#it's the merging of the two that felt significant to me; and it really felt like that was missing from tm (if not being pushed against)

[astraystayyh]

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

I wonder if there was ever a significant conflict between Eomer and Lothiriel, and Eowyn and Faramir, in regards to their differences in culture. If there were, I'd reckon between Lothiriel and Eomer they'd be early on, whereas with Eowyn and Faramir they'd take longer to emerge. I read a theory that Eowyn would actually quite like Faramir considering her "not like other Rohirrim", after all she endured in Rohan, and with her desire to be special, but as she grows more confident in herself and regains pride in her land, stuff that perhaps she didn't notice before or felt flattered by begins to bother her. I'd imagine it must also flare up for both when it comes to raising the kids, and in lawful rulings where Gondor and Rohan justice differs.

So I am OBSESSED with this whole line of thought! It hits on a couple of things that have always stood out to me about Farawyn — things that I notice every time I read the text and are always kind of floating around at the edges of my thoughts when I contemplate them, but that I’ve never really contextualized or merged into a broader theory/HC. Those two things are:

1. Faramir is the one in the book to give voice to the belief that the Rohirrim are “middle men” and that Gondor, in the process of declining, is becoming more and more like Rohan. He never explicitly and fully disclaims this belief and, thus, potentially still believes it to be true even after he marries Éowyn (even if we assume he doesn’t think of HER that way).

2. When Éowyn first sees Faramir, we’re told that she “knew, for she was bred among men of war, that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.” So her very first reaction to this total stranger, before he really says or does anything, is to elevate him above every single man her homeland has ever produced. That’s pretty huge, given that the Rohirrim have legendary warriors in their ranks and think of themselves explicitly as “men of war” whereas Faramir isn’t even the strongest warrior in Gondor and specifically does not like to think of himself as a warrior at all. To me, this dismissal of the Rohirrim gives off just as much bitterness toward Rohan as it does respect for Faramir, someone she doesn’t know and doesn’t know anything about yet.

So, consistent with the theory you referenced, both sides of their relationship start off in a Rohan-critical place (that’s not a judgment on Éowyn — she would be justified in feeling embittered toward Rohan given some of her experiences there — though I do judge Faramir for it, sorry Faramir fans! I still like him anyway!). I can definitely see her, in this frame of mind, liking the fact that Faramir thinks she’s different/better than other Rohirrim.

But somewhere in my subconscious, that’s always rankled for me because I have also always believed that Éowyn is intensely proud of Rohan. She has always read to me as someone who would get into a bar fight with anyone who disrespected her country. The way she talks about being a shieldmaiden just drips with pride and defiance, and that’s core to her identity as a Rohirrim. It’s deep in her heart. So would she really go the whole rest of her life holding onto all that anger (especially because we have reason to believe that the things she was most unhappy with in Rohan were changed after the war — Éomer’s reaction to Gandalf telling him why Éowyn was unhappy seems to indicate that he Gets It now, he doesn’t seek to interfere at all with her making the decision to marry Faramir, and Gríma is dead)? Would she still be so dismissive of Rohan or tolerate anyone else who had those views?

I don’t think she would. And if her views evolve and Faramir’s don’t, then there is some kind of conflict coming. That’s not to say that I think their marriage would be unhappy or that this would split them apart, but they have to reckon with it at some point, right? @emmanuellececchi has written a fic where it’s clear they’ve had this conversation and successfully addressed it — Éowyn kind of jokingly holds it over his head that he ever thought that stuff, and he obviously doesn’t think that way anymore— and I absolutely LOVED it. But I think it would also be fascinating to look at it from an intense and dramatic angle by showing her perspective start to change over time and then giving us a front row seat to watch those initial, potentially ugly conversations about it.

I don’t know if whoever wrote the theory you saw ever made a story out of it. If they didn’t, then someone should, and nobody writes intense, emotionally fraught Éowyn like you, my friend! So if this is a line of thought that you’d ever consider following into a fic, I could simply not be more thrilled and would BEG you to tag me in it.

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Poison Date translation (Part 1/2)

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

⚠️ Content Warning: Suicide. Please proceed cautiously and prioritize your mental and emotional well-being when engaging with this material

I’ve committed unforgivable sins, drunk the incurable poison.

Your sweet voice has set my reason ablaze, beckoning me to follow you to the depths of hell.

So kiss me, my love, with those poisoned lips of yours.

[T/N: In the original CN date, XM has two ‘identities’ because of the plot. ‘Xu Mo’, the future king and MC’s late husband; and ‘Lucien’, the actor (Yes, PG used his official English name as a pseudonym). But in my translation, I will switch the use of ‘Xu Mo’ and ‘Lucien’ considering how the EN server is more familiar with the name ‘Lucien’, and the context of the date where it sets on the medieval era and the actor is said to be from the east. So, for my translation:

The late husband-> Lucien

The actor-> Xu Mo]

[T/N: another thing, Lucien often addresses MC with 夫人 (fūrén) here, and basically, it’s a rather polite address for a married woman. When the husband says it, it can be translated as ‘my wife’. However, if it’s not the husband that says it, it’s more of a polite title to another person’s wife, similar to ‘Madam’.]

-

[Subbed Video - Turn on CC!]

VERY recommended to watch the video for the complete experience. Hearing the name ‘Lucien’ being said in CN is a novel experience, and the different tone between the proud (late husband) Lucien and flattering (actor) Xu Mo is interesting lol.

[Part 1]

Can't be found in ten thousand books,

Nor has it been passed down in ten thousand poems,

The secret elixir is as sweet as honey at times, and as bitter as chicory at others;

Once you taste a drop, your soul will perish.

Kiss me, with those poisoned lips of yours.

The scattered sound of horseshoes lightly tapping on cobblestones, along with people's cheers and whispered conversations, pierced through the carriage curtains and drifted into my ears.

Passerby A: I can't believe that aloof Cardinal is willing to leave the monastic order for the sake of love!

Passerby B: Tsk, what love? I heard this is all arranged by the Pope and the King; the bishop hasn't even met the princess.

Passerby A: Huh? You can get married without ever having met?

Passerby B: Aren't most of these political marriages like that? By marrying the princess, the bishop will become the king in the future!

MC: ….

I quietly clenched the hem of my skirt and closed my eyes tightly.

Of course, I know that my marriage to Lucien is simply a collaborative arrangement between my father and the Pope.

Both sides needed to gain more power and more significant influence, so they decided to merge their 'treasures' into one.

No one really cares about the thoughts of the two protagonists in this marriage- except me.

??: Princess, you seem a bit nervous?

The warm voice coming from the opposite seat seemed to be imbued with magic as if it could capture my breath the moment they spoke.

I was startled and immediately opened my eyes, just in time to meet his gaze.

The cardinal in front of me still sat upright like a priest, but he was no longer dressed in the solemn cassock and looked more like a prince from a fairy tale.

A flush of heat surged up my cheeks, and I stammered as I shook my head.

MC: N-No, I'm not nervous…

My marriage partner sitting in front of me suddenly smiled.

Lucien: The princess need not fret. Just know that God blesses our union.

MC: Um, I know. But what I care about isn't the blessing of the gods, but… it's…

Lucien: What is it then?

His gaze was deep and focused, and I felt defenseless after just a second of eye contact. When I spoke again, my voice was as faint as a whisper.

MC: Lucien, actually, the first time I saw you in the cathedral, I…

Lucien: Shh, we're at the cathedral now.

Lucien extended his index finger, silently halting the words I was about to say next.

At this moment, the carriage had stopped in front of a long staircase covered in flower petals, and welcoming drums filled the air.

Lucien: Let's save the rest for after the ceremony. Step out of the carriage now, Princess.

Lucien was about to open the carriage door when I suddenly grabbed his sleeve, causing him to turn back with a hint of surprise.

Lucien: Princess?

MC: (blushing) I….

I knew I shouldn't have dwelled on the confession I couldn't finish earlier. The fleeting thought was insignificant compared to the upcoming ceremony.

MC: I…

My face turned red. But Lucien smiled as he gently turned his wrist and pinched my fingers.

Lucien: MC, don't worry, my heart is the same as yours.

He unexpectedly understood all my anxieties and expectations. He placed my fingertips gently against his lips, treasuring and tender.

Lucien: From the moment I first laid eyes on you, Princess, I…

MC: ——Liar!!

I sit up in bed abruptly, cold sweat soaking through the dress on my back.

I've lost count of how many times I've had this nightmare.

Flowers, kisses, blessings... It was such a happy scene, but every time it replayed in my mind, it only made my heart tighten.

I'm still in shock when suddenly the door is knocked twice, then pushed open, and the flickering light of a candlestick enters the room.

??: Madam, are you…?

MC: Who is it?!

The sudden voice of a man startles me, and I quickly turn towards the source of the light.

But the moment I see the face bathed in the warm yellow light, my pupils widen in shock.

Narrow eyes, soft lips, a high-bridged nose... a nearly perfect combination of features that form the face I least wanted to encounter.

MC: Lucien?

The other person noticeably freezes upon hearing my murmur. Then, he breaks into a smile.

??:[chuckles] Madam, have you mistaken me for someone else?

MC: I was mistaken…

The light flickers and I finally snap out of it.

MC: ...Right, you can't be Lucien.

The person in front of me is just a man who looks much like Lucien.

—Because my husband was secretly executed by the Pope a long time ago.

MC: Then who are you, and why are you here?

The young man who resembles Lucien smiles again at my words.

??: My name is Xu Mo.

??: I was brought back to the palace by you tonight. Have you forgotten?

MC: Tonight?

I pause for a moment. Today is the anniversary of my father's death, and I drank heavily. The Pope took pity on me and arranged for me to relax at the theater.

I've already forgotten the content of the play in my drunkenness, and the man before me, named Xu Mo... seems to be the male actor from that play.

— Could it be that I brought him back while I was drunk?

I feel a bit absurd and incredulous, so I can only let out an embarrassed cough.

MC: Even if... even if you were brought back by me, you shouldn't be here.

Xu Mo: It seems that Madam is indeed drunk. It was your request for me to guard your door tonight.

MC: ….

As he speaks, he raises the candlestick with a sincere and innocent expression, casting light on the costume he's still wearing. I become even more bewildered.

Xu Mo notices my distraction and tilts his head with concern.

Xu Mo: Madam, did you sleep poorly?

MC: What?

Xu Mo: Your appearance is worn, and you seem in constant worry, with a disordered mind. I have some knowledge of calming methods that might help you sleep.

MC: I don't need-

I forcibly suppressed the words that slipped out of my mouth.

I should refuse.

After all, I don't even know this Xu Mo; he's just a stranger actor I brought back with me.

But his face and the way he speaks are so much like Lucien…

Almost as if by some strange force, I nod.

MC: Alright, let's give it a try.

Xu Mo respectfully bows to me and retrieves a small, delicate incense burner from his pouch, placing it on the table.

Xu Mo: This is a spice from the East that can help sweep away all your worries.

Xu Mo: Close your eyes, madam. I will continue to stand guard outside the door.

The gentle voice lingers in the mist, and I sink into the feathered warmth.

Xu Mo: (whisper softly)…Fool.

In a daze, I seem to hear a sigh, and then the door closes.

[Part 2]

=Flashback start=

Lucien: The main component of this poison comes from aconitine, a plant originating from the East.

Lucien: Its flowers are quite beautiful. Would you like to see them?

Lucien carefully took out a specimen of aconite flowers. The eerie and vibrant shade of purple solidified into a thin sheet, making it impossible to look away.

MC: Such a beautiful flower unexpectedly hides such a deadly poison…

Lucien: Even though it's poison, it's also medicine. Eastern people use its roots for pain relief and treating illnesses, whereas we only use it to kill people.

As Lucien spoke these extremely dangerous words, I didn't feel a hint of fear. Instead, I found a more comfortable position in his arm.

MC: Are you trying to say whether it's poison or medicine depends entirely on the person?

Lucien:[chuckles] Yes, my wife is very clever.

The rewarding kiss landed on my forehead, and Lucien set aside the aconite specimen, picking up another piece of artwork.

Lucien: This is called "Strychnine". The poison extracted from it…

Lucien wasn't only a perfect husband but also an excellent teacher.

He taught me many knowledge areas I shouldn't have had access to, which made me feel a sense of freshness as someone who had previously only been exposed to the arts.

I flipped through the pages of previous records. I felt deeply moved and asked Lucien.

MC: With so many types of poison, what do you think is the most terrifying kind of poison?

Lucien pondered, his fingertips unconsciously leaving faint traces on the parchment.

Lucien: Me? I believe the most terrifying poison is one that is unknowable and incurable.

Lucien: Not knowing when it was administered, not knowing how to antidote it, not knowing when one might die…

Lucien: Being afflicted with such a poison is the most despairing thing.

I listen but only half-understanding it. Lucien looks at my confused expression, smiles, and gently squeezes my palm.

Lucien: Don't worry, Madam, all my poisons have their rightful place.

At that moment, the voice of a servant from outside the door reminded Lucien that it was time for him to attend to matters.

Lucien put down his book with a bit of regret, his breath lingering in my hair as if reluctant to part.

Lucien: (whispers coquettishly)Hmm, I really don't want to go…

MC: Pfft, how can the future king not attend to state affairs?

Lucien: [chuckles] Because state affairs are dull, and being with my wife is fun.

His frank love words always easily stirred my heartbeat.

The waiter outside urged again, so I had to restrain myself and push away his clasping fingers.

MC: Hurry, Father and the Pope are impatient.

Lucien cast a somewhat helpless glance at me before slowly getting up and wearing his outer robe.

He casually tidied up the messy strands of hair he had caused and gestured with his eyes toward the nearby harp.

Lucien: When I return, we won't have the pharmacology class, you will teach me to play the harp, okay?

MC: Sure, I'll prepare some sheet music. If you don't learn well, I might have to give you a "tough lesson" with a pointer stick!

Lucien: I will study hard, teacher.

=Flashback ends=

Xu Mo: You seemed to have slept well yesterday.

Xu Mo's voice brings back my thoughts, and I withdraw my gaze to look at him.

He's still wearing that costume, and there's a layer of weary darkness under his eyes - the one who didn't sleep last night is him.

I caress the silver cup he brought, and the warmth of milk inside soothes my fingertips.

MC: Why are you so eagerly attentive?

My words are so straightforward that they make Xu Mo get momentarily taken aback, but then he bends down to please me.

Xu Mo: If I can serve by Madam's side, I won't have to travel with the theater troupe anymore.

Xu Mo: Since Madam has given me an opportunity, I want to seize it.

Xu Mo's words are even more greedy and obsequious than mine, and I can't help but sneer.

MC: You should know that I am a widow.

Xu Mo: Of course, I know. Once your health is restored, His Holiness will return power to you, and you will be the most noble woman in this kingdom.

MC: Since you know that, and yet you dared to say what you just did, it seems you're not a good person after all.

Xu Mo: I never claimed to be a good person. Moreover, in this world, good people don't live long.

Xu Mo: So Madam, are you satisfied with the soothing incense from yesterday?

In just a moment, the ambition that flickered in Xu Mo's eyes overlapped with the one Lucien had once shown.

But in the blink of an eye, what remains before me is still a compliant and humble male actor.

I fall silent for a moment, then set down the slightly cooled milk and reach my hand toward him.

MC: Help me up. I want to take a walk in the garden.

Xu Mo bows deeply to me, a satisfied smile on his face.

Xu Mo: As you command, Madam.

These past few years, my body has become frail due to excessive grief.

Apart from going to the cathedral for weekly prayers, I spend my time alone in the study, reading books. It's been a long time since I set foot in the garden.

I sigh as I look at the withered foliage before me.

MC: The flowers have all withered…

Xu Mo: Does Madam like flowers?

MC: It's him who likes them.

The "him" in my words is obvious, and Xu Mo simply nods faintly without further inquiry.

— As a commoner aspiring to climb the social ladder, he is pretty pragmatic.

Xu Mo: Would Madam be willing to introduce these flowers to me?

MC: Why should I introduce them to you?

Xu Mo: Hmm... I suppose there's no harm since we have nothing better to do, right?

Xu Mo: I will study hard, teacher.

He unintentionally spoke the exact same words as Lucien but in a completely different tone. My fingers involuntarily tighten as I slowly respond.

MC: These are oleanders. They have a long blooming season and are quite beautiful when in full bloom. However, they are toxic if ingested, so one must be careful not to consume them…

MC: These few plants are the black datura he collected back then, very rare but equally poisonous…

I'm not a competent teacher, and my vocabulary for the introduction is dry, far less vivid, and interesting than when Lucien used to explain things.

However, Xu Mo listens with great interest. It might be my imagination, but his gaze doesn't seem to be focused on the flowers; instead, it feels like he's looking at me.

Xu Mo: ...Madam's extensive knowledge of flowers and poisons is quite impressive, a bit beyond my expectations.

MC: It's all things he told me about.

Xu Mo: I guess he must be very happy. After all, someone is willing to remember this knowledge so well.

MC: He's gone, what's the point of talking about whether he's happy or not?

The atmosphere suddenly grew colder.

Xu Mo falls silent momentarily, takes a short breath, and no longer discusses plants with me. Instead, he starts talking about peculiar stories from the streets.

He travels with the theater troupe from the East, witnessing countless fascinating customs and traditions along the way.

In terms of eloquence, he is also quite similar to Lucien.

I listen attentively without giving away my thoughts, occasionally posing a few tricky questions in an attempt to learn more about his background.

Xu Mo's answers remain seamless, without any hint of a flaw.

It's only when our walk comes to an end, and he assists me back to my seat wrapped in furs, that he suddenly smiles.

Xu Mo: Is Madam trying to see someone through me?

MC: I'm not.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I answered too quickly, making it seem like I was trying to conceal something.

And so, Xu Mo's smile deepens.

Xu Mo: [chuckles] It doesn't matter, as long as Madam is willing to have me serve her, I will ensure her satisfaction.

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

It's always Lucien that I love.

But precisely because of that, I find myself uncontrollably searching for traces of Lucien in Xu Mo. And with each of his gestures, he becomes more and more like my late husband.

He's like a certain kind of poison that numbs my senses, making me unable to resist peering and sniffing, deliberately getting me addicted.

Very quickly, filthy rumors began to target my empty palace.

But I don't care. After my father and Lucien both died one after another, and with illness plaguing me, everyone regarded me as ominous.

So what does it matter to the world what the ominous person wants to do?

Moreover, now that Xu Mo takes care of me, my health seems to have improved a little. Even the Pope was a bit surprised when I went to the cathedral to pray this time.

The Pope: MC, may God bless you; your complexion has finally improved.

MC: Thank you for your compassion, Your Holiness.

The Pope helps me to my feet and hands me holy water.

The Pope: Once you feel better, our young queen can be crowned, and I can confidently return the kingdom to you.

I smile and don't respond to his words, simply sipping the holy water slowly.

There is still a familiar sweetness in the water, and the seal wax around the rim of the chalice can easily be accidentally ingested.

I furrow my brow tightly, and the Pope's voice continues to come from beside my ear.

The Pope: However, once you become queen, you can't be as willful as you are now.

The Pope: I heard you have taken a male companion, this could damage your reputation.

It turns out there's not much difference between the most powerful Pope and common beggars. I sneered inwardly while maintaining a respectful demeanor on my face.

MC: How could I dare to do anything immoral under the watchful gaze of God? Xu Mo is merely my servant, taking care of my daily life.

I don't want to continue discussing Xu Mo with the Pope and change the topic.

MC: By the way, my birthday is in a couple of days, and since I've been feeling better lately, I'd like to organize a celebration.

MC: Will you come?

The Pope places the silver cup containing holy water back in its place and smiles benevolently.

The Pope: I'm your second father. So of course, I will come.

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

Although I said I wanted to have a good celebration, in reality, there are not many people willing to come on my birthday.

After all, in the eyes of the world, I'm just a widow without support who could die of depression at any moment, so there is naturally no need for flattery or fawning.

The simple banquet is coming to an end when Xu Mo, who has been absent for half a day, suddenly appears before me.

MC: Where have you been?

Xu Mo: Nobles' party is no place for a commoner like me.

MC: I thought you might take this opportunity to find more opportunities for yourself.

Xu Mo: Madam, your saying hurts my heart greatly and underestimates my loyalty.

He takes my wine glass with a smile, places it under his nose, and gives it a light sniff, furrowing his brow slightly.

Xu Mo: The aroma of this wine is too coarse. Please, have my glass, Madam.

Our act of exchanging glasses is too ambiguous, and at this moment, there are already malicious whispers coming from the corners of the banquet hall.

Neither Xu Mo nor I pay any attention to these voices. He hands me his cup, and amidst the fruity aroma filling the silver cup, there's a hint of bitterness. My eyelashes tremble slightly.

MC: Alright.

Xu Mo watches me finish the drink, and only then does he breathe a sigh of relief.

His gaze briefly passes over the Pope, who is surrounded by the crowd not far away, before returning to my face.

Xu Mo: I've just prepared a birthday gift for you, Madam.

MC: What is it?

Xu Mo: It's a play.

Xu Mo: I have already set up the stage, arranged the actors, and after the banquet, I will present it to…

The Pope: I presume you are the servant named Xu Mo?

The Pope's voice interrupted our conversation. The old man walks over, and his gaze sweeps over Xu Mo’s face like a knife, raising an eyebrow.

The Pope: Oh, Xu Mo, you have a face that is both... dangerous and nostalgic.

The Pope: I hope you are a loyal servant to your master so that I can rest assured.

Xu Mo respectfully bows to the Pope and speaks in a gentle tone.

Xu Mo: I am forever loyal.

The Pope: That's best. So, what were the two of you talking about?

Xu Mo: I want to perform a scene from a play for Madam, as a birthday gift for her.

The Pope: A play?

The Pope smiles at the corner of his mouth, his interest piqued.

The Pope: I wonder if I have the honor to come and enjoy your splendid performance as well?

Xu Mo looks up at me, and a hint of darkness passes through his deep, dark eyes. Then, he takes half a step forward, stops in front of me, and bows to the Pope.

Xu Mo: It'd be my honor.

Part 3 & 4-> [Here]

[qiangweirosa]

a talk

" As Nya and Jay finally start planning their wedding, Nya is haunted by memories of darker times. Ironically enough, Jay is the only person who could possibly understand what she's going through.

or, ninjago writers dont bring up their skybound trauma enough so im taking matters into my own hands. "

relationships: jay/nya, nya & kai, cole & jay tws: hurt/comfort, flashbacks, skybound trauma wc: 1821 extra: set sometime between the end of crystallized and the merge!

read on ao3!

Kai sat down on the bed.

“Come on, spit it out.”

Nya glanced at him, barely turning her head. She laid on her bed in the monastery, and had been staring at the ceiling for quite some time before Kai came in. He looked at her expectantly, an eyebrow raised and his head tilted towards her. She sighed.

“What are you talking about?”

She asked only half heartedly; she knew more than enough that Kai wouldn’t take her avoidance as an answer. Nya sat up, and stared at her own hands, fidgeting in her lap.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Of course she knew. With another sigh, she looked back at Kai and took his expression in: behind the surface-level annoyance, she could see worry. Of course he’d be worried about her, she thought, especially since she’d been acting unusually in the past few days, if not weeks.

Nya glanced back down before speaking up.

“I don’t think you’d be able to help. Don’t worry about me too m-”

“Does it have to do with your and Jay’s secret?”

Nya froze. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open for a few moments. She looked at Kai, her eyebrows furrowing in silent confusion. Perhaps her expression was what prompted him to speak up again, elaborating on his statement.

“You know, the thing you two keep trying to be secretive about?? When you exchange glances, giggle together, and whatever.”

She blinked.

“You noticed??”

“Uh, I think we all noticed, Nya.”

“Oh.”

This was unexpected. Nya sighed again and shook her head, leaning her head back against the board of her bed.

“Yeah, it is.”

Kai nodded. He seemed to take it better than Nya had imagined; though maybe that was because he’d already known she was hiding something from him. Well, it wasn’t like it had been the first time she kept secrets from Kai, or the rest of the team. But he certainly had reacted better than he did when he found out she was Samurai X. She was somewhat thankful.

She felt a hand rest on top of hers, and looked back at Kai to see him looking directly at her. His face had become much more caring; but Nya knew him. She could tell he wasn’t entirely enjoying the fact that she wouldn’t talk to him. Nonetheless, he still tried to put those feelings aside and give her advice.

“Then maybe you should talk to him, if it’s bothering you this much. Sulking over it on your own isn’t gonna solve anything.” He shrugged.

Nya smiled. She knew he was right, it wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about doing it. It just wasn’t an easy topic to bring up, for either of them. In all the years that had passed since then, they had only really talked about it twice; and only because they had been having worries about it.

Which, technically, was the case here too.

She nodded at Kai, thanking him and intertwining her hands with his. He smiled back, pulling her in for a hug, or the closest thing to a hug they could manage in their current position, leaving them both laughing about it. Soon enough, he left her room, leaving Nya alone once again to her thoughts. 

She looked down at her necklace. Although she didn’t like to wear it when fighting or practicing - jewelry during a fight is practically a direct ticket to choking, she wore it almost every other time. Which wasn’t a lot, now that she thought about it, but it was still enough to be significant to her. The necklace had her yang pendant on it, the one Jay had given her when he proposed to her a few years back. She gazed at it fondly, playing with it with her hands.

A few moments later, she had made up her mind. She would talk to Jay about this entire situation, and hopefully they would get past it. Finally. She knew deep down that, obviously, a talk wasn’t going to make their shared trauma disappear, but hopefully it would make her feel better, for now at the very least.

Today was an off day for the ninja; meaning Jay was most likely to be found either on the couch playing video games, or in the kitchen snacking on something. As soon as Nya walked into the living room, a smile crept onto her face and she chuckled to herself. It seems living with the same people for so many years really makes you aware of their daily habits, she thought.

She approached the couch, leaning her hip against as she crossed her arms to look over the scene in front of her. Cole and Jay were going at it, intensely focused on whatever game they were playing - looks like Prime Empire , she thought - to the point they hadn’t even noticed she was here. A bit further away, sitting at the table, was Lloyd, absentmindedly fiddling with his phone. He however, seemed to notice Nya, acknowledging her presence with a short glance. 

Nya glanced back at the screen as she heard shouts, seeing the “LEVEL PASSED” screen she had expected. She watched Jay and Cole high five each other, before Jay raised his head and seemed to finally notice her presence. His face beamed, and he grinned at her. His excitement must have been visible to Cole too; since the older man decided to turn around, and smiled as well upon seeing her.

They invited her to play; she shook her head no, before looking back to Jay and calling him to get his attention.

“Do you mind if we have a talk?”

Nya could feel time stop as she spoke, watching Jay gulp and anxiety flash in his eyes. She quickly added:

“I’m not mad at you, I just wanna discuss something. It can wait though, if you’re busy.”

Nya gestured at Cole and the TV vaguely. Jay nodded and put his controller down, standing up and walking towards her.

“It’s fine! I can play later.”

Before Nya could drag him away though, he turned back to Cole and shouted, an accusatory tone lacing his voice.

“You better not play any more levels before I’m back!!”

Nya laughed at their antics. She could vaguely hear Cole respond something as she made her way down the hall, back to her room. She stood in the doorway until Jay appeared in front of her, and dragged him inside. She pushed the door closed behind them, sighing.

“Is something the matter?”

Jay was the first to speak up. He tilted his head to the side, moving to grab Nya’s hands in his.

“You’ve been acting weird for a few days… Did something happen?”

Nya stared at him for a few moments. She stared deep into his beautiful ocean eyes, her lips pursed. Jay’s eyebrows had furrowed, concern etched all over his face. Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke up.

“It’s about Nadakhan.”

She could see Jay’s breath catch in his throat, and his eyes widen. He took a deep breath as well, and squeezed her hands in his. His face looked a lot more serious than a few seconds ago as he urged her to continue.

“Okay.”

“Kai told me to talk with you about it. Well, about my worries, more precisely, but they’re about what happened with him.”

Jay nodded, a sign for Nya to keep talking.

“I’ve been getting… flashbacks. Of when I was with him. Especially since we’ve been talking about actually organizing our wedding, and all, I just… I keep seeing myself in Delara’s dress again, and getting nightmares about it over and over and it’s just-” She stopped herself to sigh. “That’s… about it.”

Sometime through her rant, Nya started looking at the floor with a frown on her face. Her hands held Jay’s tightly, and he could tell that she would be clenching her fists, had he not been holding them. 

He released one of her hands to cup her face, a shaky smile forming on his face to try and comfort her.

“I mean, it’s pretty understandable, you know? I’d be scared too if I had been forcibly married to a thousand year old djinn at 13 and then possessed by his dead girlfriend.”

Nya laughed. Jay’s smile widened.

“And like, if you want, you don’t have to wear a dress. We don’t even have to get married yet!! I mean we’ve been waiting for both of us to be ready for it, so if you’re not ready yet then I’ll wait more!”

Nya looked back at him with a smile. She felt tears well up in her eyes. Jay was right; there was no reason for them to rush things, after all. 

“You’re right. Thanks. And I do wanna get married, don’t get me wrong… I guess I’d forgotten I can just not wear a dress.”

Her hands moved up to wipe her eyes, and she felt Jay grab her face with his own. He looked at her, his eyes shining, and his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. 

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded, and he leaned in to crash his lips on hers. Nya felt Jay grin into their kiss, and she could see his face growing pink. After they pulled away from each other, Jay rested his hands on her shoulders and looked away, coughing to try and regain his composure. After he failed, as he usually did - for some reason, even after being together for half a decade, he was still a nervous wreck everytime they kissed -, he spoke up once more.

“You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you and, uh, I’ll do my best to support you through all this.” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “Be it related to him or related to our wedding, or, you know, anything else.”

Nya smiled at him, tilting her head up to press a kiss to Jay’s forehead.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, don’t thank me for this, come on! It’s not even the bare minimum!”

Nya laughed as he protested, Jay’s arms stretching at his sides as he kept repeating himself.

Eventually, the two of them ended up going back to the living room and joining Cole on the couch, picking up two controllers and playing with him. After a few levels, Jay seemed to have a realization and turned to Nya in shock.

“Wait, did you say Kai told you to talk to me?? Does he know?!” 

Nya stared at him in confusion for a moment.

“Oh, that! Apparently, they all know?? Well, not about what happened, but that we’re hiding something.”

Cole chimed in.

“Yeah, dude, you’re not exactly discreet about it…”

Nya chose to not listen to the rest of the conversation, already knowing the two best friends would start bickering. She simply giggled and mindlessly stared at Jay. She loved him so much.

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Hope you had a nice Valentines day. I was wondering if you had any prompts for a pred boyfriend eating his significant other.

Wasn’t up to much but still a good day. And yeah, I can figure something out for that! Probably just merge this one together with another ask that wanted some V.alentine's themed prompts. And we'll do it with some classic A and B!

It was supposed to be a nice dinner date between the two of them for V.alentine's day. It'd gone well--dinner was homemade by A, and B always loved A's food. They ate and talked and it was a wonderful night...but B's belly grumbled even after picking his steak clean. He tried to steal from A's plate, and at first it seemed playful, but then B took it by force and scarfed down A's half-eaten steak. When A demanded that wasn't for B, B offers him a solution--going in and getting it! That's how A got dragged right over his carefully set tablet and right into B's drooling jaws. A few gulps and slurps later and B's belly pushes out of his shirt, some buttons popping off as it gets stuffed with another human being. B sits back, belching crassly and patting his gut a few times as A squirms around. He picks lazily at his teeth with a toothpick. The table gets knocked over after getting knocked into by B's stomach but he doesn't mind at all. Dinner ended up being far more delicious than he expected. Two steaks and a boyfriend...nothing better to end Valentine's day with. Hopefully, his new boyfriend can do better next year...A's likely not even going to make it to the next day. This seems to happen every year but, if you asked B, he'd say it's more of a tradition. Nothing goes better for this time of year than snacking on a loving boyfriend.

"That's so sweet of you!" A gushes as he sees the delicious treats set out before him. B made sure to get some wonderful meals for his boyfriend for Valentine's day--three men tied up with red and pink ribbons, sitting on the couch. None of them are aware of what's actually going on, eyes covered by those ribbons. "I mean, your brothers and dad? You're just the best." A gives B a kiss on the cheek and then goes over to the trio of men. They all thought it was going to be some special surprise for A that they were doing as a favor for B which...isn't totally false. When the first brother gets his head engulfed, hsi voice is too muffled to be heard clearly, but the other two notice something is wrong from the muffled yells and wet slurps. The other brother wiggles enough to get his blindfold off just to see A slurping up a pair of kicking feet. He screams and finds he's next in line to get shoveled into that drooling maw. That gets the dad to start moving around, starting to get his binds undone. He's on his feet by the time the second brother is halfway down and tries to get him free...but that just helps A slurp down a pair of legs and a pair of arms. And then the dad is going down the hatch in big, messy gulps, all while B watches from the sidelines. A sits back on the couch, gulping hard as he sends the last of the dad down. His gut is bare, bulging heavily as the three men thras around inside. B gets hit with a big belch in the face that smells vaugely of his family, which is followed by a kiss. "You really are the best," A says with a grin. He rubs his gut. "I was worried you wouldn't let me eat them but...mm...couldn't imagine getting them served to me like this. Now get over here and rub my gut. You've got all night with this thing." B was more than happy to oblige, and the two would be like that for the rest of V.alentine's, spending the day happily together. But of course...there's one last treat that A wants to complete the set. A delicious little dessert. So, by the end of the night, A slurps up B's legs and lets out a thick belch at the end, his boyfriend sloshing into the sludge his family made. "Aaah...sorry, babe. Felt wrong breaking up the whole family~" He snickers and rubs his gut, waddling to bed to sleep his meal off. What a great day...

"You're breaking up with me on V.alentine's day?" A demands in disbelief. B rubs the back of his neck, looking away. "Look, I didn't want to go through all the date stuff when I'm just not into it," B admits with a shrug. "And I have other plans so..." "Other plans?! You're already dating someone else?! You jackass!" A was about to go on a long rant--part of why B was sick of him--but B really didn't have time to wait. C was waiting for him and...well, B did promise him something nice today. So, while he's midrant, B grabs A and shovels the man's head into his jaws. He gulps and slurps, sending his ex down with gusto, not bothering to savor him so he could get moving. If he's quick, he can get back in time. He gets A's legs down as he gets into his car and drives off, having to work around the big gut. "If it helps, I do this with all my exs!" B says to his sloshing gut as A screams and squirms inside. "It's not like we're really breaking up if you're padding me out, right? Yeah?" That doesn't seem to calm A down but...oh well. By the time he's back at his apartment, he'll get to spend the day with C, who was more than happy to tend to his stomach. Though C proved to be a bit...smothering. It's only been one month since they kinda got together and he's already talking about marriage and kids and...B panicked! So B goes to bed extra stuffed that night, huffing as he lugs a limp A and shifting C to bed. "Ugh...breaking up with two boyfriends in one day...never doing that again..." He belches and gets into bed to sleep it all off. What a crappy V.alentine's day, B thinks...well, it'll be crappy in the morning, at least.

[theajaheira]

no new update of what you make tonight as i'm working on something else, but i AM going through the outtake doc for cute bits and snips! these span a BUNCH of chapters. (the actual outtake doc itself is 50k words but we're not doing that.)

~~~~~

“Sorry about eating your pancakes,” said Art, who really wasn’t.

“You really aren’t,” said Mom affectionately. “And you know I don’t mind. You’re a growing boy, and I’m—”

“A shrinking lady?” said Buffy innocently.

Anxiously, Art said, “If she’s shrinking, she should be eating pancakes!”

“That’s—no. Art—no.” Mom was doing her very best not to laugh. It wasn’t really working. “And Buffy, I am thirty-seven and nowhere near shrinking any time soon. Now, Rupert, on the other hand—”

“I have to go call Anya,” said Dad very loudly, and left.

~~~~~~

“You don’t just throw money at problems,” said Jenny, glaring at him in a refreshingly combative way that felt a bit less like a marble statue and a bit more like a lightning strike. “And we’re not putting you out like that. Do you even know how expensive it is to house this many people in a reasonably decent hotel?”

“More money than we can pay, apparently,” said Stacey under her breath.

“For the love of God, Anastasia, do not create a new problem for me to address when Art’s parents are busily working on arguing their way into this one,” said Nora exasperatedly. “I should not have to tell you how hard your father and I worked to make this vacation a possibility—”

“And it’s sucked!” Stacey burst out. “It has totally sucked! You guys never let me do anything but wander around playing babysitter, and the one time I called Maddy, she said that Casey’s family’s in Honolulu right now and Casey totally has a Hawaiian boyfriend now! I haven’t even gotten to look at boys!”

“Stacey, you need to pick a lane,” said Jenny sharply. “You gonna get up on your high horse about how much you don’t like Rupert or are you going to yell at your mom about not being able to pay for the kind of vacation that Casey’s family is going on?”

Tears in her eyes, Stacey burst out, “This was supposed to be a vacation, and all we’re doing is trailing around after Art’s dad!”

“I…did not realize that those lanes could merge,” said Nora, who looked almost impressed.

~~~~~~

“Yes, thank you, Christian, but I have absolutely no interest in continuing to have mediocre sex with you. What? Yes, it was mediocre. Do you even know where the clitoris is?” Upon seeing Giles in the doorway, Anya sighed very dramatically, then said, “Look, my kinda-boss is here and he doesn’t like it when I use the work phone to break up with disinteresting men. I will not be calling you back, and you definitely shouldn’t call again.”

~~~~~

She was now leveling Giles with a look that clearly said you better not be about to pull what I think you’re going to pull. “Pretty sure the ocean will be a problem, Rupert,” she said, “because you’re not just going to make some sort of impulsive life decision just because—”

“I’m moving to Colorado,” Giles informed them.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Jenny, dropping her head into her hands.

Nora and Donovan exchanged a completely bemused look. 

~~~~~

“Jenny, he has so many people who love him,” said Giles very softly. “Nora and Donovan, of course, but it’s abundantly clear that his cousins adore him. I’ve never seen a family get on quite like yours does.”

“You’ve seen, like, two families,” said Jenny unsympathetically.

Giles ignored this.

~~~~~

Art lit up the very moment Giles entered the kitchen. Giles had initially assumed that this could be attributed to his relative newness, and would as such fade once he became a more established part of his life, but closer observation had revealed that Art’s delight extended to absolutely every member of his family. Even Bella, who Art valiantly play-acted at violently hating, always got his attention upon entering a room—though, to be fair, Bella got everyone’s attention upon entering a room, usually by causing minor to significant property damage within the first five seconds of being there. “Hi, Dad!” he said. “Aunt Nora made you breakfast and tea and I didn’t let Mom eat any of it.”

“…Was that a risk?” said Giles.

“Yes,” said Art, glaring at Jenny. “She said you said it would be okay, but I didn’t see how you could do that if you were asleep. Were you asleep?”

“Very,” said Giles, sitting down between Jenny and Bella. “How are you doing?”

“I don’t know, it’s too early,” said Art. “You have to ask me that at dinner when I’ve done things. Can we play in the hedge maze again?”

Giles opened his mouth. Jenny shot him a look, then said to Art, “I don’t know, baby. Are you going to be able to take good care of your dad and not get him lost in it again?”

“I wasn’t lost,” Giles started, very unconvincingly.

“He wasn’t lost!” said Art. “He’s a grown-up! And I wasn’t lost either!”

~~~~~

Seeing as Rupert has not quite gotten over the fact that we will no longer be traveling from place to place, and in fact woke me up at four in the morning last Thursday to ask where his little suitcase was so that he could properly pack it for our next trip, any and all aspects of our new home that bring him joy are a great joy to me as well. As such, when he discovered that the telephone was no longer solely for emergencies, he proceeded to ask me to ring absolutely every family member possible so that he could talk to them. Of course, given that Rupert has quite a lot of trouble talking to anyone who isn’t me or Tom, as soon as the phone was handed to him, he would go dead silent, listen with wide eyes to the inquiries of whichever gran he had on the phone, and say, very anxiously, “Thank you for calling. Goodbye,” before abruptly hanging up.

The first time he did this, I was very worried that he’d been made nervous by a family member outside of our little circle. Imagine my surprise when he solemnly handed me the phone again and asked politely that I ring “the other gran” so that they could “have a little chat,” which I am certain is a phrase he learned from my little chats with Lizzy and Ramona! He has spent the last two days asking about people we can call, to the point where Tom sat down last night, drew up a small list of friends and family who he has made sure will not mind getting repeated calls from a four-year-old who is not inclined towards chatter (as it happens, most of our friends and family think that this is ADORABLE, as they SHOULD), and taught Rupert how to use the phone so that he could call people himself.

Rupert has not left the phone for hours on end. He is unbelievably fascinated with it and spent most of yesterday explaining to me how he thinks it works in great detail. Tom caught wind of this (and, of course, my response, which was to treat the whole thing like improvisational theatre and add on particularly outlandish suggestions re: magical telephones) and decided to track down some informational pamphlets on how telephones REALLY work. Rupert, however, was supremely uninterested in actual science, and responded to this pamphlet by drawing up a pamphlet of his own that (according to him) is entitled “How Telephones Really Really Work.” Thomas has absolutely no idea what to do with this. (I am going to get it framed.)

[positivlyfocused]

I’m Getting Better At My Out Of My Body Experiences

The more proficient I get with my Advanced Positively Focused practice, the better control I’m having in my Out of Body Experiences (OBE). I like seeing that progress. Exhibiting more control over such experiences indicates significant progress towards becoming ordinary among super humans.

That’s a paraphrase from a book I read. Dan Millman’s Way Of The Peaceful Warrior transformed my life trajectory. In his book, Dan quotes a main character:

“You have tried to be superior in an ordinary realm. Now you must learn to be ordinary in a superior realm.” - Way Of The Peaceful Warrior

I love the juxtaposition of that quote. Many want to be super human among ordinary people. They want to set themselves apart. I once did, that’s for sure. But some time ago, I opted for the better alternative. I opted to become ordinary among a community of super humans. 

Now that I’m exhibiting early super human powers and sharing how to do that with others, I’m fulfilling my long-held desire.

It takes practice and persistence

In that last two weeks, I’ve enjoyed a steady series of extraordinary events. My dreaming experience radically transformed. These days, dreams are long, rich and vivid in their detail. My dream retention proves my increasing ability to merge with a greater part of me. The part that travels freely through alternate realities.

The word “dream” is a misnomer. That term disparages what’s really happening when the body sleeps. What happens when the body sleeps represents sacred connection to All That Is. We return to our Broader Perspective awareness. There we travel through infinity. The cool thing is we can do it consciously aware of what we’re doing.

When my body sleeps, I’m not in it. Instead, I’m exploring, creating and interacting with the power and love of other literal super humans. Beings who no longer exist in the physical realm.

I share with clients what I know these nightly experiences actually are: the closest, easiest-to-reach alternate dimension available to us all. Every point of consciousness experiences this dimension while our bodies sleep. Even objects thought inanimate experience them. But consciously experiencing this realm then recalling and retaining the experience, represents an advanced capability.

Anyone can do it. It just takes a teacher who knows what they’re doing, practice and persistence. Exploration of other dimensions is a “given” as eternal beings. But human consciousness blocks those experiences for ordinary people.

Super humans though travel these realms consciously. And benefits of doing so are clear.

Projections of consciousness

OBEs indicate even further advancement. These days, in nearly every meditative session, I experience an OBE. Sometimes, I experience so many I can’t remember them all. But I know practice and persistence will remedy that. After all, my ego needs practice too. It must get used to being in a foreign dimension.

I also must get used to the experience. Right now, my control isn’t the best. OBEs I’m enjoying come as spontaneous events. Not something I directly control. I can’t deliberately visit some place I want to for example. Not yet. Instead, they involve random visits to alternate dimensions. Or experiences in locations familiar to me, like the following:

I saw myself I found myself walking down the street that felt like Mississippi [a street in my neighborhood]. A woman was coming from the other direction. The scenery was extremely vivid as was this woman. She had long brown hair that flowed in the wind. Her face was narrow and stern, but the energy she emanated wasn’t stern. As we converged, she looked at me strangely, as though I did not belong there. And of course I did not, for I was projecting! (Massive Source Confirmation).

This one happened this morning (Feb 21). What’s cool about visits like this is OBE pioneers document identical early-stage experiences. Robert Butts and Jane Roberts‘ early experiences were exactly like this. Robert and Jane are famed as the conduit through which Seth spoke. Oliver Fox is another OBE pioneer. He lived in the early 19th century. Fox documented his experiences in a book called Astral Projection. Yet another pioneer, Robert Monroe created a technology-enabled process for astral projection. His book, Journeys Out Of The Body chronicles his journeys. Each of these pioneers enjoyed the same early-stage experiences I am enjoying.

More powers on the horizon 

These people’s experience confirms my own. I’m just beginning with this highly-advanced ability. And I know my experience reflects improved capability. For example, in the projection above, I recognized the woman recognized me. She knew I didn’t belong in her dimension. And I retained that experience when I returned from visiting there. As I wrote above, in past experiences I forgot what happened upon returning. But now I’m retaining more of the experience.

I also notice my forgetfulness happens in highly advanced trips. When I visit multiple dimensions, my ego gets overwhelmed. One recent sitting demonstrates this. The moment I lay down, I experienced an enormous variety of dimensions all simultaneously. It was almost totally overwhelming. I couldn’t remember specific details. But I remember the collection of various dimensions as a single unit. Here’s what I wrote about that event:

^^A description from my journal of a massive number of dimensions experienced simultaneously along with other OBE projections experienced in session 181 on Saturday, Feb. 18.

I know my capacity for these experiences is improving. I know this because I recognize progress I’ve already made. And I know more such progress lies on the horizon. As do more abilities. Abilities known only in what Dan Millman calls “the superior realm”. The realm that is quickly becoming my new home.

Wanna join me?

[wordspin-shares]

So, I finally watched the first season of The Rings of Power. It was better than I had anticipated, even though I felt it lacked that kind of magic and finesse in the direction and (most) performances that would make it stand out from generic fantasy works.

I admit it took me some time to realise the creators had merged the timelines pertaining to the forging of the Great Rings and the (pre)Fall of Númenor into a single one. A pity, but a necessary evil, considering there were nearly 2000 years between those two events. And Gandalf’s arrival in Middle-earth happened a lot later, but I digress.

Of course, without significant breaks from lore, making the series would have been more difficult, and it might not have been so interesting (to those unfamiliar with the source material). (See Gil-galad's being able to grant Elves passage to Valinor, his almost wilful ignorance of the dangers in his realm, the subplot of the Elves fading, the justification given for the making of the Three Rings, Galadriel’s going to Númenor, the manner of Gandalf’s arrival in Middle-earth and its aftermath, the whole Sauron subplot)

That aside, I rather liked the series’ attention to detail. Finrod’s wounds on his deathbed, referencing his battle with the werewolf in Taur-in-Gaurhoth; the visual references to the battles of Beleriand; the wings on Elendil’s helmet; the comment about people becoming stars, referencing Eärendil; such little details were quite beautiful and made my nerd self smile like an idiot.  

The visualisation of cities and landscapes was stunning. Lindon, Khazad-dûm and Númenor were suitably breathtaking.

There were some rather nice touches of building on canon material without actually disrupting it, like giving Elendil a daughter and showing his relationship with Isildur. And those pieces of dialogue harking back to Peter Jackson’s trilogy were not bad.

Although a deviation from canon, I very much enjoyed  how Gandalf suffered from memory loss after arriving to Middle-earth, and how that subsequently led to that stunning scene of him doubting his identity in the presence of the mystics. Truly beautiful, a clever way of showing the potential for good and evil present in everyone.

The subplot pertaining to Sauron, although a bit of a mess if seen from canon perspective, was intriguing. I really loved his last scenes with Galadriel. They truly illustrated the beguiling ways for which he was famous during the Second Age. I think that might’ve been my favourite part of the whole season.

The fact that the creators tackled the Silm is a feat in itself, and it will certainly be interesting to see how the next season fares.

[dungeonsandblorbos]

Hello and Welcome to D&B!

hi folks! amidst all the housekeeping i've been doing, it felt like a good time to introduce myself again and make a new pinned post.

about me

my main blog is @persnickety-peahen, so that's where all my follows will come from. i'm in my mid-twenties, happily married, queer, and neurodivergent. you can call me C or any variation of either of my blog names, and i use they/she pronouns.

some of my favorite non-writing activities include listening to podcasts, baking, taking wiki walks, and playing Stardew Valley. lately i've also started teaching myself how to do pixel art because i have reached the level of blorbo hyperfixation that i physically needed to have a new artistic outlet, and pixel art is both really cool and a lot easier for me to actually do as an aphantasiac* than other digital art mediums.

*i have aphantasia, a neurological condition characterized by the inability to produce voluntary mental images; in simpler words, i have no mind's eye. this has significant impacts on diverse areas of my life, especially my autobiographical memory and spatial reasoning, as well as how i perceive and interact with art and literature.

about D&B

i've been enamored with writing from childhood, but since university, a lot of that energy has gotten channeled into TTRPGs instead. hence this sideblog merging the two!

right now, dungeonsandblorbos is mostly where i reblog things from the wider writblr, whumpblr, and TTRPG communities (including pretty dice!), but i'd like to start being more active on here this year. original content includes stories from my big four campaigns (more on those below the cut), out of context session notes, and other kinds of mentally ill blorbo-posting. someday i might even get around to posting some of my pixel art or an actual narrative recap of one of my campaigns!

i'm tag-game friendly, and my ask box is always open, so please feel free to send me asks about any of my characters or campaigns, D&D/TTRPGs in general, or even about aphantasia and how that affects my writing and TTRPG experience!

current ask games

not-so-nice ask game (has some whump vibes) red ask game (real mixed bag; some cute questions, some mildly violent ones, you know how it is)

to keep this post from getting too long, i've put my story/campaign info and additional notes under the cut. thanks for coming by!

my stories/campaigns

Ruins of Runet Status: Temporary hiatus System: D&D5e, homebrew setting Tags: #ruins of runet, #ariel sentera alvedes Short premise: Six hundred years after its sudden disappearance caused a worldwide societal collapse, Magic has returned to the world of Runet. The gods, however, are still gone. Several powerful factions have promised great rewards to any party that can successfully uncover the truth behind Runet's new magic, and help them claim its power for themselves—but perhaps there's a good reason that magic disappeared in the first place. Genres: Medieval fantasy, Existential horror, Eldritch horror Rating: Mature General content warnings: strong language, mature humor, immature humor, alcohol consumption, some sexual themes, some religious themes, fantasy violence, blood and gore, body horror, major character death. Posts will be individually tagged with any relevant warnings. Full campaign and character intro: link

Curse of Strahd (homebrewed) Status: Indefinite hiatus System: D&D5e, Curse of Strahd playbook + a metric shit ton of homebrew Tags: #curse of strahd homebrew, #cerris dalca, #meow meow milo, #dos holy boys, #cos memes, narrative tag TK Short premise: The once-prosperous valley nation of Barovia has been trapped in the Shadowfell for roughly the past 400 years, and its immortal king Strahd von Zarovich cursed with it. For now, at least. He believes he's found a loophole—and the perfect party of would-be heroes to unwittingly help him. Genres: Medieval fantasy, Gothic horror Rating: Explicit General content warnings: strong language, mature humor, drug and alcohol consumption, some sexual themes, some religious themes, fantasy violence, blood and gore, body horror, child endangerment, unintentional cannibalism, and oh my god so much more. Posts will be individually tagged with any relevant warnings. Full campaign and character intro: link

Cauldron & Kettle Questing Company Status: Completed System: D&D5e, Acquisitions, Inc. playbook + a bit of homebrew Tags: #cauldron & kettle questing co., #jun vyardes, #jun and tim Short premise: Acquisitions, Inc., is a wildly profitable adventuring company with a long track record of success, both at its main branch and across its many subsidiary locations. Sure, sometimes they mistake a group of newbie interns for an experienced party and set them on a quest to stop a chaos-worshipping cult hell-bent on tearing a rift in reality and destroying the universe as we know it, but hey, as long as they get the job done, who cares, right? Maybe they'll even get a raise out of it. Genres: Medieval fantasy, Corporate fantasy Rating: Teen General content warnings: strong language, mature humor, immature humor, drug and alcohol consumption, fantasy violence. Posts may not be tagged due to the generally mild nature of most of this campaign's content. Full campaign and character intro: link

The Orphic Uprising and The Amazonomachy Status: Completed System: Cypher, setting based on Percy Jackson series Tags: #confusion crew, #nina grayson Short premise: After a simple game of Capture the Flag at Camp Half-Blood goes horribly wrong, a ragtag group of demigods are called upon to save Olympus—and more importantly, their loved ones. Genres: Urban fantasy, YA Rating: Teen General content warnings: strong language, mature humor, immature humor, fantasy violence, teenage protagonists, second-hand embarrassment. Posts may not be tagged due to the generally mild nature of most of this campaign's content. Full campaign and character intro: link

housekeeping/additional notes

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[denimbex1986]

J. Robert Oppenheimer’s triumph was his tragedy. Oppenheimer had many achievements in theoretical physics but is remembered as the so-called father of the atomic bomb. Under his directorship, scientists at Los Alamos Laboratory, where the bomb was designed and built, forever changed how people view the world, adding a new sense of precariousness.

Oppenheimer’s life provides a human-scaled way to talk about an otherwise overwhelming topic. It’s little wonder that Christopher Nolan’s new film, “Oppenheimer,” tells the story of Los Alamos through this single life – or that Oppenheimer is the focus of so much writing about the bomb

In American culture, however, fascination with the man behind the bomb often seems to eclipse the horrific reality of nuclear weapons themselves – as if he were the welder’s glass allowing viewers to safely look at the explosion, even as it obscures the blinding light. Intense interest in Oppenheimer’s life and his ambivalent feelings about the bomb have turned him into almost a myth: a “tortured genius” or “tragic intellect” people try to comprehend because the terror of the bomb itself is too disturbing.

For the rest of his life, Oppenheimer gave the U.S. government’s justification of the atomic bombings: that they saved lives by preventing the need for invasion. But he conveyed a sense of anguish – scripting his own tragic role, as I argue in my book about him. “The physicists have known sin,” he remarked two years after the attacks, “and this is a knowledge which they cannot lose.”

‘Batter my heart’

The atomic bomb changed the meaning of the apocalypse. Where people had once pictured doomsday as an act of God’s wrath or final judgment, now a world could could be gone in an instant, with no sacred significance, no story of salvation. As physicist Isidor Isaac Rabi later said, the bomb “treated humans as matter,” nothing more.

But Oppenheimer pointedly used religious language when talking about the project, as if to underscore the weight of its significance.

The atomic bomb was first tested in the early morning of July 16, 1945, in the arid basin of southern New Mexico. Oppenheimer christened that test “Trinity,” referring to a sonnet by the English Renaissance writer John Donne, whose verses are famous for merging the sacred and the profane. “Batter my heart, three person’d God,” Donne pleads in “Holy Sonnet XIV,” asking God: “make me new.”

Later in life, Oppenheimer famously said that he had recalled words from the Bhagavad-Gita, a classical Hindu text, as he witnessed the sight and sound of the mushroom cloud: “I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds” – lines that originally described the Lord Krishna revealing his full power. According to Oppenheimer’s brother Frank, however, a physicist who was with him at the time, what they both said aloud was simply, “It worked.”

The contrast between their accounts speaks to the duality in Oppenheimer’s public image: a technical expert forging a weapon, and a poetic humanist burdened by the bomb’s moral significance. As a spokesperson and symbol of the Manhattan Project, Oppenheimer sometimes seemed to encourage the idea that it was his personal creation and responsibility. In fact, the bomb was the product of a gigantic scientific, engineering, industrial and military operation, one in which scientists sometimes felt like cogs in a machine. There really was no individual “father” of the atomic bomb.

Mathematician John von Neumann acerbically observed, “Some people profess guilt to claim credit for the sin.”

Describing the indescribable

Only weeks after the test, atomic bombs flattened the previously bustling cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. On Aug. 6 and Aug. 9, these cities suddenly ceased to be. Robert J. Lifton, an expert on the psychology of war, violence and trauma, called the Hiroshima survivors’ experience “death in life,” an encounter with the indescribable.

How does one represent what is beyond representation? In the film, Nolan recreates the intensity of the Trinity test with color and sound, following the bright flash with a pause and then the deep rumble and roar of the explosion and the clap of the shock wave. When it comes to Hiroshima and Nagasaki, however, he chooses to represent the attack without portraying it.

Drawing on a description in “American Prometheus,” the iconic biography of Oppenheimer on which the film was based, Nolan shows Oppenheimer’s triumphal speech in front of a cheering audience in the Los Alamos auditorium, announcing the destruction of Hiroshima by the weapon they had created.

Nolan creates a sense of dissociation, with the horror of the bomb entering the scene through flashbacks to the Trinity test and images of incinerated bodies from Hiroshima. The scientists’ cheering nightmarishly changes to wailing and weeping.

The bomb to end all wars?

After the end of the war, many of the scientists who had worked on the Manhattan Project sought to emphasize that the atomic bomb was not just another weapon. They argued that its tremendous danger should make war obsolete.

Among them, Oppenheimer carried the most authority as a result of his leadership of Los Alamos and his oratorical gifts. He pushed for arms control, playing the key role in drafting 1946’s Acheson-Lilienthal Report, a radical proposal that called for atomic energy to be placed under the control of the United Nations.

The form it ultimately took, known as the Baruch Plan, was rejected by the Soviet Union. Oppenheimer was bitterly disappointed, but U.S. atomic diplomats probably meant for it to be rejected – after all, the U.S. Navy was testing atomic bombs over the Bikini Atoll in the Pacific. Rather than seeing the bomb as the weapon to end all wars, the U.S. military seemed to treat it as its trump card. Nolan’s film includes a reference to the British physicist Patrick Blackett’s statement that the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was “not so much the last military act of the Second World War, as the first major operation of the cold diplomatic war with Russia.”

When the Soviets gained their own atomic bomb in 1949, Oppenheimer and his scientific advisory group opposed a proposal that the U.S. respond by pursuing the hydrogen bomb, a thousand times more powerful than the atomic bombs dropped on Japan. His opposition paved the way for Oppenheimer’s fall from political grace. Within a few years, both the U.S. and the Soviet Union had tested hydrogen bombs. The era of mutual assured destruction, when a nuclear attack would be certain to annihilate both superpowers, had begun. Today, nine nations have nuclear weapons – but 90% of them still belong to the U.S. and Russia.

Late in life, Oppenheimer was asked about the prospect of talks to limit the spread of nuclear weapons. “It’s 20 years too late,” he said. “It should have been done the day after Trinity.”'

[grad502-brunoking]

Holiday SDL

After my progress during the last couple weeks of before our mid-sem break, I found myself feeling really motivated and excited to make significant progress to my campaign and use these next few weeks as much to my advantage as possible. I started off by resetting myself with some research, with my research I really wanted to explore different areas of design and some different styles that I hadn’t really looked towards before. I didn’t want to feel particularly constrained to the limitations of my campaign as I felt as though in the last couple weeks my passion and inspiration had depleted and I was just looking to find work that made me feel motivated and rekindle my enthusiasm for creating. I looked to see what elements of these works I was drawn to and if there were any elements that I would be able to hijack and make my own. I found that through my research I was particularly drawn to a certain aesthetic that involved mesh gradients, with strong typography and the use of geometric shapes. 

I experimented the idea of going forward with posters only using typography with no image assets. I created a mesh gradient in illustrator and experimented with different colourways and compositions to see how I might go about creating posters just using type. I found that these posters weren’t quite as effective as I’d hoped they might be, however, I’m still open to revisiting this ideas in the future but I feel as though I’m in quite a good direction with some of the visual metaphors I’m using and bringing forward with my images. 

I then attempted to recreate my original posters with some of the feedback that I received from Raul through critiques but quickly realised that I had become quite unhappy and dissatisfied with the work and decided that I was going to have a go at redesigning my illustrations.

 To start with, I looked back upon my research and found that the work of Zenji Funabashi was really inspiring and I really aligned with his visual style. I feel as though the work they produced as part of their vegetable series had a really calming yet personal feel and I really liked the geometric and sharp shapes created - almost allowing for the effect of cutting out pieces of paper and pasting them onto the page to form the objects. I really liked this look of appearing hand-crafted and felt as though it worked for the message of my campaign which circulates a lot of ideas about being natural, the earth, with a calm look and feel. This led me to redesigning some of my previous assets using this visual style. 

(above: Zenji Funabashi's work for Green magazine )

(Above: Some assets created using Funabashi's style of cutout-like geometric shapes as inspiration)

Overall I’m extremely satisfied with how these new assets turned out. I feel as though they work a lot better visually and are definitely a solid and significant development from my previous illustrations. I then created a series of posters using these assets as well. One of my new poster iterations introduces an illustration of a cow silhouette with a pattern of plastic waterbottles dispersed throughout. I am still on the fence about whether or not this is completely effective, but for now I’ve included it as another potential iteration.

After these initial posters I went on to experiment further with my layouts and decided to merge my gradient backgrounds with these new illustrations. I am very excited about this development as I feel like the gradients definitely add some more elevation to the campaign of which I feel to be very effective. This did create an interesting problem to navigate though as I wanted the gradient background to become part of my design system, and with my broccoli poster a central element is the ‘forest’ made of broccoli being the backgorund. This meant that I had to try and shift the composition in order to allow for the gradient to be prominent but also to keep the meaning and conceptual elements of the poster alive. I created two versions to present for feedback, one with white text and one with dark green text. As of now I am currently undecided on which version I prefer as I feel as though the white text is more loud and eye-catching but also quite harsh and intense - while the dark green and blue is calm yet not as engaging. 

[maliro-t]

this is maybe a weird ip combination, but i was talking to a friend yesterday about grief in tms5 compared  to w*nd*v*sion bc the most recent ep got me thinking (this is a pretty long post about the former, sorry).

So Vision says “What is grief, if not love persevering?”, which is such a great line, and really resonated with a lot of people, including myself, and it’s really maybe the crux of this series that has been imo a really great exploration of grief. The whole ep was so impactful for me, and I had a moment after where I just went. Huh. In an entire season, tm never said that once. I think there are moments where they come close- Alice and Hamish’s conversation about his wife maybe, or that one fleeting genuine moment between Eliot and Fen in 5.11, or we could rope in the mountain of ghosts if you really stretch, but I think all of those still miss that mark.

So like, they frame the whole season around grief, but they don’t really say anything about it, or tell a valuable story about it. It feels honestly like they spend most of their time treating it like an obstacle that needs to be overcome and like, what are they trying to say with that? That it sucks? Because I would say that in general, people know that! Or was it that people who DON’T get over it have some sort of pity-worthy-but-ultimately-condemnable character defect? Like I’m sure they were aiming more to show how different people process things in different ways, and that wallowing forever can destroy you, which is...true, and maybe half executed well, but it also doesn’t feel valuable (especially when their queer characters are disproportionately targeted by it), and seems like it tries to put an acceptable timeline on Getting Over It Completely which just kinda Sucks. It probably wouldn’t harp on it this much if they hadn’t been so up their own asses at sdcc trying to explain how important and worthwhile this kind of story was. 

It’s also part of why where Eliot ends up at the end of the season feels so heinous, because he really is in pretty much the same place he started; he’s the only character who really ISN’T given the opportunity to ‘overcome’ grief. Again I don’t even feel like that’s a valuable story, but he just feel so singled out and it fucking Sucks that even within their shitty framework he ends up kind of damned. I think the stuff with Charlton was supposed to counteract it a little- I maintain that he says some good things that sort of recognize why tdk stuff was maybe not great, and as much as I Hate this I do actually think those little mosaic parallels were Intentional as part of that. The way Eliot actually reacts though is so not indicative of growth or any actual healing- it feels more regressive, like s1 Eliot just kind of taking what’s being offered to him to cope, and it’s Weird and Sad, besides the whole thing just being laughable.

And like, for the record, I’ve said this a few times, but I am someone who is really glad they watched s5, and really didn’t agree with a lot of the issues people on here took with it. But that also doesn’t mean that it was actually good on the whole, and one of it’s main failures was...kind of the exact thing they apparently felt so strongly about they had to make a whole season for which just. ugh.

My main reaction after 5.03 aired (which I love, and am grateful for) was just. AGONY. I could not fathom why this story about so much pain (and specifically queer pain) was the one that they wanted to tell, and unfortunately by the end there just isn’t really enough pay off for it to be worth it. 

Anyways idk if any of this makes sense lol, I’m kind of rambling at this point and I don’t know if anyone who follows me even Watched season 5 besides like One (1) person lmao. I have more to say Always, even like a year after the fact.

[becca-e-barnes]

Your dad’s best friend is struggling to adapt to living alone, so you make an offer to move in temporarily to help him. The only problem is, this is the guy you’ve been thirsting over for a long time.

The Divorce

Finally!! I’m so sorry this took a little longer than I planned! Kind of merged a few different ideas that you guys seemed keen on into one fic here! Personally, I don’t place a huge value on virginity but you guys asked for it so here it is!

Pairing: Dad’s Best Friend Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 4.5K (No wonder this one felt so long!!)

Summary: Your dad’s best friend is coming out of a rough divorce so you agree to keep him company. He’s also quite surprised to hear you’re still a virgin

Warnings: Smut, alcohol mention, significant age gap (Bucky is in his 40’s, reader is in her early 20’s), loss of virginity, handjobs, dirty talk, praise kink, divorce mention, cheating mention, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, food mention

Minors, do not interact

You weren’t sure what was going on with Bucky anymore.

The usually reserved older man was the very definition of sunshine and light these days. His smile took over his face, he was so easy going, nothing seemed to bother him in the slightest.

Bucky was quite a positive person, all things considered, so that wasn’t really out of the ordinary.

But what surprised you was the fact that he was still so happy not long after finding out this wife had been cheating on him.

He hadn’t even known her all that long, in truth. They had dated for a little while, married quickly and moved into a house together but that was all in the space of a year. She’d barely lasted two months of being ‘Mrs Barnes’ before Bucky came home from work early one afternoon and caught her in their bed with her coworker of all people.

She’d begged for forgiveness of course. Begged for a second chance. Begged to make things right but Bucky hadn’t given in.

And why should he? Sure, he was secretly heartbroken but he knew what he wanted. He knew he didn’t want to stay married to someone who didn’t value him like he valued her and he was totally right. Even though almost everyone saw it coming but him.

But your dad wasn’t convinced by Bucky’s act. Not even a little. He had known Bucky far too long to believe Bucky would be okay so soon. Marriage, in Bucky’s eyes was a commitment. He was so dedicated to his wife and he valued her, even if they didn’t always seem like the happiest couple in the world. No one looking at their relationship from the outside could’ve said they seemed particularly in love but that was no one’s business but theirs and for a while, things had seemed to be working regardless.

But now Bucky had moved out of his house, leaving his soon-to-be ex wife in it. He had moved into a modest little apartment, one that was dull and drab but it had a bed, a kitchen and a bathroom so it would do in the short term.

“Honey, do you think you could do me a favour?” Your father asked nonchalantly at dinner one evening and you nodded a little, your mouth full of pasta.

“There’s a big game on tomorrow night, you wouldn’t mind keeping Bucky company, would you? I have to work late and your mom is going to your aunt’s and I just don’t want him to be left alone at the moment.” He knew he didn’t need to tell you what sports game it was. It’s not like you would care much anyway.

“I was just gonna crash on his couch afterwards, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you doing the same.” Truthfully, you weren’t all that interested in sports but you shrugged your shoulders and agreed anyway, knowing that you and Bucky would have a nice evening no matter what. He just needed some company, you didn’t really have to pay attention to the game.

So that was how you ended up climbing the stairs up to his flat the following evening, a few of your dad’s beers and snacks in hand, ready to spend the evening with your head tucked in your phone.

You gave the door two little knocks, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind your ear before it opened, Bucky standing on the other side, beaming as always.

“Angel! Thank you for coming! God, look at you, you look beautiful, come in!” He grinned softly, arms wrapping around your waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was torturous how good he smelled, never mind how good he looked.

“Good to see you too Bucky!” You laughed, only able to hug him with one arm.

He was sporting just a little stubble but it suited him, his body so warm as it pressed against yours.

But then his heat was gone almost as quickly as you had registered it, one hand on the small of your back, leading you inside.

The place was spotless, everything neatly arranged but his own belongings were minimal. There were no photos anywhere, nothing personal and it made you more than a little sad for him.

“Game starts in half an hour sweetheart, I was just gonna make the nachos your dad likes and order some food but we can get whatever you like.” It wasn’t hard to see the excitement radiating from him and that’s when you realised you were probably the first person outside of his job that he’d spoken to in quite a while.

“Sounds great Bucky, your nachos are the best!” Your enthusiasm only made him happier, as did the fact you didn’t hesitate to make yourself at home, opening a beer each and placing the rest neatly into his fridge.

It was almost strange how natural it felt, being so domestic with Bucky, just letting him work away in the kitchen while you sat on the counter, talking about work and anything else that popped into your heads.

He listened to every single word you said, actually taking an interest in everything you talked about and God, did it feel like such a pleasant change.

The beers slowly disappeared as you chatted on the kitchen floor, your backs pressed against the kitchen cabinet, the game playing in the background, almost entirely forgotten about. Not that either of you cared. For Bucky, it was never about wanting to watch the game, it was about company and companionship, usually with your dad but he was finding your company just as fulfilling. He didn’t actually care who won or lost in the slightest.

It didn’t take long for the beers to run out, moving on to something a little bit stronger. You were both pleasantly buzzed, your tongues getting looser under the effects of the whiskey, innocent touches lasting just a little too long, his eyes flitting over your body, hoping he didn’t accidentally spend so long staring at your breasts that you noticed.

“God honey, it’s awful but honestly, I just miss the sex more than anything else. Miss feelin’ her. It’s so stupid, jus’ can’t…. Can’t stop thinkin’ about how good it felt. Shit, it’s pathetic.” Bucky was getting vulnerable and you were happy to listen, taking his hand in yours to offer a little support.

“It’s not stupid Buck. Keep going, it’s good to talk about it.” Bucky wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Definitely not with you anyway. Not when your body was so close to his, your perfume intoxicating him more than any drink ever could and shit, you were understanding him even though your life experiences were so different to his.

“I’ve said enough angel, the divorce is for the best.” He smiled sadly, looking down at your linked hands, giving yours a little squeeze.

“It’s definitely for the best Buck. But I get it, losing that intimacy must be awful. I mean, I wouldn’t know but… You two were close. Sex must be nice when you trust the other person like that.” Bucky was hanging on every word that tumbled from your lips, watching as your mouth moved, feeling the cogs in his brain turn slowly.

“You wouldn’t know? I’m sure you’ve dated in the past?” Bucky asked softly, the alcohol emboldening him to pry into your private life. He had spilled his to you so it was only fair.

“I mean yeah, I’ve dated but I’ve just never… Found someone I trust enough to have sex with. Never felt like that about someone before.” You felt like you should’ve been embarrassed to admit your little secret but your blood in your veins was buzzing pleasantly, another sip of whiskey washing over your tongue and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Shit angel, you’re a virgin?” Bucky sounded enraptured. “You’re easily the prettiest girl in this town, you could have anyone you want.”

“It’s more than that though Buck. Want to be with someone who knows what they’re doing. Don’t want it to be awkward and awful and sore. Wanna enjoy it. Wanna feel good.” Every last word was making his heart thump, blood rushing to his dick of its own accord.

“I guess you’re right angel. Those boys your age only care about getting themselves off. They have no idea what good sex means for a woman.” His lips looked so pink and soft and wet with whiskey, you almost felt a little lost just looking at them.

“Just need a man I can trust. A man I know will take care of me. A man that knows how to make my first time exactly what I’m looking for.” Your breath felt scorchingly hot against his face. Oh god, when had you moved closer? How hadn’t he noticed? Your fingers were still laced together, you thumb running gently over his and that’s when he realised, he needed this far too badly.

“Sweetheart…. We um…. This isn’t a good idea-“ he began but he was cut off by the feeling of your lips hitting his.

He couldn’t help the heat burning inside him as your hand came to tentatively land on his cheek, his hands moving to your waist to pull you closer. Between opening up about the divorce and hearing you were a virgin and the fact you were both sobering up very quickly, Bucky was getting lost in the feeling of being wanted. The feeling of taking care of another and being taken care of in turn.

But shit, the kiss was getting far too heated far too fast and he could feel how badly you wanted this. He could feel your passion, your need for your first time to be on your terms and he almost admired how you weren’t afraid to tell him exactly what you wanted.

But you were both getting far too caught up in the moment and he’d be damned if he was going to let your first time be on the kitchen floor of all places. So instead, he helped you up, joining your lips in another gentle kiss before encouraging you to jump up on him, into his waiting arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist, helping him carry you to his bedroom without ever breaking the kiss.

You were breathless by the time he dropped you onto the bed, watching in awe as Bucky hovered above you looking flushed and excited but almost scared.

“You know you can stop this any time angel? You don’t have to go through with it if you don’t want to. The second you tell me to, I’ll stop. I won’t be upset.” You hadn’t expected him to be so tender. You had a fair idea he would be a considerate lover but this kind of soft spoken intimacy was quite foreign to you. It was certainly not unwelcome though.

“Bucky. I want this.” You whispered, letting your hands grab at the edge of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head. Before the thin material had even fallen to the floor his lips were back on yours again, letting you set the pace.

The feeling of your soft hands exploring his bare chest almost drove him wild. You weren’t timid in the slightest, no you were keen, eager and so damn excited he couldn’t help but feel the same.

“Can I take your dress off angel?” He breathed, barely even removing his lips from yours to whisper the words out. Your little nod was all he needed to have the confidence to reach down, finding the hem quickly to pull it up over your head.

The sight of you left him speechless. An endless expanse of soft skin and sweet curves, beautifully encased in a delicate white lace bra and panty set and that’s when he realised just how much thought had went into this evening. You’d planned for this before you even got here.

“Do you. Have any. Idea. How beautiful. You are?” Bucky’s little praises were broken only by the gentle kisses that he pressed to your skin. There was no rhyme or reason to their placement, he was just going along with whatever felt right.

“Bucky please… Don’t tease.” Your breathlessness caught him off guard, the need inside you becoming unbearable. You had waited far too long to feel what sex was like and you would be damned if you were going to wait a single second more.

“Keen aren’t you sweetheart?” He laughed softly with a confident smirk, ridding himself of his jeans. His dark boxers were tented deliciously, the outline of his thick cock was so evident, straining against the material.

You couldn’t help how your mouth watered as you reached over and pulled his boxers off, his hard length springing free.

“You happy to take your underwear off honey?” he asked quietly, pulling you from the filthy thoughts filling your head. Rather than answer him, you shimmied out of your panties, letting them fall to the floor in a little damp heap. Your bra followed quickly after, Bucky’s hands moving to cup your breasts while his lips made their way to your neck.

You could hear every soft groan that left him as he played with you, pinching and rolling your nipples into stiff buds. His cock was resting perfectly between your thighs, pressing against your slick sex but certainly not trying to breach it yet.

“Never gonna get this sweet body out of my head angel. You mind if I work you up a little? Don’t wanna hurt you.” Fuck, it melted your heart how he could say something like that sounding overly confident and cocky. He wasn’t over exaggerating his size or trying to suggest he was too impressive to handle. No, Bucky was just genuinely intent on making this good for you and easing the discomfort as much as possible.

“Touch me Buck. Please. Give me something.” Your eyes fluttered shut as one of his huge hands moved from your breasts, down between your legs, two fingertips dragging ever so lightly over the exposed skin that no one but you had touched before.

“So wet for me aren’t you?” His whisper pulled a groan from you, his finger dipping between your folds, coated in your slick. You didn’t care how wrecked you looked, not paying attention to the fact your hips bucked up of their own accord to meet his hand.

“So wet Bucky, please.” His heart melted at your little plea and how the hell was he supposed to deny you?

Slowly, Bucky began to slip just one finger inside you, drinking in the whimper that left you. One was certainly bearable, it wasn’t too much of a stretch, in fact it felt nice.

But then his finger started to curl and God, it felt better than just nice. You could feel him rubbing parts of you no one ever had before, parts you couldn’t reach by yourself and it didn’t take long for the feeling to become unbelievable.

“Have you ever cum before, honey?” Bucky whispered over the sound of the slick noises your body was letting out.

“I, ah- I don’t know Bucky. Touched myself before but n-never felt this good.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, working his finger in and out of you at a nice steady pace.

“Show me how you touch yourself angel.” His voice was so low and sinful it made you shiver, your hand drifting down to rub your clit in time with his thrusts.

“Bucky I need more. Please gimme more.” You were breathless, arching your back off the bed, chasing a high you didn’t know how to handle.

“Gonna give you another finger. Might hurt a little but I’ll try to be gentle.” You couldn’t have possibly cared if it would hurt or not, you just needed something more.

As he pulled his finger out on the next thrust, he lined the second up beside it, pressing in slowly.

“Oh that’s it, good girl, takin’ me so well. Doin’ such a good job for me.” You weren’t sure if it was his praise or the stretch that made you whimper but you were loving how both made you feel.

Finally, your own fingers started working your clit again, Bucky taking that as a cue to start moving ever so slowly, rubbing your sweetest spot just as he had before.

Two fingers felt so much better. It was a tight fit but you couldn’t deny how good it felt.

It didn’t take long for your body to respond, a knot in your belly tightening, your toes curling slightly.

“That feel good sweetheart? You think you could cum for me?” You were nodding at his words but you weren’t even sure you knew how.

“Buck… I’ve never…. This feels different.” You whined, trying not to desperately fuck yourself down on his fingers.

“It’s okay honey. Just do what feels right okay? Rub yourself faster if you need to.” He was so gentle with you, letting you take the chance to chase your peak.

His fingers didn’t stop, yours sped up and it didn’t take long for you to be writhing, almost crying, right on the edge of a feeling you couldn’t describe. You knew you had to fall into it but how?

But then Bucky’s fingers crooked slightly differently, you rubbed yourself just a little harder and it all came crashing down at once. You felt yourself tighten around his hand, a wet heat covering the insides of your thighs as pleasure consumed you.

“Fuck oh f-fuck Bucky.” You whimpered, your eyes catching his and you could’ve swore there was no where else in the world that man would rather be in that moment. He looked enthralled, his fingers never stopping, letting you drag every last second of ecstasy out as long as possible.

“That’s it. Keep going honey, doin’ so so well. So pretty for me.” His words were soft but his eyes twinkled with a kind of lust you knew was reflected in your own. His cock was throbbing but he was happily ignoring it. This wasn’t for him after all, this was all about you.

Eventually, your high subsided, Bucky taking the fact your fingers had stopped as a cue to stop his own.

The feeling of him slipping from you was almost disappointing, your body fighting to keep him in.

“You want to stop there honey? I won’t mind if that’s all you wanna do tonight. That looked intense.” He laughed quietly, stroking your hair gently with his free hand, pressing the tiniest of kisses to your forehead.

“No chance, Barnes. You’ve been holding out on me.” You laughed quietly, your chest heaving after so much excitement but still ready for more.

“Would surprise you what tricks you pick up.” Bucky laughed softly, drinking in your enthusiasm and the feeling of you leaning over, taking his cock in your hand.

Your nerves had melted away. You weren’t shy in the slightest. No, you were a confident young woman, thriving off the unknown and he loved it.

“Just like this honey.” He encouraged softly, placing his hand over the top of yours teaching you how to jerk him off the way he liked.

You couldn’t help but watch his face, loving how his eyes fluttered shut, pleasure clouding his brain. A little gasp left his lips when you squeezed ever so slightly harder, giving him nice tight strokes, focusing on his head since it seemed so sensitive.

“Oh fuck, spit on it honey. Don’t be shy.” He breathed, rutting his hips ever so slightly into your hand. His bare thighs looked so strong and powerful yet here he was, practically purring against your touch.

You did as he asked, albeit slightly timidly, leaning over and spitting in his head, letting the saliva trickle down his length, massaging it in with your hand.

“Good girl, that’s it. Feels s-so good honey, makin’ me feel incredible.” He didn’t mind taking the second to let you catch your breath. Why would he? You were making it so enjoyable for him, his little grunts filling the room.

“Bucky… Can we… You know.” You asked quietly after a moment. Not that you weren’t enjoying jerking him but you had bigger ideas in mind in that moment.

“Of course sweetheart, you ready?” He asked softly, his eyes opening and finding yours, sincere and gentle but twinkling with passion.

You nodded gently, letting him take the lead, laying you back on the bed, his lips on yours in the kind of passionate kiss that left your head spinning.

His hands felt like they were everywhere all at once. One ran up the side of your body gently, reverently, feeling your soft skin. He worshipped you, letting you have a second to get ready and truly decide if this was what you wanted. And God, it was.

“Bucky…” you groaned quietly, pulling him out of his haze, dragging him back to the present.

“You wanna stop. You want me to slow down. You want to take a second to breathe. You let me know. This is all on your terms.” You knew he meant every single word with all his heart. You knew there wasn’t a single thing to be worried about either. Bucky would take such good care of you.

But rather than explain all that to him, you reached up and cradled his face in your palm, letting him press tiny kisses to your wrist as he lined himself up at your entrance.

You were soaked by now, no doubt about it. The evidence of you first orgasm let him slide into you with ease, his length slowly starting to divide your walls, your body welcoming him in. It certainly wasn’t euphoric. It wasn’t uncontrollable pleasure. In fact, it was hardly pleasurable at all. It was a stretch, tinged with pain and discomfort.

“Almost all the way angel. God you’re doing so well for me. Swallowin’ me up.” Bucky’s voice grounded you a little as he continued to press into you.

You stuck it out for the next few seconds as he slipped entirely inside, bottoming out with a groan.

“It’s a lot to take baby girl. Look at you though, doin’ so well for me. Such a sweet girl. Gonna give you a minute honey. It’s gonna feel so good though, I promise.” You couldn’t help but believe him, your walls fluttering around him in a desperate scramble to get used to the invasion.

After a minute or two of being doted on, kisses peppered to your neck and shoulders, the stretch didn’t feel so bad anymore.

“C-can you move Bucky. Think I’m ready.” You whispered quietly, digging your fingers into his bare back.

So he did. He drew his hips back, pulling out almost the entire way before sliding back in slowly, a groan leaving both of you.

“S-shit you’re tight angel. Feels so good, you know that? Fuck, tighter than I could’ve even dreamed.”

His little cries had you whimpering, your body still sore but the pain was definitely subsiding with each slow movement.

But it didn’t take long for the pain to stop altogether, giving way to a pleasant ache for more.

“Faster Bucky, God please gimme more. N-need you.” You sounded wrecked in the best way and Bucky was more than happy to give in, setting a nice decent pace.

“Can’t believe how good you feel, so wet and warm and ah- you’re so keen. Grippin’ me like your little pussy doesn’t want me to stop.” His head had fallen to the crook of your neck, almost panting at the feeling of you swallowing him up.

“Gonna give you more baby, you think you can take it?��� He asked quietly, his hand slipping down between your bodies to rub your sensitive little bundle of nerves.

Everything felt heightened as soon as his fingers connected with it. Any lingering discomfort melted away into a pleasure so sweet, you weren’t sure how you had ever lived without it.

“I can take it Bucky please, need you to fuck me.” Hearing such filthy words fall from such sweet lips did something to Bucky he couldn’t quite explain. The moan that you tore from him almost seemed to reverberate around the room. His hips sped up, not just fucking you, more grinding into you, every movement assaulting that sweet spot he made you aware of earlier.

The sensation was so m different to that which his fingers had offered. This was all encompassing, his blunt head spearing into you in a way that felt so good, you could almost cry.

“Fuck, ‘m losing it angel. Lemme know if I’m going too fast, okay? I’ll stop everythin’.” As soon as you nodded, his filthy grind sped up and your body reacted of its own accord. Sounds escaped you that you didn’t even know you were capable of, your fingernails digging into any exposed skin of Bucky’s you could reach.

“O-oh Bucky fuck, fuck holy shit that feels so good. Oh no Bucky please, I’m gonna cum. No God, I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered, held right on the edge of such intense pleasure all of a sudden. A low growl left Bucky’s throat, his breath coming out as a strangled pant against your neck, his body casing you in, trying desperately to catch up so he wouldn’t overwork you chasing his own release.

“Jus’ a minute longer. Hold it for me baby girl.” He whispered through gritted teeth, rolling his fingers against your delicate bud.

“Bucky I -oh. Fuck, what happens when I cum with you inside me? Oh shit, how do I, ah!” Your little desperate pleading gave way to a high pitched moan, your orgasm hitting you far harder than you could even have anticipated. Your cry suddenly silenced, the pleasure not stopping, your body trembling as you rode it out, barely registering the deep grunt that came from Bucky.

“Shit, angel that’s it, milkin’ my cock, feels so good you know that. Takin’ every drop. Now this little pussy’s got a taste of my cum, you won’t be able to stop, will ya?” Your head nodded, the feeling of Bucky’s balls emptying inside you making every conscious thought leave your body.

But all too soon, he was pulling out, flopping onto the bed beside you, pulling you into a warm embrace. Your bodies were sweaty and fucked out but feeling so close to him still felt lovely, his lips littering kisses wherever he could reach.

“Well? As good as you dreamed?” He chuckled quietly, taming your wild hair as much as possible before pressing a kiss to your head.

“Far far better.” You laughed softly, almost delirious from the endorphins coursing through your body.

“Hm, I’m glad toots.” You didn’t need to see him to know he had the exact same content smile on his face, wondering how one earth you could possibly find so much comfort in each other

Taglist:

@1-800-imagines @mysweetlittledesire @margowrites @justatirednightowl @babebr @allydrabbles @stucky-my-ship @white-wolves-and-grey-skies @harrysthiccthighss @sebsbrokentoe @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @badgirlwolfy @igotmajordaddyissues @baebee35 @pumpkin-spice-and-barnes @i-l-y-3000 @buckybarnescanfckme

[thedreamermusing]

Harry identified with and reluctantly admired Snape even before ‘The Prince’s Tale’

So, 'Albus Severus' is admittedly is a controversial name in fandom due to Snape's own dubious morality. And people also think that Harry going from hatred to admiration of Snape so quickly is unrealistic. But, that's not true. There's no doubt that Harry hated Snape, but amid that hatred, there was also reluctant admiration and even identification with Snape. Let's see a few examples:

Harry did not speak; he felt that to say anything might be dangerous. He was sure he had just broken into Snape’s memories, that he had just seen scenes from Snape’s childhood, and it was unnerving to think that the crying little boy who had watched his parents shouting was actually standing in front of him with such loathing in his eyes. . . .

Probably the first time Harry is looking at Snape as anything more than his hated Potions professor. But it is still significant considering Harry's own abusive childhood.

His reaction to Snape's Worst Memory:

What was making Harry feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him — it was that he knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as his father had taunted him, and that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him.

His immediate reaction after watching Snape's memory is to empathise with Snape, because he knows what it's like to be bullied in front of a crowd.

We also get hints of how similar Snape and Harry are. Even Hermione comments on it:

Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff —” “Well,” said Hermione, “I thought he sounded a bit like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yes, when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?”

Hermione comments on how they both sound similar. Snape and Harry do have a lot in common as we will find out later, but this is one of the first hints of another character noticing it.

But imo, the largest culmination of Harry's reluctant admiration is in the case Snape's old textbook, when he called himself the Half-blood Prince. This is teen Snape; Snape as Lily knew him, Snape without all the baggage that he has with Harry. And what is Harry's opinion of him?

Harry woke early on the morning of the trip, which was proving stormy, and whiled away the time until breakfast by reading his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. He did not usually lie in bed reading his textbooks; that sort of behavior, as Ron rightly said, was indecent in anybody except Hermione, who was simply weird that way. Harry felt, however, that the Half-Blood Princes copy of Advanced Potion-Making hardly qualified as a textbook. The more Harry pored over the book, the more he realized how much was in there, not only the handy hints and shortcuts on potions that was earning him such a glowing reputation with Slughorn, but also the imaginative little jinxes and hexes scribbled in the margins, which Harry was sure, judging by the crossings-out and revisions, that the Prince had invented himself.

Harry's admiration is practically dripping through the pages. He's staying up at night reading the book, admiring the boy who was so clever.

One of the most interesting lines is also this:

“My dad used this spell,” said Harry. “I — Lupin told me.” This last part was not true; in fact, Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be —?

Harry is so attached to Snape's old textbook that he wishes it was his father. Harry is hungry for father figures and the fact that he elevates the Prince to this kind of figure from just his textbook is significant. It shows the lost potential between Harry and Snape. Who is the Prince but a younger Snape? It shows that had Snape been a little less bitter and damaged, he could have been a mentor figure for Harry.

These two have so much in common: their lives are defined by Voldemort and they're not truly free until he's dead, they're both half-bloods who grew up in the muggle world, they both suffered abusive childhoods, they were both bullied, they're both sarcastic and dry, they both can get very vicious (Snape more so obviously), they're both completely loyal to Dumbledore, they're both brave and stubborn as hell. I truly believe that had Snape not been so blind, he could have been a great father figure for Harry simply because of how similar they are and how much they could relate to each other.

He felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage; what had the Prince been thinking to copy such a spell into his book? And what would happen when Snape saw it? Would he tell Slughorn — Harry’s stomach churned — how Harry had been achieving such good results in Potions all year? Would he confiscate or destroy the book that had taught Harry so much…the book that had become a kind of guide and friend? Harry could not let it happen…He could not…

Harry thinks of the Prince as a friend and guide.

“Will you stop harping on about the book!” snapped Harry. “The Prince only copied it out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!”

“I don’t believe this,” said Hermione. “You’re actually defending —“

“I’m not defending what I did!” said Harry quickly. “I wish I hadn’t done it, and not just because I’ve got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn’t’ve used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can’t blame the Prince, he hadn’t written ‘try this out, it’s really good’ — he was just making notes for himself, wasn’t he, not for anyone else…”

Even after 'Sectumsempra', Harry defends the Prince like this. As a side note, I also think that Harry's relationship with the Prince somewhat mirrors Lily's relationship with Snape. They both admired and loved the boy who was so clever and imaginative and were willing to blind themselves as that boy went deeper into the dark side.

He broke off, looking out of the window. He could not stop himself dwelling upon Dumbledore’s inexcusable trust in Snape…but as Hermione had just inadvertently reminded him, he, Harry, had been taken in just the same…in spite of the increasing nastiness of those scribbled spells, he had refused to believe ill of the boy who had been so clever, who had helped him so much..

This is after Snape killed Dumbledore, and Harry's primary feeling about the Prince is one of betrayal. Ultimately, I believe Harry's relationship with the Prince is pivotal in his understanding of Snape, and I firmly believe that this also informed his decision to name his son after Snape. After watching Snape's dying memories, Harry's admiration of the Prince returned and merged with his feelings towards Snape. It is no coincidence that the chapter revealing Snape's true allegiance is called 'The Prince's Tale', telling us that Snape truly is the same Prince Harry admired and wished was his father.

Harry's feelings towards Snape after the Prince's tale is obvious. Throughout Snape's memories, he identifies with him, not James. He immediately notices that James has an air of being loved and adored while Snape conspicuously lacks it. He cannot bring himself to watch Snape's Worst Memory again. After watching the memories, he identifies with both Snape and Tom Riddle as 'the abandoned boys' who were outcasts and only found their home in Hogwarts.

In short, I believe Harry's admiration of Snape was not sudden or inexplicable but something he always reluctantly felt. He identified with Snape even when he hated him. Once he saw Snape's memories in his entirety, he understood and identified with them even more because Harry has been in Snape's shoes. He's been a dark-haired, abused, bullied, half-blood outcast. And he knows how hard it is to be brave in those circumstances. While the readers might have trouble understanding why Snape would have a child named after him, Harry doing so is not a surprise.

[sweetestofchaos]

♫ 𝐵𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠 ♫ Y/N is an American music artist and Seokjin has started to date her. ♫ Part 5 ♫ 2,112

SFW // Interracial Relationship // Strangers to Lovers // Cursing // SOL // Part 4 // Part 6

Taglist: @thickemadame​

a/n: dividers made by @benkeibear​​

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Sure, enough the headlines were filled with Jin and Summer’s hot new romance. The kiss on national tv was all over the web and Twitter was going insane. Both companies were prepared for this, unknown to everyone that Y/N and Jin talked with their higher ups and got permission to make their relationship public. Jin took the time to write a message to his fans and he didn’t apologize for living his life which Y/N was proud of. She hated that most idols felt like they needed to apologize for being human. Y/N’s announcement was much more open. She posted a photo of Jin and herself in her home, they were laying on the couch and Jin was between her legs, arms wrapped around her waist and his head was lying flat against her stomach. Y/N captioned the photo ‘boy, you do something to me’ with Ella Mai’s song Boo’d Up playing over it and everyone couldn’t shut up about it.

Life seemed to settle down once Bangtan started another session of Run BTS. Y/N went back to the states and the relationship shifted to something more precious. The hours spent together in Seoul were missed, but the endless texts, Facetime and voice memos made the distance feel a little less significant. Snapchat turned into a fun way to tease each other and interact with Bangtan as a whole in their own group snap. Y/N found herself smiling at her phone more often and everyone could see a new light shining in Jin’s eyes. He laughed more and Namjoon noticed that he came to the gym more often with him. 

Curled on her couch with her laptop on her lap, Y/N smiles at Seokjin as he moves around the living room getting everything ready for their movie night with the rest of Bangtan. Jimin’s bright face pops up on screen and he smiles at Y/N. 

“Noona!” Jimin’s eyes turn into crescents as he grins. “Noona, Jin hyung said you are coming to visit soon!”

“I’m going to try to get out to you all. Things over here in the states are a little crazy right now since my label is merging with another.”

“Y/N noona are you going to stay with us when you come?” Jungkook’s voice shouts from somewhere off screen.

“Can she stay here?” Taehyung’s deep voice questions as he comes on screen next to Jimin.

“Ya!” Seokjin throws a pillow at Taehyung, and everyone laughs. “Of course, she’s going to stay here. My girlfriend is not going to stay in some hotel.”

The guys all gather around the couch and Namjoon plops down beside Seokjin with a bowl of popcorn. Y/N giggles as popcorn spills out of the bowl and into Seokjin and Namjoon’s lap. The guys all complain and Namjoon’s face flushes as he quickly tries to clean up the mess with Seokjin’s help.

“What movie are we watching?” The guys all call out different movies and Yoongi asks what Y/N would like to watch. Heat pools under her skin as she mummers her request and the guys are all confused.

“It’s…it’s a really cute movie. Part two is better than one.” By some strange act of fate, Bangtan got suckered into watching Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs along with the sequel and Y/N couldn’t be happier. Seokjin has the hardest time focusing on the movies, he is too distracted by Y/N’s giggles and bright eyes. After the lighthearted movies, the guys put on The 8th Night and Cargo which Y/N watches mostly through her fingers. Laughing and joking around, the guys all head to bed while Seokjin and Y/N stay up a little longer.

“Get in bed, Y/N.” Seokjin waits while Y/N picks her laptop up and carries it into her room. She settles herself in bed with the blankets pulled over her legs and the laptop resting on the pillow beside her. 

“Do you want to watch another movie?” Y/N shakes her head with a yawn and Seokjin smiles softly. “I can’t wait until next month, it’s only a few weeks away.”

“I wish I was there now…I never watch scary movies at night.”

“I’m right there with you. I’m not going anywhere.” Seokjin gets comfortable on the couch, so that he is laying down. Y/N yawns and wipes at her blurry eyes. “Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

“A lullaby? That sounds nice…” 

Seokjin licks his dry lips and thinks of what he should sing. Clearing his throat, Seokjin inhales and starts to sing softly. The lyrics are unknown to Y/N, but the fear in her heart starts to melt away as her eyes get heavy.

yeppeun donghwa sok han jangmyeoncheoreom

nae nunapen nega isseo

gilgo gin shiganeul dolgo doraseo

ireoke neowa unmyeongcheoreom yeah

Seokjin’s lips twitch as he watches Y/N try to fight her sleep and he continues to sing as he hits the screen record on his laptop. The blue bonnet on Y/N’s head slides down her forehead a little and Seokjin chuckles as he stops singing Like a Movie by B1A4. 

“Goodnight jagiya.” Seokjin kisses the tips of his fingers and presses them lightly to the screen. He smiles and ends the video chat. Sighing, Seokjin closes his laptop and stares up at the ceiling. Two weeks, in just two weeks they will be together and this heavy feeling in Seokjin’s chest will go away.

Y/N entered the airport wearing a simple outfit to try and get by unnoticed by anyone. Wide legged ripped jeans, a tan crop top layered with a brown button up shirt, black strappy sandals, and oversized cheetah print sunglasses. Y/N didn’t post on social media for a week to hide her new hair style and make it easier to enter Seoul without being recognized. Y/N’s phone vibrates in her pocket, and she checks the message to see that Seokjin is waiting for her by the exit gate. He told her to look for a black Fila bucket hat. Tucking some of her black and silver ombre twists behind her ear, Y/N hurries towards the exit gate. 

Seokjin spots Y/N before she can see him and he quickly sneaks around behind her, “I like the new color.” Seokjin wraps his arms around Y/N waist lightly and she is quick to turn around in his arms. Y/N’s eyes are shining with unshed tears and Seokjin chuckles, “Hello babe.” Y/N throws her arms around Seokjin’s waist and buries her face into his chest as she cries silently. The weight in both their hearts now feels lighter and it’s easier to breathe now that they have each other in front of them again. 

“Let’s get out of here.” Seokjin grabs Y/N’s hand and leads her over to the baggage claim. Y/N points out her suitcases and Seokjin grabs them easily. A few people recognize the couple and together Y/N and Seokjin wave and throw up finger hearts as their fans snap a few pictures. 

Seokjin leads the way to his car, and he opens the door for Y/N to get in while he puts her luggage in the trunk. Pulling her seatbelt on, Y/N pulls the mask off her face and fiddles with the rings on her fingers as she waits for Seokjin to get in the car. Seokjin slams the trunk and jogs over to the driver door. Jumping into the car, Seokjin puts his seatbelt on and starts the car before he grabs hold of Y/N’s hand. “I’ve missed you jajiya.”

Y/N smiles and brings their connected hands up to her lips, “I’ve missed you too Jinnie.” Y/N kisses their knuckles and smiles at the red tint of Seokjin’s ears. Seokjin pulls his mask off and starts to drive to the dorm where the rest of the guys are waiting for Y/N. It’s one of their rare off days and they all plan to just chill around the dorm and relax while Y/N settles into their routine and lifestyle again.

It’s late at night, Y/N is cuddled into Seokjin’s side, and her feet are buried under Namjoon’s meaty thighs as they all sit around, and binge watch some k-drama that Jimin has been talking about nonstop. Seokjin plays with the twists on Y/N’s head, letting them drop from his fingers before he picks them up again. Y/N is passed out, soft snores spilling from her lips and Seokjin grins, she looks beautiful. Feeling eyes on him, Seokjin looks up and sure enough Yoongi is smiling at him.

“What?” Seokjin questions and all eyes in the room turn to him. 

Yoongi shrugs his shoulders with a shake of his head, “You look like you’re about to pass out. Go to bed, hyung.”

Seokjin nods his head and Namjoon helps hold Y/N up while Seokjin gets off the couch. Bending down, he scoops Y/N into his arms and mutters a goodnight before he heads to his room for the night. Seokjin kicks the bedroom door shut softly as he enters the room, and he yawns. Looking down at Y/N and lays her down on the bed. 

Y/N stirs but doesn’t wake and Seokjin smiles, “How can you be so cute and sexy while sleeping?”

Carefully, Seokjin pulls the covers from under Y/N and pulls them up to her neck. Rolling his shoulders, Seokjin gets himself ready for bed and grabs Y/N’s bonnet off his dresser before he crawls in beside Y/N. The warmth from her body is inviting and Seokjin quickly and carefully slips the bonnet on Y/N’s head. With skilled fingers, Seokjin tucks the twists easily into the protective head piece before his arms slip around her and he rests his head on Y/N’s chest. Y/N’s heartbeat is soothing, lulling Seokjin into a peaceful sleep.

In the morning, Y/N wakes to an empty bed and the scent of food in the air. Light laughter is heard through behind the door and Y/N smiles as she yawns. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Y/N pauses as she feels her bonnet sitting on her head. 

“Jinnie…” Y/N pulls the bonnet off and sets it on the nightstand before she checks her reflection in the mirror. Laughing to herself, Y/N can’t get the smile off her face. When was the last time someone made her this happy with such a simple gesture? Fixing her pjs, Y/N heads out the room and the smile on her face widens when she sees Seokjin in the kitchen making breakfast with Yoongi’s help. Happy that she remembered to grab her phone, Y/N quickly snaps a photo and sits beside Taehyung who looks half asleep. 

Seeing Y/N beside him, Taehyung whines and drops his head onto Y/N’s shoulders. Y/N’s giggle fills the air and Seokjin turns around with a smile on his face. 

“Morning angel.”

All eyes are on Seokjin at his greeting and Y/N can feel her face heating up. Seokjin’s eye widen once he realizes what he just said, and he quickly turns back around to focus on cooking.

 Y/N sings to herself as she sits on the floor in the living room between Seokjin’s legs. It’s time to take the twists out and Seokjin offered to help. The rest of Bangtan are out and about doing their own thing, so it’s just Seokjin and Y/N at the dorm. Jimin made a lighthearted joke about keeping the dirty stuff hidden in the bedroom while they are away and Namjoon was quick to pluck him on the back of his head on the way out. Seokjin’s ears were bright red, and Y/N just laughed, choosing to ignore the comment. 

“Hey, Jinnie?”

“Hmmm?” Seokjin doesn’t take his eyes off the twist he is working on as Y/N speaks up.

“H-how would you feel if I got a place here?”

“A place?” Seokjin thought about Y/N words and his hands stopped moving once he figured out what she was saying. “A place?!” Seokjin pulls Y/N up into his lap and crashes his lips into hers. “A-a place…Y/N that’s awesome!” 

“I-It would just be during the summer months and during winter I’ll go back to the states. I just thought it would make being together-”

Seokjin presses his lips to Y/N and rests his forehead against hers, “Can I help you find a place?”

[gunterfan1992]

Episode Review: ‘Together Again’ (Distant Lands, Ep. 3)

Airdate: May 20, 2021

Story by: Jack Pendarvis, Kate Tsang, Hanna K. Nyström, Christina Catucci, Jesse Moynihan, Adam Muto

Storyboarded by: Hanna K. Nyström, Anna Syvertsson, Iggy Craig, Maya Petersen, Serena Wu

Directed by: Miki Brewster (supervising), Sandra Lee (art)

Across Adventure Time’s ten season run, the show explored a bevy of “mature” themes and story ideas—topics, like love, sexuality, depression, and grieving. The show also touched upon death, but the emphasis was usually placed on the emotional toll of a loved one dying, not really what happens when you die. We knew there were Dead Worlds and Death. We knew that there was reincarnation. But how does it all fit together? What does it mean? How does it work?

With “Together Again,” we finally have many of the answers.

This special opens with a marvelous fake-out episode simply called “Finn & Jake,” that sees the two steal a magical cartoon of 50-flavor ice cream before rescuing Turtle Princess and LSP from the clutches of the villainous Ice King. This is all deliberately anachronistic and over the top. Ice King is back to his season one ways, Finn has both arms, and he is still wielding his golden sword that he lost in season two’s “The Real You.” There’s lolrandom dialogue and silly monsters; it’s like a parody of seasons 1-2. But then, this adventure starts to get all wonky, and in time Finn realizes that he is in a some sort of trance or illusion: one that ends with Jake being buried in the ground. Suddenly, Finn awakens from his reverie. He’s an old man. And he’s dead. We’re then presented with a new title card that lets us know the episode is actually called “Finn & Jake Are Dead.”

Holy Glob! They actually went there.

Turns out Jake died years before Finn, so naturally Finn is super excited to see his best bud. But something’s wrong—he cannot find Jake!! They planned to spend eternity together. But all that Finn can find is his very own psychopomp, Mr. Fox (voiced by Tom Herpich, whose purposefully stilted line readings are the epitome of delightful). Finn rightfully assumes that Jake is in a different Dead World, and so, being the ball of spunk and energy that he is, he demands to meet with Death, only to discover that there’s a New Death in town (voiced by Chris Fleming). The episode eventually explains that New Death was the son of Death and Life, and after New Death killed his father, he became the sovereign of the afterlife. New Death hates his job and decides to just blow up all the Dead Worlds so he doesn’t have to deal with it all. (I won’t get too much into the details here, because there would be a lot of story to parse out.)

Finn soon learns that Jake has reached nirvana in the 50th Dead World, where there is nothing but peace and serenity. Finn nevertheless tracks down Jake, pulls him from paradise, but in doing so, accidentally lets New Death in, who promptly obliterates Elysium, sending all the enlightened souls—including those from different levels of the afterlife—to the 1st Dead World. This gronks up the afterlife, temporarily halting the reincarnation process.

Well, Finn and Jake are rightfully ticked, and so they haunt the material plane looking for Princess Bubblegum. She’s not home (more on that later), but Peppermint Butler is! After Ghost Finn and Ghost Jake explain the situation, Peppermint Butler tells them what to do: They need to find Life and explain the situation. The duo manage just that, and Life is rightfully angry that her kid has stopped the transmigration of souls. After Life gives Finn a McGuffin sword that can hurt Death, Finn and Jake return to his abode. A brawl ensues wherein we learn that New Death has been possessed… by none other than that spirit of the Lich.

That’s right, it’s the Lich! He’s back, and boy is he evil.

The Lich explains that by possessing Death, he can destroy the afterlife, thereby destroying a key aspect of reality. Naturally, Finn and Jake are not cool with this, and they engage in combat. After Mr. Fox grabs the McGuffin sword and uses it to annihilate the Lich and New Death, he is proclaimed the New New Death and sets everything right. Finn is slated to be reincarnated, and Jake is slated to return to the 50th Dead World where he and Finn will one day be reunited. As Finn is pulled into the wheel of souls, Jake suddenly decides to go back with Finn, too, “Just for fun.” The episode ends with a card letting us know that the episode is neither called “Finn & Jake” nor “Finn & Jake Are Dead.” Instead, it is “Finn and Jake Are Together Again.”

As they say, “And there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

If you were to tell me several years ago that the last episode to star Finn and Jake would revolve around them dying, I think I would’ve been upset. Not simply sad, but rather frustrated because “they all died” can feel like a cheap ending. But with “Together Again,” it all works. And a large reason that it works is because the show goes all in with their ideas. Finn and Jake don’t magically leap back into their old life (no, no, they very much do bite the dust). Instead, the special emphasizes the cyclical nature of life through the transmigration of souls. The episode ends with a beautiful scene of Finn and Jake, bound together as soul-brothers, being reborn into a new, mysterious (possibly Ooo 1000+?) world. It’s both aesthetically and emotionally pleasing; it doesn’t feel off the way over finales might. This is right. This is the way life works. “Round and round as nature goes,” and all that jazz.

I loved the series explanation of how death works. It seems that souls land in a specific Dead World, where they ‘marinate’ for a bit, presumably being rewarded or punished based on their life in our meat reality. After a time, they are then reborn. This process repeats, with each soul reaching higher and higher levels of enlightenment until they hit nirvana, which is the 50th Dead World. So in a sense, Adventure Time has a roughly Buddhist cosmology with a dash of Greco-Roman mythos thrown in for flavor. (As to what happens after a soul stays in the 50th Dead World for a long period is anyone’s guess, but I’d speculate that when all the souls in the multiverse have been purified and land in the 50th Dead World, they will all collapse into one another and form one perfect Monad. Perhaps this is the sphere of perfection that the beings who merged into Matthew thought they were connecting to? Who knows! It’s anyone’s guess!) I was a little disappointed that we didn’t get to see who Death, Prismo, Life, etc.’s boss was, but perhaps that’s a mystery better left up to the imagination!

One minor thing that I loved about this special was the number of characters who made cameos as well as all the callbacks that were made to previous episodes. Regarding the former: Finn and Jake’s canine family show up (including the oft-forgotten Jermaine!), as do Tree Trunks and her myriad husbands. Tiffany plays a major role in all these shenanigans as a “death cop” of all things. There is a delightful rogues gallery stuck in the 1st Dead World (including, among others, Maja, Sharon from “The Gut Grinder,” and Wyatt). In the 50th we find Ghost Princess and Clarence happily at peace next to Booshy, the weird spirit mentioned in the Pen Ward classic “High Strangeness.” As far as callbacks go, perhaps my favorite is the clap (from “James Baxter the Horse”) that Jake taught to Finn in case they ever do get separated in the afterlife. And of course, there are myriad references made to “Death in Bloom,” the episode that planted the seed for what this would grow into.

Going into the special suspecting that it would involve Death, I was curious how they were going to handle Miguel Ferrer’s character. (In case a reader is not aware, Ferrer played Death in episodes like “Death in Bloom” and “Betty,” but he sadly passed away a few years ago). The producers’ choice to feature him in a non-speaking cameo—despite playing a relatively significant role in the story—was wise; I’m not sure if I can articulate the exact reasons, but something about his role felt appropriate and not gross, as some post-mortem memorials can be. Speaking of which, the wonderful, lovely Polly Lou Livingston was featured for the last time in this episode as Tree Trunks, happily in heaven with her literal harem of husbands. It was funny, it really was, and I’m sure that Polly Lou would’ve gotten a kick out of seeing it on screen. (Also, this is a pro-Tree Trunks safe space. Any Tree Trunks haters will be chucked into the 1st Dead World with Wyatt.)

The biggest mystery in this whole thing, for me at least, is the question of Princess Bubblegum and Marceline. Several years ago, I wrote an essay about what could’ve happened to them in the Ooo 1000+ universe. I speculated that they peaced out and left Ooo behind. In this special, neither Bubblegum nor Marceline are to be found in the Candy Kingdom—Peppermint Butler seems to be the one in charge, given that he is now wearing Bubblegum’s crown. Likewise, the duo aren’t anywhere in the Dead Worlds either. Maybe the two of them skipped town and got a duplex in the Nightosphere? Who knows… I just want my favorite gals to be OK!

All things considered, “Together Again” was a marvel: An episode that managed to feel like a series finale even more than “Come Along with Me” already did without taking away from the series itself. An episode that managed to make the idea of dying funny. An episode that brought back the Lich in a way that wasn’t forced. An episode that made Mr. Fox the New New Death. An episode that gave us a beautiful ending to Finn and Jake’s story… as well as the beautiful beginning to a new one. I said it on Twitter, and I’ll say it again here: “Together Again” was the end of a sentence in a book with infinite pages. Truly, the fun will never end.

Mushroom War evidence: Everything takes place in the Dead Worlds, so not really. Perhaps a more eagle-eyed viewer can inform us...

Final Grade: That’s right, I’m gonna do it...

Post-script, I actually messaged Jesse Moynihan to ask about his writing credit. He told me that it was for an unused story idea that he had developed. I’m not certain, but I’ll bet it was a part of the cancelled TV movie they were trying to make during season 5, since that would’ve seen Finn and Orgalorg journey to the various Dead Worlds.