplace and predictable it warrants nothing more than an eyeroll, to the kind of darkness that would convince even God himself to rid the Earth of the blight of humanity if it's managed to go this terribly wrong. There are requests that make her skin crawl. Commands that delicately untangle every thread of her concious awareness until she is not even bearing witness to what her own body has done. Shames her body will carry with it even after she has long departed its mortal constraints. But in the end, it's all just business, and she is a professional. Yelena has seen the worst that humanity has to offer. Much of it may be disgusting, unconscionable, but none of it has ever been surprising. Until, that is, she steps off the private elevator of a Park Avenue penthouse, expecting just another pretty playboy who thinks his inherited fortune can buy him anything and everything in the world, but finds instead a teetering tower of talking takeout containers. "Oh, wow, you're here already?" It says, precariously tilting beneath its own awkward weight before strong hands fix their balance and right it before it can topple to the floor. "I haven't even gotten the board games out of the closet yet!" (Or: Yelena is a high-end escort, and this touch starved trust fund painfully lonely billionaire is by far the strangest client she's ever had to work with. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing.)

[strawberriesandroses52]

miscalibrated

4/?

im posting this at 2:15 am so sorry if it doesn't make sense lol

~~~

Jazz stared at Prowl.

He hadn’t expected the other pilot to freak out like that on him. Was it some weird cultural difference? Did Prowl’s people not let pilots see each other face to face? Jazz struggled to come up with a good explanation for literally an entire boulder being thrown at him. 

At least the Prowl seemed apologetic about it. 

Jazz gestured from Prowl’s mecha to himself, hoping the other pilot would get the memo. 

Prowl looked hesitant, then, considering. 

“C’mon man, after all that you still don’t trust me?” He said, taking a seat on Bebop’s knee. From the pilot pod above him, he could still hear the tiny sonar pings of the map being created. 

Prowl replied, though in his own language. The mecha stood, and wow, it was so much taller than Jazz had thought. At least, it did from his perch on Bebop’s knee. 

Jazz watched with interest. 

Prowl’s mecha began to shift, splitting and opening at joints and then in large sections, some parts twisting like a rubik's cube and other parts coming together like a jigsaw. It happened quick too, Jazz could barely comprehend what was happening.

In less than ten seconds, ‘Prowl’ was a car looking thing on the sand in front of him. Except with no wheels, and no doors. It looked how most everyone imagined the flying cars of the future to look like. Not like a car, but not not like a car, y’know? 

“Uh.” Jazz stared at the Not-Car. “Prowl?” 

“Jazz.” replied the Not-Car, using Prowl’s voice. 

What the helllllllll. Jazz thought. 

What kind of government would keep this technology a secret? It could be so useful in fights against the kaiju! Jazz’s mind races with all the possibilities, all the weapons that could be stored on a mecha like that. 

Jazz carefully slid off of Bebop’s knee, using her other joints as anchors as he made his way onto the sand. His feet sank a bit, and slid under the loose grain. It only took a few steps to get to the Not-Car-but-Not-Not-A-Car. 

He circled his way around it, trying to make sense of the sight in front of him. But it didn’t make sense, where was the pilot, where was Prowl?   

Jazz finally stood still for a moment, standing at the hood of the Not-Car. 

In the same way that Prowl’s mecha had unfolded, the Not-Car unfolded as well. In rapid succession, piece by piece, the body of Prowl’s mecha rebuilt itself until the mech was staring down at him with glowy blue eyes.  

“Prowl?” He asked again. 

“Prowl.” Prowl responded, giving him a thumbs up. 

Huh. 

So. 

Moving on. If Prowl-the-Pilot didn’t want to show himself, that was fine, he supposed. Sure, Jazz would like to know his ally better, see him face to face. But well, maybe Prowl couldn’t, for cultural reasons or maybe his mecha wasn’t built to be as easily escapable as Jazz’s. 

But still, a mech that could change shape? That was wicked. 

“Y’know, when I was little, I thought aliens would be cool.” Jazz said. “But holy shit man, I didn’t think they’d be this cool.” 

Prowl responded, and Jazz was really starting to get annoyed by this language barrier. 

“Can your mecha turn into anything else? Like a helicopter or a spaceship or a plane? Cause, lemme tell you, my guy, that would make your coolness factor go through the roof!” Jazz grinned at the alien. 

Before Jazz could continue his line of questions, a chime came from Bebop’s cockpit. The sonar map! He’d forgotten in light of this discovery. 

Jazz scrambled back up Bebop’s legs, grateful for all the little handholds. Once inside the pod, he buckled in, and began the series of levers, buttons, and switches that would turn on the systems and lock the cockpit. 

Prowl looked very interested, leaning forward to watch until the door of the pod closed. Briefly, Jazz wondered what Prowl’s mecha’s internals looked like. He’d like to witness it firsthand. Bebop’s lights flickered back on, and Jazz stood, beginning to re-calibrate the limbs. He stretched out his legs, rotating the joints, then stretched out his arms and finally, rotated his head and flicked his fins. Nothing was out of place. 

Clicking a few buttons on his chair, Jazz waited for the map to load before projecting it onto the sand. 

Prowl jumped a tiny bit, startled by the sudden appearance. He recovered quickly though, and studied the map with interest. 

“So,” Jazz began, “This is us.” he said, pointing to the two green dots, and then to himself and Prowl. “And that’s the crash.” He said, pointing to the red dot, and then to the wreckage behind them. 

“That understandable man?” He asked, giving a thumbs up. Prowl returned the gesture. “Great! That’s great!”

Jazz zoomed out on the map, giving it a second to load, before studying it. In terms of topography, the area they were in was largely flat because it was a valley. A very steep one too. There was a lake-like mass a couple miles away from the crash, fed by a river that led to the closest mountain. 

Prowl interrupted his train of thought, pointing to a dark blob on the other side of the map. “Good spot.” He said, then zoomed in on the area. 

Buildings? 

Jazz looked up, finding the same confused expression on Prowl’s face. He zoomed in as close as he could, trying to figure out more details about whatever this could be. An alien civilization? A Precursor base? Kaiju spawning grounds? 

Only one way to find out.

Prowl was glad that Jazz seemed to take things in stride. Or at least far better than he had. In fact, he seemed almost excited about Prowl’s alt-mode. Which was a change, because normally when someone saw his alt-mode they thought or said something along the lines of “Oh slag, it’s the cops!” 

He’d startled more than one bot with a questionable past before. 

Jazz consulted the map, occasionally muttering to himself while putting different colored dots on interesting areas of the map. Prowl looked over it as well, pointing out different interesting landmarks to Jazz. 

There were buildings to the east, a mass of liquid to the north, and mountains surrounding them from south to west. Otherwise, the landscape around them was mostly empty, according to the map. 

Jazz studied the map for a few moments longer, then made a gesture to the buildings. His hand formed the thumb-up gesture, most likely seeking approval. 

“It’s our best bet.” Prowl replied, giving Jazz his own thumb-up. 

Although…how would they cross that distance, given Jazz’s lack of alt-mode? It would take quite a while on foot to reach the mysterious buildings. For what seemed to be the hundredth time today, he lamented the language barrier. If only Wheeljack were here. The scientist likely would’ve been able to fashion a translator from the scrap…

Now there was an idea. Prowl wasn’t a scientist, but he did understand patterns and data. And what was language, if not a different form of pattern and data? Was his battle computer even capable of completing such a task? 

It certainly wouldn’t hurt to try. 

Prowl began setting up the algorithm, giving the battle computer the first lines of code, then, watching as the algorithm took off. Jazz and himself had only exchanged a handful of actual words, so he would need Jazz to talk more. A lot more. 

  “I’m very much hoping this works.” Prowl stated, “Although I have no way of communicating what I need you to do. Yet. My current hope is that you will respond in your language so I can gather more data.”

Jazz tilted his visored face to the side, audial fins flicking outward with interest. 

“Please respond and say something. Literally anything. I would really, really like for this to work out.”

Miraculously, Jazz does respond. 

The algorithm in his head nearly explodes with glee, happy to absorb every bit of data Jazz’s voice delivers. Prowl talks, more than he has in quite some time, trying to get more responses from Jazz. 

Anything that came to mind, Prowl said it. He even spent several breems just describing the rocks that surrounded them. Jazz dutifully replied nearly every time. 

“You see, the reason why the scandal was so big at the time was due to their political positions–”

“The what now?”

Prowl looked up from his rant, seeing Jazz’s fins standing straight up as the mech in front of him tensed. 

“Good! Great! My plan worked then.” Prowl said, immensely pleased with himself. “Hello Jazz, I’ve been wanting to speak with you for awhile.”

“Has this been a thing the entire time? Have you always been able to understand me?” Jazz accused, sounding suspicious. 

“No, it would be pointless to hide such a thing from you. Especially considering I’ve already ruled out the chances of you being a Quintesson.” Prowl replied, holding a hand up to offer peace. “This is an extremely recent development.” 

“A what now?” Jazz’s fins pinned themselves back before slowing coming into a more neutral position. 

“Fascinating.” He commented, “The Quintessons are a race of wandering conquerers, claiming new planets under their empire for resources. Recently, my planet has been caught in a conflict with them as they have tried to claim our planet and several of our colonies.”

“And you thought I was one of them?” Jazz said, offence coloring his tone. 

“Only briefly!” Prowl replied, his door wings flaring out with a huff. “And only because of the Quintesson technology on your wrist.”

Jazz stares down at his wrist for a moment, confusion seeping into his body language. “This?” He said, holding the wrist with the cuff on it up. “This is Precursor tech.”

Prowl frowned. “That is most definitely Quintesson technology, combined with parts I have never seen before.” 

“Couldn’t it be that Precursors and Quintessons are one in the same?” Jazz suggested, looking from the cuff to Prowl. “Cause, lemme tell you, my people have also been fighting some alien invaders. For the past couple generations, actually.” 

Prowl’s frown deepened. “That’s…not unlikely nor unsurprising, unfortunately.” 

“So.” Jazz stated. 

“So?” Prowl asked.

“Now what?” 

“I suppose we investigate the structures?” Prowl replied, “My people have not gotten into contact with me yet, but even then, we will most likely still be in range for a rescue.”

Jazz nodded slowly, considering. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be coming for me anytime soon…and to be honest, I’m very curious as to what’s going on there.”

“We are in agreement on that matter.” Prowl stands, brushing sand off his knee lightly. “Though, there is an issue of transport. You do not seem to possess an alt-mode, and without one the trek would be long.”

“Alt-mode? Your not-not-a-car form?”

“What’s a car?” 

“Ah, nevermind then.” 

Jazz brushed the comment off with a flippant gesture of his hand. “So we figure out a different way there. Easy as pie.”

“What’s this…pie you speak of?” 

“You guys don’t have pie?” Jazz gasped, “Man, that is so sad. A society without pie.”

“I can assure you, we get on just fine without it.” 

“Still man. That’s sad.” 

“If you insist.” Prowl sighed, then turned to the wreckage of the ship. “I need some time to think. We have limited supplies to use.”

“Okay.” 

Jazz nodded, then went off a few steps to give Prowl some space. The mecha’s walk was slightly bouncy, even as his feet sunk into the sand.

What could they do? Prowl looked at his meager emergency supplies. It was valuable in its own right: a field first aid kit, energon rations, and light-sticks for when it got dark. But Jazz didn’t have anything to be of use to be added to their stockpile. 

Prowl sighed, letting his door-wings droop. 

“Y’know this piece of metal looks almost like a surfboard.” Jazz comments idly, poking at a piece that had landed a few feet away from the wreckage. “I used to surf when I lived in Miami. It’s a nice place, but I got transferred to Seattle. The water’s too cold to surf there usually.”

“Surf?” Prowl asks.

“Right! Keep forgetting about the alien thing.” Jazz makes an odd, gravelly sound. “Anyway, it’s a sport. You stand on a board and ride the waves of the ocean. But that’s an oversimplification.”

Prowl had an idea. 

“This surf you mentioned.” He started, “Do you think it could be done on sand?” 

Jazz did not have eyes, but if he had, Prowl most certainly would have seen them sparkle. 

“Dunno, but I say let’s find out.” 

“Excellent.” 

The plan came together beautifully. 

The piece of scrap was large enough to fit Jazz, who would take some of the emergency cable from the first aid kit and tie it around his waist. The other end of the cable would be attached to Prowl’s alt-mode. 

Prowl looked back at Jazz through his mirrors, confirming that the mech was situated.

“Ready for the first trial?”

“I was born ready!” Jazz shouted in reply. 

Prowl revved his engine, starting off slow. Jazz had to adjust his stance, but stayed steady on the metal. 

“C’mon man, let’s get this show on the road!” Jazz let out a joyful noise.

“Very well. Brace yourself.” 

Prowl took off, full throttle. 

He couldn’t see Jazz any more, due to the cloud of dust and sand that kicked up behind him, but he could definitely still hear Jazz, hooping and hollering unintelligible words. The wind buffet their forms, the air flowing around Prowl’s alt-mode and catching Jazz’s. The alien mech held firm on his position. 

Prowl glanced back to the map that Jazz had made, and set course for the unidentified structures.

[sevinagreatergood]

Whole lot of bullshit once again. Because if we're going at it like that. James harms a half muggle. James threatens and extorts a mudblood, James doesn't give a shit about his friends opinion who has a special condition. Only friend he sees as his equal is a white rich boy who is also a pureblood. He doesn't even give a shit about lily, the mudblood.

She dated him if he were a changed man, he didn't change. Who admitted that? How own friends lol.

Marauders are infamous for figuring out spells, hence the animagus stuff AND AND AND the map they worked on TOGETHER to create. That's right team work. They are also infamous for having 0 respect for Snape's boundaries.

While this whore was yapping about some horse shit. It never showed in the books HOW they got to their spells. So they SHOULD have said FANON but would a snater do that? No. No they won't. Like the usual typical whores that tear apart the idea of marriage. You see there are THREE things wrong with that yapping this snater did here.

1) Lily would not sit back and let Snape do that. And before these sluts will say "oh but she allowed Snape to say mudblood" SAYING AND DOING SOMETHING ARE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. If I tell my friend I hate men, she would at most agree somewhat with me or reason with me. Nothing too harsh. But if she found out I abuse my husband because I hate men, now that is a different conversation. I'd be dragged to police and yelled at. So again, Lily would've dumped Snape's ass much sooner. Because why would marauders hide the fact Snape invented it when James tries to pain him evil so badly? Lily already bitches about Snape's CLASSMATE doing something to her friend. She would lose her shit if she knew Snape went around using spells on muggleborns.

2) Slytherins. Anything a Slytherin dies is painted as evil. Similar to how snaters paint Slytherins as evil. Weasleys use Darm magic constantly, but nobody yaps about them. Why would they, they are gryffindors. Slytherins aka future DE lot using dark magic suddenly makes people shit their pants. Do people HONESTLY think langlock spell would've become popular is Slytherins went around using that muggleborns first like this snater claims? No. Lily lost her shit over Mary alone. Imagine a full blown popular spell started from the so-claimed DE lot children using it on muggleborns, all thanks to Snape. Read that? Sounds ridiculous.

3) Marauders. They were able to become illegal animagus WITHOUT a teacher's help. Nor did they have any respect for Snape. What is usually happening when the bullies have no respect for the victim yet got their hands on the victim's stuff? They stole it. In every scenario possible, a bully corners the victim, steals their bag or books, to either humiliate the victim, or steal answers for homework. They stumbled across that langlock spell, figured it out and began to use. That's my headcanon, since all we do is come up with possible answers.

My headcanon fits more than whatever the fuck snaters come up with. And Lily deserved to be called a mudblood at this point. Like what the fuck are snaters on? She acted like a mudblood and will be called as such. Just like how a snater acts like a bitch so will be called as such.

I don't know if snaters are familiar with chronological order. Because before Snape called her filthy mudblood (should've added WHORE too bby boy, but he has manners lol), she absolutely gave him shit.

- called him ungrateful for not kissing James his ass

- compared her GRYFFINDOR friend shitty day to her skythering CHILDHOOD friend abusive years. What an amazing prefect there.

- compared ganging up on 1 person to "at least they don't use dark arts" what an amazing prefect. Chef's kiss.

- smiled for a brief second at her childhood friend his SA then restraint it but if push came to shove. The slut did find her whore's tricks on Snape funny to hold back a smile.

And sure, she does yap about "You call everyone of my birth mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different."

Yeah, why should she be any different Severus? She was far much worse than the other goddamn mudbloods you cussed. But I'm protecting his case. Snaters, allow for a second some oxygen in your rotten mind. Let that crippled brain of yours breathe for a second.

So let me get this straight. The book shows he only does that whenever he is around a group that hate half of his guts if not all his guts, yet he should stick out his neck for people that don't lend him a hand whenever marauders come around?

Read that again. Read that again, VERY VERY slowly. Slytherins hated purebloods that were blood traitors. People ASSUME they adored Snape, but where? Not once did Severus mention a Slytherin fondly. Nor did a Slytherin show up to help him whenever marauders BULLIED him (no equal rivalry or some bs bitches) and Snape was a foot soldier when he entered DE, he wasn't in the main circle.

Gryffindor bullies him, Hufflepuff and ravenclaw do absolutely nothing to help Snape. Snape fights back against his bullies which they all find so funny/ ignore it. Of course Snape would not get on Slytherin nerves to endanger himself in his own bed too aka Slytherin bedroom. If they say "call her a mudblood" he would do it. Because why would he object for people that didn't help him any way either?

And what lily did with her scatter brain "You call everyone of my birth mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different." Is a forced confession. Let me make it always for those snaters there. They have some infant brain.

Let's say, I am a child and my mom is outside. She told me many times to eat only the food outside. Not the food in the fridge, those are for guests. On my way to get some drink out the fridge, I come across a rotten apple in the fridge that she probably did not notice. I cut the bad part out and ate the apple. She taught me to never waste food after all. She comes home and sees the apple. She finds out it's an apple out of the fridge but before I couldn't find my moment to tell her it was partially rotten, look I cut out the bad part, you taught me to not waste food, because she doesn't give me such a moment. Instead she asks me "did you or did you not eat the apple from the fridge? I only want to hear a yes or no, no other excuses!"

You're forced to confess in other words without pleading your situation. How is that fair? Didn't we hate this shit when our parents did that to us? I thought we did. Guess snaters love doing this. Forced confessions.

That what lily did. She didn't even bother hearing his side, she instantly confronts him with a yes or no situational question which is unfair. Extremely unfair. Especially from a goddamn slut that doesn't even remotely feel bad for smiling at his abuse created by James of all people. What if he asked "did you find potter's joke funny? Yes or no?" How many snaters would lose their semen soaked panties? A lot.

This is COMPLETELY AND ONLY lily her fault. Don't drag my baby in your shit. Not to mention that Snape didn't choose Slytherins as friends. Meanwhile Lily did. Guess what lily says next? Her friends didn't like her childhood friend (aka, she's WILLINGLY befriended with gryffindors that gossip about her bestie) and can't choose his side now thanks to those friends.

Makes you wonder, how long lily hung out with kids that didn't like Snape one bit, filled her head with hatred towards Snape and she succumbed to it. So Snape fearing for his life every day, doing things under peer pressure is evil. But lily willingly doing shit because she adores Gryffindor much more than her friend is called silly teen.

Get your fucking brains checked. Even if you sluts did ignore all her red flags, she should have NEVER EVER dated a man whom she witnessed that ruined the life of her childhood friend. And if you hate spells that Snape created, guess you hate the marauders too for using it. You're also raised so privileged, so that's a win. But since you have no backstory whatsoever, leave victims out of your std ridden mouth. Thank you.

I once again find myself needing to remind everyone that the spell James Potter uses to hang Severus Snape by his ankles in OoTP was a spell invented by... that's right, Severus Snape. The only way James would have learned the spell was if.... that's right, again, if Severus used the spell on someone else first.

And also, the scene might have been the first time that he called Lily a Mudblood, but to quote Lily, "you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?"

James wasn't bullying some innocent kid. He was bullying a wannabe death eater with his own spells.

[yuurei20]

Updated Vil Facts Part 32: Training (pt2)

Vil reluctantly agrees to help Idia capture his tsum after Idia asks how he is supposed to catch one with his athletic level.

After the tsum starts running away with a basket over it Idia sends Vil in pursuit, but the tsum's stamina is revealed to take after Idia’s own and it soon stops.

Vil seems to do yoga as a part of his morning warm-up exercises in addition to going on morning runs, joined by his tsum during Tsumsted. The tsum also joins him for additional training at Pomefiore afterwards.

Vil is unamused by the idea of Vargas Camp, saying, “some of us exercise every morning. Not everyone here needs to get in shape,” but he later admits that hauling firewood was “quite a workout.”

When the surviving students of Trey, Azul, Jade and Vil need someone who is good at running to capture the Vargas Monster Jade observes, “I doubt I could hold a candle to someone who jogs every morning like Vil does,” and Vil does ultimately end up filling the role of confronting the monster and leading them on a chase.

Azul says, “I'm very glad Vil is here. He has to sprint in a zigzag while both avoiding attacks and making sure we can keep up...I shudder to imagine how this might have gone if we didn't have someone who jogs every morning.”

After the events of the camp Vil says he can see the Film Research Club spending a few nights camping in the woods and training as a form of exercise. 

Vil is in charge of training the Fairy Gala IF team, having Jack and SIlver do splits, walk across a balance beam 2,000 times each, and do hour-long leg holds.

We see Vil go on a morning run with Jack who says he is surprised that Vil is able to keep up with him. Vil responds, “Morning workouts are part of my daily routine.

You'd do well not to underestimate me,” but refuses to do an additional lap, saying, “My goal is to maintain a perfectly lean muscle tone, not create bulging sinew everywhere.”

Vil says that he has always kept his core muscles toned, which “apparently makes (him) well-suited to sports that require a lot of balance.”

After being tested on by STYX the first thing Vil says is that he would like to get in his daily workout or some yoga.

During the Cloudcalling event Leona says that Vil is almost as formidable as Lilia, with both likely to win against just about any opponent. Leona’s strategy for Vil involves drawing the fight out, which Vil describes as “an elegant and refined fighting style, perfect for me,” saying, “I've no objections. The spectators will no doubt appreciate the extra time to admire me.”

During the bout Vil reminds himself, “Draw out the fight, look to counter... And above all, remain beautiful…”

[jazzy0clock]

I don’t understand terushou can you please explain it to me?

I WOULD LOVE TOOO omg a reason to talk about them 💥💥

I know this pairing seems random because of the fact they barely had an interaction, but using the power of imagination and using canon stuff is what really got me into them.

I’ll just say this now, this is how iiii see them ME! I know others (like the very few of us that love them) can have different views on them, but I mean I love all dynamics for them sooo💕

Alright hear me outtttt

Both characters have their share of Claw. Teru had to leave his parents because Claw members kept attacking his home and trying to kidnap him. He had to mature fast to learn how to live on his own and learn to protect himself at a young age. Also side note he’s not too close to his parents (as said in the fan book), they were barely home. He stayed with a household manager.

Shou is literally the son of Claw’s boss, also having to mature fast to rebel against his dad. He had to run away from home, look for other rebels, and plan ways to stop his dad. He probably had to deal with the whole Claw thing at a very young age too, PLUS the parental issues he had as well. See what I’m saying here??? The potential?? They’re like crazy different but crazy similar!! They can relate with each other rather than Mob and Ritsu who have fine parents and didn’t get involved with Claw til the events of s1. (Yes yes ofc Shou and Ritsu can relate with the whole over powered family member but we not talking about that rn)

Shou’s mom left Shou with his dad (also his dad didn’t seem to care at all about his family due to world domination) and Teru’s parents easily allowed Teru to move out and fend for himself. Something about that says abandonment to me. Don’t you think they can heal each other with that??

BUT WHAT MAKES THIS INTERESTING is that Teru doesn’t see his family relationship as an actual issue. He thinks this is all normal to him. Shou on the other hand would see right through this since he’s been through it. The fights this would cause muehehe💥

Also another side note, they’re both leaders!! Teru was the shadow leader at Black Vinegar while Shou was the leader of his resistance team!! That’s funny to me.

You can do a lot with this information, imagine it imagine it!! Honestly you don’t have to ship them (I didn’t when I first got obsessed with them). They can be besties or worsties or a secret third thing, whatever! They’re chaotic, they’re loud, they can do crazy things together while also healing each other in ways Mob and Ritsu can’t.

Which brings up another thing!! Their personalities!!💕💥💕💥!! It’s such a different vibe from the popular extrovert x introvert. It’s nice to see extrovert x extrovert once in a while right? Especially with their unique personalities and how they view the world differently. They can be chaotic and nothing can tone it down ahahah, even their temper. They both have a temperrrr like angry puppies. And even in their serious moments, it can be like dknskdj IDKK so interesting. It’s unique from ritshou and terumob. (Dw I like ritshou and terumob too)

They both also have that arrogance/cockiness, having to learn the HARD way to be humble. Teru was humbled by Mob, Shou was humbled by the fact he couldn’t beat his dad.

BUTTT if you’re curious on how iiii got obsessed with them then I’ll tell you, sort of.

It was VERY unintentional hahah, honestly me and my literal twin were just creating au’s for mp100. We made a whole storyline and scenes that was mostly Ritsu and Mob focused, but because of that, it ended up having Shou and Teru be stuck together as well. And whenever those two end up together, it always made us think like, oh yeah! We have to build up their relationship! And this made us think A LOTT on how their relationship would be just based on the characters alone. Then we fell into the besties agenda✨✨ then later worsties cuz they’re the worst💥💥 and mind you this au has built their relationship A LOT it makes me so crazyyyyhdjd. I wanna talk about it more, it’s the Oasis au, but I need to motivate myself to draw for it more.

Nowwwww I was desperate to find ANYY content of the two cuz it’s so underrated as heckkkk. It was always the same few ao3 stuff on there until finally a new fic appeared.

THE UNDERDOGS BY ANONYMOUS _SOMETHING444 WAHHHHH

This fic is so eeuugghhhdhjfjdkk but also made me really consider the ship. There was a lot of healing in it and angst AUGGHDH💥💥 Thennnn I created MOREE aus and headcanons for them, and ofc ARTT!!

I should also point out how I have a heart for rare pairs as you can tell from what I have drawn (riteru, terushou, takeritsu) so I get if this isn’t your cup of tea but as long you sort of UNDERSTAND ITTT then I’m happy.

[sinnabon-the-skeleton]

This whole Sour Apple thing reeks of twitter drama culture.

Maybe I’m just old, or maybe I’m desensitized, but while I can see why it might be a no go or ick to some people.. yall have got to learn to distance yourselves a little.

I’m ass deep in Undertale too- I get it. But there’s a strict line between inserting yourselves in fictional versions of universes you love and trying to claim control and ownership over that content.

Not everyone has the same boundaries as you, or the same limits, or expectations for the content they consume. Some people like reading/viewing/creating dark content. Some people genuinely have different ideas on where moral lines are. Plenty of messed up media exists to explore concepts, situations and emotions in a safe environment that can be controlled- and you personally get to control if you consume that content. It does NOT reflect on your personal inclinations necessarily if you do either.

I’ve always been kind of so-so on the aging up thing- not my bag but also not freaking out about it- and saying a creator can’t imagine their own OC in various situations because they started out that OC in a public comic is pretty weird yall.

This shipping craziness has always been our foil as a fandom.

We should focus on making sure real people in real life are safe and in good situations. Please don’t muddle up resources for actual need by calling everyone and a bag of chips these pretty dire names. You are not required to support @sourapplestudios, but I think this whole thing is insanely blown out of proportion in a way only Twitter people do.

*shakes cane at cloud*

SAS, I can only imagine what it looks like for you rn, and you probably won’t see this one post buried under the hundreds more, but I hope this doesn’t stop you from creating. You’ve put so much joy and effort into this project over the years and id hate to see your spark killed over this.

[honeypine-the-parrot]

I sat bolt upright in bed this morning with star wars AU thoughts. So this is my pitch to the rest of the fandom on what the bounty hunters + twins are up to in the star wars au.

(Below the cut, it's a long post)

Basic important information for people who aren't insane about Star Wars:

The force is a magic thing that's all over the place. It actually exists, and sometimes it gives people special powers. These people are called "force sensitive" because they can sense the force, and also use it to eat people with their minds sometimes. anyways.

There are two (important) cults that worship the force and are very good at using it; the Sith, which are very evil and created america, and the Jedi who are slightly less evil but still steal children and stuff. Both of them are bad. This is not really ever properly addressed in the movies.

After the Empire (controlled by the Sith) defeats the Jedi in a war and wipes almost all of them out, the Empire makes a bunch of Inquisitors (which are former jedi, former temple guards, and also I think a bunch of other force sensitive people who got scooped up by the Empire) with the express purpose of hunting down surviving jedi and other force sensitive people that the Empire doesn't like.

Also important!! The Jedi recruiting system involves a magic cube that doxxes force-sensitive kids as soon as they're born, so the Jedi can go and buy the kids off their parents. No, really that's how it works. After the fall of the Jedi, this cube almost ends up in the hands of the inquisitors, but an awesome red-headed guy steals it back, and it never gets leaked! Yay!

With all that stowed away,

I would like to argue that the Bounty Hunters as low-level inquisitors, and the twins as two former jedi that they're hunting :)

In my mind, the twins were Jedi younglings who were captured by the Empire, and then accidentally rescued by their dad, who just decided to keep them bc he wasn't sure what else to do.

Nowadays, they're on the run for committing crimes against the Empire, and using their vague and mostly untrained force abilities to evade every other hunter that's been sent after them! Generally the same sort of thing as they're doing in Starbound canon.

Eventually, the empire sends Romeo and Asrickus in to deal with them once and for all, which goes about as well as you might expect :D

I imagine both the Twins and the Bounty hunters are relatively low-level force users, so they mainly rely on other weapons and skills, with their force connection being more of an enhancement than a power in it's own right.

anyways this has been my ted talk. I'm going to sleep now, farewell!

[offdxty]

Assembling he is, Dr. Harrow might be right with that one - collecting information, assembling, putting together, creating something new. Copying, mimicking, gathering and picking; Instinct causes it to happen, instinct causes him to be.

Perhaps this is precisely it, the very essence of... it. Of him. Of Kane who is not Kane, but at the same time is Kane. He exists, he is aware of concepts, aware of how Kane functions and behaves, and yet he isn't, not completely, not enough; The blueprint is a theory made of collected and gathered information, based on what had been seen, experienced, witnessed, consumed, built upon.

And yet, Kane who knows how to feel, who also doesn't know how to feel, struggles to understand what this is. Feelings. Emotions. It all is so very clear and makes sense in one way, yet he's left wondering in another.

Lips press into a tight line once more, teeth clenching, jaw working, sliding left and right as that gaze flicks away, thoughtful, thinking. Kane knows how to think now, he is thinking, he understood the concept to the fullest; Thoughts appear inside his head, that's what it is, and he pieces them together or watches them float away, feels bothered by others.

---Feels. He feels. Is he feeling? Perhaps... he is feeling.

Maybe there is more to feeling than this, the hand resting on his chest. That sensation existing inside his chest is there, maybe he's sick again? No, that had felt different. It had felt painful.

Kane, it, not Kane but also Kane, had felt pain not too long ago, he remembers. A memory, fresh and recent, a real one, he suddenly gains access to: After finding Lena, after fulfilling his mission, doing the one thing Kane had asked him to do before ending its own identity, he'd felt pain. It had stretched through the whole of his body, had pulled and tugged; Back then he wasn't aware of it being what it was - pain - but now he is. He'd felt pain, then he'd felt nothing, cannot remember anything that happened after a distinct taste coated his tongue - and now here he is.

What he feels right now, inside his chest, isn't pain. Not the same pain as what he'd gone through before. This is... different.

A blink, eyes back on the other being currently existing within this room, hand falling back onto his lap, away from the clothed dip of his sternum.

"I am everywhere, I think." It's hard for Kane to imagine his mind, his existence, to be focused on one part of this body alone. He might be there, but maybe he's also somewhere else - inside the head, the brain, the lungs? "...But I think I feel... ---I think I feel... more, in my chest. No pain, I have felt it before, it was different."

He feels. Kane thinks he's feeling, yes.

Thinking, Feeling. And maybe... maybe it's an emotion---

"---Is being something... undesirable?"

A sudden jump back to something said earlier, something that seems to keep nagging at him, his conscience; Kane, not Kane, it, keeps remembering a certain sentence that has been said by that man in front of him, and that memory wants to be let out.

"You said you want to find out if someone is in here---" A gesture follows, a finger stretching and pointing at the body, the chest, "...Or if there's only something instead. Only. You phrased it that way." Is this why he feels that pressure?

Arthur didn’t speak for a moment. There was almost something reverent in the silence, out of precision a bit more than awe. There wasn’t reverence for a person, but rather for the phenomenon - it was like watching a star collapse, or watching a tree grow. A phenomenon made of questions, assembling itself out loud. 

The phrasing was important. ‘Can one feel emotions?’ Not ‘do I feel’, but can one feel - a question that wasn’t rooted in experience at all, but instead was rooted in possibility. It wasn’t self-reporting, it wasn’t discussing fact, it was a hypothesis. It was creating a theory, and asking for evidence. 

Arthur reached slowly for the pen that he had set aside earlier, though he didn’t write just yet. He turned it in his fingers, as if letting the motion keep time for him - he worked through the weight of what had been said, careful and thoughtful. 

“… You’re asking the right questions,” he said at last, his voice soft but sharpened by focus. “Not just what is being felt, but how feeling is possible in the first place. That’s the kind of inquiry that your presence demands.” 

He didn’t smile - he rarely smiled - but there was a shift in his face. A change in the tightness around his eyes, something that implied interest deeper than politeness. Something closer to fascination. 

“You talk like someone assembling an internal blueprint from fragments. Like… instinct is a structure, and memory is bricks, but you’re something else trying to mortar it all together. That pressure you describe might be pain, it might be something wrong with you - or it might be emotion. Or it might be something new entirely, that I don’t truly understand.” 

He did finally write something else down, a brief line, but his eyes flickered back to the man quickly. “You feel the pressure. You distinguish between your hand and the thing beneath it. That suggests sensory hierarchy. Internal referencing, self-awareness. That leads me to something critical.” 

He raised his head a bit more, looking over the subject. “Do you feel yourself in there? In your chest? Is that where you think you are? Or is that just where the pressure is?” 

[stellaelillac]

The fact that i have been very critical about r/ick’s narrative throughout the entire p/jo books to the point of making my own world building for years and i am actually liking it what he is doing with the tv series.

[cradle-of-darkness]

What have you done?

based on an idea @username8746489 had where sylvie discovered nightmare fuel for the first time on accident while getting bullied by some older kids (and pushing him further into social isolation now that he's known as "that scary kid who could summon someone's worst fear")

[discalcedmystic]

Knowing that there is a documented history of women's writings being censored by men just increases the sadness of the situation for me. It also makes the fact that a woman censored St. Teresa's writings so much more exhausting. Women really can't get a break no matter where they go.

One reason I think Interior Castle in particular is so important is that St Teresa of Avila presents a vision of our relationship to God in a way that's unfamiliar in modern christian sects. We often perceive god as a seperate being above us, to unite with god means to ascend beyond our earthly minds and bodies. St. Teresa argues that union with god is actually a DESCENSION process into yourself. Imagine how healing that is for someone whose had a...different view of christianity taught to them. Making Interior Castle secular removes all of that.

Your point on new age spirituality is why I had issues with it. Even back when I was pagan I hated new age stuff because it caused a lot of misconceptions abt how spirituality as a concept functions. Not to mention its deep connection with colonialism and white supremacy. I'll be honest, part of why this Interior Castle thing was so jarring is because I was under the impression that new age people left christianity alone, but im now rethinking this assumption. It's one thing to take inspiration or pull certain concepts into a new religion. We see this with how the apostles retained many jewish practices as they created the early church. What they didn't do is take those concepts and strip them of their jewish morality/history. New Age's tendency to do this is why the movement feels very sinister at times. It's no wonder that stuff has a tendency to drive people in some kind of spiritual unwellness.

There's a specific brand of "divine feminity" new age stuff that continues with this idea of stripping women of their religious origins. St. Hildegard of Bingen and St. Mary Magdalene get this a lot. It's almost always packaged as "here's the REAL St. Hildegard of Bingen/St. Mary Magdalene that the church tried to hide!" It's almost like they're weaponizing the real history of religious misogyny to push their own agendas. Which is strange because at first glance it's all super seductive and seemingly feminist, but there is something that strikes me as odd. It's not just female saints, I've noticed this movement bastardizes a lot of female goddesses from polythiestic religions too. I'm sure there's some big point here that's flying completely over my head.

Found a copy of the Interior Castle by St Teresa of Avila that advertised "removing the religious dogma from her writings" sorry but that's insane and misogynistic as hell. Teresa was a nun. Interior Castle was written for a cloistered order of nuns. Removing the "religious dogma" doesn't make sense especially in this context. Why are people so obsessed with stripping female saints of their religion? Going as far as to censor and rewrite a woman's writing because it doesn't fit your standard is disgusting.

People are so so weird about religious women. I don't know if I've ever seen the writings of a male saint be censored in this way. Trying to package this censorship as some kind of feminist move is crazy. I've seen people do this to St.Joan of Arc and St. Hildegard of Bingen. If these women were alive today we would 100% consider them conservative and they would be horrified if they saw the way people were stripping away a massive part of their lives.

Respecting women includes respecting their writings and respecting their religious beliefs. It would have been more than okay for this author to write her OWN book about her OWN takeaways from the Interior Castle. Censoring religious text is an insane way to go about it and it's why I do not like the New Age spiritual movement. That entire movement is about appropiating different religions from around the world with no respect given to them. It's more than okay to read the religious writings of someone if you're not in their religion! You don't have to change it. If the religiousity is too uncomfortable for you, there's so many wonderfully written secular books out there to read.

This hits too close to home for me, I'm a writer. If someone went in and removed the religious aspects of my short stories I would be devastated. I recognize the misogynistic history of the Church, but I also recognize that for these women, religion was the most important part of their lives. Removing that from a woman's writing suggests a lack of respect for her autonomy. It says "This woman doesn't know what she's talking about, I do!". The fact that it was another woman who did this is even more disheartening.

It's a symptom of this broader issue where people act like religious women were these passive little girls who were blindly following their priests. All 3 of the women mentioned were considered rebels in their time. Teresa was told she was being possessed and that her visions of Christ were of the devil. Hildegard was accused of being a witch because she mixed herbal and crystal healing with her faith. We all know what happened to poor Joan of Arc. Removing their religion from their story only pleases the people from their time who rejected or attempted to eject these women from Catholicism. You are doing exactly what those priests and bishops wanted.