#writing is my outlet

[veryrealauthorthings]

[prince-septimus]

noise

pairing : matt murdock x reader

summary : grief and loneliness can break a person. you won't let that happen.

word count : 1.1k

warnings : spoilers for daredevil: born again.

Hell's Kitchen is loud, even at night. There's no escaping the noise no matter how many walls deep you are. It's louder on the rooftop, almost like the chill New York night air carries all the sounds to the top of the city, carrying them around the tops of the buildings.

You don't know how Matt does it - and maybe nobody does. All this noise, you're amazed he's able to stand it, but maybe he's had enough time to get used to it. You? It's overstimulating enough to make you want to turn around, get off this rooftop, and go find somewhere quieter. It's like the city doesn't know how to shut itself off.

That's why we have vigilantes, that small, usually quieter part of your brain says. All that noise down there that carries itself to the top, it's crime and pain and all sorts of other things that go bump in the night. New York is full of vigilantes and why? Because there's so much chaos that creates all this noise and the neighborhoods just don't know how to sleep.

The city is almost more alive at night than in the day, when all the creeps and haunts come out to play and hide in the darkness, waiting to attack. Even for you, there's no sense of tiredness in your body. You feel alive, and that's probably because of this city and the way it creates its residents. You never manage to escape the life Hell's Kitchen creates for you.

Maybe that's why Matt is up here, listening. You know he's given up the Daredevil moniker, deciding to fully pursue the life of a lawyer and let the law handle the bad guys. You also know that deep down, a part of him needs it - that noise - to be alive.

It's been months since Foggy was murdered, months since they charged Benjamin Poindexter and began the long process of putting him in prison. The city was safer with Dex behind bars - but only just barely.

You don't bother keeping your steps quiet as you cross the rooftop. Matt would hear you either way. Over all the sounds in the city and the chaos in his own head, he always managed to hear you.

"How's the new firm going?" you ask as you reach where he sits along the edge. Carefully, you mimic his position, looking over the city at nothing in particular.

A small smile crosses his face. He's taken his glasses off at some point before you arrived, and they sit on the concrete edge next to him. "Good. We've got plenty of new clients. Really setting a good pace."

Below you, there's sounds in an alley. It's too dark to see, but you hear faint sounds of arguing, and then slamming into trash cans. You're sure Matt can hear more, but he makes no move.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it to Foggy's funeral," you tell him, the sincerity in your apology leaking out. "I was out of town when everything happened, and couldn't make it back in time. I barely missed it."

It wasn't a lie, and Matt knew that. Your flights had been delayed and there was nothing more you could have done.

"I wish I could have been there," you add on softly.

Even with no sight, Matt's eyes show plenty of emotion. You can see the grief that crosses his features, those feelings pouring back into his body. After months, the wound was still fresh. Not just of his best friend's passing, but of what it all meant for Daredevil.

Karen had called you and told you everything. About Dex shooting Foggy, the fight in the bar, and then Matt shoving Dex off the roof to what should have been his death.

Dex had survived somehow. Karen had mentioned something about the repairs he had on his spines and his bones being reinforced, but neither of you completely understood what that meant for the man. All you knew for sure is that he had survived the fall and been arrested, while Matt was left with the grief and the regret that came with Foggy's death and his reaction.

You reach for Matt's hand, gripping it lightly. He allows you to entwine your fingers in his, letting your thumb caress his skin. "I'm sorry, Matt. That I haven't been around as much. It was hard to get in touch. Karen's kept me updated, but she warned me you might not want to talk."

Matt scoffs. "How'd you know I was here?"

The building you currently reside on belongs to the old apartment Matt lived in when he still lived in Hell's Kitchen. The giant billboard everyone complained about was still across the way, but Matt's apartment was abandoned after his decision to get out of Hell's Kitchen.

"Karen mentioned you didn't visit Hell's Kitchen anymore, but I knew that couldn't be completely true."

"Am I that easy to figure out?" Matt chuckles, squeezing your hand.

You smile. "Sometimes."

There's a lapse of silence where the two of you just sit - Matt listening to all the noise, and you staring out at the city.

Finally, you let out a sigh. "I figured you needed someone," you admit. "And I really am sorry for not coming around sooner, but it was hard."

"I felt like I had lost everybody," Matt responds, his voice cracking just a bit. "Foggy was taken from us, and then everything changed. That wasn't supposed to be how it goes."

"I know. Karen moved and I wasn't around, and nothing was the same anymore." Your hand is holding onto his tightly now, and you lessen your grip, still holding on. "I'm here now, if that counts for anything. And I plan on being here for a while. In New York, I mean. Not necessarily Hell's Kitchen."

"I don't think any of us could stay here anymore."

"Yeah," you agree. "I don't disagree with your decision to leave the Kitchen, and I think Karen had a point in moving to San Francisco too."

A pause, waiting to see how Matt reacts to that. You felt bad that Karen had wanted to leave the state completely, moving across the country, but in some grief-stridden way, you agreed with her choice. Maybe that was why you had waited and stayed away.

You knew what the decision to be made was now. To stay in New York and be by Matt's side. To give him just a of normalcy in all the changes he had made in his life. Just a bit of what he had before everything changed.

You scoot closer to Matt, pressing into his side and resting your head on his shoulder. He leans into your touch, his head moving to rest against yours.

"I'm happy you're here," he says finally.

You nod against his shoulder, knowing he can feel the movement. "Me too."

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Love putting on this cheap ass robe it makes me feel like I’m the emperor’s only male concubine that gets assassinated by the court for taking up all the emperor’s time without being able to produce an heir which results in a retaliatory culling of the noble houses by the grieving emperor, tearing apart the political stability of the nation resulting in an influx of foreign influence vying for control over the region due to the presence of a rare mineral endemic to the nation alone which can be refined to produce a potent panacea or turned into the component of a deadly weapon which turns into a large scale international stalemate as the emperor would rather stay in his room producing tear-jerking paeans about the goodness of my nature and the warmth of my embrace that future queer historians would discover held treasure troves of double entendres that would become commonplace slang in the peaceful future secured by the long-term cohabitation of these foreign nationals, themselves away from home and seeking human connection, which fostered cultural exchange and later mutual understanding and the establishment of permanent armistice that would later be attributed to me through my death and immortalize me as a symbol of peace through noble sacrifice and establish my life story as the base archetype for all doomed romance stories for millennia, even tho in reality I was just an errant washing boy with poor impulse control and a breeding kink that wouldn’t quit

It’s also pretty soft !

[buff-muffin]

I remember seeing this guy talk about raising his sons and it kind of made me think of a modern AU Dadan and how I think she would also use one of the methods this guy mentioned. I don't remember the guy who posted or how long ago it was before it resurfaced in my brain, but essentially. he knew his boys needed to rough house, get out the energy of being well behaved all day so he bough a few gym mats and punching dummy's and threw these kids (lightly) around. Which, in of its self, is an amazing thing to give a small boy? a place to be rough and tumble and loud, an outlet for the exhaustion of the day and a place where they could actually practice their strength.

Now the ASL brothers are by no means as gentle and really they're fighting with teeth and claws regardless. but I love the mental image of like. After hours of these boys fighting every second of the day. who gets the first bath, who gets the bigger sandwich, who has to sit middle in the car, who gets the good snack or the last serving or the shower or the top bunk. or whatever other reason they decide to have a BRAWL IN THE FUCKING LIVING ROOM. Dadan finally gave in. going round back of an gymnasium she manages to score some old worn out tumble mats. drags them out to the shed and says "this is where you fight. not in the bedroom. not in my kitchen. not at school. here. and the only rule is you cant cause enough physical injury to have CPS called in my ass again."

now when an adult gives you a round about way to let you beat your siblings ass? you're gonna take it. and the collection grew, second hand boxing gloves, pool noodles cardboard shields and the dangerous stay piece of bamboo. they had their battle arena and would run home to settle a fight from hours before. And also gave Dadan a reason to kick them out of the actual fucking house when they got too rowdy over mario kart.

Of course they still got hurt. punches too hard, slamming into the concrete, a lost tooth a broken limb. But I truly think those memories of running to the shed to fight over who got the last slice of dessert at 9pm must be some of those boys favourites. Dadan considered it a slightly duller head ache

[dennisboobs]

:) i certainly have no issue dressing in drag :)

^guy who has no issue dressing in drag btw

glenn said that dennis' drag name is victoria von hemen btw

(Source)

[lkblackham]

(this is about me)

(and fanfiction)

(specifically)

[burquillos]

Serious question, and sorry if it's rude, but why dkbk and not bkdk? Katsuki has such a dominant personality it's odd to see him the bottom lol

Dominance/submissiveness is not equal to top/bottom

I've explained it before

Technically, I don't have to justify what I like to strangers

BUT I also like sharing stuff about what I love so instead of justifying it, here's a quick, somewhat related presentation on how Katsuki Bakugo's arc follows the heroine's journey:

5. and on a COMPLETELY unserious note, this is my favorite ship dynamic:

[aestknowsbest]

I love that post you made about Bernard going into the Gotham sewers to investigate the Gotham rats and them eating other creatures. I can only imagine Bernard goes off on his own little adventures often and occasionally ends up bringing something back that Tim is mildly suprised. Like Bernard tells Tim something about a demon cat raiding the houseboat fride while Tim's on patrol and the next day Bear comes home at some point with Salem because he made friends with her

Thank you!! <33

Tim is in a perpetual state of exasperation and hopeless endearment towards Bernard's adventures. I'm sure people around him often assume he has his head constantly in the clouds and unaware of anything outside of his head, but he is uncannily observant about things.

Most pieces are just random facets that don't click together into puzzles, but it's okay because he just likes knowing things either way.

In fact, it is his need for knowing and wanting it all to fit together that shoves him into trouble the most— much to the detriment of Tim's infamous anxiety. Though most of the time? Trouble just finds him.

Tim, arms crossed and glaring at Bernard: What was the one thing I asked of you today.

Bernard, sitting chastised in bed: 'Don't raise the dead.'

Tim: And what did you do?

Bernard: Technically not-

Tim: Bear, there were GHOSTS! All over the Gotham Cemetery and Mr. Kroger's morgue.

Bernard: How was I supposed to know that the doll I found would summon spirits?? I thought it was just a voodoo thing!

Tim: Why would you even want to hold onto something you thought was used for voodoo?!

Bernard: My college professor might be some sort of lycanthrope, but that's another story.

Tim, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye sockets: Do I even what to know where you found it?

Bernard, sheepish: So I was visiting my great-grandfathers tomb in Europe last week and there was his grave-

Tim, shooting up: You DESECRATED A GRAVE??

Bernard: My NONNA'S DAD'S GRAVE, and it was already desecrated! And the whole coffin was gone which was weird but there was this doll lying there. So I picked it up and took it to my Nonna she said that it was odd that he was gone but nothing new and that I could keep the doll.

Tim:

Tim: what the fuck is going on in your family tree.

Bernard, shrugging: Eh. My Bisnonno was a wild character.

--

Glowing yellow eyes staring at Bernard from the docks:

Bernard, staring back:

Bernard: You're a freaky little dude. Want some fried chicken?

Salem: /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\

Bernard: Damian's gonna be so jealous.

--

Bernard, perched on the kitchen counter spooning chilled honey from a mug: And what is your opinion on the state of the economy, Miss Salem?

Salem, looking up from her bowl of milk: Mau.

Bernard, nodding: So true, Miss Kitty. I agree wholeheartedly.

Tim, walking into the kitchen in full robin gear: Sunbear, what are– does that. Does that cat have wings.

Bernard: Yeah that happens sometimes. But they're batwings, see? Very on brand.

Tim, having to process multiple things at once: I thought Salem was simply a regular stray cat you found??

Bernard: So did I. But I've since learned that she likes fried chicken, honeyed milk, and bending shadows to her will, apparently. You're just the fanciest little lady, aren't you Salem?

Salem, rubbing against Bernard: Mrrp.

Tim: Why can I never leave you alone for five hours.

[iniquitousyearning]

tldr: respect eachother.

this is the post i’m referring to. read this first. 🤍

there are a few different topics id like to cover here; before i begin, please know that i am coming wholly from a place of respect and understanding, while also feeling the need to defend my friend. mari (@thatdammchickennugget) is one of the sweetest, full hearted individuals i have had the pleasure of meeting, and she did not deserve to be spoken to like that.

most important; respect.

the fact i even have to reiterate this fact is disheartening in itself, but, please: give respect, get respect. at the heart of this fandom, we are all here for the same reason. to read and write for characters we love. it seems that sometimes, perhaps we forget this fact and we focus too much on the analytics of it all.

i understand the frustration, i too was once a new writer and can promise you the feeling is not lost on me. you are valid for having these feelings, but there is a right and a wrong way to go about it.

there simply has just been too much hate in this fandom lately. there are tensions for all sorts of reasons. shaming and mocking people for making friends and fostering safe spaces is not how this fandom has ever operated. ‘big blogs’ are humans with feelings, the exact same as you, and to immediately assume the reason they aren’t reading or reblogging your fics is because they don’t want to support anyone except their friends is an unfortunate stance to take; given it’s simply not true.

perhaps you may be forgetting that there are real lives behind these screens. lives with traumas and grief and heartache and stress. not actively reblogging every fic we come across doesn’t equate to not wanting to support, it may just simply mean that we’re going through some shit and don’t have the time to read as much as we’d like to.

for new writers, a side note;

if you’re a new writer, you need to assess within yourself why it is you’re writing. there’s going to be low points, topics or themes not as highly sought. low notes do not depict your worth, and to point fingers at others because they’re not supporting you the way you want them to, screams to me, someone who is writing for all the wrong reasons.

interactions and reblogs are so fucking appreciated but shouldn’t be the root of why you are doing what you’re doing. i write for tom more than anyone and his fandom is the smallest aside from blaise. the amount of writers that actively reblog my fics is very very low, and that’s okay. no one owes me or you anything.

i’m going to wrap this up by saying this; over half of my mutuals are small blogs or nonwriters. i have made majority of my mutuals on here by interactions alone, wether it be me searching for fics or them commenting on mine. it’s easy to make friends, it’s easy to find those supports, you just have to reach out.

i will always encourage every single one of you, to send me your fics, to tag me in them, whatever the hell you want to do. it’s hard to be everywhere at once. i have always been loving and welcoming and inclusive to everyone, i know all of you know this. if anyone wants my support, do not ever be afraid to ask it. i will not bite you, i will not ignore you, i will not tell you to get lost.

reach out. i’m here. 🤍

[wiltkingart]

From the bottom of my heart please keep making art and writing. I have been following you for a while and every time you post something I have to clear like a solid 20mins out of my day just to look at how gorgeous your art work is. I bought and read 'MtMtM' and it was honestly the most incredible thing I've read recently. You are personally such an inspiration to me both in art and writing. ❤️‍🔥🫡

thank youuuu. i may be stepping back from art for a while, though. i hate to admit it but this flagging nonsense has taken the wind out of my sails. i'll bounce back, i'll get smarter and more innovative and even sexier with my art. i think i just need some time. and i was already planning to switch my focus back to writing soon so it's not too big of a deal. i just hate that it's happening because of this situation. but thank you everyone who has been so supportive, the feedback on MtMtM has been especially heartwarming. and i hope to come back stronger. like a cockroach <3 a cock roach, even.

[nabaath-areng]

I have way too many alts that I keep to myself (which is why I generally refrain from posting them), but I'm going to ignore that habit for a moment just because I'm feeling particularly insane about this guy.

[chenfleur]

the long way home

summary. in which park sunghoon decides that nothing is more important than having you in his life.

pairing. sunghoon x y/n ↳ ft jake

genre. high school au, fluff, angst

word count. 4.8k

released. 11.05.2023

masterlist

"Two cotton candies, please."

The first time Park Sunghoon speaks to you, you're dressed head-to-toe in a blinding, neon pink.

The fundraiser uniform was your co-president's idea. She'd suggested it offhandedly in a delirious, late-night planning session, and in a rather unserious fashion, you'd agreed. It's hilarity overruled any embarrassment bundled with it.

When Park Sunghoon is the one standing in front of you, embarrassment crashes into you with the force of an eighteen wheeler.

His presence is overwhelming. It looms over you as you prepare his order. It sends a shiver down your spine, which is absurd when you've never even met him.

Someone could tell you that Sunghoon lives on a completely separate plane of existence and you'd believe them without thinking twice.

He's the basketball team's star player. He adorns the number twenty-three with poise and grace. He's the principal actor in people's dreams and fantasies.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon.

Beautiful, and so, so far away.

The two cotton candies you hand him are less than perfect. Without much thought, a mumbled apology falls from your lips. He still accepts them with a polite smile. It sends a nervous jolt to your chest.

You watch him as he walks away and joins Jake Sim's side, handing him one of the cotton candies.

You know Jake Sim from your physics class. He catches your eye and sends you a friendly wave. You shoot him one back before hastily turning around.

A second later and you would have noticed Sunghoon's gaze, lingering.

Tuesday after school, Sunghoon agrees to meet with Jay and Jake in the East Wing.

He leans against a locker, watching his two friends bicker with each other. Occasionally cracking a smile when one of them says something particularly nonsensical.

Someone rushes past him. His breath hitches. Gaze flickering. When they stop in front of a classroom door, Sunghoon realizes it's you.

You knock on the door. While you wait, he takes you in.

The way your yellow sundress hugs your body in all of the right places. The way the pearl barrettes clipped to your hair reflect the afternoon sun. The way you tug the sleeves of your cardigan down over your hands. Sunghoon has the urge to roll them back up and interlock his fingers with yours.

Each second Sunghoon spends taking you in, his chest grows tighter.

The metal behind him is suddenly freezing to the touch. It bleeds through the fabric of his shirt. Pierces his shoulder blades. Is he shivering? He doesn't know.

The classroom door is opened. Another girl appears in the threshold, an easy smile on her face. The two of you exchange words before breaking out into giggles.

Park Sunghoon takes notice of you.

There’s a part of him that finds it unbelievable that he hadn’t done it earlier. There’s another that is deeply unsettled about it happening at all.

Either way, he takes great care in memorizing the outline of your figure. Grasping onto each note of your laughter.

Sunghoon bails on this week's team outing. His reason is that he has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM.

He isn't lying. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

When the words on his page start looking like globs of nonsense, Sunghoon’s mind drifts.

The basketball season begins soon. Who is the first game against?

He searches up the school website intending to find the season schedule.

He pauses when he sees a photo of you.

It’s from the other day. The same day Sunghoon saw you in that pretty sundress. You’re watching the other people in the photo strike funny poses with a soft, tender smile on your lips.

The list of names goes left to right, top to bottom. Sunghoon’s eyes dart around.

L/N Y/N.

That night, Sunghoon has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

That night, Sunghoon spends his time learning about you.

Curiosity spared no mercy for the cat. You pray it's kinder to you.

There are three other water fountains located around the school, all perfectly capable of refilling your water bottle. Yet, their existence escapes you when you realize the person using the one you'd chosen to go to is Park Sunghoon.

You try to leave. You can't. His presence binds the soles of your feet to the tiles of the floor.

The first game of the season is a few, short weeks away. The air is full of the distant screeching of basketballs. Sunghoon's hair is damp with sweat. His arms and nape glisten under the fluorescent lighting.

Sunghoon's lips leave the jet of water. A loud exhale follows. You watch as he wipes harshly at the corners of his mouth.

When he turns around, his eyes widen. He looks surprised to see you.

Why wouldn't he? The two of you are strangers. Mutuals, at best.

Yet, he doesn't move from his spot. He doesn't cast his eyes away or walk past you.

His stare is heavy. You feel like he's peering into your soul. Judging it. Tearing it to shreds.

He silently moves to the side. You realize he's making way for you to use the fountain. Embarrassment floods your system.

The sound of running water ceases when your foot lifts off the pedal. A double twist ensures the cap of your bottle is screwed shut. You're set to leave.

But a hand encircles your wrist, stopping you. Spinning you around.

You're inches away from Park Sunghoon.

You're shocked.

You don't tug away.

Your eyes dart around his face, searching for an explanation. His expression is indecipherable. He suddenly won't meet your gaze, only unravelling your closed fist with gentle fingers.

You notice a slip of paper clasped in his hold. You watch it as he places it into your open palm.

His voice is near silent. Words evaporating when they leave his lips and hit air. You manage to catch them before they're completely gone.

"Call me."

When Sunghoon is sure the slip is securely slotted in your hand, he leaves.

There is an unfathomable amount of things Sunghoon's worried about. You throwing his number away. Laughing at him. Thinking he's a freak.

But in the deepest part of his brain, where he keeps his muscle memory of how to ride a bike or snap his fingers, the voice of his first ever coach resounds; something about missing one hundred percent of the shots he never takes. Sunghoon thinks he's heard it more in his lifetime than he's heard his own name.

It dawns on him that you being in his life, as even just the smallest of features, was not a shot he was willing to ruin.

You call Sunghoon at a quarter past midnight.

The clock on your wall ticks loudly, mocking you for taking so long.

You don't expect him to pick up at all. You don't need him to. Hearing his voicemail would be enough to assure you that what had happened was real. That it wasn't a figment of your imagination.

Park Sunghoon had left you paralyzed. All of your work had been neglected because of that crinkled slip of paper.

It's been on the edge of your desk for hours. It taunts you.

When you will yourself to call him, you had climbed onto your bed. The slip of paper stayed on your desk, untouched.

You didn't need it to call him. The digits of his phone number were already engraved in your head from how many times you thumbed over them on the way home from school.

The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?"

You finally breathe.

"Sunghoon?"

A pause. Shuffling sounds from the receiver. "Y/N?"

"You told me to call you."

"I'm happy you did."

You hear the sound of birds singing.

You wonder if it's coming from outside or the other end of the line.

"Sunghoon?"

"Mm?"

"It's nearly six. We have school soon."

A huff. "Shit."

You break out into a smile.

Sunghoon makes hours feel like seconds. Conversation flows between the two of you with the ease of changing seasons. You don't think you could ever grow tired of listening to his voice.

There's a certain playful lilt to it. Teasing, yet kind. Each syllable spoken with a gentleness you can't quite grasp. Each boyish laugh that leaves his lips sweeping you off your feet. When periods of silence dotted your conversations, his slow breaths filled them in.

He had yawned, here and there. You told him to go to sleep. He refused. You didn't protest. Selfishly, you wanted to have him for a bit longer.

You can't discern what about him makes your insides turn upside down. He makes you feel vulnerable. All he'd have to do is ask and you'd be willing to bare your soul to him.

You decide you're okay with that.

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah."

Your friendship with Sunghoon is a quiet one.

It's found behind small actions that seem to communicate everything.

Candies slipped into lockers. Split-second eye contact in the halls. Candid photos of each other in the courtyard. Your eyes searching the cluster of players during games from above, his searching each row of the bleachers from on the court.

It's hidden away from prying eyes, and that makes you cherish it even more.

At the first game of the season, Park Sunghoon scores a tie-breaking basket just as the countdown hit zero.

The gymnasium erupts into a thundering ovation. His teammates roar with victory. Tackling him to the ground. Clapping him on the back. Hoisting him into the air, tossing him up. Your heart lurches at the absolutely radiant smile on his face.

Chants of his name fill the entire venue. The commentator's voice booms through the speakers. Ladies and gentlemen, number twenty-three: Park Sunghoon.

You silently watch the scene, a ghost of a smile on your lips.

The difference between the intensity of a crowd and the stillness of the night air is jarring.

Park Sunghoon confuses you. You don't know how he has the opportunity or the desire to meet you after the game. He should be out with his teammates celebrating.

Instead, you receive a message to wait by the West gate.

Tonight is colder than usual. Icy wind grazes your bare knees. As you wait, anticipation knocks at your front door. You let it in when you catch sight of Sunghoon making his way towards you, a golden medal dangling from his neck.

He's glowing. Victory looks good on him.

A gasp escapes you when your feet leave the ground. Sunghoon spins you around in his arms, adorable giggles falling from his lips. Blissful warmth sprawls across your chest, seeping in every crevice.

"Tonight's MVP and you still have time to spare for me?" you tease, eyes shining.

"I have all the time in the world for you."

Sunghoon recounts the game with fervor. Galaxies swirl in his irises. You wonder if you'd ever feel as elated as he looks.

When he embraces you again, head slotting into the crook of your neck, holding you like he never wants to let go, your wonders are answered.

Park Sunghoon does not idle.

He walks with a destination in mind. He gives courteous greetings to those who he passes by in the halls, but his movements never stop.

The only thing Sunghoon willingly stops for is the sunset.

On days where he leaves school late, he takes the long way home. Down a street lined with yellow ginkgo trees, a left turn too early. Across the bridge bound for the city centre.

The long way home never really takes him home.

Sunghoon ends up on a pier in the harbour, letting vermillion and marigold rays of warmth soak into each pore of his skin. Unwinding with a low puff of air.

Recently, Sunghoon stops for you, too.

Whenever he sees you, there's a stutter in his strides. A stiffness in his fingers. A clog in his airway. The world around him starts to spin, yet he himself freezes.

The next time Sunghoon takes the long way home, he stays with the sunset for longer than usual. He sits instead of standing, letting his feet dangle off of the pier's edge. It makes the sloshing sound of the water below him even clearer.

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He inhales the salty, sweet air. Feels his teammates hugging him. Hears hundreds of people chanting his name.

Sunghoon closes his eyes, and sees you.

It takes ten games for defeat to seize Sunghoon by the throat.

Under the dim light of the locker room, Jake eyes his friend warily. He searches for any sign of emotion in the lines of his stone cold face. If he didn't know him any better, he'd believe he's simply reserved.

But Jake Sim has spent too much time uncovering Park Sunghoon to be ignorant to his character.

He’s torturing himself.

"Jay," Jake whispers. Caution laces his voice. "I feel like we should do something."

Jay's eyes flit over Sunghoon's figure. The air is heavy before he responds.

"I think it’s best we don’t pry."

When the sound of their steps fade away, Park Sunghoon drives his fist into a locker door.

He knew something was off. When their score plateaued while the opposition's climbed. Frowns painted themselves on his teammates' faces. Shots kept getting fumbled. Intercepted. Rolling off the rim.

Sunghoon feels his knuckles throb as he lets his hand fall to the side.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They swirl in the pit of his stomach like a storm and render him feeling weak.

He hates how badly he's taking this.

"Sunghoon!"

Peace of mind reaches out to him in the form of anxious footsteps.

From around the wall, you appear. Worry taints your features. It's a blow to the stomach for him. "I- I was waiting for you outside but I heard a noise-"

In two urgent strides, Park Sunghoon's lips are on yours.

Time pauses. Uncertainty hangs in the air. Sunghoon is racing at a million miles an hour.

When he feels you kissing back, he crashes.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They join forces and leave desperation in their wake.

Sunghoon kisses you harder. He wants you to fill in all of the parts that feel empty. He wants you to help him feel whole.

You're pliant under his fingers, back slightly arching whenever he squeezes your waist. Sunghoon revels in the gasp that leaves your mouth when his hands slide under your shirt and paint landscapes on the expanse of your back. It's music to his ears. He records it in his mind before drowning it out with another searing kiss.

When you part to catch your breath, your forehead instantly presses to his. Chasing his touch, craving more of his skin against yours.

You look up at Sunghoon. His eyes are downcast to the floor. He feels your hand travel up to his hair, gently pulling on it. A silent plead.

He doesn't meet your gaze. He's floating. Adrift at a lawless sea. His palms continue to rub up and down your sides.

Sunghoon doesn't know how long the two of you spend in each other's arms. He doesn't want to know. Knowing would define a beginning and an end.

Sunghoon never wants this to end.

Seven days.

It's been seven days since Park Sunghoon last spoke to you.

With the way he walks past you without a mere glance, you wonder if what happened was even real.

But, you can still feel it. You can still feel him.

He had kissed you in that locker room. He had stolen the air from your lungs and never returned it. His scorching hands had burned themselves into your skin.

You pass him in the hall wordlessly. That's how it's always been, except there's no more eye contact that asks silent questions of 'How are you?" and speaks delicate words of "I'm happy to see you today."

Every one of your waking hours is spent wondering what went wrong.

You begin to neglect assignments and reject invitations to go out. Teachers eye you with concern. Friends ask if you've been feeling off. Everyone spares you a glance and a hushed whisper, except Sunghoon.

A frustrated hand cards through your hair.

Do you consume his mind as much as he consumes yours?

The hateful part of you prays it does. Prays that he's getting a taste of his own, cruel medicine.

When you lie in bed, you peer out of your window. The moon glows as brightly as ever. Oblivious to your broken resolve.

To you, Park Sunghoon had always been like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Except, for once, he didn't.

He didn't feel so far away when his lips were on yours, hands roaming your bare back, rough fingertips grazing your sides. When your breathing had mixed into one exchange. He'd felt so, so close.

If only you knew he was going to be out of reach again so quickly.

For someone who's ranked 230th out of 239 students, Jake Sim is exceptionally sharp.

With a gentle tug aside to an empty classroom, he asks you the question you've lost nights worth of sleep over in a single, easy breath.

"What's going on between you and Sunghoon?"

You shift uncomfortably in your spot. The straps of your bag were suddenly too tight, suffocating you.

You take your time loosening them. Jake only watches you silently.

You're exploiting his patience. Trying to dodge the inevitable. But, what can you do? Confrontation frightens you to no end.

You choose the easy way out: you tell a bad lie.

"Nothing's going on between Sunghoon and I. What business could I possibly have with Park Sunghoon, of all people?"

Jake subtly rolls his eyes. He can tell that you don't even believe your own words.

"I might've believed you if I hadn't seen the way you look at him in the hall, Y/N. I can tell Sunghoon's been off, too. He's all tensed up."

For a second, you rejoice. You haven't been the only one losing yourself to blurred lines and longing.

When that second is over, emptiness settles back into you. "I see."

"I didn't know the two of you knew each other," Jake muses innocently.

It takes all of your strength to turn away from him and grasp the door handle.

"We don't."

Desperation doesn't overpower fear. Fear is still there as you march up to Park Sunghoon's table in the cafeteria.

You just simply cannot take it anymore.

Jake notices you before Sunghoon does. He isn't any closer to discovering what had happened between the two of you. Your entire relation leaves him at a loss.

But, he can tell by the way the smile you flash him in greeting doesn't reach your eyes. The way your gaze immediately falls back onto Sunghoon with melancholy.

You're tired.

Lightly, he kicks Sunghoon in the shin. Jake ignores the glare he receives, only nodding his head towards you. He's praying he's done you a favour.

For the first time in weeks, Park Sunghoon looks you in the eye.

His silence stifles the rest of the table. Their attention weighs heavy on your shoulders.

Fear looms much closer and higher than before. Fear is about to pinch your nose until you pass out cold.

"Sunghoon."

His name is already bitter on your tongue. Is it from all the times you've cursed it in your head?

He stares at you before redirecting his gaze to his food. Like you're some sort of eyesore.

Fear drops to the ground, dead.

"Park Sunghoon, what is your problem?"

Whispers surround you. Chills travel the length of your spine.

You think back to your brief conversation with Jake. How you had said there was nothing happening between you and Sunghoon, and how evident it now is that all of that was bullshit.

But now, you couldn't care if the whole universe is privy to you and Sunghoon's relationship.

All you want is to know is what realization he had. In this moment, you're desperate to realize it too.

"When will you cut the shit?"

Silence. A fork scraps against a plate.

"You know, Sunghoon. I've thought many things of you. How could I not? The school's star athlete who has everyone at his feet."

A dry laugh, a nervous glance to the side.

"You had me, too."

Sunghoon's knuckles turn white from how harshly he grips his fork.

"Never did I think of you to be a coward."

The sound of your steps bounce off the walls. Every pair of eyes in the room trails behind you, this time, including Sunghoon's.

His brain is a broken record machine. Replaying your words again, again, and again.

What is Park Sunghoon so... afraid of?

What is he so defenseless against that it's worth seeing the lights in your eyes die?

Sunghoon doesn't know what compels him to ignore you. To walk past you each day, as if you didn't convince him that happiness doesn't exist anywhere except for in your arms.

Perhaps, it's that you are a whirlwind of unfamiliarity. An onslaught of foreign emotions. You make him unsure of what to do with himself. Perhaps he finds it easier to avoid that than to approach it.

He's been so adept at pushing it away, that he doesn't realize you're slipping through his fingers until his head is an echo chamber of your words.

He had you.

"Sunghoon..." A voice cuts through the fog. Sunghoon isn't sure which of his friends it belongs to. From the intonation, he assumes that it's Jake.

"Whatever this is, you've got to fix it."

Sunghoon has listened to your voicemail play six times. He's been trying for an answer, yet he doesn't mind dialling for a seventh.

You sound happy in your voicemail. He never wants to forget what you sound like happy.

"H-Hello?"

Sunghoon's been lingering at the summit of a cliff. Carefully composing himself to avoid slipping off the edge.

When he hears how utterly broken your voice is, suddenly, he's plummeting.

"Sunghoon?"

Falling, falling, falling—

A sniffle, followed by an impatient sigh. "Sunghoon, if you're just going to waste my time-"

"I'm outside."

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He sees the ridges and lines of your front door. He thinks they're permanently printed into his eyelids from how long he's been standing on your doorstep.

Don't hang up. Don't hang up.

"What?"

Sunghoon opens his eyes.

"I'm outside your door."

In his peripheral, the curtains of a window crack open. His heartbeat reaches his ears. You don't question him any further, but he hears distant footsteps from your end of the line.

The front door opens, then stops. Ajar. Hesitating.

Sunghoon knows you're on the other side. He prays you don't retract your movements.

You don't. You push through.

When you appear in the doorway, his breath dies in his throat.

Slightly bloodshot eyes. Strands of hair astray, haphazardly held together with a claw clip. A large sweatshirt swallowing your frame.

Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as beautiful as you.

He should've spoken by now. He'd planned on speaking by now, yet all he can do is look at you. Eyes trailing over every delicate curve. The slope of your nose, the moles on your hands.

When he hears the small sigh leave your lips, he knows you're slipping away.

His brain goes into overdrive. He needs to act fast.

Frantically, he clears his throat.

"Come watch the sunset with me."

A breeze blows by. The neighbour's wind chimes knock together, playing a soft jingle.

"Please."

The only words you speak to Sunghoon on the bus are to ask where you're going.

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, remaining silent.

You close your eyes. Surrendering. You're so sick of his silence.

You shouldn't have come. You're stupid to have believed otherwise—

"Don't."

Eyes snap open.

You turn to look at Sunghoon. You find that he's already looking at you.

"Don't- don't regret this," he pleads. Desperation pours from his voice. You would've scoffed if he wasn't wearing the rawest expression you've lived to see.

Park Sunghoon leaves you in despair.

No matter which lens you look at him through, he has no solution. He's wrung you dry of hope, yet you don't find yourself objecting when he brings your head onto his shoulder. His hastiness screams craving for proximity. Craving for reassurance.

Deep down, you know you're just the same.

You let Sleep take you.

It's the soundest you've slept in weeks.

You've seen the sunset thousands of times in your life.

From every place you've ever been. School grounds. Your bedroom. The drive home. Through the eyes of others.

And yet, none of those thousands of times hold a candle to the sight from the pier.

"It's beautiful," you breathe out.

A small hum in agreement. You smile weakly.

You know he isn't looking at the sunset, but you don't face him just yet.

"Sunghoon?"

He steps closer.

"What happened?"

You can feel him stiffen. Your eyes never tear from the vermillion sky. You're not sure if you're paralyzed by beauty, or by fear.

A head drops onto your shoulder. Its weight is comforting. Slowly, he readjusts himself to stand in front of you. Face pressing into your neck. Hands wrapping around your waist, holding on like you'd disappear if he let go.

His body shakes with each breath. It takes every bit of your resolve to not wrap your arms around him.

You let Park Sunghoon cry on your shoulder.

You don't think you'd ever deny him of it.

The sun doesn't budge from where it sits in the sky. It seems to be waiting for the two of you.

When Sunghoon peels his face away from you, you finally look at him. You can feel your heart fall apart in your chest.

Park Sunghoon is more beautiful than any sunset you'll ever see.

A careful hand reaches up. It barely rests against his jaw. You nearly chuckle at how he instantly leans into your touch.

He's staring at you through half-lidded eyes. Slightly parted lips. A gaze filled with longing, remorse, and a million unspoken words.

He leans in, nose brushing against yours. Before he can mouth the words he wants to say, you meet him half way.

The kiss is slow. Delicate. Fragile. Sunghoon is too scared to treat you as anything less.

It lacks the hunger of the one before. Your body is pulled flush against his. He's trying to convey thousands of apologies all at once. Hoping his sincerity can penetrate your skin, travel through your veins, and reach your soul. The way he's kissing you is heart-wrenching.

"I-" he gasps when you part. "Please. Please forgive me."

"Come back to me," you croak. "Why did you shut me out?"

He presses kisses to your jaw, then to your cheek. His hands slide up to your cup your face.

"Because I love you."

You close your eyes. Soaking in each sacred word that falls from his lips. Shuddering.

You feel like crying.

"I love you so much that I don't know what to do with myself. With you, nothing feels real. Time stops ticking. Everyone else fades into oblivion, and I feel like I'm on top of the fucking world," he whispers, voice wet and rushed.

Your forehead connects with his. A gentle rhythm is tapped onto his nape with the intention of calming him down.

"I've never felt like this before. I- I just-"

Sunghoon's face twists. He's fighting against his emotions.

You watch as he deflates.

"Please... find it in your heart to forgive me."

A small smile graces your face.

Under the glow of the setting sun, everything is okay.

"Stop staring at me like that."

Sunghoon peers up at you from your lap. His face glows golden.

A mischievous smile appears on his face. It infects you like a virus.

"Is it illegal for me to admire my girlfriend?"

"Yes." You shoot him with a finger gun. "Hands up."

Soft laughter fills your ears. You let Sunghoon pull you down into a gentle, loving kiss.

You'd let him do it for all of eternity.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Now, you think Park Sunghoon is more like the setting sun.

Beautiful, and just on the way home.

[mortior]

>>;

Hello friends / those who are still here. Sorry about the looOOOOOOONG AF hiatus. I am gonna finish my old wips first as a warmup before getting back into the good shit, and while I don't expect more than a tiny fraction of folks to still care about it, I've had part 2 and 3 in my brain for a literal decade, and there's no better time than now to write some self-soothing transhumanist utopian wish fulfillment, so think of it like art therapy tbh.

[strawberry-hachi]

Thinking about possessive Chigiri. Anyone would get scarily protective if they lost their dream. He lost his career and his passion over a simple injury. People avoided him because of how closed off he got and he refused to let others get near.

When you saw him again after his injury he didn't look at you once. Only giving you one word answers and nods. You understood how much it destroyed him but it was still hard to see the effects.

But then he started avoiding everybody. Holding himself up in his room and attempting to rot into the earth. Oftentimes his sister would end up calling you in tears because of his refusal to take care of himself.

So it's no wonder you began heading over to their house more to try and help him. It was still Chigiri. The boy that you had found yourself enamored with even before he got crazy good at football.

Albeit, it was not easy taking care of him with his mood swings and injury. Often you and him found yourselves frustrated with each other because of that lack of communication and progress. Regardless, you two worked through it because what was the point of a relationship if you couldn't help each other when you needed each other?

It was around the time he finally started healing, his stitches finally disappearing and finally going from a wheelchair to crutches did you begin seeing that change. How he would follow you everywhere if you were together, always close to you. How he would begin messaging and calling you if you disappeared on him or were talking with someone else (and while this did annoy you, you found it oddly adorable). He even began messaging you at all hours of the day even if he had nothing to say.

You weren't one to reject such affection and took it in stride but you'd be lying if you said it didn't worry you on his sudden switch up. Perhaps it's because he finally has energy to put into his relationship now but that thought only puts a pit in your stomach. Because what if he finds something else? You aren't willing to stay if you were only a replacement for something.

However what you learned right before he went off to Blue Lock was in fact the complete opposite. That only after he got injured did he realize how much he genuinely cared for you. Couldn't stop thinking about you. How he would sit with his phone in his hand wanting to call you even though he could barely move a muscle.

How more often than not he found himself dreaming of you. Wanting you. Waking up in a cold sweat upon realizing you weren't there. How as the days grew longer the more he realized that he needed you next to him always.

His injury most certainly messed him up but it also made him realize many things about himself that he wouldn't give up for the world.

---

"Where are you going?"

You glance back at him, "Groceries, remember? I'm still helping your mom and sister, idiot," You stick your tongue out at him, getting another blanket to put under his leg as he sits on the couch.

His once neutral face turns into a small frown as he sets his head down upon the couch. He sighs, briefly fluttering his eyes and you immediately can tell he's doing it on purpose. Prick.

"Do you need an ice pack?" You chuckle as he crosses his arms and blows a piece of hair out of his face.

He rolls his eyes, "I'm not a baby."

"you're kind of acting like one right now," You raise your eyebrows as he immediately turns to you.

He groans, "You've gotten so much bolder since you've had to take care of me."

You smile, "No, you just never noticed."

He opens his mouth to say something but quickly shuts it again. His brows furrow and his fists tighten.

"Sorry," you smile, "Anyways, do you want an ice pack?"

"No, I want you," He says lowly, almost coming out as a growl.

You blink, "I'm right here, aren't I?"

He extends his arms, "How much clearer do I have to get, idiot?"

You let out a little chortle as you set down the blanket, walking over to him as he quickly goes to knock you down over him.

You squeak as you fall atop of him, his arms going to wrap around you like a vice as his head goes into your neck and nuzzles.

"Are you trying to hurt your knee again," you say incredulously, "Don't knock me over like that," You laugh as you thread your fingers through his hair. It's softer than you last remember.

He hums into your neck as his hold tightens around you. You slowly relax into his hold as you realize he doesn't plan on releasing you anytime soon.

"You okay?" You ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as your breath brushes against his ear. You feel him shiver against you and it makes your heart swell.

"Yeah," he glances up at you with a heavy expression and your face flushes.

This idiot.

[edgeray]

Arlecchino is a cold person.

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)

It's no suprise to anyone. It is simply an objective fact of the matter. She is aware of this. The House of the Hearth is aware of this. The Fatui are aware of this. It's ironic given the nature of her vision, but it nonetheless rings true despite the fire she possesses on her blackened fingertips. She is callous and curt, and underneath her skin there is nothing except frigid ice that envelopes her being like a fitted coat. She speaks with no warmth, acts with the absence of heat, exists in a constant state of cold emptiness--a state in which there is a void inside of her, as if sucking all that is human of her.

Years ago, when she was just a child of the same orphanage she headed, she had naive thoughts of finding companionship, someone who would provide the warmth she sought on lonesome nights. She was barely just an adolescent who dreamed of lying in someone's arms, feel the heartbeat of another so surely, it would remind her that she was indeed alive. For even the briefest of moments, she yearned for someone who would, if not shield, then distract her from the cruelties of this world. She had shed those foolish wishes aside. In the House of the Heart that she was raised in, such notions were admonished, in fact, the wishful thinking was one of the reasons she had nearly lost her life. Never again, she had promised to herself, when she mercilessly beat the backstabber. It was then that she believed when the time came, her tale would end the same way as it began for her: alone. As the years of being a Fatui, then becoming a Fatui Harbinger, hardened her, there was comfort in that view.

That is what she believed in. Until you came.

Iciness wraps her being. It is present in her expression, in her words, in her touch. But that is exactly why she finds solace in your being. Her vision could only grant her a synthetic flame, but, you, you're an everlasting hearth. She melts in your embrace every time she slots herself in your arms, as it feels like a kindling ignited in her heart. It is only with you, that she learns how warmth can be found in.

Arlecchino is a cold person.

It is why you, as a warm one, is perfect for her. You whisk away the most depraved thoughts, ease her of any emotional and mental turmoil, and you do not treat her with the same coldness as the world seems so fond of doing to her. You are her flame, the one that sparks her being and reminds her that she is alive because her heart beats with you, beats for you.

Except you are cold now. It is unfathomable to her how you can be this way when your entire being exists to warm her, but when she touches your skin, you are unbearably frozen. Your body does not tremble like it does when her clawed fingers ever so gently trace your skin. The corner of your lips doesn't quirk up into the usual small smile of yours when she appears in your sight, but they remain ever rigid like the rest of you. Uncharacteristically, your expression doesn't soften with her presence.

You are cold, just like her. And that makes her afraid. Her hand searches for it, prodding your skin for a familiar thumping that is nowhere to be found. You continue to stare at her, unblinking. Here would be the moment where you give her a beaming smirk and you'd cup her face tenderly as if she was glass. And she would let you, because you are her beloved, who has watched her shatter so many times before and wordlessly each shard back together, and it is for that reason that she would lean closer towards your touch.

Because you lie broken in her arms and her hands are stained again with the familiar color of red. Your eyes are glossy and gaze unblinkingly at her. Frozen. Even when you are covered in your blood, you are beautiful, she notes, but oh, so cold that it makes her doubt if you were warm to begin with.

She misses your warmth. Where has it gone? Or has it died along with you?

Her hearth is gone. And as she clings onto your form, her body wracking with a fear and desperation she's never known before, two revelations come to her: that there is no such thing as an everlasting fire, and even after so many years ago, she was right along.

Arlecchino is a cold person. And she will remain always cold.

[abirddogmoment]

Rory has been trending a little bun-obsessed lately, probably because we have lots of bunnies in our condo complex and she has to practice a lot of impulse control as she can't chase or really fixate on them, so I've been looking for ways to help her fulfill her bunny-murder urges safely.

Unfortunately we don't have a ton of areas I comfortable coursing her (letting her chase buns until she can't see them or catches them) because our bunnies are mostly urban animals BUT I was at the bougie pet store for unrelated reasons and they had dried rabbit feets which gave me an idea!

I bought a few and got some paper bags and put Rory in another room while I hid them around the apartment to sniff out, destroy, and eat. I figured it would satisfy some of her murder urges, even if it's not the whole predation sequence.

She was pretty happy about it! I'll try to add this to our rotation of enrichment activities and maybe get a few rabbit feet to chuck at her outdoors sometimes. Hopefully it'll help vent those bunny frustrations so they don't build up and hurt my good dog behaviours.