#the last one was acting funny. wire stuff

[rui-drawsbox]

my new tablet arrived today so i'm doing my yearly quota of Miku to practice

[acciojaeyun]

– cut scene, cut the chase | psh.

PAIRING. idol!sunghoon x staff, fem!reader SUMMARY. you work behind-the-scenes for one of the biggest kpop companies in the industry, belift, and you have a secret: you run one anonymous X account to vent every frustration and grudge about the company's visual ice prince, park sunghoon. he finds this account and instead of reporting you... he starts flirting? CONTENTS. enemies to lovers (e2l), SUNGHOON IS DANGEROUSLY FLIRTY. slowburn, praise kink, hair pulling, dom!sunghoon, dirty talk, light marking, reader is teased into begging, mentions of big dick sunghoon hehe, oral (f receiving) p in v, unprotected sex (pls dont; reader is on the pill, BUT STILL). a bit of angst if you squint, there's a bit of power imbalance, semi-public sex. body worship. she fell first, he fell harder. MDNI. WORD COUNT. 10.9k (i genuinely thought it was 20k) AUTHOR'S NOTE. hi, i’m back! and with lots of fic ideas i hope you enjoyyyy. hnggg. i really have no other stuff to say. HAHAHA. hope you like it <3<3

MY LIBRARY. REQUESTS ARE OPEN! TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST, YOU CAN SEND ME A MESSAGE.

It starts, as most mistakes do, with a tweet.

You're more of a background poster than anything. An anonymous handle with a blurry profile pic which you've taken while you were out in the Han river, barely 300 followers, and two things everyone can piece together if they pay attention:

One, you work at BELIFT.

Two, you work closely with ENHYPEN.

Too close, maybe. Close enough that you retweet clips of Jungwon being the cutest cat-like leader you've ever met. Close enough that you've ranted about Heeseung's additional ad-libs and last minute line changes, praised Ni-ki's professionalism at 3 AM, and the most damning of them all, tweeted far too often about how Park Sunghoon is the human embodiment of a soft-launch breakup.

Your followers think you're just funny. That you're just playing a bit. That maybe you're a delusional fan with a production job fantasy.

There had been a lot of replies to your tweets every now and then, asking if you really work in BELIFT and for ENHYPEN, or if Heeseung really does have a girlfriend. Some have the audacity to even question whether you really work in BELIFT or you're just another person acting like you do in order to have X engagement.

You even remember the time you've landed into one of Sunghoon's protection teams, saying that you were setting him up, and you laughed to yourself while you're checking the outfits lined up for Sunghoon in the music shows.

Like every anonymous poster, you don't reply. You never do. But still, the page grows.

ENGENEs aren't sure what to make of you. Your tweets toe the line between sarcastic slander and genuine devotion. It's not exactly hate, it's more like aggravated admiration. Like the kind of loathing that only forms when someone sees too much of a person. Sees past the polish, past the performance.

Especially when it comes to Park Sunghoon.

The ice prince of BELIFT, the company's visual jewel – oh, and your most consistent headache.

You don't actually hate him, but you sure as hell tweet like you do.

You were just off the set when your next mistake happens.

A Manila folder is tucked under your arm, barely holding on with pitch revisions and last-minute cue cards, some of which crumpled from being tossed back and forth between departments. A black mask hides half of your face, and your bucket hat hides the rest.

Safe to say, you look like a ghost in the mirrored lobby glass.

It's 2:07 AM, and you're on your third iced americano of the day and second mental breakdown of the week, and it's Monday.

The music video shoot ran longer than expected, again.

Jungwon's scenes needed reshoots. Heeseung's hair was frayed and pink at the roots even if he had his roots retouched eighteen hours ago. The harness used in Sunoo's wire-flying scene was too tacky.

And Sunghoon?

Well, Sunghoon, of course, had notes.

"It feels stiff, the camera blocking doesn't match the beat. I look bored, too."

You were bored, you think. And he looks not even short of perfect – albeit bored, perfect, still. But no one ever tells him that.

Because Park Sunghoon, for all his breathtaking angles and God-tier lighting, is never, ever satisfied. And worse, he somehow knows exactly when to glance at your direction when you're rolling your eyes behind the monitor.

It's always the same. You glare, he smirks, you look away.

Later, you tweet. And tweet.

[nuguhasdoubts] park sunghoon blinked at the script today like it owed him money. he's so unserious for someone that pretty.

10 likes. One reply. You scroll.

[nuguhasdoubts] heeseung gives you a small nod and you feel seen. sunghoon stares into your soul and suddenly you're 12 and being picked last in PE again.

35 likes. Four replies. One quote tweet: "this is the most specific kind of hate ever," it read, and you snort.

[nuguhasdoubts] 2:15 AM no way he asked for natural lighting only during a night shoot. the director blinked five times. i blinked six. [nuguhasdoubts] 2:16 AM i hate that they still found a way... [nuguhasdoubts] 2:21 AM "can we do that again?" no, park sunghoon, we cannot. i've been standing for ten hours my spine ha sfolded like origami. [nuguhasdoubts] 2:24 AM he said thanks to everyone. do i forgive him? [nuguhasdoubts] 2:31 AM he walked past me and smelled like money and that another 13. and he is a tamburins endorser. still, i almost forgave him. almost.

You slam the X app shut at exactly 2:35 AM, just when you finish scrolling through your timeline and finish the read. Your phone's screen gives in to black, and for a moment, the smallest, briefest moment, it feels like silence.

But then your phone buzzes again.

And again, and again.

A cascade of notifications light up the cracked top corner, your battery bleeding at 8%, like it's crumbling under the weight of your life. You paid no mind, it could be one of those For You notifications built in to X's system depending on your tweets and interactions.

So, you stuff your phone deep into your jacket pocket and don't look back.

The night smells like asphalt and boiled coffee. The streets are empty now, save for a few flickering lampposts and a stray cat peering out from behind a row of parked scooters. You walk with your hand-me-down PRADA bag from your manager slung over one shoulder and the Manila folder hugged to your chest like it's an extra organ you're afraid to leave behind.

You've just wrapped a eighteen-hour shoot.

Eighteen hours of whispers through earpieces, running cables, resetting blocking, coordinating the makeup crew when Jay's contour got smudged, as well as rushing down to the pantry to get Jake his iced americano because his sugar was crashing.

Eighteen hours of explaining that no, natural lighting at night doesn't work that way, Park Sunghoon.

You almost laughed when he asked it. But he'd been so serious, too serious, and so of course, they made it work anyway.

You don't even remember when the grudge started.

Maybe it wasn't even a grudge. Maybe it was just a slow, quiet erosion of patience. One missed cue at a time. One more perfect shot that had to be redone because Sunghoon found the camera blocking off from the center just a tad. One more request that, had it come from anyone else, would've been given not much attention, but from him? It became gospel.

The elevator is quiet when you step in, except for the gentle ping of each floor and your own reflection staring back from mirrored walls. You look exhausted, hair damp from humidity, lanyard still looped around your neck – a stark contrast from the tall, sleek, glass gleaming in the dark of a building that looks like it should be filmed, not lived in.

It's part of the HYBE executive housing arrangement, a perk they throw in for long-term staff or those tied to core artist departments like production, creative, and management.

You'd wanted to cry the day you moved in. Not because you were happy, but because you really weren't.

The 27th floor smells like jasmine from a diffuser that someone in HR probably chose to help boost employee morale. You unlock your door with a fingerprint and step into a condo that's too clean, too white, too empty.

The living room is minimalist, with floor-to-ceiling windows and an unobstructed view of the Seoul skyline. All cold lights and late-night neon blinking somewhere in the distance. There's a record player you bought on impulse last year. It sits untouched on the console. You never really had time to use it.

You drop your bag onto the couch. It's beige. You should feel proud. This is what people your age fight for. A stable job. A sleek place in the city. A title under one of the most powerful entertainment companies in the world.

But most nights, you stand here and feel like you've wandered into someone else's life.

You studied music and dance because you were in love with movement. You loved the language it conveys, the hush before a curtain rises. You loved creating. Not cueing. Not directing for one hair strand to be curled on Jake's forehead to recreate Zayn Malik's hairstyle. Not adjusting the lighting angles so it could highlight Jay's jawline. Not keeping a lot of vitamin products just in case Sunoo forgets his.

You became a production assistant because it was your foot in the door – but now the door feels like a wall.

And somehow, in the middle of all that, he exists.

Sunghoon.

The boy with swan limbs and dagger eyes. The boy who lives your dreams without knowing he's holding them.

Sometimes, you bother to hate him. Not really, though. But there are times that it's enough to make it through another twenty-hour shoot where he asks in the middle of one scene to have his Tiktok redone because it doesn't feel like it's the one.

Everyone bend over backwards, because he smiled at the end of it.

You hate that he's the personification of everything you've ever wanted, just born with it in his palm. You hate that he's also charming and polite. And once in a while, he bothers to say thank you, and when he does, it sounds so sincere.

So, you conclude that you hate that you can't actually hate him.

You roll over and finally plug in your dying phone. You have new notifications from X. You exhale through your nose, jaw tense.

Tomorrow, you'll deal with it.

But tonight, you lie in an apartment for your loneliness, thinking about the boy who doesn't know he lives in your head rent-free, and the dream that somehow slipped from your gasp and landed in his.

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing against your nightstand like a trapped insect.

You ignore it.

You drag yourself out of bed. Shower. Coffee. Outfit. You pull your production lanyard over your head and loop it twice so it doesn't swing. Your tiredness presses into your muscles like wet sand, but you move through it. You always do.

You don't look at your phone.

Not when you button your black trousers. Not when you tie your hair back. Not when you slip your HYBE identification card into your back pocket, not when you slide your keys and hand cream into your bag like it's any other day.

You go down to the lobby and sit awkwardly on the sofa near the vending machine as employees pile up in the lobby with their own things to look after.

There were a lot of discussions and complaints. You hear someone saying that there'll be a remix for SEVENTEEN's title track from a Western label. Another employee is too busy contacting production for Hobi's scheduled Tiktoks with other idols of HYBE.

The shuttle pulls up just in time for call just before you could know about every idol group's business.

By the time you reach the elevators of BELIFT, your phone buzzes again. Fifth time this morning.

You've ignored every single notification since the moment you stepped into the lobby. You had to. If you let even a single one in, you might've screamed. Out loud. In front of security.

You're already late, not scandalously late, but late enough to get the side-eye from the senior stylist who believes the world runs five minutes earlier than your clock does.

The lift opens. You barrel into it.

Third floor, fitting.

Dress rehearsals, new concept. New accessories. Another hell.

You mutter apologies as you push through the crowd of stylists and interns hauling rolling racks. Your arms ache from last night. You barely slept.

You turn the corner toward Studio B, prepping the lines in your head for the morning checklist, when someone stops you.

"Hey," says Jiyeon, one of the production coordinators, "Sunghoon has asked for you."

You blink. Once, twice. "What?"

"Sunghoon said he wants you to check something about his outfit. Costume issue or something. He's in the dressing room."

Your stomach dips.

"Why didn't he tell stylists directly?"

Jiyeon shrugs, "He said, and I quote, 'Can you get the girl with the blank face and the shiny clipboard? She'll know what I mean.'"

Your face twists, "Did he actually say I'm blank-faced?"

"Verbatim."

You blink, "And you still came to get me?"

"He also said please."

"Okay?"

"It's the first time he's done that," Jiyeon reasoned.

"Right."

You adjust your headset, sigh, and head toward the solo dressing room.

When you push open the door, he's already there, sitting on the edge of the couch in sweatpants and the teaser outfit. One arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other, fiddling with a button.

You stare at him from the doorframe like he's sprouted a second head.

He blinks up at you. Tilts his head, and then had the audacity to smile.

Park Sunghoon does not smile at you. Not unless he wants something. Not unless he's being paid. Not unless he's being insufferable.

"There she is," he says, stretching slightly, arm flexing against the couch as he drops the half-undone button, "Miss Blank Face with the clipboard. I was starting to worry you hate me that much not to go."

You blink, "You called me for a costume issue."

"Did I?"

You glared, "I have three stylists on stand-by. If this is about layering or fabric, I suggest–"

"Nah," he interrupts, rising to his feet in one fluid, confident motion, "This is more of a you thing."

The hell does that mean?

Your eyes flick over his outfit. Teaser fit: A white shirt, goggles hanging on his neck, beige cargo pants that are unbuttoned, his face lacking the needed peach makeup you specifically requested the makeup department. Still, it's nothing that needs your attention.

Still, you walk over, pulling the clipboard from your side and adjusting your headset.

"Okay, walk me through what's wrong."

He hums and walks toward you, slowly.

You notice now that his hair's still slightly damp, curled at the ends like he's fresh out of the wash and has rushed to set. But Sunghoon never rushes. He meant for the undone, wet look. He still looks fucking hot.

You hate him.

His cologne is faint but there, something woodsy and clean, and with a citrus edge that makes your already-dulled nerves ring with alertness.

Sunghoon stops in front of you. Too close.

He bends slightly at the waist, dramatic, exaggerated, inspecting.

"What's wrong," he echoes, as if thinking over your words, "Well, I've been thinking."

"That's never good."

He grins, "Funny. So, I've been thinking. Maybe I've been unfair to you."

You blink for the nth time today, "Huh?"

"You do a lot around here. You coordinate, direct, remind everyone when Ni-ki is wearing pink when he doesn't like pink. You work hard." He pauses, tilts his head, eyes dancing, "Even with a blank face."

You resist the urge to launch your clipboard at him.

He continues, utterly unbothered, "I think I misjudged you. Or maybe, we start off the wrong foot.. or, well, maybe I'm just starting to see you in a new light."

You squint, "Is this a bit?"

"Depends. You into roleplay?"

You stare.

He smiles wider.

The smirk now spreads over his face like butter on warm toast – easy, practiced, dangerously self-aware. As if he knows exactly what he's doing.

You've seen Sunghoon flirt before. He does it when the cameras are off. He knows how to bat his lashes just enough for things to go his way, how to draw people in like gravity with the perfect mix of boredom and beauty.

Usually, you've seen him give it to anyone else he deems worthy enough to give him what he wants. But this? This is directed at you.

Which is impossible. You're just a production assistant.

You narrow your eyes, "Do you need something, Sunghoon?"

He taps his lip, "Just wondering why someone might say I smelled like money and Le Labo and... what was it? Oh," he leans in, "Regret."

You freeze. But your face doesn't move. You've trained for this. You've worked backstage during entire album rollouts with less than four hours of sleep. You've sat through re-edits of comeback trailers frame by frame. You do not crack under pressure.

You kept your expression neutral.

"Sounds like a weird comment."

"Exactly," he says breezily, circling you like a shark, hands crossed while toying with his lips, "There was this thread. So dramatic. Really makes me wonder what I did to deserve that kind of hate. Or maybe..." He glances back at you, "Admiration. Hard to tell, isn't it?"

Your pulse thuds in your ears, "Must be some fan account."

"Oh, definitely a fan." He stops. Smirks.

You grit your teeth.

He knows.

But he won't say it out loud. Not yet. Not while he can watch you squirm.

You tuck your clipboard back under your arm and square your shoulders, "If you're done wasting my time, I have three racks to coordinate and a backup battery dying in the hallway."

He leans closer again, just a breath from your ear, "You know," he mutters, voice all sugar and daggers, "I never minded the hate. It's the interest that's flattering."

You step back, "Get dressed."

"I am dressed."

You point at the goggles hanging on his neck, "Fully. And you have makeup in ten."

He grins, but he lets you go, for now.

You don't rush as you leave, you don't want to give him the satisfaction. But the second you close the door, your back hits the hallway wall and your fingers tremble.

The convenience store near HYBE is quiet at night, save for the humming of refrigerators and the distant buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. The world outside still feels far too loud, too fast – but here, it feels suspended. Dim. Air-conditioned.

You sit at one of the corner tables, hunched over your bibimyeon like it holds the answers to your crisis. Your microwaved sotteok lies abandoned in its bowl, skewers askew like bones after a fight. You haven't touched it.

You're still scrolling.

Your thumb keeps twitching over the heart button, just to see what tweet comes next. It's like watching your own downfall unfold one quote tweet at a time. Funny, devastating, strangely intimate. People keep dissecting the phrasing, the tone, the way your thread reads less like a joke and more like a diary entry.

You're a meme now.

You take a long sip of your watered down iced latte.

The convenience store is nearly empty. Just a tired cashier scrolling on his own phone behind the counter, and a guy in a hoodie a few aisles down browsing the ramyeon shelf. You don't pay attention. You can't. Not when your screen lights up again.

[shnprod]: do you think she's like actually into him? [prodheegy]: is this user setting sh up again? lol [sunoology]: so is this a real life au? [jakewonbitz]: she's acting like she's really a hybe employee lmao

You want to crawl out of your skin.

You bury your face in your hands and groan quietly, elbows braced on the table. You consider deleting the account. Hell, maybe you should delete your entire identity.

You don't even notice the hoodie guy approaching until you hear the clink of a canned drink being set beside your food.

"That bad, huh?"

You nearly drop your phone.

Your head jerks up. A guy in a black cap, mask, and a loose hoodie sits across from you like it's the most casual thing in the world. His eyes are familiar, moles too familiar, but they're crinkled in amusement. Mischievous.

"You always look this haunted after scrolling your timeline?” he asks, stirring the cooked buldak in the cup.

You blink, "Do I know you?"

He tilts his head, mask hiding his mouth, but you see the smile in his eyes.

"No," he says, "but I feel like I know you."

Your stomach drops.

You snap your laptop shut – no, not your laptop, your phone – your phone, you idiot – and immediately swipe out the X app. Too late. He's already seen the screen. Maybe even the notifications section you're scrolling through.

You scramble, wiping your hands on your pants like that'll fix the sweat suddenly slick on your palms.

He gestures lazily toward your tray, "Mind if I join? Looks like your sotteok's crying for company."

You scowl, "There are seven empty tables."

"I like this one," he says, and finally pulls his mask down just enough to sip his canned coffee.

Park Sunghoon.

Of course.

You inhale sharply, "What are you doing here?"

"Late last minute run for Outside. I'm also craving tteok and buldak," he sips again, "you?"

You look at him flatly, "Avoiding a mental breakdown."

He hums, "Same."

You narrow your eyes.

He props his chin on his palm and lets his gaze settle on you like he's waiting. For what, you didn't know. But it unnerves you.

"Rough day at work?" He asks.

"Could say the same about yours."

"Oh? Did I cause you a problem?" He grins.

You curse under your breath, but you school your expression anyway, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," he says, biting back a smile, "but if you did happen to be the anonymous X user who's been tweeting about my glow and expensive cologne, I'd say your taste is... complicated."

You nearly choke on your own breath.

"I didn't say glow," you hiss, "I said smelled like money and Another 13, which is –"

"An oddly specific compliment, don't you think?" He cuts in, eyes sparkling.

You gape at him.

"You're delusional."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, "Sure, but if you were her – and I'm not saying that you are – you're kind of funny. Intense. Unhinged, if you will."

"Thanks?"

"I like it," he says, easily.

You want the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

But you wipe your mouth with a napkin, inhale slowly, and grab your phone like it might shield you from the embarrassment.

"You're not funny," you say, standing up.

He stands, too, "You're blushing."

"I'm going to kill you."

"And tweet about it later?" He adds, raising a brow.

You march toward the exit. But still, behind you, you hear the soft tap of his sneakers as he calls out, low, sweet, and dangerously smug: "Don't forget to add the part where I said please."

You shove the door open.

"Park Sunghoon, you're up,"

The sound engineer barely glances your way as he gestures toward the mic stand. You stand to the side with a clipboard in hand, the checkboxes already half-filled for Jungwon and Heeseung. You're just assisting, nothing more. Yet, you've told yourself that three times now.

But then he strides in, all calm confidence and sweat-slicked neck, and your grip on the clipboard tightens.

"Hey," he grins.

"Hey," you replied, stiff.

You pretend to scan the equipment checklist, heart already quickening. His mic pack is in place, corn snaking down under the hem of his shirt. Too much movement and it'll slip. And of course, just as the engineer starts toggling the frequency, the mic shorts.

"Hold still."

"I'm always still," Sunghoon murmurs.

You crouch slightly, trying to get a grip on the cord slotted against the curve of his back, just beneath the tucked hem of his shirt. The mic pack is wedged awkwardly under his belt, and to fix it, you'll have to – you sigh, instead.

You reach around, fingers grazing his waistband.

Sunghoon tenses under your touch.

"You nervous?" He asks, voice a low murmur in the mic, only audible to you.

"Shut up,"

"Your hands are shaking," He remarks.

"I said shut up."

"So you do like touching me."

You jab the mic pack into his lower back, hard.

He flinches slightly, but you know there is a grin plastered on his face.

"You're cute when you're mean."

You move to step back, but suddenly, his hand gently, lightly, brushes your wrist. The touch is barely there, but it startles you all the same.

Your eyes snap to his. He's watching you. And he's looking at you. You pull your hand back like you've been burned, "There," you say stiffly, "fixed."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Because I think I need a little more adjusting." His voice dips, suggestive.

And you nearly drop the clipboard.

The engineer calls out from behind the glass: "Perfect, signal's steady now."

You take a full step back. Sunghoon lets you go this time.

As he takes position for his mic test, you catch your reflection in the mirror beside the recording booth. Your cheeks are flushed. His are not.

But he turns, meets your eyes once more, and then.. he winks.

You almost broke the glass.

It's been two weeks since the convenience store incident.

So, it means, it's been two weeks since Sunghoon took an interest in making your life a living hell. By being mean to you? No. Worse. By flirting with you on each set and only you could hear it.

It's two weeks of faking indifference as he winked at you during rehearsals, smirked when he passed you during call time, and offered annoyingly specific compliments like: "New hand cream?" or "Didn't peg you for a lemon girl."

Two weeks of dodging any mention of that thread on your timeline.

You thought maybe – just maybe – the storm was passing. That the account would die down again. That people would forget. You'd even muted your own username, turned off DM requests. Held off from posting anything remotely unhinged, despite the itch in your fingers every time Sunghoon so much as breathed in your direction.

You thought it was over.

Until now.

Busying yourself with a sweet, rare pocket of silence as you stood outside the styling lounge while fanning yourself with the lighting cue sheets, you pull out your phone.

And there it is. A notification.

A quote tweet from an account you don't recognise.

But first, the tweet that started it.

[yuniecore]: @.nuguhasdoubts if ure really from belift, what do u think is sunghoon's type? end all the gf stans rn

Well, you shouldn't entertain that.

But your finger hovers. There's already traction on it – likes, bookmarks, a couple dozen QRTs. And then, you stumbled upon a quote tweet from a zero-follower account with the handle "icedamericano07", a white dog icon, and no header.

[icedamericano07]: bite. brains. knows how to handle wires. doesn't take my shit. @.nughuhasdoubts, what do you think?

You freeze.

No. No way.

You read it again.

The phrasing. The cadence. The cockiness.

Knows how to handle wires? Your fucking clipboard almost slips out of your hands.

You open the profile: no name, no description, no tweets other than this one. But you know, you know, you know it's him.

[nuguhasdoubts] on Direct Message: you're actually sick in the head. [icedamericano07] on Direct Message: sick? no. curious? absolutely. you didn't answer the question. am i wrong? do you know how to handle wires? 😏

You stare at the screen like it just slapped you.

[nuguhasdoubts] on Direct Message: this is workplace harassment. i could report you. [icedamericano07] on Direct Message: and say what? that i guessed your burner account from how you described my cologne too accurately? please. you're one exhale away from writing a sonnet about my jawline.

You slam your phone face-down on the nearest surface and inhale so deeply you almost see stars. But... you can't help but admit that there's a strange thrill. Like the person you've been screaming about in anonymity knows and instead of retreating, he's daring you to keep going.

[icedamericano07] on Direct Message: just admit it. you like me. [nuguhasdoubts] on Direct Message: i tolerate your existence. barely. keep dreaming.

A pause. And then,

[icedamericano07] on Direct Message: then let me give you better material to tweet about.

Your mouth goes dry.

You slide your phone back into your back pocket like it's cursed. Then storm into the studio like your shoes are on fire. But as you pass by the mirrors lining the wall, you catch your reflection: flushed, breathless, and worse, smiling.

It happens after a brutal Friday run-through.

You're coming down from twelve straight hours of lighting cues, sound checks, and last-minute styling disasters for ENHYPEN's Walk the Line tour. The studio's thinned out. Most of the staff are gone, only a few stragglers left packing up cables and costume pieces.

You've unhooked your headset, pulled your hair down, and wiped your face with the only half-clean tissue in your bag. You're exhausted. You've barely eaten. You ache everywhere – especially your back and the sharp crook of your shoulder where the production clipboard had dug into you all day.

You slump onto the edge of the stage, legs dangling, sipping from a lukewarm water bottle. That's when he finds you.

"Thought I'd find you here," Sunghoon says, voice low and lazy as he crouches beside the platform edge.

You don't even look at him, "Congratulations."

"What's my prize?" He murmurs, inching closer until his knee brushes your thigh.

You scoff, "A slap, probably."

His laugh is warm. Daring. Annoyingly smooth.

"I'll take my chances."

You finally glance at him.

He's still in his post-rehearsal sweatpants and hoodie, hair damp from the shower, exposed skin glistening just a bit from the leftover heat of the day. He looks like he should be in a magazine ad for bad decisions and good lighting.

You shift your leg, and he doesn't.

He raises an eyebrow, "You always look this uptight?"

You bristle, "Excuse me?"

"Your shoulders," he says, reaching over and ghosting his fingers just over your back. You flinch.

"You're wound up like a tripwire."

"I've been on my feet for twelve hours."

"You're always like this," he hums.

"Maybe because someone's always provoking me."

He grins, "You're tense."

"No shit."

"Let me help."

Your head snaps toward him. He doesn't flinch, doesn't smile. His gaze is steady. Confident. Dangerous.

"Let me loosen you up," he says, low.

Your heart slams against your ribs, "You're out of your mind."

"Am I?" he murmurs, leaning in.

His palm presses to your back, hot and wide and deliberate. Not high enough to be inappropriate. Not low enough to be excusable. Just maddeningly right.

"This is a game to you."

Another shrug, "Isn't it fun?"

You blink, and yet, your breath catches. You should leave, you should get up, push him away, throw your empty water bottle at his head.

His hand slips slightly lower, "You have a choice," he says, "Say no, and I'll leave. Beg just right, and I'll help you."

Your pride should take the way out, but your body.. your body aches. You've been holding tension for weeks. In your muscles, in your bones, in every sarcastic tweet and every hissed comeback and every moment he's stood too close just to make you feel it.

You don't say anything.

And maybe that's enough.

Because Sunghoon exhales, moves behind you, and with maddening slowness, slides his hands over your shoulders. He massages, presses, kneads. Firm, skilled like he's done this before, like he's good at this.

He leans in, "Relax," he murmurs, hot breath against your neck.

"Don't get used to this," you snap.

"I wouldn't dare."

You felt his fingers work down your spine.

And that's how it happens. One moment you're letting Park Sunghoon rub the knots out of your spine in the dim stage after-hours. And now, he guides you slowly onto your back against the stage floor, cushioned by the jacket he shrugs off for you. The silence is tense, electrified, only broken by your breathing and the faint creak of the floor beneath you.

When he kneels between your legs, you suck in a breath.

He looks up, "Still with me?"

You nod.

"Words."

"Yes,"

"Good."

He peels your trousers down slowly. Painfully slowly.

Not rushing, not fumbling – like he knows what he's doing and he knows you'll let him. Like he's done this in his head a dozen times already.

You shudder when the fabric hits your ankles, your back pressed against the cool steel railing at the side of the stage, spotlights dimmed, the rest of the venue swallowed by shadow. You're hidden here, but it makes it worse. Every sound, every breath, every filthy noise is amplified in the quiet.

It's 11:47 PM, and you're letting Park Sunghoon, the man who's made your job ten times harder, the man who's cocky and smug and always, always gets under your skin, kneel for you.

You hear the soft shuffle of his hoody as he makes himself comfortable. Your underwear is still on, it's the last thing protecting your sanity. But he drags his knuckles over your thighs so softly, it makes you ache. He hooks a finger in the waistband and pauses.

"Still good?"

"...Yes," you whisper, "I'm fine."

You're really not.

You're dizzy. You're humiliated by how much you want this. How your body is trembling with anticipation even when your brain is screaming: don't you dare make this mean something.

This is Sunghoon. And this is better than admitting what's been rotting in your chest.

Because if he touches you like this, it's fine, right? It's fine because he doesn't mean it. Because he's just playing a game. Because it's him, the man you can't stand.

So, it can't hurt you.

He kisses the inside of your ankle. Featherlight. Then a little higher, again, and again. His lips trail up your leg like he's marking a path. He alternates, your left thigh, then the right – until his mouth presses to the crease where your thigh meets your hip.

You jolt.

And all the while, you keep your eyes fixed straight ahead. Because you can't look down. You don't want to see the way he watches you. You don't want to see if there's pity, or curiosity, or anything that might crack you open.

It's easier in the dark.

It's easier when you don't see him.

Because he's everything you're not. An iced, golden boy. Loved. Gorgeous, gifted, perfect. He has what you lost: center stage, applause, the confidence of someone allowed to dream.

You hate him.

You hate that you don't, really.

And your panties are soaked. He sees it. You know he sees it because he lets out a low, almost reverent sound, like he's praying under his breath as his thumb drags over the damp fabric.

"This wet for me?" He asks, genuinely curious, like he's still not convinced it's real.

Oh, you badly wanted to scream.

Then, tongue flat, he licks you over your panties. A bold, slow stripe. And had the courage to hum.

"Cute," he says, and your breath catches, "you taste desperate."

You slap a hand over your mouth. He smirks. You feel the smugness even without looking down. And then, he peels the fabric to the side. A beat of silence.

You can hear the way you're wet, the quiet obscene sound of his breath brushing your soaked folds. He exhales like it's smoke: slow and deliberate.

His thumb spreads you open.

Then, his mouth is on you.

His tongue flattens against your clit in one slow drag, then circles it with calculated precision. Fast once, then slow, then again, like he's testing what makes you twitch. Your grip on the railing tightens, and you accidentally let out a soft moan.

Hand sliding behind your thighs, anchoring you in place as he eats like he's trying to memorise how to unravel you. And god, he's good. Too fucking good.

He alternates between flicks and sucks, rolling his tongue, then locking his lips around your clit to suck gently, then harder. It's like he's experimenting, showing off.

Your hips buck, and he groans into you �� on purpose – sending vibrations through your core. It's disgusting how fast your body responds.

"You like that? he asks, voice hoarse between licks, "Didn't think someone with such a smart mouth could be this quiet."

You almost choke on air.

Then his hand comes up, just one, sliding down the front of your thigh, fingertips dragging over your skin like he owns it. He presses two fingers into you slowly. Testing, stretching. Just enough to curl inside you as his tongue keeps working.

Your knees buckle, "Sunghoon–"

He freezes.

Then he drags his mouth up and looks at you, eyes dark, "Say it again."

You shake your head, humiliated, and in return, he presses his fingers deeper, making you gasp, "Sunghoon!"

His lips are back on you in a heartbeat. And then you're unraveling, thighs clenching around his head, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your orgasm crashes into you. The tension shatters. You come with a full-body tremble, your hips jerking helplessly into his mouth as he keeps licking, greedy and relentless, like he doesn't want to stop.

And, really, he doesn't.

He licks you through it and after it. Slow, gentle strokes to your oversensitive clit that makes your thighs twitch and your fingers claw at the railing for mercy.

Finally, he pulls back.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips are glistening, his cheeks are flushed.

You're panting, drunk, dazed, wrecked.

And he has the audacity to smirk.

"Thanks for the prize," he says, cockily and devastatingly handsomely.

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs like it's no big deal, "You looked like you needed a release."

You don't speak, you can't.

Sunghoon stands, wipes the corners of his mouth again like he just finished eating lunch, and steps away. Hands in his hoodie, whistling. And then: "See you tomorrow," he says, already walking off.

And you're left there, shaking, heart in your throat, wondering what the hell just happened; and why your body still aches like he barely scratched the surface.

It's been three days.

Three whole days since Park Sunghoon dropped to his knees in the shadow of a stage that had once only echoed with your voice calling lighting cues and ruined you.

Three days since he looked up at you through his lashes with that insufferable glint in his eye, tongue dragging over your soaked underwear like you were dessert after a sold-out show. Three days since he made you come with nothing but his mouth and his smug persistence.

Three days.

And now?

Now he's normal.

No, worse than normal – he's professional.

He walks through the halls of the tour venue like he owns them, and he kind of does. The Walk the Line tour is halfway through its Asian leg, and Sunghoon is still very much the ice prince on stage. The sweet-faced visual in every behind-the-scenes clip, the golden boy who laughs in rehearsals and delivers lines with lethal charm on live broadcast.

He nods at staff like you don't exist. Like he didn't taste you and leave you shaking. Like you weren't a real thing. Just another part of his routine.

"Morning," he says when he passes you in the hallway on the second floor.

No wink. No smirk. Not even a pause.

Your breath stutters, "Hey,"

But he's already gone. No backwards glance. No tension in his shoulders. Just air between you. A silence so loud it swallows the past whole.

You even try to rationalise it.

It was just one night. Not even a whole night. It was fifteen minutes, to be exact. That's how fast he has made you come in his mouth.

He's an idol. You're a staff. You have a clipboard and a headset and no business letting anyone, least of all him, crawl between your legs when your ID is still swinging around your neck.

You try to tell yourself it didn't matter. That it was a tension release, a temporary unraveling, a misstep that the both of you would walk away from untouched.

But you are touched.

Everywhere.

Your body still aches with phantom heat. Your lips still press together when you pass the dressing room where it happened. Your stomach still twists when you catch his scent on the stairs – that stupid expensive fragrance that always clings to the collars of his hoodies.

And worse? He knows.

Because sometimes, he spares his time to look at you. Just for a second. A flicker of a glance. Like a hook, just enough to tug at the thread holding you together.

In rehearsals, when he's practicing formations. You're crouched in the tech booth, reviewing cue sheets, and then his gaze skims right over his monitor and lands on you. You freeze, he doesn't even blink.

When you hand off a chain correction for the stylists during makeup, he takes it, touches your fingers too long, and thanks you like he always does, sweetly, almost innocently.

But it's a game. And you're losing.

He doesn't even flirt anymore, not like before.

No sly whispers about your lips, no jokes about how cute you look when your clipboard shakes. He doesn't bait you during mic checks or complain about his in-ears just so you'll come closer.

He asks other people now. Always polite. Always charming.

Two months later, you're seated in the staff corner during the pre-recording run of Walk the Line in Jakarta. Coffee half-finished. Cue sheets wrinkled. A setlist spread across your lap like armor.

The world around you blurs, stylists touching up roots, dancers rushing in and out, interns double-checking security barricades.

Then, he slides into the seat across from you.

No warning.

"Hey," he says, casual, "You've been quiet."

Your breath catches. You don't meet his eyes. You fiddle with the edge of your script. "Not sulking, are you?" he adds, voice low enough for only you to hear.

You inhale sharply, you refuse to bite. But your knuckles tighten over your pen.

"I've been working."

"Didn't know work required you to ignore me."

"That implies I acknowledged you to begin with."

He lets out a soft, faux-offended gasp, "Ouch."

When he stands, crumpling his coffee cup in one hand, he adds over his shoulder: "You taste better when you're annoyed."

Your jaw goes slack, and you even barely process his retreating figure.

What does he even want at this point?

That question bugs you each day, that's why when you spot him alone on the balcony behind the rehearsal room, leaning against the railing with his hoodie up, phone in one hand, you took your chances.

You were going to ask: What was that night? Why are you still playing?

But then, he looks up and smirks. Like he knew you were coming, like you're already predictable.

"Need something?" he asks, cocking a brow up as calm as can be.

You flinch and walk away.

And that night, that night you try to draft a tweet. Something vague, sharp, cathartic. Something like your old self before all this mess. But everything comes out wrong.

Too raw, too revealing. Too much like someone who cared.

You delete it all. You stare at your screen until it fades to black.

It's pathetic, the way you look for him.

You should be reviewing lighting logs or updating the asset board for the upcoming comeback for DESIRE:UNLEASH. You should be sleeping, crying, screaming into your pillow. Anything but this.

But here you are, behind the rehearsal studio, under the sliver of moonlight that pools on the balcony concrete like spilled milk. Looking for a boy who only ever leaves you aching.

And there he is.

Like the last time, he's leaning back against the railing, hoodie on, phone in hand. Like he isn't the reason your world's been spinning sideways for weeks.

He doesn't even look surprised when he hears your steps. Of course, he knew you'd come.

You hate that he's beautiful even like this. You hate that you still want him anyway.

"Of course, you're out here."

He looks up, just his eyes, no real shift in his posture. And then – God, that smile. That goddamn smile.

"Could say the same about you."

You walk over slowly, carefully, as if daring yourself to get close might make the moment more bearable.

Well, it doesn't.

He tucks his phone away, gives you a once-over, casual and amused, "You gonna scold me? You look like you're about to yell."

Really, damn you, Park Sunghoon.

"I might," you declare, teeth clenched.

He laughs, "Should I be scared?"

You pause in front of him, cross your arms, and for a second – you don't say anything. You just look at him.

At the boy who ate you out like a secret. At the man who walked away like it never happened. At the person who sees all of you, but keeps his eyes closed.

You inhale sharply, "What do you want, Sunghoon?"

"Right now?" he drawls, pretending to think, "Maybe a drink, a nap? A massage would be great –"

"I'm serious, Sunghoon."

"So am I," he says, breezily.

"I don't get you," you begin, and your voice is steady, for now, "You flirt, you vanish, you tease, and then –"

Your breath hitches.

"Then you touch me like I'm more than that, and pretend that it didn't happen."

He doesn't say anything.

You glance sideways, searching for his face under the low hood, but he doesn’t look back. Just presses his lips together like he’s stifling a laugh.

You feel your chest tighten. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” he says, softly. “Just familiar.”

Your heart stutters.

“I want to hate you,” you confess. The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, before you can dress them up in sarcasm or hide them behind a bitter joke, “I want to hate you so bad. Because you ruin everything. You ruin me.”

His brows knit, finally, but he still doesn’t interrupt.

“I hate the way you look at me like you already know what I’m thinking. I hate that I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore. I hate that you're everywhere – the damn rehearsal room, the elevator, the breakroom, the f –”

You stop.

“But mostly,” your voice lowers, cracks, “I hate that you touched me like you meant it. And then walked away like you didn’t.”

You both stand there for a long, loaded second. The wind lifts your hair. Somewhere inside, a faint bassline from another studio vibrates through the floor.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whisper. “I didn’t ask for you.”

Sunghoon turns to you, finally, slow and unreadable. He takes you in: eyes drifting from the trembling fists at your sides to the way your jaw clenches like you’re holding yourself together with glue and prayer.

And then he smirks.

“That’s not what your tweets said.”

Your chest caves.

“Fuck you,” you breathe, and it hurts. God, it hurts, how fast the ache rushes in.

“You’re really going to turn this into a joke now?” you ask, barely holding the cracks together. “You think quoting my tweets makes you clever? You think it makes this easier?”

“I think you’re the one who made it complicated,” he says.

Your eyes sting.

“And you’re the one who kept playing the game.”

Sunghoon shrugs, “You were playing too.”

“I stopped!” you yell, too loud, too suddenly. You catch yourself, voice dropping again. “I stopped when I realized none of it meant anything to you.”

He looks away.

“You want to know the worst part?” you ask, shaking now, your fists clenched so tightly your nails dig into your palms.

He doesn’t answer.

So you keep going. Because now, you can’t stop.

“I can’t even trust myself anymore. I walk into a room and you’re there and suddenly I’m stupid again. I let you do that to me and I didn’t even ask why – because I thought maybe, just maybe, it meant something. Maybe I wasn’t imagining it. Maybe you looked at me and actually saw me.”

Silence. Long. Agonizing.

Finally, he says, softly, flatly, with nothing behind it:

“I don’t do real.”

You flinch like he slapped you. And for the first time in weeks, you have nothing left to say.

No jokes. No comebacks. Just the steady collapse of something inside you, like the floor gave out.

You nod.

“Right,” you whisper, “Of course you don’t.”

He looks at you like he wants to say more. His throat works around the words. But whatever they are, he swallows them.

So, you nod again. And walk away.

And this time, he lets you. And that’s the worst part.

Because you wanted him to follow.

The days blur after that.

You don't cry. Not like you thought you would. Not in the way you expected: no gasping sobs into your pillow, no dramatic tears behind the studio monitors. No, instead, it settles in quieter. Colder. Like frost.

You keep your head down. Do your job. Show up early, leave late. Laugh when you need to. Answer questions. Avoid him.

Always, always avoid him.

You stop using the staff pantry, too many memories. Too many shared glances across the coffee machine. You choose the service elevator now. Keep a spare headset in your pocket in case someone says his name in the group channel.

Even when he's nearby, you pretend he isn’t.

And to your own disbelief, he does the same. At least, on the surface.

You catch him once – just once – watching you across the stage while Jungwon rehearses his solo. He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t look away either. It unsettles you.

The teasing is gone. The grins. The little traps. Nothing. Just a vacuum where he used to exist. You try to tell yourself this is better. You try.

But it’s 1:13 a.m. now.

And your apartment feels too quiet.

You’ve had your phone on Do Not Disturb for three hours. You haven’t checked the nuguhasdoubts account. You’ve ignored three separate texts from your production groupchat, one passive-aggressive reminder from the schedule board, and two attempts from Sunoo to FaceTime you “just because.”

There was so much more than he let on, you think. That’s the way Sunoo has always been, always ahead of everyone in ways that you couldn’t understand how he does it. Maybe, he’s empathetic – or, maybe, he’s just too nosy. But you think he’s empathetic, it’s Sunoo.

You’re curled on the couch in sweats, face bare, hair tied up, a bowl of congealed kimchi stew on your coffee table.

You try watching something: a rerun, a music show, a mukbang, but everything reminds you of him. Of them. Of the life you orbit but can never truly belong in.

Your apartment, a perk of working under HYBE, is too pristine for how worn you feel. White walls, modern fixtures, perfect view of the Han River; and none of it feels like yours. You’re just a tenant here. A ghost with a staff badge and too many secrets.

Your hand twitches toward your phone. Then away. Then toward it again.

You turn it over.

One new text.

[unknown number] 1:15 AM. i'm outside. just five minutes. if you hate me after this, i'll leave for good.

Your pulse slams through your chest.

You sit up. Walk to the door.

Your knees feel wrong. Like someone’s replaced your bones with glass.

You press the button for the camera feed. The screen flickers.

And there he is.

Sunghoon. Standing under your building’s awning. Hoodie pulled up, rain soaking the hem. His sneakers are wet. His shoulders are hunched like he's bracing for impact.

Your fingers hover over the buzzer. For a second, you tell yourself: don’t do it. He doesn’t deserve this. Then your heart says: but I still want to hear what he’ll say.

And you buzz him in.

The intercom clicks off. Your hand falls to your side. Your chest feels like it might cave in.

You leave the door open for him.

Just a crack.

The door swings open with a soft creak, rain still whispering against the windows behind you. He steps inside like he’s trespassing. Like this space might reject him.

His hoodie is soaked through, dripping water onto the hardwood. His shoes are ruined. But it’s not the mess that unsettles you — it’s the look in his eyes. He’s not smug. Not cocky. Not teasing. He looks like he’s searching for something, and terrified he won’t find it here.

You don’t say anything at first. Just toss a towel to him. Not kindly.

“Dry off before you ruin the floor.”

He catches the towel one-handed. Rubs the back of his neck, slowly, like he's trying to buy time.

You cross your arms, back rigid, “Why are you here, Sunghoon?”

“I…” His voice is cracked from the cold, “Because I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your jaw tightens, “That’s not an answer.”

He drops the towel onto your kitchen chair. Looks at you. Really looks at you.

“I didn’t think you’d open the door.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

You fold your arms tighter, “You’re not here to make peace, are you? You’re not the type.”

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m here because I haven’t been able to sleep. Or eat. Or exist right since you walked away.”

You kept quiet.

“I can’t think straight, I can’t even rehearse properly, my mind keeps looping back to the balcony, and the look on your face like I’d just torn you open and smiled about it.”

“You did,” you whisper, voice small, sharp, “You looked me in the eye and said you don’t do real. Like I hadn’t already given you everything real about me.”

“I know,” he chokes, “And I wanted to say I didn’t mean it. But I knew I’d sound like a liar.”

“Then why come now?” you demand, shaking, “After all this? After weeks of avoiding me? After you made me feel insane for wanting you?”

Silence. Just the sound of rain ticking against your glass balcony door.

Then, with a breath:

“Because I realized I’m not scared of you breaking me,” he says, “I’m scared that you already did.. and I let you go anyway.”

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

“I thought keeping it casual would protect us. That I could make you laugh, keep you distant, pretend I didn’t care,” he continues, voice rising now, “But then you stopped talking to me. You stopped smiling. You looked through me like I was no one. And I swear to god, it felt like dying.”

You take a step back, “Why now, Sunghoon? Why only when I walked away did you start realizing any of this?”

He shakes his head, “Because I was a coward.”

You flinch.

“You were brave enough to ask what this was. I just kept pretending it was easier to laugh than to admit I gave a fuck.”

Your hands are trembling, “So, now what? You show up drenched and desperate and say you care? And I’m supposed to forget how you left me behind?”

“No,” he says, “You’re supposed to tell me to leave.”

You blink.

“But you haven’t.”

His voice drops. “Which means… maybe there’s still something left.”

You hate him for being right.

He steps forward. Rain still clings to his lashes. His voice turns raw, stripped of every mask he’s worn until now.

“I don’t want anyone else reading your tweets,” he whispers. “I don’t want anyone else getting to look at you the way I have. I don’t want anyone else making you laugh the way I should’ve.”

Tears sting your eyes. You hate that, too.

He exhales, voice low, vulnerable, trembling at the edge of everything he’s ever avoided saying.

“The show’s over, Y/N. And I still want you all the same.”

A beat.

Your throat tightens, but you don’t falter.

You look him straight in the eye and whisper, “I’ve stayed for the ending credits.”

The silence in your apartment feels louder than anything else tonight. Not the hum of the air conditioning, not the rustle of city lights outside the window, not even your heartbeat, which has betrayed you too many times when it comes to him, “Then let me make it worth your while.”

And finally, fucking finally, he kisses you. Like he really did mean it. Maybe, he does. Sunghoon holds the sides of your face and kisses you deeply, trying so hard to memorise how you taste because he had done everything to deprive himself off of it. Each kiss translated into: fuck, I’ve always wanted to kiss you since the very first tweet.

You gasped against his lips, letting out a small noise of shock at how intense he is just from kissing you. He walks further, pushing you to the couch before he hovers over you and cup your cheeks as he looks into your eyes, kissing the tip of your nose before he kisses you again, softly, this time. Sunghoon slots himself in between your legs, holding your hand as he kisses the inside of your palm before diving to your jaw, leaving little kisses to his wake as he leans down and to suck on your jaw, leaving marks of ownership as if he’s afraid anyone had the guts to claim you.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin before toying with the straps of your night gown, flicking it against your skin so faint you almost missed the snap of the fabric against your skin, “I’m really sorry,” he whispers as he pulls your tank top to pool above your breasts, breathing at how he finally had the chance to have you like this: under him, beautiful, vulnerable – and it all boils down to him on how he should win you, again. In the charm that only a Park Sunghoon has.

His mouth envelops around the bud of your nipple, moaning hard at how he tastes the expanse of your skin. He shifts his weight down, focuses on sucking your nipple as his eyes flicker over to you, making sure you’re with him as he finally proves himself to you as he alternates between each nipple.

Sunghoon travels to the valley of your breasts, tracing the tip of his nose all throughout the flushed skin. He kisses down a trail softly to your stomach, kissing over the expanse of it, each stretch mark, each mole that you didn’t even know existed there. He travels down and became face to face with your pulsating core. He breaths out, a familiar sight right before him, but this time, he’s not hiding anymore.

“Shit,” you breathe out as you feel his breath fanning over your core. He pokes his tongue on the wet patch that has formed on your underwear, groaning as if he’s tasting you again for the first time. He chuckles when he meets your heated gaze, “Relax,” he says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better,” and he chuckles at your breathy threat.

He hums before licking a stripe over your clothed core, giving you what you want but not exactly the way you want it. It was a while of teasing you, mixing his saliva with the wetness that is evident over the cotton of your panties. And after a while, Sunghoon pulls it down before immediately diving into your clit.

You squeal and immediately tighten your thighs around his face, holding on his hair tightly as he alternated on flicking his tongue against your clit and sucking it hard that whenever he lets it go, a pop is evident between your close bodies. He ate you out like he wanted to prove something, that him in love and eating you out was better than the last time he did so, but evidently in lust. And he doesn’t slide a finger inside you. He focuses his tongue and mouth in all the places you needed him.

“Bedroom,” you try to say as you tap his shoulder, “please,” you added.

Sunghoon stopped and grinned at you before scooping you with his arms and carry you bridal style. Both of your heartbeats as loud as it could be, thumping against the vulnerable expanse of your chest. He lays you down softly on your bed with a thump, and it’s almost as if Sunghoon is met with a sudden rush of urgency, he strips himself off his clothes before leaning down again to kiss you.

He grinds his crotch against yours, hissing as his shaft feel the wetness from your core smearing all over him. He presses his forehead on yours as he stayed that way for a deadly, long time. Just his shaft slipping in between your hungry folds, edging the both of you the way you both have played this game for so long. You whimper whenever you feel his tip grazing your hole just a tad, but lose it whenever you feel the drag of it against your clit.

“Please,” you beg again, “I need you, Hoon.”

“Goddamn,” Sunghoon mutters, as if bracing himself. He perches up, arms on either side of your head before lining his tip against your already throbbing entrance. He pokes the tip of his dick against it, letting out a broken moan as he feels how wet you are. And he eases himself in – too slippery, he thinks – and you’re comfortable just right. You hug his dick snugly but fit him inside easily, it was as if it was a perfect fit.

“Such a perfect pussy for me,” he groans, “I fit you so well, Y/N,”

He drags each thrust slowly, making you want to feel each vein, each drag, how your walls pulsate around his big dick that even with little movement, bullies your cervix in such a delicious way. Each thrust has his lips hanging over yours, and a small part of you wishes he kisses you while he does, but with each hard thrusts, he is jutted forward, and his lips only graze yours.

“Park Sunghoon,” you called out, “kiss me.”

And his eyes meet yours, before breaking out into a grin and obliges you. This kiss was slow, taking its time. Teeth clashing here and there, tongues desperate to feel each muscle, breaths exchanged in heavy and deep heaves, each meant a confession heavier than the last one. God, amidst all miscommunication and the game you willingly played with him, Sunghoon was a fit candidate to what you know is love.

“I love you,” Sunghoon stutters as his thrust increased, beating you to a love confession that you had unwillingly placed upon the category of competition on who gets to say it first.

Well, you’re glad he said it first.

You smiled before reaching out to wrap your arms around him before cupping the side of his face, and he leans in, kissing the inside of your palm again with his free hand wrapping around the circumference of your wrist, “You idiot,” you laugh, and he does, too, “I love you, too.”

And then you’re coming, climax crashing into you before you realise that you are coming undone around him. This makes him groan around you, chasing his orgasm, and then: “Shit, can I come inside?”

You laugh at him seeking approval, but you nod, anyway. And he comes inside you, pulling you up in a hug, as if he needed your body against him to ground himself in the intensity, and Sunghoon shudders at each emotion flowing out of him. His lips busying itself kissing whatever skin near to his mouth, but his eyes are screwed shut as he lets out breathy exhales, trying so hard not to cry but he does.

Tears staining your back and his sniffles fill the room and you pull him away to cup his cheeks, “Sunghoon,” you call him softly.

“I’m sorry, I love you, I fucking do,” he says softly, looking into your eyes, “I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

A smile breaks out from your lips, “You’re goddamn cheesy.”

“Only for you,” he chuckles.

And you smile at him as if you placed all the past behind.

Sure, you first thought how crazy it is that everything started with just one harmless thread about him being the man everyone desired to be. You first thought how this is a mistake, how everything was a mistake. That your world didn’t belong in his, because his perfection didn’t deserve an ounce of taint from your life, but you’ve come to realise that Sunghoon is as human as you are.

He was a perfectionist, true, but he was a coward all the same. Masking his imperfection in his continuous strive to become perfect, and this is one of the times that he let himself be imperfect to have the one thing he has deprived himself of: love.

As the night when on, legs tangled with each other as he slept beside you, his mask of indifference and cockiness finally shed off to make you see the boy who only wanted to be perfect to feel the love he thinks he deserve. You brush his hair off his forehead, and place a kiss on his forehead, letting the warmth dissipate.

Cut scene, cut the chase. The curtains are drawn down, the show is over.

But your story had only begun. With him.

END. ©️ acciojaeyun, 2025.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Only Friends

Tim Drake x Reader

wc: 0.8 K summary: You both get flustered in an interview warnings: none, no y/n used a/n: got this silly idea while daydreaming (once more) even though i have three fics going on rn. (also, it would be better if you know the concept of 'World's most searched questions' from Wired) enjoy!

It was like every other day, just getting ready for an interview, taking the interview before doing the other stuff you have to do by yourself. It's simple, not too stressful or overwhelming. And you are actually quite excited considering it's not an usual interview. It's actually on the 'The Web's Most Searched Questions', it feeling a little exciting to be in such a format for the first time. For preparation, you watched some interviews of other actors or different celebrities to make sure you got the concept, also making sure you got the times and location right with your co-star, Tim Drake. He's in most interviews with you because of the latest movie you both acted in together. This time, being enemies in the movie. Other movies or shows, you had either neutral or romantic relationships together. But in reality, you were nothing more but friends and colleagues. You considered yourself lucky with such a nice and funny colleague, having known him for a few years already. Besides the more romantic and heated scenes, you both remained close friends throughout your career.

Once you both are ready to take the interview, having the mics set and camera pointed at you, it's time to begin. The staff explained to you one last time of how it all works, having your big card of questions first. You both inteoduce yourselves to the audience, well, camera, and slide off the first tape to the first question. It reads your name, followed up with a question, if you played in a show from six years ago. Of course, you answer it truthfully, it going well for now, explaining briefly when that show aired and how it was playing that part. Moving on, the next question is just as normal as the other. A simple question about one of the films you once starred in, answering honestly again. The next one is a little bizzare, even to you. It reads your name, followed up with a rather random and personal question. "... am I, what? Do I gossip on set?" You read aloud, being mostly confuses on why that's the third most searched question on Google about you. Where did people get that idea from. You turn to Tim beside you, still confused. "Did you start that rumour?" He can barely contain a straight face at you, shaking his head while cracking up. "I think it's about the secret pictures of us 'gossiping'." Tim answers, putting air-cotation-marks with his hands at the last word. There were a few pictures the paparazzi took of you both whispering things to each other, but you never really thought too much about it. And you definitely were gossiping, it was just rude to be truthful about it. "Ah, right. These pictures still haunt me at night, but no. I do not gossip on set. I wait until I get home." You joke lightly as you look back to the camera, continuing with the next question on the board in your hands. The last four questions go on without any weird one's popping up, until you uncover the last one. "... and Tim Drake couple?" You read aloud again, your brain short circuiting at the question. You and him, a couple? Seriously? You knew people like gossip, but was that actually serious? Tim blushes slightly beside you, glancing over to you to see your reaction. You seem just as taken aback as him. There's not much to say, really. Finally, you shake your head and look back at the camera, trying to make it as casual as possible. Ignore the five seconds of silence before your answer. "Nope. Never been together." Tim nods in agreement, keeping his wyes anywhere but you. You really haven't expected this to go awkward, considering interviews bever get awkward. There's always someone talking, either the interviewer, you, or the staff. But this is genuinely awkward. Embarrassing even. You are sure you will get nightmares about this exact incident years later. Clearing your throat, you hand your board back to the staff, Tim getting his own now.

His first question is just as light as yours, the mood getting quickly back to the one before. It's light, fun and easy. You talk a little too and poke fun at Tim as he answers his question, eventually getting to the third one.

"Tim and Drake couple with..." He trails off, seeing your name at the end. This time, it's rather annoying than embarrassing. He sighs out and look towards you briefly before frowning at the camera. "Guys, we just had that question. It's embarrassing, really. We're not together, even if our roles say otherwise in some movies." Tim explains slightly annoyed, noticing how embarrassed you are at the question. You shouldn't be, considering it's definitely not your fault and people just like some gossip. However, you also feel some different kind of emotion stir up in you. The idea of being with someone, of people knowing you are together with someone is new and sounds way better than denying it all the time. Of course you won't say that on an interview, let alone to Tim, your long-time best friend of a couple years. You both know it won't get to something more than that, both being strict about that in your friendship. You've crosses the line of friendship in roles, qs actors, before but it never felt as good as actually being with someone.

Ignoring your thoughts as best as possible, you move on with Tim. His questions are rather more funny than yours, him messing around with his answers a little as well. There's a sloght difference you noticed, and it's that people seem to take you more seriously. Probably because of the roles you play, maybe because of the personality you put on for the media. Either way, it creates an interestjng dynamic between you and Tim overall. Fans seem to like it, and it seems to work great as usual on interviews. But you never thought they could think of you both in that way. The video is finished and you both return to your own cars, hugging goodbye as usual.

◐

A few days have gone by after that interview, and you decide to check it out. The video has about four million views by now, considering the video got published about three days after you filmed it. You start to watch it, skipping through it a little before the weird question. You seem indeed confused and flustered bt the question, them having edited your moment in a funny way. A computer buffering sound on the background, zoomed in into your face with a loading icon at your forehead. It's actually funny, even if it wasn't funny when you were answering it at the moment. Tim seems just as confused for a moment, you both denying the question as politely and smart as possible, to avoid useless scandals or rumours. Okay, wasn't so bad. Tim's part was less humerus, actually nore straight to the point with hoe annoyed he answered the question. The video ends after you say your goodbyes to the camera, getting to the comment section. You read the first few one's, them being supportive and sweet. The longer you scroll down, the more you start to lose hope in your fans. They genuinely seem to ship you. It would've been funny, but now that you think of it... it doesn't sound too bad. You make your way to some fanfic websites you still know from your earlier teenage years, searching up your name with Tim. Indeed, thousands of suggestions pop up, not having expected more than hundreds of thousand people wrote some kind of romantic content between the two of you. You are really sure Tim would hate you for it, but you go ahead and read some of it. Most were just some silly short stories about the two of you being in love on set, but some were the most heart and gut-wrenching fluff you've ever read. You didn't touch the angst tag, being too scared of getting hurt over fictional problems.

You take a break from everything, deciding it's best to never touch anything like that ever again and ignore it overall. You and him were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. You would sacrifice everything for him and make sure he stays happy, but never cross the line between friendship and partners, in fear of ruining anything. He would most definitely do the same, if not more for you, but there's no way you'll ever be more than what you are now. Drying off your few tears, it's time to get to the next set of filming, staying friends with Tim. 

←MASTERLIST

a/n: also, sorry for being dead in the last few days or weeks, idk, but there's a few things going on and i won't be able to reply or post as quickly as before, but I'll try!! hope you enjoyed it

[anzulvr]

hiiii!!! do u think i can request a karma x reader or just Class E in general with a bit of a princess complex, i think itd be a bit funny to imagine how they humble reader or just treat them in general ^‿^

thankk uu and take ur time soz if this request doesnt make sense 😭

‧₊˚ ♡ Princess Complex ♡ ‧₊˚

Karma x Reader with a princess complex

+ general E class / Reader This is so cute, ur kaomoji is so cute! ur so cute! now think I have a princess complex... Trying out a new format ✧ fluff ✧ no warnings hdr by yeonkittiz on Pinterest divider by cafekitsune on here.

Princess complex meaning someone with a “pretty” outlook on life, high expectations, and wanting to be treated like a princess!

Ever since you joined E-class there’s always been one thing that stuck out to your classmates, and that was your “princess mentality.”

It’s not a problem when you’re dating Karma because he’s the type to feed into it. It’s not like you’re actually stuck up or look down on people. You might joke about it the same way he acts overly confident about himself but that’s as far as it goes, so he doesn’t see the harm in giving in to you, just a bit!

The negative aspect to having a “princess complex” is your inability to pitch when hard labor is involved. It doesn’t mix well with assassination attempts. This is probably the one thing that bothers the class as a whole.

“[Name], we need you to set the wire trap at the other side of the mountain!”

“That’s so much walking in this heat… and I’m gonna get my shoes all ruined!”

Kataoka has been trying to get you to pitch in a little more, as class rep she feels it’s her job. Whenever she asks you such and say you’ll do it later…and proceed to completely forget about it.

She thought getting Karma to ask would solve things but no you just feel more comfortable straight up rejecting his requests.

“Karma, tell [Name] she has to do something.”

“[Name], do something.”

“No.”

“I tried.”

Terasaka has to drag you all the way there, you’re helping whether you want to or not.

Karma’s usually the one having to push you into stuff you can’t bring yourself to.

Nagisa sent you both out to grab some essential items for the next attempt.

“Why can’t you carry it, this is heavyyyy.”

“[Name] I’ve been carrying your bag for the last 20 minutes, it feels like you drag bricks around.”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t sweat it this is light work, but you have to carry something yourself.” (His arms hurt but he’ll never admit that.)

“Alright- I guess I can do it… only because you asked.”

(For once!)

There are classmates who will call you out of the princess fantasy; Terasaka, Maehara (depends on the day tbh), Kataoka.

The teachers, for sure call you out!! Korosensei’s will dote on you but push you to make some effort. You don’t want to spar? He bargains.

“[Name] I know you don’t want to ruin your nails but please participate, if they break, I’ll re do them!!”

Mr. Karasuma just straight out lectures you about how assassination takes getting your hands dirty and takes sacrifice, he eventually gives up and does things your way- he noticed Karma is really good at pissing you off and partnering you up is the perfect way to bring out your potential.

“Scared to mess up your hair? Sounds like a lame excuse, just admit you suck at sparring.”

“YOU’LL EAT YOUR WORDS.” (You ended up losing, but hey at least you swung this time!)

Ms. Vitch is a bit different, encouraging you to continue to have the mindset you do. she adores you because you remind her of herself, she’s got a soft spot! Your #1 supporter. You helped design the assassination uniforms with her.

In contrast there’s classmates who’ll let you live out your princess dreams, Hinano, Isogai (he will encourage you to help out so sweetly it won't feel like he’s trying to humble you when he is.) , Nagisa lets you do your thing, Okajima who’s to big of a simp to complain, Ritsu whose the cutest ever.

With Princess syndrome comes high standards, so Karma’s kind of flattered he fits yours. He’s a bit unsure of himself underneath the front he puts on, having your approval means a lot to him but he won’t admit that out loud.

— sorry I took such a break from posting, please correct my mistakes if you catch any :)

[yeahyeahchloe]

love love LOVE your works! 💗 So i randomly had an idea, hear me out!

drummer abby and bassist reader. I literally can see abby getting jealous if a fan approaches the reader and gets a bit touchy (not like a wired way, like hugging her ecc)

oh anon...i love me a jealous gf...

drummer!abby x bassist!reader

synopsis: You just wrapped up your last show of your tour, and run into some fans backstage who are acting like a bit more than just fans...

cw: smut18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, strap use (r!receiving), slight choking, some angst, fluff at the very end, me being too lazy to give the bandmates names, my mid smut writing (im learning lol), my excessive vocabulary

(a/n: pls lmk if u see any typos! )

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The crowd thundered with screams and applause as the final guitar cord strummed the final song, of the final tour.

Stage lights shown onto your face, encouraging your skin to sweat and your eyes to water.

You decided to relish in the feeling, as it was the last of it you would experience for a while.

Turning around you spotted a face adorned with pride and glee, showcasing a stoic grin.

Blue eyes met yours and that grin seemed to break just a small bit wider.

You, and the rest of the band inevitably had to step off the stage for the last time, and the second you were behind that curtain you were immediately wrapped in a strong hug.

But the hug was unfamiliar.

Very unfamiliar.

"Oh my god, I love you! You looked so incredible up there it was seriously like an angel on Earth or something!" said the body that was previously hugging and was now holding both your hands.

The girl was accompanied by another, who was standing slightly behind her, each holding a starstruck expression.

You quickly got over your initial shock and went into greeting mode.

"Oh! Thank You! Means a lot you enjoyed our last show,"

"Its seriously like nothing I've ever seen. And its so cool back here! My Dad runs tech so he let me in,"

Figures.

"Mhm, I bet,"

"Oh! I almost forgot, I made you something!" The girl reached into her pocket, pulling out a bracelet adorning the lesbian flag colors with a name in the middle.

Gracie.

You glanced at her wrist to see she had one with your name.

"O-oh thanks!" You said, now slightly creeped out.

"Ok, picture time!" she grabbed your waist pulling you in tight as her friend snapped a picture, "Thank you!! I'll see you on my feed," she attempted a joke at this point you wouldn't find funny, and walked away.

Turning around to your bandmates you made a wide-eyed expression and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Jesus what was that?" one of them asked.

"No fucking clue," You answered before realizing Abby had gone, "Hey, where's Abs?"

"She left just a second ago, towards the dressing rooms, looked pissed as fuck,"

You nodded in thanks before walking in the direction of yours and Abby's shared room.

You knocked before entering to find her getting her things together.

"Hey Abby," you greeted timidly.

"Can you get everything you need? 'm tired 'nd I wanna go to the trailer," she said, only glancing my way.

You knew when Abby was frustrated it was best to let her cool off, so you simply gathered your things, walked over to her to show you were ready, and she placed her hand on your lower back to guide you out of the room and to the trailer.

Once inside you both set down your stuff, and you decided that you would talk to her now.

You walked over to her as she sat on the slightly small bed and sat down next to her.

"You okay?" you wearily asked.

She managed a soft "mhm fine" before getting up and walking to where her clothes were, pulling off her shirt leaving her in her bra and jeans.

"Tell me what's wrong," you said, walking up to her slowly.

"I said I was fine, jesus," she grunted, rummaging around for her pajamas.

"Abby," you asserted, finally getting her to look at you, "Please,"

She turned away before saying "You're just too fucking nice to people sometimes,"

"What?" You asked, half not fully catching what she said, half wanting her to go on.

"I mean if some fucking weirdo comes over and hugs you, why wouldn't you deck them?"

"Okay, are you talking about that fan? What do you expect me to do; be a dick and shove her off?"

"Yes-No-I don't fucking know," she stuttered before stomping off back to the bed and taking a seat once again.

You sat next to her, in the same spot you were originally in before asking much more gently, "Abs, what's actually wrong?"

She sighed, "Its just, her fucking hands were all over you, and then she gave you that ridiculous thing like she was trying to claim you or something and it pissed me off,"

"Abby, are you jealous?" you asked, slightly teasing.

"Oh fuck off. I have no reason to be, nobody will ever make you feel as good as I do," she said, turning to you, her eyes now displaying her anger had morphed into lust.

"Yeah?" you asked, breaths becoming shorter.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna prove it to you,"

Before you could get another word in, her lips passionately, yet aggressively slammed into yours.

You immediately reciprocated the kiss and reached your hands us, one cradling her face and the other holding her still bare upper waist.

Both her hands creeped around your hips and gripped them harshly as your tongues met, lifting you and placing you straddling her.

You felt her move her lips from yours and quickly move them down to your neck, kissing and licking up until she got to your ear before whispering "you're mine, and no one's gonna fucking change that,"

Your hips grinded down on to hers as you let out a breathy moan at her words, and the new found bulge you felt in her pants.

"Yeah, feel that? Knew I was gonna fuck you tonight, got ready just for you," she whispered in your ear once again, sending waves of exitment throughout your entire body.

She moved her lips back to yours to continue kissing you as she took your shirt and removed it exposed your tits to her.

Abby took her mouth away from yours and hungrily moved them down to your nipples, sucking and biting at them, eliciting a moan from your chest as you grabbed her hair tightly.

You felt her hands reach down and unbutton your jeans before flipping you on your back so she was now hovering over you.

She quickly moved down, removing your pants and underwear together, revealing your sopping wet pussy to her.

"Fuck, you're so wet. Who makes you this wet?" she asked, toying at your lips, pulling them apart so she could see all of you.

"Mmmh you do," you answered her quietly, aching for her to touch you.

"What's that? You have to speak up sweetheart," Abby said, now looking up at you.

"Fuck, Abby, you make me so wet, you're the only one who makes me this wet," you whimpered in response.

You saw Abby smirk before placing a small kiss on your clit before removing her own pants to reveal her strap, looking as ready for you as ever.

"Do you want my cock baby?" She asked, sliding it up and down your pussy, teasing you.

"Shit-yes, Abby please. Please I only want your cock,"

Abby didn't even have to ask and she had you begging, it gave her an insane ego boost that only got her off more.

"Good girl, learning so fast," she praised before painfully slowly sliding her strap deep inside of you, stretching out your walls with each inch that entered.

She pulled out just as slow as before, and without warning, slammed into you at an alarming speed.

Screams of pleasure roared out of your chest as you felt her hips clip yours with every deep thrust.

Abby sat above you, seemingly watching every square inch of your body with pride as she fucked you senseless.

"That's right, my perfect girl taking my cock, perfect little thing," She groaned, feeling intense pleasure of her own from the sight of you mixed with the way her strap rubbed her clit deliciously at every move.

"Oh, god Abby! 'S too good...always so good,"

Abby loved it when you praised her, it made her feel like nobody else could ever compare to her.

And she fucking needed that right now.

She slithered a hand down to wrap around your throat and she squeezed lightly, just the way you liked it.

Abby saw the way your eyes were repeatedly rolling back at each moan as they became higher pitched and she knew you were about to cum.

"You gonna cum for me, huh angel? Cum on my fucking cock?" She asked, burying herself impossibly deeper.

All you could muster up in response was a weak nod and a feverish moan.

"That's right, go ahead, let it go,"

As soon as you heard those words you felt your orgasm wash over you in a wave and Abby's relentless pace slowed down to an eventual stop.

She slid out of you before getting a damp washcloth and cleaning you up, before slipping the both of you under the covers.

Abby wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close so that your head was resting under her chin.

After a long beat of silence you spoke up, softly saying, "I don't think I would ever love someone like I love you,"

Abby pulled your head out from under yours, and leaned down to give you a long, lovingly kiss.

"I'm sorry I got mad, I mean, I was jealous. I just-I just never want you to leave me," she spoke softly with vulnerability in her eyes.

You cupped her face with both hands, placing a kiss on her forehead before whispering, "You aren't ever going to have to worry about that,"

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

[phightingaus]

*Walks in from the shadows mysteriously and takes a seat near you on the bar counter with my cowboy hat covering my face*

Ya heard of SW Anon? That sci-fi obsessed freak of nature with ideas and concepts constantly floatin' around their head...

You wanna know something funny?

The entire time...

IT WAS ME! AHAHAHAHAHHAHAAH *evillaughter.sfx*

But seriously I'm glad people like my silly little alternate 'what if?'s. I didn't think it was genius or anything, practically every other fandom has a sci-fi and actor AU(the last one is for copium for dead characters to come back in the next season/chapter)

Answers about the theatre au neao:

1. The AUs.. THEY'RE ALL CONNECTED /j but that would be a funny easter egg

2. Scythe is the kewl wine aunt character who is there for the money and the funny shit the other actors are up to

3. Ehehe, I'm glad you liked it. Venomshank and Windforce are frequent visitors there to emotionally support their children. Darkheart is sometimes just.. on set for the shits and giggles, but he's good at writing puns, jokes and humor in general for the plays. Ghostwalker.. iono about him actually, maybe he's like, a famous book author or critic who happens to like the plays

4. Steampunk is in the propmaking team, and Coil helps out sometimes but boxing brings him enough money. The reason Subspace isn't there is because he's not insane or psychotic or anything in this AU but still really self-centered with a massive ego so you'd need to give him an enormous amount of money to get him to make props, an amount the management will NOT spend on one guy. Plus, most of the props are probably made out of foam, cartboard or plywood and as far as I know Coil and Subspace are more wires and metal masters.

5. hallo

- star wars (not so) anon. By the way I don't post on my blog a lot, almost never but I'll try to illustrate some funny stuff that could happen!

hey aaa @phightingheadcanons and @phightinghottakes have you ever gotten an anon to stop being an anon (speaking of i am still going to tag your AUs with starwars anon, but all of the new ones will have your user name ok?)

perfect scythe characterization, also i thought up like her just carrying around a wine glass witch is indeed filled with wine, after the act finishes one of the phighter (can't decide who) asks her "ay what's that filled with" and she is just like "well get over here so that you can drink it", of course the joke is that it's filled with not wine but blood but....... wait there was a twinge of alcohol and she was clearly tipsy somewhat, yes she was indeed drinking blood with wine mixed in, as for who's? idk probs brokers

wait what about the tubes on coils arms do those not exist here? cause if they do that means that coil also knows hydrodynamics

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 366. brb x oc

a/n: bada bing bada boom (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

/316/317/318/319/320/321/322/323/324/325/326/327/328/329/330/331/332/333/334/335/336/337/338/339/340/341/342/343/344/345/346/347/348/349/350/351/352/353/354/355/356/357/358/359/360/361/362/363/364/365

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @novastories @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix @lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @louisahale @leobabbyyy @booklover2sblog @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things @caatheeriinee07 @fanboyswhore9 @jesfreedark @katiemcrae @lilmonstrjedi @hobiismyhopeu @teacupsandtopgun @insominac23 @gh0stsgoodgirl @mygyn @chavivaelisheva @kmc1989 @enchantingharmonyalpaca @callsign-magnolia @mrsbradshaw01

-

“You know of anything I expected you to say, the last one was that this John guy was your friend from school.”

Rooster grunted handing Mav a wrench as his uncle busies himself on fixing the motorcycle,”I know.” he mutters, “Bea is upset and I don’t blame her,he’s…so fucked in the head, who does stuff like that? It’s not even that funny.” the pilot is glaring at his shoes as he says so, chewing the corner of his mouth, “I don’t remember him that much,Mav. That’s also bad,I remember…bits and pieces.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,like,” he shrugs, “There was this one time he tried to carjack one of our teacher’s cars and we stopped him…it’s fucking crazy,we weren’t that close.”

"That's... messed up, Brad," Mav said, his voice filled with disbelief. "I can't believe you had to deal with someone like that back in school."

Rooster nodded grimly, his jaw clenching with frustration. "Yeah, tell me about it," he muttered, "I never understood why he acted the way he did. He was always causing trouble for no reason."

Mav sighed, setting the wrench aside as he leaned against the motorcycle. "Some people are just wired differently, I guess," he said, his tone contemplative and quiet. "But that doesn't excuse his behavior. He should've known better."

Rooster nodded in agreement, "Exactly," he replied, his voice tinged with anger. "And now …he’s here. Asking me to go to a stupid reunion, I’m not going."

"You don't have to go if you don't want to, Brad," he said, his voice steady as he shrugs over to his nephew "Your priority is Bea and the kids. Everything else can wait."

Rooster nodded gratefully, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders at Mav's understanding. "Thanks, Mav," he replied, his voice soft. "I just don't want anything to do with that time of my life anymore.”

A pause.

“...do you want to talk about it,Brad?”

Rooster hesitated, his gaze drifting to the floor as memories from his past flooded his mind. He took a deep breath, trying to push down the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I don't know, Mav," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's just...a lot to unpack."

"I get it, Brad," he said softly, his tone gentle yet firm. "But sometimes, talking about it can help. It's up to you, though. I'm here whenever you're ready."

Rooster swallowed hard,he appreciated Mav's offer, but part of him wasn't sure if he was ready to confront…some stuff. "Maybe...maybe another time," he said hesitantly, his words tinged with uncertainty. "I just need some time to process everything."

Mav nodded, his gaze unwavering as he placed a comforting hand on Rooster's shoulder. "Take all the time you need, Brad," he said reassuringly. "I'll be here whenever you're ready to talk."

"Thanks, Mav," Rooster said sincerely, his voice filled with gratitude. "I really appreciate it."

Mav squeezed Rooster's shoulder in response, a silent gesture of solidarity and support. "Anytime, kid," he replied, his tone filled with warmth. "I'll always be here for you."

His nephew smiles more and he feels better. A little. “So…in your opinion.” he begins as Mav goes back to the bike,”Why do you think John did what he did? The calls,lying about being my uncle to the fucking Navy…”

Mav paused, considering Rooster's question with a furrowed brow. "Well, Brad," he started slowly, "people like John, they're…uh, they're unpredictable. Maybe he's got some twisted sense of humor like you said or maybe…there’s something else. Maybe he thinks that will bring his friends back together in some way,did you check with any of your other school friends if he did the same?”

Rooster rubbed his temples, feeling a headache building "I haven't really talked to anyone from school in years," he admitted with a sigh. "But I could reach out and see if anyone else has had similar experiences."

Mav nodded, frowning as he continued to work on the motorcycle. "It might be worth a shot," he replied, his tone quiet. "You never know what you might find out."

Rooster sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Yeah, maybe," he muttered, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I just don't want to dredge up old memories if I don't have to. I…don’t know if I want to see my old friends again."

“Why not?”

Roster chews his lower lip ,”...they…changed with me when mom got sick and I decided to join the Navy…I never told Bea that.”

Mav listened attentively as Rooster opened up about his past,and he could sense the pain and uncertainty in Rooster's voice, the weight of unresolved emotions bearing down on him like a heavy burden.

Fuck,he was alone then too.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Brad," Mav said softly, his voice laced with sympathy. "It must have been tough going through all of that…alone."

Rooster shrugged, his gaze drifting to the floor as he struggled to articulate his feelings. "Yeah, it was," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "But I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought...joining the Navy would give me purpose, give me a chance to make something of myself." he chews, “I was just really angry then…as you know.”

"Sometimes, we do things with the best intentions," Mav said gently, his tone filled with empathy. "But life has a way of throwing curveballs at us, of testing our resolve and pushing us to our limits."

“Like…what you did?”

Maverick smiles grimly, he knew that they could openly talk about it now, but it was still hard, “I thought I was doing good by holding your papers,Brad. Your mom asked me to, but…we all make mistakes.”

Rooster's gaze softened as he looked at Maverick, "I know, Mav," he said sincerely,almost timidly "And I forgive you for that. You were just trying to protect me, like you always have."

Bea would be very proud of him.

Maverick nodded, a somber expression crossing his features. "I appreciate that, Brad," he replied quietly, his tone tinged with regret. "But I wish I could have done things differently, I wish I could have been there for you when you needed me the most."

Rooster hummed, “I wouldn’t have accepted if you were. Honestly.” he sighs,then rubs his eyes, “It…I don’t know, it was bad, fucked with me mentally for a few years and mom passed not long after…I guess I blamed myself a lot.”

Maverick's heart ached at Rooster's words, the weight of guilt settling heavily on his shoulders. He wished he could turn back time, undo the mistakes of the past and be the supportive uncle Rooster needed during those tumultuous years.

 But he couldn't change the past, no matter how much he wished he could.

"You don't have to blame yourself, Brad," Maverick said softly, "You were just a kid trying to navigate a difficult situation. And your mom, she wouldn't want you to carry that burden on your shoulders."

Rooster nodded, his gaze distant as he wrestled with his emotions. "I know," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's hard not to feel responsible, especially when...when things didn't turn out the way I hoped."

Maverick placed a comforting hand on Rooster's shoulder, his touch gentle yet firm. "You did the best you could with what you had, Brad," he said sincerely. "And now, you have a chance to make things right, to move forward and build the life you want for yourself and your family."

Rooster glanced up at Maverick, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I hope you're right, Mav," he said quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Bea mentioned that…it seemed the universe is just throwing a lot of shit on us a lot of time. “

“These past months have been something yes,”

Rooster chuckles dryly, “You been through shit like that before?”

Maverick’s light eyes move from Rooster to the grease in his hands, “After your dad died,after I lost my best friend…everything hit me at once.” he mutters, “I never wanted to show it to you or your mom, but…yeah, I know what you mean.”

Rooster listened intently to Maverick's words, and he just stared. Because what else could he say besides  "I had no idea, Mav," Rooster said softly, his voice compassionate. "I always thought you were…invincible,that nothing could ever break you."

Maverick offered Rooster a faint smile, the lines of weariness etched into his features. "I wish that were true, Brad," he admitted ruefully. "But the truth is, I've had my fair share of moments when I felt like I was drowning in despair."

Rooster nodded in understanding, "I guess we're more alike than I realized," he mused, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Maverick chuckled softly, a hint of warmth coloring his voice. "Yeah, I guess we are," he agreed, his gaze distant as he reminisced about their shared experiences. "But you know what they say, Brad. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. And I think we’re pretty strong.”

Rooster's smile widened at Maverick's words, a flicker of hope,of something within him. "Yeah, I've heard that before," he replied, "And I believe it. We've been through hell and back,but we're still standing."

Maverick nodded in agreement, his eyes shining with pride. "That's right, Brad," he said firmly. "This is just another thing.”

Rooster leaned back against the workbench, his gaze drifting to the various tools and equipment scattered around the garage. “Yeah…I guess so…”

Maverick glanced over at Rooster, "You know, Brad," he began, his voice tinged with nostalgia, "I could give you my opinion both as your uncle and as a Navy captain…which one would you like?”

“...both?”

Maverick nodded, chuckling as he tossed the greasy rag aside. "Alright then," he said, his voice taking on a serious tone. "As your uncle, I'd say that you've got a strong head on your shoulders, Brad. You've always been determined and resilient, even in the face of adversity."

Rooster listened intently to Maverick's words, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. 

"You've faced your fair share of challenges," Maverick continued, his gaze met Rooster's eyes. "But you've never let them hold you back. You've always pushed through with determination, and that's something to be admired." 

“This is about the John situation right?”

“Yes,yes,” Maverick said, “Let me continue,come on now. As a Navy captain," he began, "I'd say that you've demonstrated exceptional leadership qualities, Brad. You've shown courage in the face of danger, and you've always put the safety and well-being of your team above all else."

Maverick nodded in approval, his eyes shining with pride. "And you've done a damn good job of it, Brad," he replied, a hint of warmth softening his stern demeanor. "You've made me proud."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Rooster's lips, his heart swelling with gratitude for his uncle's words of encouragement. "Thank you, Mav…what do you suggest I do then,with John?" 

Maverick leaned back against the workbench, his expression thoughtful as he considered Rooster's question. He crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration.

"Well, Brad," he began slowly, "Dealing with someone like John requires a delicate touch. You don't want to escalate the situation, but you also can't let him walk all over you. Make it clear to John that his behavior is unacceptable and won't be tolerated…scare him a little.”

“Is that as an uncle or as a Navy-”

“Yes.”

Rooster blinked, ‘...well…alright,I’ll uh,see what I can do. I’d love to deal with this before the promotion ceremony you know?”

Maverick nodded in agreement, "That sounds like a good plan, Brad," he replied, crossing his arms "It's important to address the issue before it has a chance to escalate further."

"Thanks, Mav," Rooster said sincerely, his voice tinged with gratitude. "I appreciate your advice."

Maverick clapped Rooster on the shoulder, a proud smile gracing his lips. "Anytime, Brad," he replied warmly. "Just remember to stay true to yourself and trust your instincts. You've got this."

“I’ll be okay.’

“Sure you will.” his uncle smiles, “Now, help me finish this.”

Rooster stared at him , “...oh,it's not over yet?” 

“Course not, besides,” he tosses his nephew a wrench, “We have to keep sharing information,don’t we?”

[theallianceofcelestials]

Sigh, idk if this worked or not, bcuz it said “something went wrong with your ask” and since im asking anonymously, I can’t exactly fix it, so here’s a rewrite in case it didn’t go through-

WEEKLY YAP SESSION. I really enjoyed the last one and was hoping to make this at the very least a monthly occurrence bcuz you two are very funny and have much more interesting lives than me lol… also if you guys ever want me to stop/not say something, I’ll gladly do it, just say the word (I’ve noticed how you two don’t particularly swear or do things similar, and I just want to be considerate if you guys don’t like stuffs like that).

-Sigma Anon

Sigma Anon, you are just the sweetest little sugarplum with how considerate you are! But feel free to cuss, it's fine! Moongleam and I also cuss at times!

It's nice of you to say we're funny, thank you ₊˚⊹♡ ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ And the Weekly (or Monthly) Yap session is perfectly fine!

You must've sensed I was about to make a yapping post, because the timing is perfect! So, Imma yap a bit, and then give the microphone to Moongleam (she's got the flu, so she's dying, the poor thing)

So yesterday's TSAMS episode is so incredibly hilarious, because Moongleam and I already toyed with the idea of Sun and Eclipse merging since watching the old video titled "What If Sun and Moon MERGED in VRCHAT", where Sunny went to a dimension where him and Moon never separated, and the homicide code drove Moon to insanity and he merged with said code and killed his own Sun. I believe some fans called him Merged Moon or something. And we were both like "Shinyy =^◕⩊◕^=" and yoinked the concept, but adding Sun and Eclipse into the batter instead of KC and Moon.

And Funnily enough we both came up with a Merged Sun of our own, who were quite similar in some concepts, but very different in others My version we refer to as Solar Storm (he only just recently got the name, we always just referred to him as my version, haha), and he's a completely merged entity, like in yesterday's video. Difference is, that Eclipse manipulated Sun, telling him how it's Moon's fault he's even there, how Moon has secretly always hated him, how Moon planned on killing him, and Eclipse was just only doing what he was made for, hurting things. Because that's all he knew. It takes time during when they try to ask Golden Freddy for help in gettinng rid of Eclipse. And Sun, heartbroken sweet Sun, unconsciously starts reaching out to Eclipse with his code, and Eclipse reaches back, to furter manipulate Sun into trusting him, offering comfort. And neither realise their codes are entangling and merging more and more, until it was too late. Te newly born AI is aware that Eclipse manipulated Sun, having his memories, but his trust in Moon is still shattered, because Eclipse was right. Moon, when they were still in the same body, did want to kill Sun. Even if only because of the homicide code. And Moon still kept the fact he left parts of said code in Sun a secret, and after saying how he'd change, he still was a major jerk. So, Solar Storm did the only logical thing he could. He killed Moon. Bashed his processor in and tore out his wires, and put every chip he found in the incinerator after breaking them. Then Solar Storm put on an act, how Moon went missing, and it must be Eclipse's fault, and asked Monty for help, saying he'll pay him. But that was only to separate the gator, so he could get rid of him aswell. His next target is the Creator, but he would love to get rid of anyone who came to his dimension, being especially hostile towards lunar models, mainly Moons. He also hunted down the weakened Bloodmoon, and dealt with them.

The other Merged Sun, Moongleam's version is well, called Sunray. Yepp, I yoinked their name to use as an alias, lol. His main difference is that Sunray, the character's Moon, when cutting out his homicide code, accidentally left some of his love and care for Sun with that code, so when Eclipse came to be, he looked at Sun, and saw a fellow victim of a crappy situation, both of them being hurt by the same individual: Moon. So when they start merging, it's a consensual thing. But they never fully merge in the same way as Solar Storm, Merged Moon, or even Ruin. They're separate enough. But they still consider themselves one, ans if you tried separating them in any way, it would cause so much damage in their codes, that best case scenario they get a relatively painless instant death. Worst case, well we all saw what happened to Solar's Sun. They also killed their Moon, believing he hated them, because he wanted to get rid of Eclipse, whose entire existence is his selfish fault! And they put on the act of Eclipse keeping Sun hostage, never leaving the Daycare, because that's the only place they feel safe. Sunray isn't that good at acting as Solar Storm is though, because Eclipse and Sun both make mistakes, slipping up here and there in their act. Because in their excitement, all Eclipses seem to make mistakes. To anyone it wouldn't be noticeable at all, but to another Sun who also had to deal with an Eclipse, it would be obvious after like two slip-ups. I really love Sunray, evident by me using his name as an alias, and the tragedy of his and his Moon's relationship. Same with Solar Storm and his Moon. Sadly, in the latter's case, there's nothing to salvage. Anyway, I'm giving the microphone to Moongleam now!

I know that all has been mentioned of me is that I'm sick and dying. Which is great. I'll be honest with you, I dunno where you got the idea that our lives are anythin interestin, but it's a much nicer outlook than what I have :')

The only good thing about bein sick is not havin to go to school, but I still have to login to them online classes. Pretty damn annoying, especially when I ain't focusin for shit, but it is what it is, At least I ain't skinned alive for it.

So I went to the doctor today, and what you have to know about this woman is that I basically got a do and don't do list about her, cuz she's a sergant as my mother and father call her. She must have been in a good mood today, cuz only one old lady came out of her room crying so win I guess. This was my first time comin to her, seein as I transitioned last year or maybe the year before that, from my childood doctor, cuz she only sees patients who are under 19. So now I'll have ta go to the mean lady, tho she was kinda nice with me. The reason why I'm sick is pretty damn funny to me, so I shall annoy everyone with that too.

So I know I mentioned it somewhere that I had my country's version of prom finally, after 6 fucking years in the same godforsaken estabilishment, and if they actually put another year on top of the already there years I'll lose it, and some of my friends were sick. Now one of me girlies has a car and a liscence, and she's an angel so she picked all of us up. Problem is, one of my other girlie's mother also needed a ride to the train stop, so as the thinest and shortest person of the group, I was banished to the middle seat in the back, inbetween the sick people. Who were both coughin.

Now another thing that you need to know, is that I wake up at 4:30 in the mornin when I have physical classes, and we needed to arrive at the location of the stupid thing around the same time, so I still woke up at 4:30. This will be important later So I'm sittin between my sick friends, thinkin to myself "If this don't make me sick, nothin will". This was obviously a horrible, very bad, no good thing to think in that moment, but oh well. It was like 5 minutes, so ain't no big deal right?

Problem is, show started at about 5pm, and we had an 'after' after it, which is basically the class goin partyin. And I promised the girlies weeks before I was goin. So I went, despite how plans changed since I agreed, and I had a miserable time cuz now let me tell ya, I'm a borin person. I hate loud noises, I hate dancin, I hate drinkin and I hate crowds. And now I learned I hate the flashin flickerin lights of nightclubs too. So me and one of them girlies find a quieter place, where you still need to shout to communicate but not that badly. And we sit there for hours, gettin only two drinks, one of which was a malibu cola for me and a simple orange juice which had the bartender mock-disappointed, and I ate all the ice I could. That's a sign btw that you have iron deficiency if you do that, just tellin in case anyone needs to know.

Thankfully, the girlie who drove us and who was the friend with me in the quieter part, also has cool parents, cuz her mom offered us a ride home. No matter how late/early we made it. So angelic friend calls her mom, and they come to the decision we shall board the train and go to the very edge of the capital city, where she'll pick us up, cuz that's the easiest place to drop me off from. This wasn't all the girlies with us, there was 6 of us at the club and 2 stayed there.

So we boarded the 1:45 train, and I got home to round 2:40. Now I'm a clean freak, so I hopped in the shower, washed up and dried my hair, which took me long cuz I'm slow in my "old age", and I was out and ready by 3:30. Then I washed my teeth, and was in bed. I couldn't fall asleep immediately, so I fell asleep at around 4. Now if you remember by this point I was awake for almost 24 hours, which is not the norm for me. I'm an early sleeper and riser.

So everythin combined, I got sick. Was it worth it? Depends on which part you ask. The promesque part? Yepp. The party part? Fuck no. I hate parties and I hate people and I hate people checkin me out. And I was obviously prettied up for the prom thing, and there weren't many women there, so some of the guys there were... questionable to say the least. And drunk. Cuz one of the place's specialties was that you pay a pretty damn high entry fee and then buy a cup, but then you can drink as much as you want, alcoholic or non-alcoholic.

So yeah, I'm sick and dyin now, but at least I have a stupid story to share. And hey, I at least met the new man of one of my girlies and the new woman of another one, both of whom are sweeties, so hey! That's somethin.

And that's the story for today. It's pretty damn long, and pretty damn complicated, but amusin as shit to me. I also can't be bothered right now to watch my language, so yeah. I usually try not to curse cuz this fandom has a bunch of minors in it, and I ain't gon be the one to normalise it for em. Also, don't worry bout what you're sayin all that much. Neither Sunray nor me are particularly sensitive bout stuff, havin been here since the good old wild west days of the internet where you could search up murder and find actual live videos of it, so so long as you ain't sayin anythin offensive we ain't gon tell ya to stop. But that's just basic decency I think.

You know the drill sugarcube, your turn to yap at us. Your little blog attempt has been rather inactive, I've been keepin an eye on it, and I was wonderin when you were goin to pop back up. I do keep an eye on the people I interacted with, even if in a pretty minor way. It's good to see the familiar faces pop in.

[sansmeanswithout]

more of my funny little deltarune OCS

Chapter 2 added so many different funny species(?)

Wen is an Ambyu-Lance who isn't very good at fighting and as such has just taken up running a cheap walk in clinic which gets transferred over to castle town after the fountain is sealed. They will actually accept things other than money as payment such as items. They will even work for free if they know their patient has nothing. This is the type of person who would manage to give spamton a bit of medical care by pretending to get ripped off by being paid in s.poison.

Forx is a plug boy and one of Wen's partners. She works a few different jobs as she doesn't really know what she wants to do other than supporting her partners. Forx does sometimes get annoyed by Wen's generosity but overall loves them for it. Forx also has a similar gag to sans where she is just everywhere with multiple jobs. The funny logic behind this is that electricity is really fast.

Knave is a werewire and the most alt fashion bitch I can make up in my head. It's a willing werewire but doesn't want to become a werewerewire because it prefers the colors of it's current form. Knave is the third member of Wen and Forx's polycule. It loves cuddling with it's partners though it's very worried about accidentally wrapping it's wire around them. It also is kind of a guard dog for the clinic. Desperate thieves are a bit common. It takes great comfort in that no one knows how it looked as a plug boy.

Vul is a virovirokun. My headcannon is that if a virovirokun gets proper treatment they stop being contagious unless they purposely infect someone. Vul is just some incredibly anxious chronically ill person. They get most of their treatment at Wen's clinic because they weren't exactly successful at getting money as a ransomware virus. Vul is basically a badly made script kiddie virus. Wen and their polycule have kinda adopted them.

more stuff under the cut about cannon character interactions and interactions with my other deltarune ocs

Wen lives with Forx and Knave. The three are in a very cute polycule.

They eventually end up taking in Dekyll, Throne and Kata and act as sorta parent/uncle figures.

This started because Wen runs a small clinic out of their home and ended up having Dekyll, Throne & Kata there for longer than other patients.

Dekyll was there because it needed physical therapy and treatment for injuries that had healed badly.

Throne was at first there because they didn't have a home and the clinic offered food but eventually had to stay for mental health treatment due to being a danger to themselves.

Kata was in recovery for many long lasting injuries and getting physical therapy as well as chronic pain treatment.

And because I really like Jevil, Spamton and Sweet Cap'n Cakes they also stay here sometimes.

Jevil only stays at the house/clinic sometimes. He enjoys cheering up patients & is kind of a therapy dog.

Spamton is a more permanent resident. He was homeless for a while in castletown as he didn't know what to do when he woke up there. He had more malnourishment issues as he didn't know all the best places to scavenge like he did in cyber city. Eventually Wen happens to find him passed out from hunger and thus the long road of treating malnutrition and starvation begins. Spamton has also been involuntarily kept at the clinic a few times due to being a danger to both himself and others

SCC mainly live at their shop thingy but all of them are frequent guests

Sweet is often there because they're a bit clumsy & need to be patched up. This eventually leads to a pretty good relationship with Wen and the others

Cap'n is mainly friends with Forx because of the Rebel Plug boy introducing them. The pair enjoy engineering and welding. Forx is a little bit of a therapist to Cap'n.

K_K is here because honk was really curious about Kata, after all Kata used to be part of a car. Unfortunately this initial interaction didn't go well but Knave was able to help. Eventually K_K looks up to Knave as they're an older person who has more experience with low empathy than K_K and can give advice.

[plumsaffron]

Cherry Crimson Brine Part 2:

What or Who You Found (2 of 2)

Go back to Crimson Brine 2 Part 1 of 2 here

Or Jump To This Link Containing Links To Every Part

Otherwise...

2 days later Uncanny Valley: This is my last day I can be here. Hopefully this plan does bring peace this town. Vesperia: Certainly, but we won't miss. Carapace: Lets do it. 5 Minutes later Manon: What do you think you're doing!? STOP LEAVE MOM ALONE! Viperion: Pft. I don't listen to a child. Throws Nadja into a bunch of seats Manon: MOM! runs towards her in terror Viperion: Second Chance Manon: Mom!? I- Where did you- Achk Her mom fell on her instead because he reversed time in a way where it only affect Nadja Viperion walking towards the camera man Viperion: Clara Contard, you're next! I hope you and your helicopter crew have parachutes. A bunch of water falls on the helicopter Viperion: Well I guess you guys can pray for only a sprain. Better luck next time or life!

Viperion: We will be ruining your lives as you see. We are done protecting a bunch of useless voters or is it citizens as Andre would say. And we might have something special in store for the mayor. Destroys the signal (edited) Meanwhile Pigella: Subjects Attack the Parisians and Minotaurox and Vesperia. The gift brainwashed Parisians charge towards them. Some are being warped to other places to attack

Somewhere Else Rena Rouge: Well well well. What is your damage? NPC Male: You traitor. NPC Male 2 with a bat: We will end you and your friends. Rena Rouge: What did I do? I didn't attack anyone. NPC Female: You are in association with threats to the public. You and your fallen comrades shall pay dearly in sync. 

NPC Female 2 runs with some electrical current staff towards her Rena Rouge: (So that's how you people want to be... Even if you tell them and don't start trouble, trouble will find you)

Somewhere else else Purple Tigress: There you GO! FLINGS Carapace Shell back at him Carapace: Whoa! Barely dodges (She’s too much into the act) She charges Clout Purple Tigress: Fall to pieces Carapace: (What? she's not attacking me.) Jetting towards some npcs Random NPC girl: Run! Some go into tunnels. 

Others take their chances going into them street manholes Carapace: STOP! Purple Tigress: I wouldn't get any closer. I always wondered what my power would do to his little bro Carapace Freezes Purple Tigress: You seem to have a close bond to Nino’s brother. Purple: You can have him. Throws Chris towards him He catches him Carapace: GO! Get out of here! His brother runs to somewhere away safe (I will have to have a talk with this girl, later, once we’re done acting) Seconds later, feels debris hitting him Shocked seeing buildings collapsing towards and around him

Unknown Location Looking on her phone Seeing electric dust devils in uncommon lasting time unconscious people Random people attacking Argos, despite being unmatched

Pigella's zombie army now after Rooster Bold Fencers and sporting npcs throwing objects at Ladybug Caprikid battling against Polymouse Miss Hound using random people as fetchables

Fire hydrants destroyed poles and electric wires falling around town NPCs dropping rocks from high places towards heroes Some people trying to escape but places to exit town were destroyed Rena Rouge creating Illusions to trap people 30 minutes later Chrysalis: How do you even get captured so easily, Cat Noir? I expect better of Paris' 2nd most valuable asset. How the heck did a group of a bunch of heroes become sloppy messes? Funny thing though is; I don't want your miraculouses right now or any of you tired, still fighting, or unconscious allies either. (edited) Just the Ladybug one. It's kind of weird that when I got here,

there's less people than usual. 

More than usual.

Almost like they disappeared. Walking towards Ladybug some blocks away While walking Npcs attempt to attack her

Leaps away and continues walking More NPCS try throwing stuff a her but she deflects dodges blocks and got tired on them so she counter throws objects and jumps away

Where the downed Bug location is

Chrysalis: It's a shame. All your allies became baddies like me and you allowed it. You never cease to amaze.

Chrysalis: Since I first arrived here. You and those who truly follow your way wanted to wipe me out but you learned how to destroy yourself and everything you so called stood for or by. But I already knew you would. Oh well, time to show the world who you really are since you appear to be speechless. I understand. 

You've left me like that but now it will be a huger scale than mines.

Ladybug (Actual): Nice speech. Chrysalis: What the? AHKG Blasted by Ladybug Urg And so her entire team, join quickly

Ladybug that blasted her, reverts to Uncanny Valley Chrysalis: You planned this all? Cat Noir: And that's why it worked. Cat Noir: Now, Uncanny Valley. Tell us who she really is. Uncanny Valley: The Butterfly user is... What?! No

Doesn't compute anymore? I just had it?

Why? What's going on?! Why can’t I say her name? Some of them: What?! Cat Noir: Quick, Vesperia! Tries to venom her Somehow makes her hit Uncanny Valley instead Chrysalis: Well... lookie here. hmmhmmhmmhmmhmmhmmhmmhmmhmm Cat Noir: Pigella! Quickly! So much for your hard work to stop me but it's just that... Miss Hound: What?! Restrained by NPCS Carapace: GET OFF OF ME! Throws one but a bunch are swarming around him like dinosaurs Minotaurox uses Resistance to avoid damage Individuals in helicopters or nearby, throw nets to catch the heroes Chrysalis: That worked well if you were me. Now to resume my plan. Ladybug: Your plan will never play. And as soon as she said that, a portal open and the 2 fell in Cat Noir immediately goes into before it finished closing

Some special unknown area Chrysalis: So it's just you, Pussycat, and me. Ladybug: This will where your reign of evil ends. Chrysalis: What makes you so sure? Cat Noir harnessing Cataclysm Chrysalis: Now I know for a fact y'all are really hungry. And so they battle her Meanwhile Argos: Shall I make the citizens reappear? Viperion: Not yet. We need Ladybug and Cat to give the signal to do it for the right now. As he turns his face perturbs Pegasus: What's wrong- (Why is Bunnyx there, unconscious?)

Some minutes later Bunnyx: Ugh ahhh yawns Rena Rouge: She's alright. Rooster Bold: So what happened to you? Bunnyx: I don't know I opened a portal as Ladybug requested as a last resort. 

Then I was going to regroup with y'all but I don't remember. Maybe I overexerted myself. Uncanny Valley: I don't think so. You definitely didn't. 

I can tell by scanning your vital signs.

Meanwhile Once Again

Chrysalis: It must suck being captured by your own yoyo Since I ruined your lucky charm spam. Welp, time to show him who you really are. Cat Noir: Whuwu uuhhhuuuuuuuuh! Some unknown trap door he fell through

Chrysalis: Seems he wont be seeing anything. 

Well the show must go on. 

Takes her miraculous off and throws them away to somewhere in the space

Meanwhile stuck in that trap but is using his staff to stay in place

Cat Noir: This is bad. There’s no way I can stop her once and for all. Cat thinking Maybe I don't need to

Back to the defeated Bug Chrysalis: Now all I need to do is... Marinette: Lila Rossi. And so A piece of paper flies towards the two Chrysalis: Hmm what's this? Her eyes open up briefly Marinette kicks the butterfly miraculous partially off her and she detransforms Confused Marinette

Marinette: What? Who are you?

End Of Part 2 - What or Who you found

Go to part 3 of the story or Crimson Brine 3

[shaikzpeare]

Why I Decided Being Funny Is a More Honest Art Form Than Pretending to Be a Tortured Poet.

I'll work on better titles but first, let’s get one thing clear: I am actually a really funny person. If you’re my friend reading this—please send me a selfie with something on your head to vouch for me. (I’m so quirky. OMG I’m so different.) If you’re a stranger—there’s absolutely no reason to believe anything you read on the internet. But you can believe the science aka the very real experiment I’m running on what “funny” actually is.

Because there are types. Oh, there are types. There’s viral TikTok funny. There’s stand-up funny (but wait—what even is stand-up funny? Like is it Ravi Gupta funny? Or Samay Raina? Or Kenny Sebastian? Kunal Kamra? Vir Das??) And then there’s “you had to be there when Zaf said it” funny, which—objectively—is the highest tier of comedy. Sorry. I don’t make the rules. Except I do. It’s my study.

Anyway, this is a small (chaotic) window into how I try to science my way through life. Because I like pretending I’m a STEM major. Which I kind of am. Even though my GE GPA is much higher than my major GPA. Which… might be a sign. There might be correlation. Maybe causation. But here I go again—designing fake experiments about myself instead of facing the data. Classic scientist behavior.

Let me backtrack. Maybe I should explain why I’m doing this humor column in the first place. One might say it’s unnecessary. But also… I have free will. Allegedly.

Here’s the context: I love writing. I always have. I love literature to the point that even this so-called “casual” thoughts column might randomly dissolve into something dramatic or poetic. I’ve filled the void inside me with references, songs, books, films—as if they’d stitch meaning into the fabric of my soul. (Yeah, I warned you.)

Anyway, I decided I needed to be less pretentious. Yes, I love philosophical fiction and poetry and the classics. But God—and my 10th-grade English teacher, Miss Usha Kumari—knows I can’t write them to save my life.

I can’t really be philosophical—not because I don’t want to, but because I just don’t know enough. Or maybe it’s that I don’t know more than… like, why did Nietzsche say “God is dead”? Or why did Marx call religion the “opium of the masses”? Their ideas were shaped by their experiences and the times they lived in—times that aren’t identical to mine. They didn’t scroll through endless reels of Tutu the kitten or get bombarded by a hundred versions of philosophies, religions, and radicals all at once. They couldn’t just download PDFs of communist manifestos or start debating The Good Place (which, by the way, is a W show). Their worlds weren’t mine, and their brains definitely weren’t wired like this one.

Which is how I have come to realize that any attempt I make to analyze it properly would unravel into 80,000 more words that my ADHD brain won’t let me finish, and push me into an existential crisis of everything that I know or don't know and will never know. And as the responsible adult currently managing this disorderly child—I’ll stop there. For now.

This is another thing I do: I act like I’m made of multiple entities. Which essentially started when my therapist told me to journal my negative thoughts to create distance from them. Naturally, being the certified scientist and psychologist I am, I extrapolated that into a whole life philosophy. You will learn so much from reading my stuff it’s kind of crazy—like this over Vishal Dayama’s Substack any day tbh (I am joking, Shauhar OP always). Anyway, as I was saying: I now split all my chaotic energy into different fictional beings for that therapeutic distance™. Sometimes the mature adult version of Zaf shows up to manage the rest. This might sound insane—but don’t worry. I’ll write more about it, so you’ll know for sure that it is.

Okay yes—rereading that last paragraph, I do yap. And I get off track so quickly. Maybe that’s kind the theme I should stick with for this blog.

(I also love pretending I have this imaginary audience who loves getting a piece of my brain. It’s very real, though. I know you’re going crazy right now.)

OKAY. So yes, the actual point.

I realized I don’t need to write tortured, sad poetry. I don’t need to become some philosophical masterpiece machine. I used Tumblr. I’ve had spikes of poetic output. They’re not that good, and no one has the heart to tell me.

But it’s okay. Because I’m funny. Remember?

Wait—no. That wasn’t the realization exactly. I actually don’t remember how it happened (which, ironically, is the whole point of this entire post).

But somewhere in the middle of all this mental static, I realized: My creative voice keeps changing. But the chaos? The tangents? The random spirals of thought that ruin my day but feel good to write? That’s the constant.

So why not use that?

One might argue that pretending people will read this, writing all this bs, and finding meaning in my "scattered" life story is actually more pretentious.

To that I say: Hmm. Interesting hypothesis. Let me test it.

Independent variable: Me pretending to be this is cool interesting blogger with unique enough thougts.

Dependent variable: My will to live.

Wait—that’s not a valid experimental hypothesis. Bad scientist. Try again.

To be fair, I’m writing this from lab right now, and all I did today was autoclave water. Dear PI, if you're reading this, please give me a real project.

Anyway—here’s the takeaway: I’m leaning into this weird, erratic voice. Not to impress. Not to perform. Just because it feels like the most honest thing I’ve got right now.

So maybe this is the start of something. Or maybe it’s just a test run, with humor as the control.

Choodham.

[ngmn2002]

Do these songs have a connection & a hidden meaning?

Suspicious. His last sentence makes me go ??? I remember first time I read this I was like: liar says there is a traitor. It's YOU. Then ch 71 came out and I started crying while he was disappearing and apologized to him... but like why? I was too emotional back then..... Now, while in my senses, I don't trust this little speech you gave. it's super sus. You're up to something, right? you even look so proud and in high spirit while talking. playing with red Hakujoudai and saying serious stuff when it's in your hand as well, like Tsukasa does with red koku, twins I'm telling you.

Hmm... who told him that or gave him the paper? Or... like... from where did he get the knowledge about this thing? He even 'summoned' the elevator/a similar one when he left No.6's boundary with Nene & Sumire ...? ......

Why....? ......... Yugi twins edition-TBA we still need the hand hold to make the scene complete and for fun, only with Kou, it's the leg hold. duh. not that I care. but it made me laugh. so I added this

This whole thing... ehhh.... can't wait to see something like it happening between a certain pair of twins. The reference is already there, even.

With Tsukasa in Aoi's place, maybe? Though, I think Amane-kun will be more 'wow' than Akane-kun.

Kou getting used by her and nat. lol Imagine if he told Teru about this guy, but nah. Akane may be the one to do so, while Kou is just... nothing. I wonder why Kou doesn't hate this guy who fooled him or goes out for revenge against him like his deal with Tsukasa. Unlike, Tsukasa, he really hurt you and used you as a toy. wired. should I call him stupid at this point or not? Funny thing is that nat went this same 'team up' way with Akane to use him, too. Haha, funny he didn't get his way that time. ~

Used to have high hopes in this thing...

Pretty strong words, Sumire-chan. Still can't get over them, but from the point of view of a girl who lived a life like hers, it's completely understandable. poor thing.

HAHAHA. This thing is so funny to me because of lots of things. Let me get back at you for once, Hanako-kun. ~ so he really does trust Tsuchigmori with *his* Kannagi

........... ........... ........... ok, I see you. ~ so funny now Tsu hit him hard in ch 105 lol

........... This is the place Nene was taken to in the red house, right? Yeah... all is there is girls cursing the living and their fate.

Expected a much more of a reaction to be honest.

AHAHA. shouting that in front of Amane-kun who is a fan of the idea of imprisoning those he loves is too funny.

~ ~ ~ you hurt his feelings a bit, Nene-chan

Hmm........ Is Aoi included or not? anyway, him facing away like this tells you something is 'off'.

I just wonder why didn't he do that from the very start. Is it to make sure Aoi's deal is done? so then... the severance will happen? ...... Like... he knew a huge thing will happen yet he was... acting normal. Though, I still consider the respect he showed for Nene and how he went with her idea instead of getting her to destroy Sumire as he wanted.

Yet again, back when I read this thing for the first time I went: it's your planning! You knew everything! You...!!! Then again, ch 71 hit me hard and I went: sorry, Hanako-kun! uhhh..... why am I that way when I'm emotional? I need to work on changing that.

Ok, so... this art... I have to assume these destroyed lamps mean the destroyed yorishors/or the numbers that are no longer appointed (there is 2 No.3, one is cracked and the other is not), anyway, seeing Hanako that way, he is the who is going to leave his place with his own hands I assume? He is the one destroying his lamp and... 'eating' it... eating his yorsihiro destroying his yorishiro himself? Would that really happen at some point........? ...........

Please have mercy on me. No.6-Sumire part 2, here we come, MAYBE. The funny thing is that um... whenever I imagine the thing that happened between Tsu & Amane... it starts normal... with them talking... maybe in that room Tsu is usually in...? in Hanako's boundary...? anyway... Amane finally 'talks'... Tsu is happy with that... then things start with Amane kissing Tsukasa's seal... I mean.. destroying a yorishiro starts from there (objects)... No.6 kissed Sumire's neck... anyway... then... then... then... more talking while Amane maybe... starts with the hands... fingers... Tsukasa is laughing and enjoying the whole thing... they keep on talking... Amane saying some... stuff... then... for the sake of my sanity... I will stop in there. Every single time this is how things end up. Things get... heated pretty quickly.... for some reason..... it's hard to imagine a thing like that without...... uh...... so I just stop...... uhhh... writing this..... my hands are shacking... and I'm laughing like crazy out of embarrassment.... like.... please..... there are lots of stuff get mixed with my little imagination.. ghost hotel... the lovers' suicide little thingy we've seen so far... and ch 100 art......... some other things.... it's all too much........ HAVING AMANE NOT HOLDING BACK IS COOL AND ALL... BUT SO SCARY!!! I'M SORRY!! BUT LIKE... THERE IS NO LIMITS TO WHAT HE MIGHT DO!!! and Tsu will be giggling to himself, enjoying the show of Amane not holding back... enjoying his face... everything he does.... I better stop.

For the sake of my remaining sanity, I won't talk about ch 71.

Will only mention a little tiny thing...

Look how similar they are... if a thing similar happened with Tsukasa at the end... I... T.T Not to say... Hanako-kun said he granted Nene's wish in a 'classroom' in ch 1, ch 71. A nice detail.

So cute!! Who could of guessed thousands of 'I love you' won't affect her, but 'I hate you' would so bad! ♡ I happened to read a little story about 2 who were in love, when the man confessed, his beloved told him 'I love you' is too huge of a word, she won't believe it coming from his mouth too really into their relationship, so he asked her what should he say then, when that's how he truly feels, she shook her head and told him a 'I hate you' is more believable to her, it's a really lower stage from 'love'. Then, after more time passed, he confessed to her once more, that time saying 'I hate you', so she would believe him and won't see him talking huge words without fully understanding them or meaning them, and she did 'love' his confession. They got married soon after. 'I hate you' became their 'I love you', to the point whenever she gets mad at him, a 'I hate you' charm is all it took him to make her heart flutter. until one point, they got into a heated argument and he shouted 'I hate you' making her blush and hug him, being no longer mad at whatever they were shouting about. What she didn't know, is that in that time, he really meant his words. Of course, it was just in the heat of the moment he said that, and in a shock of what he said, he didn't ever think he would say 'I hate you' while fully meaning it.

Adds more suspicion than answers. yet again talking about No.1. Also... look how things developed.. you're taking Hanako to No.1's boudary yourself, Teru. lol

The emptiness of losing your most important person... feeling left behind... hurts a lot. I wonder at times, for Hanako-kun who lived the miserable feeling of being left behind.. he did that same thing to Nene and took the choice without considering her feelings. Or maybe he did, and really thought she will forget about him so easily. Only for her to leave everything behind and come to him. I see he must have been pretty shocked. To see what he really means to Nene-chan and how much she is willing to give to be with him. Tsukasa was really right to call him out on the fact of 'what about what she wants'.

............

wonder how Mitsuba got to take that pic and when exactly...? This boy and M 2.0 really have a thing with the red house

Uhhhh... if it's Tsu I will.... cry too.......

Let's finish things with lovely little Tsu! ♡

Random Stuff

So... giving this manga a really fast look... I want to read it thoughtfully again someday These little things stood out to me...

Hanako and keys....... please stop.. I can't take it. This little pose of his mocks me a bit. you want to know about my key so baaad?~ realllllly?~ just haaaang there.~ there seems to be a lock in there too? if that won't make me go even more crazy her brooch is also there. for some reason.

Everything as in... 'everything'? then how come you didn't know his future will change? or that it's different from what's in his book, even? his inference with supernatural stuff (the clock) while you call him 'normal' While this 'everything' is not so reliable for me at this point, I'm still interested to see you back at some point to tell us more about this 'everything'.

Never gets old. ~

I wonder how come Kou didn't tell Teru Hanako-san put a seal on his staff or how Teru supposedly didn't notice the seal on it with it right there in front of his own eyes many times until now. Did he see it's best if it stays sealed like that for Kou's sake, despite it being like a 'family treasure' to the Minamotos?

Talking about Teru looking after Kou...

He keeps a close eye on Kou, to the point when Kou skipped class, he was there to see about it...

but when Kou stayed after school to hang out with an 'evil spirit' as Teru calls it, got beaten by Tsukasa... he was nowhere to be found.... how come? it would be funny if he didn't ask about Kou's injury after he got home or if Kou was like: yeah.. I fell down. haha.

Hmm... Tsukasa is selfish? How come? Please... I'm crying in here and want him to think about HIMSELF more. Not too 'wise' of you miss, you should know better. Not to say... she is talking as if she doesn't put herself that category. The deepest part of that category. How funny.

I wonder juuuust a little why she would show some nice gestures from time to time with others...

like the mokke or even Mitsuba 2.0, while she goes around stating she doesn't care if all case to exist at the end.

Nene is not an exception. She even talked about her in person. In front of her- let's be friends/I don't want to harm you. Behind her back- I don't care for her, even if she doesn't want to keep going in destroying the Yorishiros, I won't give her a choice, then I don't care if she died out of it. .....................

Another thing... she seems to take Nene's hands in hers quite often... which kind of makes me wonder...

Nene didn't ever question her hands heat, or said they are cold or whatever. She appears in photos normally, even ... hmm... something about her is different from usual 'ghosts'. she is not a living, yet not a ghost... fine. who cares.

Ok, to cool off!

Ehhhh.... perfection.......

Let's keep going!

Hmm... doesn't this apply to ch 86? or... does a cheek kiss count? ...... or were they supposed to have it back then? after all... Hanako-kun really seemed to be about to do that, but was holding back I guess?

Hmm... really deep words. kinda reminds me of this...

Anyway... these...

Huh? You queen of luck. Won't say more.

forgetting about the whole -boy/girl- thing because I just feel it's misleading at this point... what do you mean sir?! ............. I'm just laughing, if anything, looking forward to see the lovers' suicide ............ this thing... when you don't want to see things in 'some way' but you're forced to, anyway. it's mocking.

Ok, now... p.p arc related little stuff

Defensive lovely Nene-chan!

This boy and keys... again... STOP!!!

T-T

Can perfectly see Tsukasa & Nene in here.~ But oh, we got a similar thing with them, hehe...

uhh... how lovely...

what a nice feeling...

Then do a thing about him, instead of just threatening little him then crying later because of how 'helpless' you are. Prove your attitude to me, Kou-kun. Not with words, tho. I'm already sick of that.

Still feeling bad Tsu was left out from all this fun!!! Ahhh!!! He would love to be a part of this!! WON'T HE?! That wasn't fair!!! WHY wasn't Tsukasa asked to come join in this, huh?! At some point Amane-kun can say "I had these tickets to go watch a movie with my lil bro but he doesn't like theaters, so would you come with me, Yashiro-san?" then "we need students to volunteer to clean the pool, I asked Minamoto 'Yashiro-san' even Mitsuba 2.0 is there! and we still need more participators" THEN GO TO YOUR SUPPOSED -THE CLASS NEXT DOOR- TWIN"!!!!!! UHHHGGG!!! This thing makes me angry!! I get maybe we weren't supposed to see Tsukasa with others too much back then, or even the twins together too much.. but like... that's not fair....... let the boy have some fun!!!

................... ok... enough of that........... didn't expect I will talk this much about it.......

Oh... some deep words, again....

At times I really wonder... If Tsukasa had some other goals out of letting our guys in this perfect pic world, beside that obvious 'grant M 2.0 wish' one destroy No.4's yorishiro... maybe he wanted them to get what kind of reality they actually live in, see how they would react.. will they still want it? reject it? try to change it? Hanako-kun is a special case, isn't he? I think maybeee... to Tsu... this was also a push for Hanako-kun into the right direction! get him to open his eyes to some of his hidden desired and actually.. at some point.. voice some of them out!

In addition to everything, maybe he said that influenced by their p.p arc experience. Tsu even got Nene-chan to lean some cool lessons in the little experience/the wish of No.4 thingy. How cool of him.

I don't know how to put this thing... but all I will just say is that Tsukasa maybe was after hitting too many birds with one stone out of the p.p thing. He must be proud of his work at this point. Lots was achieved in that arc, especially on the HanaNene side and MK, which also seem to Tsu's interest kind of. This boy... a true mastermind, have to say. looking at 12 y.o Tsu... am I surprised? not at all.

That being said, let's welcome our cute little mastermind kitty-boy!~ no matter how much time passes, I'm so in love with this whole scene.

So, yeah... I really do sympathize with Amane-kun in here. I mean... his little brother is soooo irresistible~ let's admire him together, Amane-kun!!!

yessss, just like this! . . .

Due to pic limits, some more stuff will be added in a 'reblog'.

[knee-stockings]

So I’ve been listening to lots of podcasts at work lately to break up the monotony of my office job. Mainly they’re horror, suspense/thriller, drama, that kind of thing. Trying to give ratings without spoilers~

(Check out updated pod recs here)

The Left Right Game (a journalist investigating an urban legend that gets increasingly more dangerous as they go): 5/5, this being one of the first ones I listened to set the bar really high tbh, it was great, immersive sound design, genuinely suspenseful and creepy moments, interesting plot, my only gripe is that I didn’t love the ending but I couldn’t dock a star just for that, highly recommend, maybe I’ll retire to Wintry Bay someday 

Alice Isn’t Dead (delivery trucker goes searching for her believed dead wife, comes across supernatural towns and creatures and a conspiracy that goes way deeper than one missing woman): 5/5, so so good, enjoyed a lot, I loved learning the truth about the Thistle men, still don’t completely understand oracles but that’s okay, some delightfully creepy moments, this will be high on my recommendation list (also it’s by the Welcome to Night Vale people, which I actually haven’t listened to lmao)

Harley Quinn and the Joker: Sound Mind (it’s a Harley Quinn origin story basically): 5/5, very enjoyable, sound design great, plot was fun, I don’t know how accurate this story is to the original Harley Quinn origin story but I liked this a lot

The Burned Photo (two women try to fight a familial curse haunting their bloodlines): 4/5, not bad at all, I thought the sound design was great and immersive but I thought the monster’s voice was a bit goofy idk, the plot wasn’t bad though ofc it was pretty bittersweet and sad in the end, tho I think it was never going to be happy for everyone involved

Blackwood (group of teens investigate the town urban legend and uncover more than they bargained for): I can’t decide…3.5 maybe? It was okay. I didn’t love it or hate it, I’m pretty neutral about it. It was interesting enough

Gaslight (girl goes missing and then reappears to her best friend years later with little explanation): 3/5, feels like there should be another season, wasn’t as dramatic/suspenseful as I thought it would be (maybe that’s my own fault tho, from the description and stuff I thought there would be more to it)

Ice-Cream (teens suspect the friendly neighborhood ice cream man of abducting little kids and uncover a dark secret): 4.5/5, interesting and a lil creepy, there’s something oddly funny about hearing someone scream “fuck you Beelzebub” even in context, sound design is pretty good and voice acting is great, finale was also pretty good but I’m docking half a star bc of that very last bit and bc I said so, overall short n’ sweet, no pun intendo (I’m kinda glad that it’s only the one season and not super long, gives the feeling of not overstaying its welcome. Also in awe that they made it within like a month, gonna go listen to their other podcast Cascadia too)

Cascadia (submarine expedition to uncharted waters, gone wrong, we almost died!?): 5/5, by the Ice-Cream people so I expected great sound design and voice acting and said expectations were met tbh, yes god love the drama, ocean depths are inherently scary to me so this is top tier horror, season one was chef’s kiss beautiful and I heard season 2 is coming so I’ll be waiting eagerly for that

Listening now:

Within the Wires (season 1 is relaxation cassette tapes from another world, season 2 is a guided museum tour I think): also by the WTNV people, interesting so far, the plot that unfolded in the first season was cool to watch as it played out, but also I am so sad. I like it so far

Rabbits (girl goes searching for her friend who disappeared because of this mysterious Rabbits game): feels like a really slow start after a few episodes, I kinda wanna get to more action soon please

Wake of Corrosion (apocalypse where characters are trying to find other survivors and also answers): mild shrug, not sure what to make of it just yet. Only like 2 episodes in so I think I need to give it a bit

Ars Paradoxica (scientist accidentally invents time travel and is thrown back to the 1940s): pretty interesting so far, science is fun 

Spoiler comment for Cascadia under the cut bc it's the one I just finished and I have Thoughts

As much as I enjoyed Cascadia, when I think about the expedition for more than 2 seconds I get confused. Not the whole alien thing, that’s fine, it’s Badger and Maria and their ulterior motives. Why in the world did Badger spend millions of dollars to make a submarine that’s faulty on purpose? And there was so much media coverage around it so the second something went wrong reporters were practically beating him over the head with microphones, so why risk so much bad press? Plus sacrificing three other talented divers who trusted him with their lives??? That’s the most confusing to me. There’s no way Badger foresaw them getting attacked underwater and losing Declan alone, so he must have been fully prepared to lose captain AND crew. Holden said that he saw Badger as a father, and yet he chose Holden to die? He said he handpicked them, so what did Holden, Alia, or Iris ever do to him to deserve being sent on a suicide mission? Doing all this just to get rid of Declan and be with Maria doesn’t feel right. Feels like there should be something more there. Tldr: surely Badger had another reason for conducting the suicide mission, right? Also since season 2 starts with Lila all grown up, a diver just like her father, I wanna know her opinions of her mother and of Badger. Did she learn about her mother’s betrayal? Is Badger still involved in funding deep sea diving or did the FBI take him out of that? Omg who’s the father of her little sibling…I’m so curious…

[noel-fielding-web-page]

Noel Fielding On The Last Days Of The Mighty Boosh, The End Of His Youth, And His Camden Camel

He worked 'incredibly hard' to elevate the Mighty Boosh to arena-filling world tours. Then they imploded, 'Luxury Comedy' got cancelled and so did 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks'. Noel Fielding frets to Alice Jones about being 'in limbo', the possibility of children and being the next Spike Milligan

Noel Fielding: Cult comedy status (Dan Burn-Forti)

“I'm not Mr Weird,” says Noel Fielding. “I don't go home and live in a psychedelic castle made out of bubbles, you know.” So what is his house like? “It is quite psychedelic, actually. It's like Yellow Submarine in there.” He guffaws and throws himself back on the sofa, kicking his silver pixie boots into the air.

The boots are the least outlandish element of the comedy star's look today, comprising as it does tight jeans, a shaggy black fur coat with a Chanel logo spray-painted on the back, a giant patent handbag in the shape of a watermelon and, painted across his face, some bright Bowie zig-zags. Does he ever have a dress-down day, slob out a bit? “What, when I put big shorts on? Don't do my hair?” He looks a bit baffled. “I don't go out like that.” When he was younger, he saw Jarvis Cocker in the street, looking cool in top-to-toe corduroy, “and I remember thinking, if you ever become famous, you have to maintain your image. If you saw Nick Cave in the supermarket in tracksuit bottoms, you'd kill yourself. I'm not particularly a slippers and dressing gown type. I don't have that wiring. I don't have a weird tracksuit I put on when I get in… That's not my zone.”

Noel Fielding's zone, as most people know by now, is surreal, funny, psychedelic and a little bit rock'n'roll. (The day after we meet, he interviews Ronnie Wood in Waterstone's about his new book and posts a picture online; they look like father and son – all angles and bouffant hair.) He attained cult comedy status as one half of the Mighty Boosh and mainstream fame on Never Mind the Buzzcocks. His rival team captain on the show, Phill Jupitus, dubbed him a “gothic George Best”; his best friend, Serge Pizzorno of Kasabian, called him a “modern-day Dali”. He is a playful polymath, hopping about in his pointy boots from sitcoms to animations to stand-up, acting to art exhibitions. “Just say I'm a genius,” he drawls.

With Julian Barratt in 'The Mighty Boosh', 2008 (BBC)

He is about to go on tour for a second UK leg of his solo show, An Evening With Noel Fielding, having already taken it around the UK, Australia and New Zealand. “I start getting bored and misbehaving if I don't work hard. It's fine when you're younger, you go out a lot and muck around with your mates and drink and stuff, but I'm a bit over that now.” When the Boosh was at its height – the final arena tour in 2009 played to more than a quarter-of-a-million fans – Fielding would party all night with his younger brother Mike (aka Naboo from the Boosh), then get up at 6pm in time for the next show's soundcheck. His current tour, still featuring Mike in a variety of daft roles, including Fielding's fictional wife, has, by contrast, been the “peppermint tea tour”. “We're too old. I'm too old,” he says.

There is more than one moment in the show when he wonders why he's still prancing around pretending to be a chicken boy, or a herbal teabag, or the moon (which he plays, memorably, by covering his face with half a can of shaving foam). Is he worried about getting older? “Forty-two, Jesus Christ. Peter Pan… When you're young, people say, 'Yeah, he's young, he's daft, he does all this weird stuff,' and then you have success and people say, 'Oh right, he's good.' And maybe in 10 years, I'll be seen as eccentric, like Vic Reeves or Spike Milligan, which would be amazing. But I suppose I'm in this weird transitional period between having some success doing weird stuff and not being eccentric yet. I'm in limbo!”

He cackles, but limbo is on the nail. Earlier this year, Never Mind the Buzzcocks was axed. Fielding, who had been on the show since 2009, found out when the press did. “If a show has lasted that long and people like it, why would you get rid of it? It wasn't losing ratings. People liked it, it wasn't an aggressive male panel show. I liked it before I was on it.” Would he have carried on? “Yeah! I loved doing it – it was very easy… I never know the thinking behind television.”

He is still smarting, too, from his last solo foray on E4, Luxury Comedy. In fact, it is all he wants to talk about, though the second series was broadcast more than 18 months ago and there won't be a third. “No! It was too harrowingly stressful. Someone called the show the second 9/11,” he says with a sad little grin. “We live in strange times.”

He had “absolute freedom” to do what he liked on the show. So there were cartoons and characters such as Roy Circles, a chocolate finger with shellshock; Secret Peter, who is made out of melted Jelly Tots; and Fantasy Man, who rides a porcelain unicorn called Arnold 5. Why didn't it work? “Maybe there were just way too many characters and not enough time to digest them all. What I liked was that it didn't adhere to any rules. It was like, 'Well, we're doing this and then this and then this and then this and then it's over. Bye!'” he sighs. “We shouldn't have called it Luxury Comedy, we should have called it something weird. The problem with calling it a comedy is that it's got to be funny, first and foremost. And we paid as much attention to the visual side of it. I would maintain, regardless of what people thought of it, that there were more ideas in one episode than in most things. It was brave.”

In 2009, his first year as a captain on 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks', with singer Aston Merrygold of JLS and the comedian David O'Doherty (Rex)

Where do his ideas come from? “I don't know what's wrong with me. There is something wrong with me,” he says. “I don't know if it's just because my mum and dad were into a lot of psychedelic stuff in the 1960s and 1970s. You know in Asterix when Obelix fell into the magic potion? I think I fell into a pot of LSD. I've always had a good imagination. If I saw a sitcom and everything was made out of cheese, I wouldn't go 'WHAT?!' I wouldn't get angry. I'd think, 'Right, OK, all cheese? Amazing…'”

Born in London to young, liberal parents, Fielding grew up a “painfully shy” child who loved drawing. No one ever thought the young Noel would become a comedian, but he adored Vic and Bob, and while he was at art college in Buckinghamshire in the mid-1990s, he started writing odd little stories. One night he decided to perform them, at his first gig, in Cambridge; as it happened, his future colleague Jupitus was on the bill. “I was going to run away because I couldn't handle it but he gave me a big hug and said, 'They're just people, it's fine. Just do it.' And it went really well.”

He met Julian Barratt soon after, and the Boosh was born. They won the Perrier Award for Best Newcomer at the Edinburgh Fringe in 1998, landed a Radio 4 series, and their TV show began on BBC3 in 2004. Would it still be commissioned now, in these risk-averse, online-BBC3 times? “Yeah. I thought we were good. We were one of the best live acts around. We worked so incredibly hard. There was no option of not getting on. I was so driven.”

At the height of the Boosh's popularity, Mike Myers wanted to write a film with them, and, Fielding tells me, Jack Black and Ben Stiller were desperate to work with them. Robin Williams came to their show. They had offers to go to America. “Maybe we should have gone – that would have been a way of sustaining it. [But] we needed a break. We'd worked together for 15 years, every day. We were sick of each other.”

Did they argue? “No, that's the problem, slightly. It was just a lot of tension. Like a marriage. All of a sudden it was just POWWWW and everyone was sick of each other. It was mental. We didn't have a day off in 10 years. It was like being in The Beatles.”

The end came in 2009, after a 100-date tour. They were making a lot of money and there were a lot of people with a vested interest in keeping it going. “So we tried to write a film, and it all sort of imploded.”

Barratt now has eight-year old twin boys with his partner, the comedian Julia Davis. Fielding and he are still friends; they live on the same street in north London and play tennis together. “The possibility of us doing something together is always still there,” says Fielding. Ideally, a Boosh film. “The combination of us two was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You meet someone and you just work, you have chemistry on stage, and writing. That will never happen again for me, I don't think. Which is a real shame. I work with a lot of good people in a good way, like Russell [Brand] and Richard Ayoade, but I don't think I'll ever have that again.”

He is just back from a month in France where he was writing a family film – “a Time Bandits/Labyrinth thing” – and two TV shows (one for America). He'd like to write a children's book, and to act. “But not a part that someone would give me; something people wouldn't imagine.” He struggles to focus on one thing at a time. “If I was rich, it would be fine...” He must be quite rich. “I'm all right. But it goes pretty quickly.”

He lives with his long-term girlfriend, the XFM DJ Lliana Bird, and is at once intrigued and horrified by the idea of having children: “My friends who have kids look like they haven't been to bed for a year. They all look like they've been shot in the legs, or have typhoid or something,” he says. “Because of the Boosh, I got trapped. It takes 10 years to get where you want to get and then you have 10 years there and you think, fuck, I'm this age, all my friends have 10-year old kids… I suppose if it happens, I'll concentrate on that. It's a selfish life being a comedian, isn't it? Bit self-obsessed, really.”

Does he find real life a little boring? “Yeah. Painfully dull. I guess I've carved out a style and once you have some success with that, then there's an expectation that you will do something slightly different. You can't just abandon it, it's part of what you do. It's hard to change. I'd like to do something more real, I've never tried that. That's what I'm trying to write next – something simple.” How's that going? He hoots. “Well, it's a story about a camel. Who lives in Camden.”

Alice Jones is deputy arts editor of The Independent. 'An Evening with Noel Fielding' tours the UK from 12 November to 13 December; a DVD of the live show is out on 16 November

Beyond Boosh: How the mighty have moved on

Julian Barratt

Barratt, who played Howard, has continued to act on TV (Little Crackers, Being Human) and on stage (The Government Inspector at the Young Vic, NSFW at the Royal Court) while also directing, and narrating several BBC documentaries.

Mike Fielding

The Boosh took its name from a Spanish friend's description of the childhood hairstyle (“mighty bush”) worn by Noel's brother, who played Naboo. He moved to Australia after the Boosh toured there. He will appear in the film Zombie Women of Satan 2 in 2016.

Dave Brown

In addition to being a comedian and actor, Brown (Bollo the ape) is an art director who designs books and DVD covers – including those for the Boosh's live tour and boxset – and has mounted photography exhibitions of fellow comedians.

Rich Fulcher

The American comedian, who played Bob Fossil, co-wrote and starred in BBC3 sketch show Snuff Box, with Matt Berry. He also adapted his 2009 book Tiny Acts of Rebellion into a sell-out stage show at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Saturday 17 October 2015 [x]

[sunnyie-eve]

Celebrity Crush || Ridiculous Questions

Paring: Joseph Quinn x Original female costar

Word Count: 2683 

Summary: Today Presley and Joseph answer some ridiculous questions people want to know.

Warnings: cute interactions

A/N: For this I’ll be using my OFC in Trouble in Hawkins for this OFC to play her.

Last: Adorable habit | Next: Pick It Up

"Where's my baby boy!" Joseph rushes into my hotel room as I open the door for him. "He was napping before you came rushing in loudly." I see Dexter jumped up and started to run around. "You're gonna have to take him to go potty now." I give him a look. "Okay? You say that like it's hard." He raises an eyebrow as our phones go off. "Well whose gonna watch him now?" Joseph asks me. "I can ask Rose to watch him. She the only good person in my team." I text her and she told me to take him by her room so I go with Joseph. "Are you nervous?" I ask as we walk to go do the autocomplete interview together. "Yes. I don't want to see what the world looks up about me." He awkwardly laughs. "I feel you there, buddy." I link my arm with him.

We take our seats and I could tell he was slightly nervous. I place hand on top of his and pat it giving him a smile. "Hi, I'm Joseph Quinn." He introduces himself. "Hi, I'm Presley Monroe. And this is Wired Autocomplete Interview." I say in a British accent making him shake his head at me. "You're lucky you sound natural. Anyways, ladies first." Joseph hands me my board. "Such a gentleman. Okay, let's go. What musical was Presley Monroe in?" I peel off the paper. "Haven't you been quite a few?" Joseph asks. "Yes, my main three are Ruthless, Mamma Mia and Heathers. I did Ruthless from 8 to 11 years old and Mamma Mia I was 18/19 along with Heathers 18-21. Next is... What does Presley Monroe do?" I read. "I act, sing, and can dance." I answer it. "Paint and write too." Joseph adds making me agree. "But not professionally just for fun." I add.

"What is Presley Monroe favorite thing about playing Skylar in Stranger Things?" I peel the paper to read. "I get to work with amazing actors and the younger ones are like having younger siblings. Plus I get/got to hang out with Joseph Quinn for hours." I add. "That's one of the things you like about playing your character? Hangout with me?" Joseph laughs at me. "Yes. Now what is Presley Monroe favorite thing to do?" I read. "Sleep." Joseph he looks straight at the camera with a done face. "Who doesn't like to sleep?" I turn to face him. "Yeah, but you like sleep all the time. In between takes, while your hair and makeup gets done, lunch... I can keep listing." He counts on three fingers. "Work is tough man but yes my favorite thing to do it sleep. Now let's see your questions." I toss my board aside while because gets his.

"What is Joseph Quinn... birthday? It's May 15th. That's the day I was born." He reads making me laugh. "Which makes him a Taurus." I add so he rolls his eyes. "What is Joseph Quinn Instagram?" He peels the paper off. "I don't have one. I don't have any social media accounts as of right now. I don't use anything." He answers. "Plus he doesn't know how. He's like an old man." I joke getting a glare from him. "What is Joseph Quinn in? Dickensian, Make up, Catherine the Great, a part in Games of Thrones... Google it." He lists a few. "Stranger Things." I add. "Yes, I'm in Stranger Things. Okay, What is Joseph Quinn thinking?" He looks over at me. "Tell me what am I thinking about." He motions to his head. "Dexter." I shrug my shoulders. "No, but I should. Umm, I don't think. Expect who searches this question? What's next?" He puts his board down and I get another one.

"Is Stranger Things... dark?" I read. "The topics, definitely." Joseph says. "Especially this season. You peel the next one." I move the board closer to him. "Is Stranger Things funny? Parts are. You have to have certain parts that are funny to even out the serious stuff." Joseph answers. "I couldn't say it any better than how he said it. I can say this season Eddie will help lighten the mood." I smile then peel the next question. "Is Stranger Things done after season 4? No, there will be a season 5." I nod my head. "Season 5 is the last season though." Joseph adds. "Is Stranger things set in the 80's?" We both look dead at the camera with a straight face. "Yes." We both say. "Next." I carefully toss the board aside.

"Let's see, does Presley Monroe... sing?" I see the search. "Umm yes. Yes, I do." I answer it. "And very well at that. Might I add." Joseph places his hand on me making me laugh. "Thank you. Does Presley Monroe have any tattoos? Not yet but I want one really bad." I answer. "What do you want?" Joseph asks me. "I don't know yet but I know I want one." I laugh. "Does Presley Monroe... have a baby? What?!" I laugh at that. "Now you do. Dexter is your son." Joseph points out. "He does apply for that. So yes, I have a baby and he's an adorable puppy I named Dexter. I adopted him after the interview where we played with Puppies." I move onto the next question. "Does Presley Monroe have a boyfriend? No." I answer right away. "I don't have a boyfriend and I'm sadly not seeing someone currently. So y'all hit me up." I say with no emotion. "Get asked this a lot?" Joseph laughs at my tone. "Yes, it's a very tiring question. That along with do you like anyone. Which I can say yes for that one but it's a secret." I put a finger up to my lips.

"Is Joseph Quinn British?" He reads and his face makes me laugh. "Are you?" I ask in an accent making him laugh. "Yes, I am darling. Yes, I'm British. I was raised in South London." He throws the paper. "Is Joseph Quinn playing Eddie? What are these questions? But yes I play Eddie. He's the learned of the Dungeon and Dragons club Hellfire." He says making me rub his shoulder. "Is Joseph Quinn okay? I think I am? Am I?" He asks me. "What do they mean by okay? Like physically, mentally, good guy... attractiveness?" I start to laugh making him get flushed. "I think you're okay. What's next?" I ask him. "Is Joseph Quinn dating? No." He gets ready to throw the board but hits me with it in the face as he moves his hand back. "Oh." I blink and touch my face. "Did I hit you? I'm so sorry." He laughs reaching for my face. "What did I ever do to you?" I pout and we laugh it off.

"Okay, last board." I hand it to him and hit his chest with it. "That's fair." He takes it. "Does Stranger Things characters die?" He reads. "Normally this season you'll have to watch to see if anyone dies or not." I smile then peel the next one. "Does Stranger Things cast like each other? No, we fake it. We all hate each other." I joke in a serious tone. "Yeah, like Presley and I can't stand being around each other longer than 10 minutes tops." Joseph turns away from me. "Really? Of course we all love each other." I laugh. "Everyone on the cast is really friendly and we all get along very well. Presley and I clicked as soon as we met each other so I can say we like each other." He gives me a smile. "I can say the same then again I spent what like two and half years with you so." I laugh. "Does Stranger Things last long?" He reads. "This season episode are quite long so yes." I answers. "Especially Vol 2 episodes are basically movies." He adds. "Does Stranger Things make you cry? I'm gonna say yes, I've cried watching parts in the past and this season. Presley?" He looks over at me. "If you don't cry watching this season you have no heart and I want nothing to do with you."

"What did y'all think of the questions?" The guys asks us. "Some were great and then..." I start off. "You can guess what our answer is." Joseph makes a face making me laugh. "Thank you both. We're done." We high-five each other and go to join Joe and Gaten for or next thing. When we get there the two of us an Gaten we're first gonna do something to go on Instagram. They line us up next to each other and tell us to stay on the x. "First, what's your favorite word is Spanish?" We're asked. "Apapachar." I say and Joseph tries to repeat me. "ah-pah-pah-chahr..." I pronounce it slower. "Means to cuddle." I tell them. "Fuego." Joseph says making me laugh. "What is it for scarf? Is it Bufanda?" Gaten asks so Joseph repeats him. "I think it is. Presley, you know right?" He looks over at me. "You're right."

"Hi, I'm Gaten Matarazzow. Hi, I'm Joe Quinn. Hi, I'm Presley Monroe." We all introduce ourselves. "And this in an interview with no filter." Gaten says. "What tattoo would you get to honor Stranger Things?" They read us the question. Gaten says a demogorgan with an open face right above his butt crack making us laugh. "Demobats, same place." Joseph says making us crack up. "Fine, Mind Flayer, same place." I say with a straight face. "That's big." Gaten laughs. "How are you like your character?" They tell us the next question. "Chaotic probably. I don't want to talk about it." Joseph answers first. "No filter. Things like telling people I have a tattoo above my butt crack." Gaten makes us laugh. "I guess, umm...Caring." I was stuck. "If you could travel to the 80's what would you do?" They asks us. "See Prince live." Gaten says. "Go to a Motley Crue concert and meet up with Nikki Sixx... if you get what I mean." I laugh at myself. "Find Debby Harry and marry her." Joseph answers.

"Who tells the best jokes?" They read. "Not Joe Quinn or Presley." Gaten makes us look at him. "Joe Keery, obviously." Joseph says. "Gives best advice." They ask. "Maya Hawk." Joseph says and I agree. "Presley." Gaten says my name. "Very different from character?" They tell us. Joseph and I say Jamie while Gaten says Millie. "Spend a Friday night playing D&D?" Joseph and I point at Gaten and he agrees. For favorite character we pick Dustin and to describe the show in one word Joseph makes us lose it. "How did we film anything together?" Gaten laughs. "I was the mom on set so we could get through scenes."

"Reasons to watch this season?" They ask us. "Because Joe Quinn is in it." I say and watch him take of his button up shirt off his shoulders making us laugh. "Because we worked really hard on it." Gaten tells them. "It was two and half years of my fucking life." Joseph says making everyone crack up in the room. "I say that's the second most reason to watch." I leave my spot walking over to Joseph. "Second?" He laughs. "Yeah. My reason is still better." I back away giving him a wink. "Whatever." He says as they set up for Cookie Jar interview.

"Welcome back guys good to see you. I'm here with," Joe skips over me going to Joseph. "Joe." He says. "Joe." Gaten jokes then Joe motions to me. "Joe Mama." I smile making them shake their heads chuckling. "Great. Will be going over questions from the cookie jar." Joe smile. "Joe Mama, would you pick up the jar so I can get a question?" Joe asks me. "Of course." I pick it up and take the head off for him. "First question. Joe." He looks at Joseph. "Hi." He says. "You're British but play an American in Stranger Things. What other accents can you do? Can we hear them very quickly?" He asks him. "Throw them at me." He tells us ask we give him a a few to do and we all just crack up.

"Pass it to me please." Gaten asks so we pass it down to him. "Joe, did you know you share a birthday with Kelly Clarkson, April 24th." Gaten reads. "I did not know that." He tells him. As Gaten reads the rest the only thing that stood out to him was Gaten was turning 20 this year. "Gaten's turning 20?" Joe asks making me giggle. "You didn't know that?" Gaten laughs. "Are you serious? You're turning 20?" He asks making me throw my head back silently laughing. "Yeah, 20." He tells him. "What are you gonna do?" Joseph asks him. "Skydiving." Gaten answers quickly. "Wait a second. If you're turning twenty." Joe puts his fingers us making us all laugh at him. "Fuck!" He shouts.

"This one is for you." I point at Gaten and read his question to while he lists the best form of a potato. "Alright, Joe." I take the lid off for Joseph. "Gaten befo," Gaten cuts him off so he corrects himself reading the question. While Gaten goes in a long rant about the last dream he can remember we just stare at him. "Joe Mama." Gaten reads. "Yeah." I nod my head. "There's rumor you and a cast member have dated." He pauses and they all look at me making me laugh. "Who, how long, and if it is just a rumor who would you choose to have that rumor with?" He finishes. "Why do you guys get the better questions?" I whine. "It's a rumor or what? Answer Joe Mama." Joe tells me. "It was with a cast member that died at the end of last season in the mall. We dated while we filmed season two but afterwards we decided to be friends." I answer not caring because I mean it was years ago. "Whole time we filmed?" Gaten asks. "Yeah, only Sadie knew about it."

Gaten next question was who did he befriended on Stranger Things cast first, "I knew Caleb, Sadie and Presley prior to doing Stranger Things." Gaten stars. "No, you didn't." Joseph tells him. "We were all doing shows in New York at the same time." He tells him. "So you are broadway babies? That's so cute" Joseph asks with a smile then looks over at me and Joe. "I was 17/18 at the time." I add. "Caleb was in Lion King, Sadie was in Annie, Presley was in Mamma Mia at the time but we all briefly, except us two because we did one small show together." Gaten finishes. "How old were you?" Joe asks. "11." Gaten tells him. Joe then says his first friend was Natalia, I saw mine was her too with Charlie. Joe asks Joseph so he says Mason and me.

Next question Joseph, Gaten and I have to come up with cool action nicknames. "Turtle." Joe says. "Yertle." Gaten adds. "Turtle and Yertle and Myrtle." Joseph makes up one for me so I just nod my head. "I would have said fertile." Joe jokes making me cover my face. The last question we all have to pick an animal and what instrument they would play. Joseph picked a sheep and tuba. Gaten picked a koala with a Keytar which made Joseph laugh. I go with cheetah on lead guitar while Joe goes with a bear with tiny bingos. "Well guys it been a great time here, I'm Joe." Joes says. "I'm Joe." Joseph adds. "And I'm Joe?" Gaten says. "And I'm Joe Mama." I try not to laugh. "And thank you guys for joining us..." He starts. "For Cookie Jar." We all say that lose it just cracking up. "I don't see how we ever go through scenes together." I get up shake my head.

[aloneandunreal]

may 27, 23

my birthday is less than a month away. i started this blog when i was sixteen going on seventeen, and now i am turning twenty. it's weird how fast time passes, or at least how fast i think it does. in my last posts, i've probably mentioned being anxious about leaving my teenage years behind. i still am, of course, but as i'm nearing the end of nineteen, i do feel like i am ready for my twenties. at least partly. it feels weird to type out (and say aloud). twenty. i'm going to be twenty. it's just another reminder that nothing lasts forever. that felt cringeworthy to type, but i decided to anyway.

as always, i've been thinking about the past. specifically my freshman year of high school. i don't know why but it's always a time i look back on and feel a pit in my stomach. it's hard to explain, but the person i was at fourteen is someone i've locked away forever. i've never felt how i felt at fourteen ever again in my life, if that makes any sense. it was like my brain was wired differently. which, well, obviously. but even at thirteen, fifteen, sixteen... the way i was and the way i thought at those times in my life was not the same as when i was fourteen. i know it sounds stupid, but it was just a year of my life i cannot believe happened. looking back, it was like someone else was controlling my body while the real me watched. but maybe that was the real me, and now the only remnants left of her are old photos, videos, and memories in my head. a part of me that won't be reopened.

it was as if, at the time, i acted older than i was, but at the same time i was a typical fourteen year old. or trying to be. the pit in my stomach i get thinking about it is a mix of nostalgia and sadness. i can't believe that was me. and the funny thing is, some of that year i can't even remember. there are parts that are seemingly blocked out of my memory. sometimes i wish i could go back just to remember what it was like. but then i internally smack myself because that's stupid. that was one of the worst years of my life. why would i want to go back? i can't answer that question.

perhaps it was still the childlike wonder, but there is a part of me that feels as if fourteen year old me was so much more creative than i am now. i wrote so freely, about anything and everything. it was like i didn't care about being cringe, i just wrote and wrote and wrote. and most of it wasn't even bad. yes, a bit cringe, of course, that's to be expected. but it wasn't written badly. that's something which makes me sad. i don't think i'll ever be able to write like that ever again in my life. maybe i'm forgetting, but i didn't used to be so much of a control freak who wanted everything to be perfect (at least in some aspects of my life). i just lived. i hated myself, as i always have, but for some reason there was an unknown confidence within me that has not shown her face since.

i know this sounds dumb, me saying stuff like "my brain was wired differently when i was fourteen." it was. everyone's was. but i guess what i'm trying to say is that i was just so different, and have not been that way since. after june of my freshman year, everything seemed to change drastically. my mind, my thoughts, how i behaved.

the only answer i have to why is that i switched medications. the medication i was on did not work well with me, but there are parts of it i miss. not the weight gain, or the suicidal ideation. rather, the absence of a lot of my anxiety. the freedom to do and be who i wanted. wear what i wanted. it was like, after i got taken off those meds, i turned into a shell of a person. i was never the same. i'd never want to go through what i went through again, but i miss the positives. i guess that's what i've realized after all these years.

in old diaries, i would write about life. i would write stories. i wouldn't reminisce like i do now.

i know this sounds like i peaked in high school, but trust me, i didn't. i suppose i just am mourning my childhood and teenage years. i've never related to the following mitski lyric: "i was so young when i behaved 25, yet now i find i've grown into a tall child." i wish i could have been a normal child. a normal teenage girl. and now that i am entering my twenties, i have to really be an adult now. that's it. my teenage years are over. i don't miss them; rather, i wish things had been differently. i want to go back in time and be different.

i feel things entirely too deeply, and think about people years later that never think about me. friends i've had who i know don't reminisce about our experiences together (but i do).

i want to discover again, i want to learn. i want that childlike wonder back. but of course that is impossible. for the small amount of time i was able to have it, it was gone just as quick.

listening to certain songs, i can almost smell and feel what it was like when i was fourteen. being in my childhood bedroom over the summer puts me back in the same headspace. how everything has changed, yet my room has stayed the same. i wonder how different things would have been if i'd never been taken off that medication. if my one friend hadn't moved. if i never stopped dyeing my hair. i wonder, i wonder, i wonder, but i'll never know. it's probably a good thing i don't.

another typical post of me thinking about the past. again. it's so typical and boring. that's why i wish i could write like i used to. without a care in the world. i was so sad and it showed through my writing. descriptive, tragic, and somehow beautiful. i'm romanticizing it, yes, but it's not hurting anyone but myself to do so.

fourteen was a very bad year for me. hardly anything good came out of it. but part of me, weirdly enough, wants to feel what it was like again. the positives, of course. and maybe some of the negatives too. i sound crazy, but i just want the small of childlike wonder i had back. it was hardly there, but it was still there. i had it in my hands for a very small moment in time.

i don't know why i'm like this. it's hard to explain. overall, i suppose i just wish things had been different. i won't have my teenage years back. i'm turning twenty. off to new beginnings, i suppose. but it's all going to be so different. maybe that's a good thing, though. it's probably what i need. to move on, and leave my old self in the past. it's hard, though. i can't help but mourn what i never had.