#this is only half a joke the song just fits him really weirdly well. my grindset guy of all time

[tvlandofficiall]

spamton g spamton amv sunday

[musicaldamage]

So having watched the vbw Falco musical recently. Rock Me Amadeus. I have Thoughts™

[ID: the mostly empty Ronacher theatre's auditorium seen from the 2nd floor on the right side. the stage is hidden behind a sort-of wall barrier curtain thing made of squares, some of which are reflective. the "Rock Me Amadeus" logo and an image of Moritz Mausser in character as Falco are projected onto it. Surrounding the stage there are a number of variously-shaped angular mirrors lined with glowing light. (additionally there's my partner's hand forming the peace sign on the right side of the image)]

side note I am irrationally annoyed that the squares of the logo don't line up with the squares of the curtain thing WHAT are they doing

Spoilers and further opinions under the cut

- The cast is stellar. Moritz Mausser is absolutely 100% brilliant, Katharina Gorgi's voice is beautiful, and Alex Melcher is there so that's in some ways already enough for me personally really. though he only really shows up in the 2nd act which is a bit sad. to me

but his presence is good bc. well. a lot of the things I generally value in a musical are kinda meh in this one tbh

- the music is fine! it's mainly Falco songs obviously, which I've been mostly neutral about so far but there definitely are some bangers, and, well, Moritz and Alex singing them sure is a point in favour. the additional songs written specifically for the musical are... I don't think they're bad, mostly, but they have a completely different vibe that doesn't really fit in with the rest. and. actually, some of them are bad. in my opinion. extremely cheesy. what's that doing there. one of them is hella catchy but the chorus lyrics sound like it's for kindergarden, two are just incredibly generic and boring and did I mention cheesy?

- Starting out with calling the day of Falco's death "the day the music died" sure is a claim. nothing to do with whoever is in charge at the vbw being weirdly patriotic (stares at the general Austria(ns) theme of quite a number of vbw musicals)

- Similarly his first sentence "In Wien musst erst sterben, bevor sie dich hochleben lassen" ("In Vienna you gotta die before they celebrate you") which sounds nice and dramatic and all but. come on. dude was #1 in international charts very much during his lifetime. they talk about this in the musical itself. he complains on stage about how the fame and stuff bothers him. where's the dying first part huh Hansi.

- Alex. listen I am stupidly into that guy's whole vibe. his everything. his voice is my favourite kind of male voice and his hair in combination with his entire profile and the lineof his stupid neck make me feel some kind of way. I wanna grab that hair and pull his head back like that one Sandman scene you know the one.

This one. also his tattoos and his absolutely deranged energy and willingness to just go off and do insane things rolling around on the floor. and then suddenly look like an innocent child in awe at seeing snow for the first time of his life. this tangent of Alex Melcher stanning has gone on long enough we'll return to our regularly scheduled musical discussion now

- They're simultaneously trying to make Falco a sympathetic figure while also showing him behaving like a dick. it seems to work bc the audience laughs and gets Emotional but. idk maybe it's me but the "I behave like an egoistic dick to everyone around me including my wife but it's ok bc I'm Misunderstood and actually very Deep and Emotional and I love my wife and need her to keep me sane and also I'm marionetted against my will by my Dark Impulses" shtick is sort of... you can't have him throw his wife to the ground and give zero fucks about her and then half an hour later at his funeral or wake or idk play a quote of him saying "I never hurt anyone other than myself" and have someone else call him empathic and sensitive and expect me to take that seriously and... look maybe I'd like it better if the jokes weren't so incredibly lame

- Female roles?? what's that. there's two (2) that get a name on the cast list (his wife and his mum). one (1) of them gets addressed by name on stage (Isabella, the Wife. his mum is Maria but only if you look at the cast list or the programme). Isabella's role is Sexy Lady turned Caring Wife and Mother who finally Leaves. the mum's role is Nagging Mum (in law) and Comic Relief. there's a second girlfriend (wife? secretary? idek) who apoears in one scene and gets called a name (Caroline) which I only caught bc I was looking at the surtitles. no one gets a personality not even the male characters really no one matters (I mean yes ok it's Falco's Story but ffs let Katharina DO something with her voice maybe)

- have I mentioned the awful dialogue and cheap jokes yet? "the best aspect of the American flag are the red-white-red stripes". terrible flirting with "ladies in uniform" who are trying to do their job when faced with an entitled asshole but of course it's portrayed as hilarious.

- ok so back to Alex Melcher but his role is the most fun part of the thing. he's Falco's "Alter Ego" aka his, idk, hedonistic impulses and desire for fame and admiration and whatnot personified? there's a huge head on stage with a brain and all in it to make sure the audience understands that he is Inside Falco's Head and in case that's not clear enough yet he also verbatim declares that "I'm inside your head" so yeah subtlety is not required in this play. he and Falco/Hans are being incredibly homoerotic the entire time and I am personally offended that they're not kissing, but I'll take Alter Ego pretending to lick Hans's throat and clinging to him like a limpet. I would love to write fanfiction about them actually but I haven't figured out how to do that well when both parties are the same person/one is a personified fragment of the other's mind and not physically present. pity.

- idk I'd just. I'd have done it differently? again it's just. so unsubtle. why does Alter Ego just hover menacingly above the stage in a glass box once or twice during the first act, why didn't they idk put him in as part of the white-clad ensemble and make him stick out more and more instead of the Hovering and then the 5 minutes "I am you and you are me" song at the start of the 2nd act. Have him talk to people while Hans takes a step back to show it's his Dark Side™ taking over idk. I'm sure there'd also be ways to make Hans more actually sympathetic and less of an arse (fewer dumb jokes might help, or giving other characters more of a personality maybe) but yeah idk

- idk there's just. not much of a story? it's a Falco tribute show with some life moments thrown in. there's a Falco song, there's a crisis bc he's out of ideas, now he's taking drugs, now he's happy, now there's a new album without any clue where he got the ideas (was it the drugs?) now there's sth about his wife now his friend is reprising the basic as fuck Live Your Dream song yet again. then it's over and he dies in a car crash and it's all presented like it's all some incredibly deep and moving story but it's just Not That Deep

- I do like the Writer's Block song they put in, don't we all know that feeling

- I'm not sure it's a good idea to use Jeannie of all songs as a recurring motif the way they're doing? "quit living on dreams, life is not what it seems" "lonely little girl boy in a cold cold world" blah blah all nice and well but Do We Remember What This Song Is About. I mean it's a good song I'm not contesting that I like it! (if someone wants to come at me for "endorsing" anything just bc I like the song... just don't) But yeah no matter how good it is I don't think it's very uhhh fitting. Though in retrospect maybe it's meant to portray him as like... Someone At The Mercy Of Sth Evil And/Or More Powerful Than He Is. Fucking over his own life powerless to stop it or sth idk idk

- Generally I think they rely way too much on the use of background projection screens idk it seems lazy. it's fine in some scenes it can work really well but it gets too much and kinda cheesy

End of the random unorganised RMA thoughts yay! It was fun to watch. I know I mostly complain a lot here but it's definitely fun! It's just that a large part of the fun for me was despairing about how bad I found it and waiting for more homoeroticism and also for Alex Melcher to... do the things he's doing

Edit: ALSO I'm not sure if uhhh low-to-mid-key insulting (iirc) two of the three not-Austrian countries he goes to is. Necessary?

[ecoamerica]

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[childishfluff]

The Feeling Of Family- A MCYT Agere/CGLRE fic (Regressors!SBI+Tubbo and Ranboo, Carer!Philza)

There was a very specific feeling that came to Ranboo when he met up with his internet friends. A weirdly comforting feeling, a reassurance that he had finally found his people.

It came to him with every hug from Tubbo, every teasing ruffle of his hair from Techno, every inappropriate joke he shared with Tommy. It clouded his mind every time he regressed with them, too, he didn't quite know how to describe it. But if he had to put a name to this odd emotion, he'd call it 'the feeling of family'.

A/N: get ready for a looooong ride. This was written over the course of two days, I really hope you guys like it! I haven't dropped a fic thats over 4000 words in a bit, I think. This is inspired loosely by Cypherr's (on ao3!!) fic 'four's a family', that's where I got the idea of Phil just being overwhelmed because there's so many babies to deal w/, so I'm crediting them! Though, this fic is much different then their's, but also please go read their fics they're great- anyways, I hope you enjoy! This fic is kinda (?) in Ranboo's pov (third person but like,,,you see his thoughts), but there's so much going on that it kinda feels like it's jumping around? Sorry for that, I'm used to writing w/a 2 littles max per caregiver ratio, so this was different. I've also never written Phil as a caregiver before besides his brief appearance over in my 'Mister Nook' series. okay I'm done rambling,,,enjoy the fic please!

--

There was a very specific feeling that came to him when he met up with his friends. A weirdly comforting feeling, a reassurance that he had finally found his people.

In an internet dad, a fellow faceless streamer who used a pig as his icon, a song writer, a bee-loving teenager, and another who was known for wearing red and white. He felt just a bit out of place in this dynamic, SBI were the ones that were close. SBI plus Tubbo wasn't an odd pairing either, and it almost seemed as if Ranboo was only there because Tubbo was.

But that doubt seemed to wash away with the welcoming energy that the car ride to Phil and Kristin's home was filled to the very brim with. Tommy and Wilbur arguing like brothers while Ranboo and Tubbo joked about. The half-joking stern look that Phil gave him through the rear view mirror when he made an inappropriate joke. The soft feeling that Techno teasingly ruffling his hair left in his chest.

This group felt like family.

Of course, he had a perfectly good set of parents back home, but this was different. In a good way, though. This home wasn't his, it was Phil's, but he was surprisingly comfortable here. He was comfortable with his close friends.

"Breakfast is ready!"

He jolted awake with a slight shock when he heard knocking and shouting outside of the door of the room he was staying in, the noise startling him from his sleep. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched his arms above his head as the sleepiness started fading from his mind, clocking the voice as Tommy's as he processed his surroundings. It was his second day at the Philza Minecraft's, the first being made up of mostly content creation.

They had all been shown to their respective guest rooms late last night after quite a few movies and a half-asleep conversation full of laughing and heartfelt emotions. Today was supposed to be a chill day, and the next they'd be exploring the area just around Phil and Kristen's home. It was Ranboo's second time in the UK, and just like last time, he wanted to explore and get a feel for the place he'd be temporarily living in.

He fished some clothes out of his suitcase, pulling them on and discarding his pajamas in a white laundry hamper he had been given for that exact purpose. Then, he sat on the bed, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it. He chuckled as he saw a picture of their entire group with a fan they had run into the day prior, just after he was picked up from the airport, remembering how many similar ones had been taken during his last meet up.

He thought back to the months he spent at Tubbo's house just a while ago, it was one of the funnest parts of his life if he was honest, and now he was right back in the UK for another long meet up. This one was supposed to be a month, at least. SBI and the Bee Duo all under one roof for an entire month! Twitter had freaked out completely when they heard of this arrangement.

During his last trip to the UK, he found out something interesting after revealing something about himself to Tubbo. He admitted to his habit of age regressing to his friend during a late night conversation, only to be met with a 'me too' and then being asked if he wanted to call some friends. This response had confused him, but he said agreed, figuring that there had to be some logic to this.

And after an hour long conversation with Techno, Tommy, Wilbur, and Phil, he learned about an ongoing secret dynamic between the group. Tommy, Tubbo, Phil, and Wilbur were all also regressors. This was a lot of information to process at around 6 am during an all-nighter, but he was glad to know he wasn't alone.

Almost immediately after finding out about his headspace, Phil insisted on taking care of him, messaging him more often and helping him regress over video calls. And over the process of a few weeks, Ranboo had been officially added to the group of littles Phil cared for regularly.

The man took the time to learn his headspace range, things that upset him, how to deal with him when he did misbehave (though the occasion was rare, especially compared to someone like Little Tommy), all in the name of making sure he was cared for. It was sweet, really, and sometimes the boy felt bad for all the man did for him.

He pushed these thoughts away as he heard his name called by his father figure from the kitchen. He groaned, exiting off of Twitter and making his way out of the room and down the hallway, through the living room and into the kitchen. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbled, still tired. He took his seat between Tommy and Tubbo after entering the kitchen/dining area and was quite overwhelmed with the amount of greetings and 'good morning!'s' he got all at once.

"How'd you sleep, hun?" he smiled when he heard Kristin's voice, humming a bit, settling on responding to her instead of facing the rest of the ongoing chaos in the kitchen.

"Pretty good, I think. Still waking up, though," he admitted. He watched the woman bring a plate over to him, setting a stack of pancakes in front of him. "Thank you."

Before she got the chance to respond, Tommy was shouting all to loud for how early it was in the morning. He sounded whiny, too. "Why does he get his first? I was awake before him," he complained, earning a response from Wilbur as he entered the room, his obviously messy hair temporarily contained by a beanie.

"Maybe because he's not throwing a fit over everything like you are," He made his way over to the table as Phil shot the both of them a look. Ranboo minded his own business, digging into his food, he knew that he wasn't in trouble. The brown haired man sat next to Tommy, leaning back in his seat casually.

"Will, be nicer to your brother. And Tommy, be patient, or else both of you will be put in timeout the moment we finish eating." he threatened, half joking.

"What?" Tommy said, sounding shocked as his eyes went wide.

"I second that, none of us are little!" Tubbo finally spoke up after laughing at the situation the whole time.

"Tom-tom here is sure acting like a baby, though," Wilbur teased, sitting back up to ruffle the blond's hair, continuing even when the younger whined and attempted to shove his hand away. He only retracted it when Phil gave him another stern look.

"Stop teasing him and eat your food," he told him as Kristin brought over plates for Tommy and Wilbur. "Where's Techno?" Phil seemed like he wanted to continue talking to Wilbur, but was distracted when he noticed that someone was missing. Wilbur smirked, sticking his tongue out to Tommy, as if bragging about being let off the hook.

Even Ranboo could admit, even out of headspace, everyone seemed to fill their roles in the family dynamic well. Wilbur was the cocky middle brother who somehow simultaneously gets in the most trouble and gets away with everything, Techno is the oldest who's mostly calm but will join in on the antics when it seems fun, and Tommy's the youngest who will play the 'innocent' card at any chance he could get.

Ranboo and Tubbo's exact roles were a bit undecided, but they seemed to consist of a lot of watching the scene play out and somehow getting dragged into an argument they had nothing to do with. Phil acted as their dad, who kept peace between everyone and tried to keep things calm, while Kristen played the role of a sweet mother-type figure.

When they were little, it was a bit different, but the general feeling of family remained the same.

After a few chaotic minutes of gathering everyone up and calming everyone down, they were all sitting around the table and talking in a much more civil manner. Things got loud once again only a few minutes later when Tommy knocked over his cup of orange juice.

"Sorry!" he squeaked, "I didn't mean to!" he defended, looking up at Phil apologetically. He immediately seemed much younger, a light pout on his lips as he apologized for his clumsiness.

"It's alright, Toms." the man assured, flashing a soft smile to let the regressor know that he was alright, reaching for the paper towels across the table. In just a few moments it was like there was never a spill in the first place. "Can you get him a sippy cup, please?" he asked Kristin, who immediately set off to get the requested item.

"I told you he was a baby," Wilbur spoke up next, predictably earning protests from the clearly regressing boy next to him.

"I'm not a baby!" the younger cried, looking to his other  "Techno, tell him I'm not a baby!"

"I mean, only babies need sippy cups," the other man leaned a bit closer the table, his words causing the teenager's eyes to widen.

"Can't Kristin just refill dis one?" he questioned, holding up the cup he had knocked over and looking to Phil hopefully.

"Sorry, buddy, I just don't want you to make another mess." Phil sighed, shooting a disappointed look towards Wilbur and Techno. Ranboo sunk further into his seat, trying to avoid getting pulled into the conflict. He wasn't sure how the others could handle Phil's 'disappointed look' so easily, the boy was very much scared of it.

"I'm not gonna!" Tommy whined, practically glaring at the cup that was set in front of him a moment later. He huffed and crossed his arms, refusing to drink or eat anything.

"This is what happens when you make fun of him, he gets all insecure and stubborn," Tubbo groaned, rolling his eyes as if they had been through this process a million times over.

"Tubbo's right, apologize to him," the oldest man ordered. Wilbur and Techno looked at him as if this suggestion was completely outrageous, so he added, "Now."

"Okay, okay!" Wilbur gave in, sounding defensive, "I'm sorry, Toms. You're not a baby."

"Really?" he lowered his arms, finally uncrossing them.

"No, you're just clumsy and we're sorry for making fun of you for it," Techno sounded very reluctant, but he followed Phil's orders. After these apologies, the rest of breakfast went fairly smoothly. By the end of it, Tommy was very obviously fully regressed and making a useless attempt to hide it.

It was a fairly often occurrence that Tommy slipped just for fun, acting and being treated like a kid was something he just liked. He got to be the annoying little brother and watch cartoons while he did it, it was a win-win across the board.

But Phil and Kristin knew, that whenever one of them slipped over their voice chats, anyone else in the discord call would too. And now, they were all actually together under one roof, so he was sure he'd have five littles to deal with by noon at latest.

--

As predicted, all of the boys ended up in littlespace, slipping one after another like a line of dominoes getting knocked over. After some reassurance from Phil, Tommy allowed himself to slip, and he dragged his best friend into a game of pretend. And the two toddler minded teenagers decided they wanted to play with Techno and Ranboo as well, and Wilbur soon followed when Phil babied him a bit to much.

At first, it was quite loud, and there was a lot of conflict and disagreements between the boys. Eventually, after everyone but Ranboo had managed to get in some sort of trouble, Phil sat the boys down to watch cartoons. Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur were out like a light one episode in. Wilbur was in babyspace, he always needed extra sleep, and Tommy tired himself out by crying when he assumed Phil was upset with him.

Tubbo, however, was just tired. No excuse, that's just how he was sometimes.

Ranboo and Techno were older then the rest of them, and far more behaved, so they didn't get quite as much attention earlier in the day. Phil was quite busy comforting Wilbur and trying to keep Tommy and Tubbo in check, and it didn't help that Kristin had to leave the house. To make up for this, Phil wanted to do something special with them while the other three took their mid-day naps.

After a while of Ranboo and Techno watching cartoons, trying to stay quiet so that their friends could sleep peacefully, Phil spoke up.

"Boys, quietly follow me," he whispered, managing to get out from under from where Wilbur was laying cuddling up to him without waking the boy up. Techno and Ranboo glanced at each other, seemingly confused but intrigued. They scrambled to get up, following their caregiver into the kitchen.

"What are we doin', dada?" Techno questioned once they entered the other room. They had left the cartoons on, so Phil was fairly sure they wouldn't be able to hear what was going on in the kitchen.

"You guys are gonna be my little helpers for snack time, okay? I got some special treats and such for everyone and we need to put everything together before everyone gets up!" the man explained in a quiet but excited tone, speaking even quieter as if his next words were a secret, "And if you guys do a good job, I'll even give you an extra cookie."

Ranboo's face immediately lit up, and he bounced on his feet as he awaited more instructions. Phil specifically chose him and Techno out of all of them, they must be special. It was like a super secret mission, just for them!

"So we're all gonna have fruit and vegetables before we get to the sweets," he continued on, going over the fridge and pulling out various fruits and vegetables, "Techno, could you wash the strawberries and blueberries for me?" he asked.

"Mhm!" he agreed, excited to be able to help. It seem weird that Phil's idea of "something special" was just putting them to work, it was more about the idea of making them feel special. They were more well behaved then everyone else, so they got extra time with Phil and a cookie.  

"What do I get to do?" Ranboo questioned. He watched as Technoblade took the containers with the fruit he was told to wash over to the sink.

"Are you big enough to pour drinks for everyone?" he questioned, pulling various new sippycups and bottles from a hidden spot in one of the cabinets. The two littles gasped, completely distracted from their tasks, "Yes, some of these are for you two." he chuckled at their excitement, coming over to Ranboo and holding out a simple but cute black and white sippy cup.

"I thought maybe you could put stickers on it," Phil explained. The boy nodded quickly, practically attacking him in a hug. "Okay, go on, get to work now." he said, motioning over to the counter where the rest of them sat.

As requested, they got to work. Techno helped wash the fruit and put then on their plates, while Ranboo filled the sippy cups and bottles with whatever drink each one of them liked best. His demise came when he tried to sneak soda into his sippy cup without asking, and he managed to spill it all over the counter.

"Uh oh! Spill on aisle Ranboo!" Phil joked, grabbing the paper towels and running over to help. Immediately, the boy panicked. He was the well behaved one, and Phil was gonna find out that he was trying to be sneaky! His guilt was obviously clear to the caregiver, because the next thing he said was, "Don't worry, accidents happen."

The gentle and reassuring tone he used only made him feel worse. It only took the man a moment to actually realize what the boy had been pouring into the cup. "Ranboooo," the caregiver held out his words, sounding disappointed, "You know that you could've asked for soda if you really wanted it, right? You've been so good all day, I would've given it to you."

"Really?" he asked, pouting when the man took the cup and dumped the liquid in the sink. He then ripped paper towels from the roll and wiped up the remainder of the drink from the counter.

"Yeah, I would've," Phil affirmed, "But trying to sneak around me isn't okay. You told me you were putting juice in here. That's lying, and I know for a fact that you're big enough to know that's not allowed. " he tsked, causing Ranboo to look down at his feet.

"M' sorry," he mumbled, ready to cry over such a small thing. He knew what he was doing was dumb, Phil rarely let them have sweets like that when they were small due to the fact that they got hyper.

"Don't cry, sweetheart, you're not in trouble," the man assured with a sigh, softening his tone immediately, rinsing the cup out as he spoke. Ranboo still felt bad, despite the gentle reassurance. He glanced up to see the man filling his cup with his favorite drink besides the over sugary soda: strawberry lemonade. "Here you go." he tightened the lid onto it and held it out for him.

"Sorry, dada," he apologized again, his eyes still glassy as he took it in his hands. Phil sighed a bit, opening his arms and pulling him close.

"You're okay, buddy, I promise you." he spoke gently, "Little boys make mistakes sometimes, it's alright." The man knew that while Ranboo might've been regressed to an older age, he was still quite sensitive, and he always felt overly bad whenever he got in trouble. Even if he had managed to get away with sneaking the soda, he would've owned up to what he did guiltily after just a few sips of the drink.

That's just how he was.

"M' all done!" Techno's voice interrupted them as he finished placing the snack-filled plates in their spot at the table, besides their respective sippy cups. Phil pulled away from the other regressor and ruffled his hair, smiling at him before addressing the other little.

"Good job, honey. You're such a good helper," he complimented, before looking back to Ranboo. "And so are you." he reminded. Ranboo giggled a bit, feeling happiness well up in his chest at the praise despite any childish guilt. The giggles only increased when his caregiver tapped the button of his nose, causing him to scrunch it up.

Once he was sure that Ranboo was alright, or at least doing a bit better, he gave them their next instructions. One good thing about Ranboo was that it was easy to sway his emotions to the more positive end if it was done before any tears came. "Take your seats and eat, I'm gonna wake up your brothers and have them pick up their toys from earlier, then they'll join you." he told them, before leaving the room.

Technoblade's eyes followed Phil as he exited the room, and he waited until he was sure he was out of earshot to say anything. "Psst, 'anboo," Techno leaned close to the table, grabbing the other boy's attention.

"Wha'?" he questioned, popping a grape in his mouth and tilting his head in curiousity.

"We should scare daddy when he comes back in! It'll be so cool," he suggested, "We can wait by the door and jump out!"

"Hmm...," Ranboo looked over to where the other pointed, considering his options, "We 'posed to be eatin'." he pointed out, shaking his head.

"We won' get in trouble, it's just playin' round," he tried to sound convincing. It seemed to work, because Ranboo reconsidered, before hesitantly nodding. He grabbed one more grape and his sippy cup before standing up, Techno leading him over to the entrance of the room. They were concealed behind the wall on either side of the doorway.

They listened Phil woke the others up and helped them put the toys away, excitement ramping up as they waited. To their shock, Tommy entered first, fully ready to greet him in his usual loud tone. Techno quickly put his finger to his lip, shaking his head to signal him to be quiet. Tommy's eyes widened as he realized what was happening, deciding to duck behind the with his older brother.

It was then that Phil entered, carrying Wilbur. The boys jumped out from their spots, exclaiming different variations of "boo!" and "AHH!", breaking out into giggles immediately after. Wilbur squeaked, the sound startling him a bit, but he didn't seem upset. "Well hello, little ones," Phil chuckled, "If I remember correctly, you boys are supposed to be at the table."

"Jus' wanted to scare you! We go eat now," Techno assured, taking Tommy's wrist in his hand and pulling him over to the table. Ranboo however, peeked behind Phil to see if Tubbo was coming.

"Where Tubs at?" he pulled on Phil's shirt before he could walk away, whining a bit.

"He had a bit of an accident," the man admitted, "He's a bit smaller now, but he'll be out soon, okay?"

"Okay..." he trailed off, looking out into the living room, completely set on standing there until his best friend was able to join him.

"How about you head over to the table, kiddo?" his caregiver questioned, earning a pout from the little. "Okay, okay, you can wait here for him!" he decided, figuring there was nothing wrong with it. With a forehead kiss, Phil left him at the doorway.

"Tubbo! We gots apple slices for you!" he rambled excitedly when his friend finally did arrive, running towards him and grabbing his hand. He started to pull him further into the kitchen, but the mentally younger of the two stumbled a bit, seemingly clumsier then he was earlier in the day.

Ranboo realized that he had a pacifier in his mouth now, and he saw Phil replacing his sippy cup with a bottle out of the corner of his eye. He had worked hard to put apple juice in that sippy cup, he thought, pouting a bit.

"M' sorry, didn' mean to make you almost fall! We can go slow," he decided, earning a thankful smile from the other regressor. "Are you gonna say anything?" he asked, walking beside him. As they approached the table, Phil replied for the boy.

"He's a bit younger, bud, he might not be up for talking," he explained, "You know what it's like to be so little that you feel like a baby. Can we all be understanding? He's only a bit older then Wilbur at the moment." "

Tubbo seemed quite embarrassed as he sunk into his seat, pulling his pacifier from his mouth to eat his food. There were sounds of agreement around the table. Ranboo was curious as to what exactly made Tubbo slip so much younger then he usually did, but he didn't voice this curiosity, settling on eating his food in favor of not embarrassing his friend anymore then he already was. .

"These are yucky!" Tommy claimed, pushing his plate with carrots and ranch away from him.

"You like carrots and ranch, what are you talking about?" Phil sounded tired and just a bit annoyed.

"Don' want em," he shook his head, whining just as he had that morning when Wilbur teased him.

"If you eat them you'll get a cookie," the caregiver bribed.

"What type of cookie?" the toddler minded boy squinted his eyes, as if considering this, as if it was a negotiation of sorts.

"Sugar cookie, chocolate chip, I think we have Oreos too...whatever you could want," this definitely caught the boys interest.

"Chocolate chip?" his eyes went wide with excitement, which was only intensified when Phil nodded. Immediately, he uncrossed his arms and pulled his plate back towards him. Phil seemed satisfied with this, ruffling his hair.

The boys were still waking up, so Phil asked them to talk about their elaborate games from earlier in the day to keep them occupied. So, as they ate their snacks, they giggled about imaginary wars and adventures and argued over who won their dramatic plastic sword duels. Eventually, the caregiver gave them their promised sweets before sending them back off to play.

"Ranboo, you left your sippy cup in the kitchen," Phil tapped the boy's shoulder and distracted him from his game of peek-a-boo with Tubbo. He quickly discovered that his friend seemed much to little to participate in any games he'd usually play, so he did what he always saw Phil do with Wilbur: play a simpler one.

It was obviously much more entertaining for the littler of the two, but Ranboo was happy to hear his friend's giggles and squeaks. "Oh! Thanks, dada!" the boy reached up to take his sippy cup from the caregiver as he was sitting on the floor and Phil was standing. Ranboo gasped when he took a drink, feeling bubbles on his tongue.

Immediately, Phil put a finger to his lips and gave him a warning look. This made the boy giggle a bit as he nodded, understanding the signal. "Thank you!" he repeated, smiling when his hair was ruffled softly. The moment didn't last long, Tommy called Phil over for something, and it was back to peek-a-boo with his best friend.

Ranboo didn't mind it, though, peek-a-boo was fun. Being with everyone was fun, even if it meant he got a bit less attention due to there being so much going on. It all evened out, he got to be a snack time helper! And he got an extra cookie! If you asked him, that was pretty awesome.

In the next few days, they'd all get back into making more collaborative content, as that was the point of this meet up, but for now, it was just time to play. To spend time together, to cuddle, and giggle, and make far to much noise in the name of fun. To just be a family.

That was the specific feeling that came to Ranboo with this meet up. The comforting feeling that bubbled in his chest whenever he got a forehead kiss or his hair ruffled by Phil, or when he played babyish games with his friends when they regressed younger then him.

This was the thing that clouded his mind whenever he regressed with this group specifically, or when they were in the car, joking about anything and everything as they got closer and closer to their destination. A feeling that consistently made his life better, the feeling that brought a smile to his face everyday...

The Feeling of Family.

--

A/N: I really hope you liked that adorable mess of 4500 words! I appreciate reblogs and likes, but no matter what, thanks for reading to the end! Did you like the chaotic feeling that five littles/so many people brought into my fic? I kinda had to switch up my normal formulas to make room for so many characters, there's a reason I literally put three character to sleep halfway through the fic hjsikajsa. Did I write Phil well? I tried to portray how a caregiver w/so many littles would act somewhat realistically? Kind of overwhelmed but managing. Also, did you like me portraying ranboo as 'the angle little' of the group? idk I felt like it fit his personality in the scenario. If you reply with/send an ask/reblog with feedback, you can answer those questions, leave a request for something (whether it be in the universe father into the month-long meetup timeline I set up or just another fic), state your general opinions on the fic, or just leave a strand of emojis if words are hard. No matter what, it means a lot! I hope you all have a great day!!!!

[marky4l]

Step by Step / Mark Lee

step by step / mkl

pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

From an innocent childhood friendship to a juvenile high school rivalry to a forced pairing for a Psychology paper, it seems you and Mark just can’t avoid each other. But something’s a little different now.

genre: fluff, angst (a little bit), suggestive themes, childhood friends (barely mentioned!) to enemies to lovers, college!au

notes: lia yeonjun chan hyuck jeno all make tiny appearances 

word count: 17.2k 

hi!!! this is my first work nd I’m really excited to put this out I’d looove if you could give it a read :^) hound me on my inbox if u wanna i take anything

“Remember when we were best friends in fifth grade?”

His voice is a little quiet, and there’s a very obvious undertone of boredom, but you hum softly anyway, nodding, as if to question why you would ever forget. Fifth grade was a suburban brew of Star Wars marathons, figuring out the world, and Harry Potter merchandise littering your house. Fifth grade was lemonade and oatmeal, knitted sweaters, and sneaking into your mom’s vanity to swipe her makeup. And fifth grade was Mark—bright eyed, geeky Mark, with his Death Star replica and weird electronica music. 

Mark, who had an affinity with Troy from High School Musical and Spiderman, and wanted to be just like them. Mark, who would show up grinning to your front door everyday, pie dish in his nimble grip. He was the one who had opened a lemonade stand at the corner of your block so he could buy you the Gryffindor scarf you’d been nagging your mom about the entire holiday season. He was the one who learned the chords to your favorite Jonas Brothers song and sang it to you each time you requested it.

“Yes, I do,” you answer instead, clearing your throat. 

You attempt to push down all the memories that just ran through your head and adjust the grip you have on your pen. “Well,” Mark continues, “that was ages ago. Beats me why it ever happened.” 

The timidity is replaced with a tidal wave of teasing, and the annoyance that had disappeared is beginning to crawl all over you. Again. You roll your eyes and pull up the slides your professor had assigned. “Beats me why we even ended up in the same university, let alone the same class,” you jab, “if you thought I forgot about how you outright failed our Spanish classes in high school, I didn’t.”

Your friendship with Mark had reached its unfortunate demise to the hands of middle school, where you had branched out with your interests and began to stick to societal (as societal as school can get) norms. He had joined the geeky, cool kids; you hadn’t joined a specific social circle, but you had a best friend, Lia, and you were generally good with everybody. 

Somehow, despite you both being in good graces with everyone, you had a deep-seated dislike for one another that stemmed from an intense academic rivalry. Specifically, the competition to become school council president. That had ended now, seeing as though you were both in college, but the abrasiveness of your banter had never worn off.

“Oh, because you were so good at Physics?” he says, voice even. His brow is raised. “We all have our strong suits, you know. You’re one to talk.” You decide to pay him no mind, instead jotting down the criteria for your final project in Psychology 1—something about the stages of grief. You’re supposed to relate it to a different human process and show how they fit with one another. 

It’s absolute fucking bullshit, and the fact that Mark Lee became your partner among a hundred students is beyond you. Absolutely beyond you. 

He nears your screen, reading the content of your project, eyes squinted—you’d noticed his lack of decent eyesight years ago, but it seemingly hadn’t improved. “Relate the stages of grief…hold up, what? That’s difficult as hell. What are we supposed to do, lose a loved one?” You roll your eyes, turning to him. “No, Mark. The point is to find another process that happens gradually and relate it to this—denial, bargaining, anger. Get it?”

He stares back at you. “No.”

You groan audibly, turning back to your notebook. “This is impossible. Can we just switch partners so I won’t have to deal with you?” He smirks, kicking his feet up on the library table. Absently, you note how nice his sneakers look. Reclining onto the seat, he shuts his eyes as if to contemplate. 

“I heard through the birdvine our professor’s the type to pair up people she thinks would look good together for shits and giggles. Girls and boys, boys and boys, you name it. Johnny”—he’s referring to a guy who’s a year above yours, studying Biology—“tells me over five couples have been born out of this class. Isn’t that nice?” You scoff, scrolling mindlessly through the slides to keep yourself distracted. 

“It really is. A shame we won’t be adding to that list, because I can’t fucking stand you.” He laughs loudly, the vibration of it remaining in the deadly silent air. “I can stand fucking you, though,” he says, and then, before you can even blush, “All jokes. Don’t get your hopes up, ‘kay?” He’s quick to get up, just as flustered as you are at the uncharacteristic phrase that just left his mouth. He collects his jacket and jogs out of the library with a small, half-assed bye under his breath.

—

Lia’s eyes bore into yours. “He actually said that? I’m telling you, he’s some weird kinky guy under that whole cool geek persona. High school Mark would never have. Oh my god. He’s a furry—he’s a furry!” She flops back onto your bed, laughing. You poke at her waist in protest. 

“It’s because he’s surrounded by too many weird classy fuckboys. You know, those that think that they’re all that because they haven’t roofied a girl.” You’re half-joking, and you’re really only referring to maybe two guys you’ve happened to see Mark with. As if to read your mind, Lia continues. “Hey, I heard some of them are okay. They’re not, like…those ‘nice guys’, if you get me.”

“I do,” you quip. “But I guess I’m just trying to find a way to justify the whole 360 in Mark. I mean, in high school, he was still nerdy—well, you know. Shy. But jump to sophomore year of uni and he’s suddenly some…” You rack your head for a proper term. “Sex god?” your friend asks, holding in a laugh. “Oh, eat shit,” you fire back, “really, eat shit. And while you’re at it, feed me some, too, because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to turn in at the end of the term. Like, Jes—”

There’s a faint knock at the door, and then. “Lia? It’s—uh, it’s me, Daniel? Er, Daniel Choi.” Your wide eyes can’t possibly match Lia’s as she tugs on a decent-looking pullover and puts it on. As she swings the door open, you manage to sufficiently hide yourself under your duvet and attempt to hear their conversation. 

“You know, it’s okay if you leave out the whole…saying your full name at the door part. Trust me…I know you,” she jokes, and you hear him laugh before you detect the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Chinese. Uh, I bought some extra for your best friend, because I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see the sentient blob on the bed.”

You pull the blanket off and smile sheepishly. “Hey, Daniel,” you say, “thanks for the food. I owe you an empty room next time, I swear by it. It’ll be easy, since I’m gonna be”—you heave yourself off the bed and onto the floor, where they’re both sitting—“holed up at the library for the next few weeks.” 

Lia nods, chewing her chow mein, and then when she’s done, she explains to Daniel your whole huge Psychology end-of-term paper about stages and grief and whatever, oh also she’s partnered with Mark Lee, this guy that we both know from high school, and she dislikes his guts, oh you know him? 

“Wait. You know him?” You repeat, and Daniel nods, ruffling his black mullet. “His room’s, like, three away from mine. He’s studying Theoretical Physics, right? Yeah, he’s always in his room doing school shit, but every weekend he’s out with the upperclassmen. He’s probably out now, ‘cause it’s Friday. How he even charmed them, though, is a mystery.”

Mid-dumpling, you roll your eyes. “Y’know, the hardest part is being partnered with him. But also, even finding what kind of gradual process to relate denial and anger too is weirdly hard. It feels like I could find something, but I haven’t gotten it…quite…” you trail off, your eyes landing on Lia and Daniel across you—they’re smiling softly at each other, and you distinguish their fingers interlocking quietly, as if you wouldn’t notice. 

“…yet. Except maybe I have. How would you want to participate in my end-of-term paper?” Their gazes turn to yours, and you nod frantically. “Oh my god, I’m a genius! Seriously! Falling in love! Yes! It’s denial—anger—whatever, whatever! It makes perfect sense. The end is acceptance, too! Oh god, Li, it’s perfect. I will owe you for life if you help me out.”

“Wait, what? You dove straight into it, what—recap, please,” Lia asks, and you compose yourself before explaining giddily. 

“Falling in love. It happens gradually, and we can compare it to the stages of grief. Seeing as you and Daniel are headed right there, we can use you as some test subjects. It’s not required to have respondents or subjects, really, it’s just an extensive paper, but it might help get the grade up. This is gonna be great, and if you ever wanna back out, you can, because it’s not mandatory.” Lia and Daniel meet eyes briefly, and then slowly, nod. “Okay, that’s pretty smart,” Daniel says, “I’m up for it. Are you?” Lia nods, slowly and hesitantly, and you smile widely. “You two just saved my Psych grade. I’ll be at Giselle’s tonight. Just…not on my bed.” You grab your keys and phone and bound out of your room, straight into the elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator door nearly closes when a Converse-clad foot steps in, and your eyes rake up the figure, eventually landing on his face. 

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, “you must be kidding me.” 

Mark enters the elevator with a small, teasing smile, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets. “Hey, dude, what’s up? Was on your floor on my stop down to get some money Lucas owed me,” he says, “this is actually a godsend, because my genius brain found us a project idea. Relate grief to something else gradual? Easy as pie. Falling in lo—” 

You cut him off before he can finish, “Falling in love, right. I thought of it first, earlier,” you say profusely, absently noting the pettiness in your tone. He whistles. “No need to get all possessive over an idea the previous classes have used before, man.” You continue, ignoring him. “Whatever. Lucky for our grades, I went the extra mile to get us some test subjects. Do you know the two Chois? Lia and Daniel?” 

He nods once, “Yeah, their PDA on Instagram is fucking sickening, but I see your technique, and I like that—we get some extra data from their god awful PDA.” You nod once, and he continues. “It’s nearing 11 on a Friday night. Whose party are you headed to?”

“You’re welcome for the test subjects,” you gripe. “Anyway, I was so giddy about coming up with it, I just left them to…well, fornicate. As a compromise for being lab rats. I texted my…” you realize you’re starting to share too much to a guy you typically dislike talking to, and then there’s a silence in the air that’s painfully awkward. 

“You texted your…?” Mark asks. “My friend, but she’ll be home at 1AM, so I’m out to kill time. No parties, just…I dunno.” He nods again, and then the elevator lets out a blissful ding. You step out simultaneously, and then he faces you. “Look, it’s freezing out, you’re in shorts and a puffer coat, and it’s three hours to 1AM, so I doubt you’ll get far.” You scoff at his words despite feeling your legs shake from the breeze outside. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

“Just concerned,” he says, in a tone that sounds more blank than annoyed, but he turns and heads toward the door anyway. He swivels back around briefly. “It’s in Johnny’s apartment. Just a couple people, if you get bored freezing.” He jogs outside then, and you inwardly appreciate the small gesture, but again, annoyance returns just as quickly. You linger a bit before heading out yourself, walking briskly to a local Japanese restaurant. You consider this an opportunity to have some me time, some rest after a shitty week in university. Lasting ’til 1AM alone and entertained would not at all be a problem. 

You last one ramen bowl and head to Johnny’s apartment.

—

When Johnny Suh answers the door, he’s clad in a makeshift shower curtain gown of sorts, and is flushed and very buzzed all over. He hikes up the top to cover his chest and laughs profusely. “Did Mark invite you?” Behind him is a sizeable group of just about twenty people, which looks like forty in a cramped communal space. You’d been here before—Johnny likes to invite just about anyone to get stoned and listen to Kid Cudi on Fridays, and you had pushed Lia to accompany you before. 

You distantly spot the kitchenette, the small living room, and then the two bedroom doors opposing each other. “The rule was to show up wearing something not marketed as clothing, but Mark didn’t follow the rules, so. Anyway, you’re off scot-free, too…” he pauses, “…if you take off the puffer coat. We’ve got heating, anyway. Free booze and weed, too.” You figure being in a flimsy tank top isn’t so bad—you’re sure half the people here are already getting laid or trying to, and nobody would really pay attention to you.

You shrug off the coat as Johnny steps aside to let you in, hugging it close to your body and navigating your way to the kitchen. The granite counters are filled with various bottles of booze, and you also note the cigarettes and blunts lining the island. You peruse the brands before settling on a sealed can of decidedly not-so-cheap-looking beer, and crack it open to take a swig. It’s warm and fucking disgusting, but there’s not much glitz in an “anything but clothing” off-campus college party anyway. 

There are several people scattered among the living area, passing around a blunt—another group is playing suck and blow. You make your way over to the cheap couch on the far end of the room, taking a seat on the arm and stretching out your hand to claim the blunt. It’s Jae who passes it to you—Jaehyun Jung, an upperclassman whose infamy (for wearing nothing but toilet paper and running through campus) greatly surpasses him. “Who are you?” he asks, and you holler your name back over the Kanye West song playing in the background. “Mark invited me,” you tack onto the end as compensation.

He nods in understanding, watching you take a drag and pass it back to him. He only hands it back, saying, “It’s nearly done, just finish it,” and getting up to probably get some booze or another blunt. 

You scan the area for a better place to cherish your weed, because you’re definitely not going to do it on the arm of a couch housing three couples making out to the high heavens. You spot an open window and a fire escape just beside the kitchen and walk over, ducking into the cool night air. It’s not quiet, it never is, and you treasure the peace that comes with the noise, closing your eyes and trying to milk the last few drags. All that is flushed down the drain when somebody kicks you out of your reverie and your last two drags are falling down, through the grills of the fire escape. 

“What the fuck?” You look up to meet, of course, Mark’s gaze, teasing and mischievous. 

“That wasn’t fucking funny, asshat. Get away from me.” You get up instantly, ducking back into the house and searching for your coat. It’s (very unfortunately) buried under a couple who have escalated from making out to borderline public indecency.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, swinging the door open and mentally preparing yourself for the cold once you get to the sidewalk, floors down. Mark follows suit, a laugh gracing the atmosphere around the two of you. “You know, I forgot how fun it is to make you pissed off. I did it all the time in eighth grade when I told our teacher you knew the solution to the Physics problems.” You’re fucking pissed. However petty, you’re fucking annoyed that you couldn’t finish the blunt, and you pay no attention to him. 

He badgers on anyway. “Hey—it was a mistake, I wanted to say hi to you.” You scoff, finally turning—“Why? Because we’re friends? We’re not. We’re Psych partners, we came from the same high school, we share a couple mutual friends. But you and I are not friends, not objectively, anyway. Please, Mark. I only just re-acquainted myself with you today, but, like, you’re already so annoying!” You’re at the elevator now, and when the doors slide open, you step inside and let them close at once. You barely catch the unreadable look on his face in your annoyance, and you lean against the wall, shutting your eyes and breathing heavily. 

How you’d even get to Giselle’s, or how you would wait out the remaining half-hour before she got home, was just up to whichever higher power happened to be witnessing you that night.

—

The door of your professor’s office closes with a saddening click. You stare back at her name, embossed on the wood in bold, in defeat, accepting your fate with a heavy heart. Just fifteen minutes prior, you had entered with a whole spiel prepared on how you just had to swap with somebody from your class so you wouldn’t have to work with Mark. This speech had occurred twice now—with your TA, and then once with your professor. This was your second chance, your redemption: so you prepared notes, you prepared convincing words—you had a point. 

But your professor simply shooed you away, muttering how she didn’t have time for you because she was going to be receiving hundreds of papers in a few weeks’ time from a different class and she, quite honestly, couldn’t be bothered. You bite your lip, thinking back to the previous Friday—it was nearing two weeks since your small outburst at Mark. Since then, you’d expected to build a silent rapport of just working, observing Lia and Daniel, and then parting. And that was almost it. You would show up to your so-called “lab rat sessions”, cup of warm caramel latte in hand, and work. 

Except Mark would constantly make noise, jeer, swipe your pen, and do other things that got on your nerves.

“You’re going to have to stop trying sometime,” Lia says, backhugging you. She’d been waiting outside. You let your head loll back onto her shoulder and whine. “Do you know when you’re so frustrated you want to cry? Yeah? That’s exactly how it is, Li. I can’t keep up with this for another two, three months. It’s like he’s not even, like, fuck, like he’s not even trying, y’know? We’re building the foundation of a pages-long paper. This isn’t some finals essay he can bullshit in three hours.” 

You groan as Lia pulls away from you, whirling you around to face her. “It’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll help out, anytime you need it. I promise. If I start hating Daniel, I’ll even pretend like I’m in love with him. Head over heels.” You let yourself laugh and pull out your phone as you two begin to walk towards your dorm.

She tsks. “We’re gonna have a thing tonight, right? Like, a lab rat session?”

You nod, squinting over your calendar app. “Yeah, at around 5:30 to 6. It’ll be quick, but Mark and I are gonna have to stay behind to divide the work for the general paper and then start. Hopefully we can get some outlining done by tonight…so don’t wait up,” you sigh. She smiles apologetically, pinching your waist affectionately. 

“Daniel and I will totally help you. He’s a Mark anti now. I told him about the party outburst thing.” You had sent her a slew of texts that night, and like every other story you had told (save for the most private ones), Daniel had caught wind of it. You’re half sure he was capable of blackmailing you at that point. “Good,” you shoot back, “I’m going to need all the anti-Mark force I can get.”

“Why?” You both turn to see Mark standing idly behind you. There’s a beat, and then: “You look like an inane stalker,” you retort, turning to continue walking. Lia follows suit—with the two of you, the vibe of the atmosphere would always come easy. If one was mad, the other would act mad, too. 

“Hey,” Mark repeats, falling into step beside you, “why do you need an anti-Mark force? Tell me.” At this point, your nerves are on fire and your blood is boiling, and you’re beginning to envision beating him up on the quad. “Mark, it’s been great, but we’re going to our dorm, and in case you don’t want to catch a restraining order, I suggest you get off at your floor instead of following us like a creep,” you say sweetly, quickening your steps until he’s far behind you, smiling. Fucking asshole. 

“I’ll see ya this evening, then,” he teases, and you grumble under your breath.

—

It’s 5:45 when Lia and Daniel leave the library—fifteen minutes early. You and Mark leave ten minutes later, hours before you were supposed to complete your task. You’re fuming, and for once, Mark has the decency to read the room and feel remorse. 

The evening had started off well enough, though—Lia and Daniel had showed up, did their thing, described what was happening, and you and Mark had noted it down. And then, well. Mark spilled water all over your planner, which, in hindsight, was definitely unintentional, but in the spur of the moment, you could do nothing but your natural—everybody’s natural—response to getting something precious ruined. You began to cry. “What the fuck,” you sniffled, “is wrong with you?!” You had shaken the majority of water off your planner, but any and all dates had been smudged and bled, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. “I know I called you annoying, but this is too far,” you had said, watching his face go from teasing to genuinely sorry. “Dude, it was accidenta—” 

“I don’t give a fuck—!” You quickly cut yourself off and wipe your tears when you see a young library assistant heading towards your table. Everybody composes themselves—Lia and Daniel straighten out the things on the surface and Mark sits up straight. “Hey,” he says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two students already came in with a noise complaint. We’re gonna have to ask you to,” he makes a gesture, “leave for now and come back tomorrow. Also, the puddle on the table…yeah. I’m really sorry.” He leaves, as if to make sure you have no other choice but to just go, and you slump back onto your chair in exhaustion. 

“You two can go ahead,” you hear Mark say, “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll clean up and apologize.” Faintly, you hear them get up, and you feel Lia’s hand squeeze yours as she promises a text and food later. You let your eyes remain shut, drinking in the quiet, trying to calm your inner turmoil.

Ten minutes later, when you’re out in the cold November air, Mark finally speaks. You had cleaned up and collected your things in silence. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “it was an accident, for real. I know I tease a lot, but, uh, I’m being serious. I would never have done that on purpose. I see you write shit on that thing a lot, so…I know how much you like it. Treasure it…? I don’t—whatever it is, I’m really sorry. Like, really. T’was an accident. If you need me to pay for it…” You shake your head softly, hugging your damp planner closer to your sweater-clad chest. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. For helping. I’ll email you what you have to do. Bye,” you turn and begin walking in the direction of your dorm. The sun is beginning to set, golden orange hues casting a vast array of colors onto the landscape of the city. You sigh softly, heart heavy with annoyance and exhaustion, and speed up before you start having a mini-breakdown.

—

Stage 1: Denial|

Your cursor blinks back at you as you finish typing in your outline for the introduction. It’s early into November, but already, you’ve had to shut your window to shielf yourself from the biting breeze outside. Across you, Lia applies mascara and talks to you. “What are you up to?” she asks, face contorted. 

“This godforsaken paper,” you mumble back, “just finished the introduction outline. I’m trying to give a loose definition for each gradual ‘stage.’” Shoving your Macbook off your lap, you get up to stretch. “Which I’ll probably find on Google Scholar, honestly. If you had to give me a definition—what’s denial?” 

She hums contemplatively, wand on lash, and then pipes up. ���I think it’s just a stage where you can’t face the fact that you’re interested in that person. Like, why them? With Daniel, he wasn’t really my type. So the whole denial was denying I liked him, because…well, yeah. But I think it differs. Some people deny it because they’re shy, or ashamed, or weirded out that they even like them.”

You’ve had your fair share of crushes before, and sure enough, you had denied them all. But that was high school—college, though, had only brought short-lived flings and one night stands; you were an overachiever, much too committed to your own prosperity to pay mind to anybody else for too long. (Except Lia.) So you hadn’t really experienced the whole boyfriend-in-university thing—not that you particularly wanted to, but you were just human; you were curious. Lia had gotten it, and it looked wonderful. 

Speaking of—“So, a week without meeting Mark in person, huh? How is that going for you?” You scoff lightly, shaking your head as you pull your hair into a bun. “It’s going just fine. Dandy, actually. We work from our dorms and you and Daniel just update us. It’s a fine arrangement that I regret was not formulated sooner.” Lia nods in understanding, and you watch her pull on a top, mutter I’m out and head outside. For the fifth time this week, you’re alone in the dorm, with nothing but your Alexa playing SZA and your laptop. You pull it onto your lap again, staring at the boldface letters you had typed minutes prior: denial. You had no firsthand experience of being mature and going through denial; not in that way, anyway. You found it stupid that people even denied when it would be less painful to just admit interest.

You blow a raspberry as you research studies related to the term, bored out of your mind.

—

Two days later, you meet Mark again. 

You’d also had the pleasure of, for a minute or two, meeting a friend of his, Donghyuck Lee from Economics. He’s loud and amusing and, from your viewpoint, undeserving of somebody as boring as Mark. (That’s from a minute-long intercation.) 

At Lia’s insistence (and likely Daniel’s, too), you two met up to properly work and collaborate. In fear of being kicked out again, the four of you had chosen to meet somewhere else—a cafe off-campus affectionately named something along the lines of Saltwater Coffee. Naturally, after Donghyuck leaves, you find yourself sitting idly (awkwardly) beside Mark. “They won’t be long,” he says suddenly, “er, Daniel just texted me. They’re near.” You nod, pursing your lips, eyes trained onto your laptop. “We’re almost done formulating the denial stage and we can start outlining anger and bargaining. This’ll take about a week more—maybe mid to late November? Uh, I know it seems justifiable to slack off with the holidays,” you say, “but I really want us to finish this early. The due date’s in mid-February, so we can pass this on the 14th.” You turn to face him. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nods. “Okay. No slacking. I get it. The Valentine’s is smart, too.” You nod back in silent understanding, turning back to type frantically into your keyboard. 

You hear the door jingle and Lia’s small “hey, guys”, so you look up and offer a smile. “I’m gonna go order everyone some coffee,” Mark says beside you, getting up and shuffling over to the counter. Daniel joins him, and Lia takes a seat across you, her smile knowing and apologetic. “Everything okay?” You blow a raspberry, but smile, anyway. “It’s not so bad. It could be better, but no more banter, just very annoyed auras…? You get it. It’s just been tough trying to divert my focus to this and ignore all the annoyance I feel.”

“Totally, I get that,” she says, “but all the same, I’m glad he’s matured a little bit and lessened all the ribbing.” You smile at that, agreeing, and then the conversation spirals into one about both of your days—“Professor Callahan totally pops a stiffy over Professor Michaelson”, “Daniel tells me Joshua cheated. Yes, on Jess!”, “Mia dropped out the other day and nobody knows why, hope she’s okay”—before Daniel and Mark return, coffee cups in hand. Mark places one next to you, and profusely, you look up at him, who’s just about to sit. 

“Thanks, but I don’t drink brewed coff—”

“It’s a caramel latte, the only thing you drink. Heard you say that to Lia once.” He takes a seat and pulls his laptop open. 

You stare at him, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. Sure enough, it’s caramel—thick, and foamy, and sweet. You look up at him again, but he’s busy on Google Scholar, perusing through journals and studies. You shake your head before turning to Lia, who’s already looking at you, expression mirroring yours. 

Sweet, she mouths, but you purse your lips and choose not to acknowledge it. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and he hums to say you’re welcome. 

Your eyes flicker to him. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, but he’s pulled it up to his elbows. He’s typing quickly, and he can use all his fingers, too (you fail miserably at that), and his brows are furrowed as if he’s stressed, or in a hurry. You’ve never really noticed this much of Mark before. It’s probably, you think absently, because you’re confused. Puzzled at the gesture that you didn’t expect—at all.

After an hour, he angles his laptop to yours. “Nailed the intro. High five?” You open the Google doc on your own browser, and sure enough, the word count has increased monumentally. You can’t deny his knack for writing. “There are a few discrepancies in grammar,” you say instead. “But…okay. This is good.” You ignore his hand, in mid-air, and continue researching. 

Lia holds in a giggle, but turns back to Daniel, who, after fifteen minutes, turns to you and Mark. “Lia and I are heading out, guys,” he says, and Lia quickly tacks on. “Hey, if you need me to stay, I can,” she says quickly, but you smile and shake your head. 

“This might take a while. Go ahead. See ya at the dorm, Li. Bye, Daniel.” Mark bids his farewells, too, and they leave you alone in the cafe. It’s nearing a three hour crunch when he abruptly gets up to stretch, a low grunt leaving his lips. “I’m exhausted,” he sighs, “but at least we’re nearly done with this whole denial thing.”

“We’re actually only just starting,” you state, “this is going to go through a lot of editing and proofreading.” 

He chuckles and walks back to the counter to order something, and you shut your laptop to rest your eyes. Your glasses rest uncomfortably on the bridge of your nose as you breathe deeply. You lose track of time, and you open your eyes ten minutes later, fumbling to get up properly. There’s a panini beside your laptop, wrapped neatly in a tissue and laid on a plate. Mark’s is empty, save for crumbs, and he says nothing. 

“Get up,” he remarks teasingly after a while, and you groan in exhaustion. “I am, I’m up,” you mutter, straightening your back and flexing your neck. Inwardly, you wonder if you should thank him for the panini that is obviously yours that you obviously did not buy for yourself. 

Then Mark’s hand stretches out to take the panini, and he takes a bite. “Sorry,” he says, “I had to put my second sandwich in your space. This table’s a little small.” You hum back in acknowledgement, nodding once. “It’s, uh…all good,” you respond, voice small as you type into your laptop. Internally, your body fills slowly with humiliation and confusion, but you stay quiet, and that’s how the rest of the night goes: a silent, steady beat of keyboard clicking and the occasional question. 

No banter, no nothing—it’s a godsend, yes, it is, but you can’t help but miss the abrasive, playful conversations the two of you had built up over the previous several weeks. But really—had you truly assumed he had bought you a panini? As if a coffee wasn’t enough? You felt at odds with yourself for even expecting such a gesture from the guy whose main habit was to annoy you to the ends of the Earth.

“It’s late,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind and knowing you’re absolutely mortified inside. “Let’s head home.” You nod, deeming the night’s work satisfactory—maybe even beyond, considering the amount of effort you both put into the output. You shove your laptop and charger into your bag and pocket your phone, lingering awkwardly and waiting for Mark to finish packing up. He’s particular with it—he has little sections in his backpack for the wires and chargers, and even his AirPods, and his laptop. 

“Very organized,” you find yourself commenting offhandedly, your tone taking on a teasing edge. He glares playfully back at you. 

“Sorry I don’t want my wires to break,” he shoots back, eyeing your flimsy tote bag, “unlike some people.” You roll your eyes and, against your strongest wills, a smile appears on your lips, albeit a small one. His eyes linger on your smile for a little bit before he clears his throat and zips up his knapsack. “Let’s, er, go. Thank Jesus we’re in the same building.” When you exit, the air bites at you despite the jacket covering your body, and you quicken your pace. “It’s cold as hell.”

“Ironic,” Mark says. You hide a smile.

—

That’s what November brings you—the next week and a half are composed of just slowly learning to get used to working with Mark again and going home late into the night, crunching to the max. 

Your paper begins to take on more and more structure, and two out of the six days you’ve met, Mark has set down a caramel latte for you to arrive to. The acoustic music slowly phases into holiday guitar, and the coat rack at the entrance is weighed down more and more as the days pass, preparing to welcome December. 

You and Mark work silently, save for the rare banter and eyeroll, and very gradually, the annoyance that had bubbled up within seconds before had sank down. You’re not friends, per se—it’s just that the frustration and exasperation had lessened considerably. 

You were civil. That’s it. You won’t try to deny that you’ve been thinking about this a little too much—about what your “friendship” had become with Mark. You hadn’t snapped at him in days, and he hadn’t tugged at your ballpen in even longer. It wasn’t that you had cowered him into silence by crying over your planner—it may have instigated it, but his behavior was…different. 

More calm, more sure. Less childish. He would still tease you, but not as much. It’s nearing mid-November now, and you’ve successfully done much of your introduction and denial, needing less and less of Lia and Daniel’s presence. (Which you’re sure they’re grateful for.) But being left alone with Mark isn’t as bad as you once thought—

“Hello. Earth to you,” you distantly hear, and you whip your head in the direction of the voice as you pace back to your dorm building. Mark stares blankly back at you. “What,” you mumble back. He quirks a brow before continuing. “I was saying, I think I need to take a rain check tomorrow. The, uh”—he clears his throat—“um, yeah.”

You eye him. “Okay…?”

He nods profusely, “Yeah, all good.” The walk continues in silence, the sun finally setting down behind the Manhattan skyline beyond you and the breeze taking on a chillier temperature. You sigh softly, fatigue overtaking you as you stare at the building nearing you. “If you take a rain check, just make sure you write it within the day or after,” you say, half-sternly and half-tiredly. He mumbles a “got it” and you both jog up the steps to the lobby, where you run into, by some weird twist of the day, a small group of anti-abortion protesters.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You rub the bridge of your nose in your fingers, choosing to tune them out and instead maneuver your way through the door. Before you can even take a step, though, they’re all up in your face with pamphlets and brochures and a guitar. “Excuse me,” you grunt, trying to gently push them aside, but they only come on stronger. “A child is a child,” they say. “If you know anybody who’s—”

“Is this your new initiative? Preying on college students on school grounds, unaccounted for?” Mark asks from behind you. You turn to find he’s filming and stifle a laugh. “I’m surprised nobody’s kicked you out. Won’t be long, now,” he adds with a smile. 

You tune out nearly everything else—it’s really just them telling Mark to stop recording and him retorting with equally snarky phrases. It’s not until maybe after a solid two minutes of back and forth that one of them, a weird middle-aged woman, pulls out a burgundy gummy bear from a bag and pushes it into Mark’s camera. He takes it from her and examines it, puzzled. “That,” she says matter-of-factly, “is the approximate size of a fetus. It’s big. It’s sentient, alive. What, I beg of you, what would you do?”

Mark squints at it. Then he pops it into his mouth, takes your hand, and runs straight to the elevator across the floor. 

“There’s a bunch of anti-abortion people outside, it’s not cool!” He hollers to the receptionist before the doors close with a damning click. 

There’s a beat, and then.

Both of you are doubling over in laughter. “Why the hell would y—why would you do that?! You’re insane!” The response is: “Because they’re not cool! They’re fuckin’ annoying! So I ate their baby!” There are tears in your eyes, your laughter so hard it’s nearing silent—Mark’s, though, is loud and annoying sounding, though you seem to not mind so much. The laughter subsides when the ding of your floor sounds and you straighten yourself up. Getting into a different position reminds you of the very there, very obvious brushing of your hand against Mark’s, which he’d taken just moments earlier, post-baby eating.

You freeze and jerk your hand away. “I’ll, um, go now,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorr—no, the day after.” Against your wills, you meet his eyes, and you’re surprised to find that he’s already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart beats faster at a very small increment, but you head out and semi-run to your room, swinging it open and leaning against it. 

You look up to find Lia and Daniel engaged in a heated Monopoly match. You make no noise, mind (and heart, but you can’t tell why) racing fast. You watch them play for a second before they both look up slowly.

“You’re smiling like a goddamn idiot,” Daniel says. Your face falls immediately. “I’m, um, no I’m not,” you say casually, pacing over to your bed and flopping onto it. Lia laughs loudly. 

“That sounded so freaked. Like we’re your mom and you just brought weed home kind of freaked.” Pause. 

“Are you hiding something from me?” She rises from her spot to look at you, head in pillow and all, and you let out a muffled “no!”, probably too defensive for your own good. 

It’s Daniel’s turn to snort. You look up and glare at him, “You’re getting too comfortable for your own good. You need to humble yourself, Daniel. What’s it again? Oh yeah, Yeonjun, right?” He rolls his eyes at the use of his Korean name and turns back to the Monopoly board.

Lia flops atop you, eliciting a grunt from your lips. “Are you okay? Did somebody flirt with you? Did Mark finally fuck off and leave you alone properly?” 

At the mention of Mark, your heart races—you will it to stop, and audibly groan in the process. “What is it, you bitch?” Lia asks, tugging on a section of your hair. “It’s nothing, Li! Nothing, I promise.” She glares at you before walking to Daniel and covering his ears. Instantly, he begins to let out a chorus of Lalala, and deeming the environment safe enough, you let it slip.

“Mark and I held hands. But it—”

“You what?!”

“It really, really doesn’t mean anyth—”

“How can that not mean anything? It’s hand holdi—”

“If you would listen to the backstory you’d know!” She pauses, and then uncovers Daniel’s ears and knees him. 

“Okay, get out. Monopoly postponed, Jun,” she says, pushing him out insistently. He barely collects his phone and keys before he’s out, but you swoon silently when you catch him pressing a short goodbye kiss to her forehead before actually leaving. She turns immediately, fire and curiosity awfully evident in her face. 

She nears you. “Explain.” 

And that’s what sparks the story of the weird protesters, Mark’s power move, and the unintentional hand hold that lasted a few moments too long. She nods the entire time, laughing, and then her face straightens out again. You can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she analyzes the situation, and then she nods once. 

“Okay. Perfectly justifiable to freak out.” Another pause. “But why were you smiling?” You stare blankly back at her, head working impossibly quick to formulate a reply. You’ve taken too long now, judging by the way Lia is looking at you with the most shit-eating grin on her fucking face. You groan.

“You like him, you bitch!” 

You shake your head, facing her. “I don’t, dude. Trust me. I just…it was a fun experience, so naturally I’d be laughing. And smiling. But I’m just not interested in Mark! I’m not,” you fumble, being completely honest. 

You didn’t—not even if you looked in the mirror and asked yourself. But you couldn’t deny the feelings you felt in the ten seconds from the elevator to your room, your heart racing and your fist curling and uncurling. When you look at Lia again, she’s still smiling, flushed. “You like him,” she says into her palm, which she’s slapped over her mouth in disbelief. You stare back at her, your expression baffled. “If I did,” you begin, getting up to discard your shirt, “I’d have told you by now. It’s really not that big of a deal unless you make it out to be.”

After that, you and Mark spend nearly three weeks walking on eggshells around each other. While conversations are no longer avoided, and you could talk without getting exasperated or too embarrassed, finger brushes are frequent, and eye contact only makes you extremely nervous. You had worked until the second stage—anger—already, but you’d still been polishing the denial and introduction. Considering November wasn’t over and the paper was due February, you figured you were moving at an okay pace. Besides, a lot of your friends hadn’t even begun.

—

There are two instances where you rush home, mortified beyond belief.

The first when when you struck up a conversation with the cute, Australian barista. Scrawled in big penmanship on his name tag is Chan. You had brought up, in passing, how often you’re at the cafe and how you probably deserve a free drink. He replied with a low hum, and you dialed down your flirty tone, slightly embarrassed. But not really. You’ve rejected plenty of people before. It’s when you’re already paying for your drink that he replied, handing you your (for a change) iced matcha with a small grin. 

“I’d have flirted with you weeks ago if you didn’t have your boyfriend with you all the time. He’s always buying you your drinks.” You spluttered for a good second, staring at him incredulously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you finally said. 

He had shrugged, nonchalant. “He sure as hell looks at you a lot for someone you’re not dating. And you do it just as much, if not more. I’m observant, by the way. Not a stalker.” You had taken your cup and paced over to the other end of the cafe, sat across Mark, cheeks heated.

He looked up, brow raised. You shook your head.

The second time was when Donghyuck graced you both with his presence. You quickly found out that he was a magnetic presence and you both shared similar interests. The energy you both created was both amusing and annoying to Mark. 

Although you kept quiet mostly, you enabled Donghyuck’s incessant teasing, which annoyed Mark to the ends of the Earth. “You’re a dork. Isn’t he?” You look up and nod with a smile. Mark rolls his eyes, sending Donghyuck into a laughing frenzy. Mark just grunts and continues typing.

Hyuck had made a joke about how two Physics textbooks discussed why the sad man named Mark owns two of them and didn’t have a life, and you laughed. 

You didn’t usually laugh, not around Mark, at least, since it was safe to say you didn’t have any source of entertainment in such a boring guy. But you laughed at the witty joke, and Donghyuck, without thinking much, had said in passing: “Mark, I guess you’re right about everything about her being pretty.”

Mark said nothing, typing. You said nothing. Nobody said anything, not even a sly Donghyuck or, from the counter, an even slyer Chan.

—

When you see Mark next, it’s three days later, and it’s, for the second time, in Johnny’s apartment. 

Lia had asked if you wanted to tag along, and you found no harm in going. (“You’re going because Mark is” becomes Lia’s favorite phrase of the night, so much it’s spread to Daniel, who you’d succumbed to and spilled everything to hours prior.) The walk there has something boiling low in your gut and you’re quiet, in fear you might end up vomiting in nerves or saying something stupid. Lia teases you, but her hand clasping yours reassures you, and you squeeze it tightly. 

You get there late—it’s past 1AM, and you have a sense of deja vu walking into the cramped space. It’s fuller this time—people are creeping into the bedrooms to smoke in private or do some other things, but suffice to say it’s crowded as fuck.

“Want a drink?” Lia hollers, and you nod over the music. Johnny’s neighbor is another upperclassman named Doyoung, though he’s mainly referred to as Doie by just about everybody around him.

You’ve seen his girlfriend call him bunny a few times, though you’ve long desired to repress that memory. 

Judging by the fact that you can faintly hear a different song from the next room, the party has probably extended to Doyoung’s. There’s quite a gathering this week—the rich freshman who you’d befriended once before, Chenle, and his horde of friends are here; from Lia, who hands you a drink, you learn that Kun and Sicheng, two incredibly attractive juniors, are here, too—in Doie’s, though. The party only intensifies, which is hard, because Johnny’s apartment is very tiny.

Eventually, you find yourself in the bathroom, smoking a joint you’d grabbed out of the clammy hands of a tipsy Chenle and kicking a couple out under the guise that you’re Johnny’s cousin. Chenle had protested but eventually given in, pulling a new one out of his pocket.

The bathroom light is white and harsh, but there’s a very funky lamp at the corner. From your place inside the dry (and thankfully clean…looking) bathtub, you eye it. It’s a tall one in the shape of a glass of margarita. 

You heave yourself up and find the switch, and then when it’s on, you giggle at the green light emitting from it. You have absolutely no idea why Johnny, Jaehyun, or their roommate Jungwoo (3J, as some call them) have a decorative, margarita-shaped green lamp, and in their bathroom nonetheless, but you shut off the main light and return to smoking your blunt. Deciding your ass aches far too much, you lean against the tile wall and cherish the smoke.

The door opens abruptly, and you curse, pushing it back closed. 

“I have explosive diarrhea,” you say robotically, using the same excuse you did for the previous three couples that showed up. 

From the other side, you hear a shrill laugh and sound of confusion. When you peer over the other side and see Mark, you groan and laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I saw you come in. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m cherishing the party privately.”

Mark ushers himself into the dark space and shuts the door. He makes a show of locking it, as if to show you it’s possible to do so. The sound of it locking sends a wave of nerves up your spine. 

“I didn’t lock it in case a medical emergency happens and they have to rush inside.” 

Mark quirks his brow. “I doubt they would think to go inside the restroom and not panic and call 911, you know.” 

You shrug in indifference and take another drag, reluctantly offering it to him.

He takes it, and you pause for a second to observe him. His hair, dark, and which usually covers his entire forehead like a broom or at least parts in the middle slightly, is now styled differently. 

He’s in a fitting black shirt and blue jeans, and, upon your closer inspection, silver rings adorn his fingers. You will yourself to look down. It’s dark. “What’s that you’re holding?” You ask instead, trying not to extend your stare at his shoulders.

“Your puffer coat,” he says, tossing it to you. “Left it last time.”

“That time when you annoyed the shit out of me, right,” you retort.

“Yes, exactly that time. That was ages ago. Weeks ago. Look at us now.”

“Us now—what, still disliking each other?”

He laughs humorlessly, but doesn’t entertain you further. He turns to the lamp instead. “Do you know I was there when they moved this in,” he begins, gesturing to it, “Jae got it at some weird, awful flea market, and he had to buy some extra wiring to fix it or whatever. I was doing Physics homework. It was at the start of this school year. And I bet you didn’t know…” he bends down and reaches to the base of the lamp, pressing a button, “that it changes color.”

The room is bathed in red now, and you swallow. “Interesting,” you manage to say, despite the racing in your head. “Very,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. You gaze up at him. He’s tall. You breathe softly. You nod in agreement. You don’t know what to do. You want to punch him and kiss him and leave all at once. 

You want to kiss him, oh God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh God,” you say softly, out loud. Oh fuck. Too much weed?

He inches closer, leaving the blunt on the rim of the sink. “Why?” He smiles a little and you smile back, nervous. He’s so close now, and he smells so good—like cologne and laundry and weed. You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mumble back.

He’s even closer now, eyes boring into yours. You adjust your strap, a nervous habit. He takes your hand and does it for you. “I like this song,” he says casually, like he’s not playing with the strap of your dress. “Do you know what it’s called?” It’s vaguely familiar to you, but you shake your head. 

“It’s Jhene Aiko,” he replies, and you nod. You gravitate closer.

You stare at him. He stares back. “I’m high,” you say. You giggle. “I had a brownie and that blunt.”

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Don’t finish the blunt, ‘kay?” You nod back, and giggle again. In two seconds, your nervous mechanism has kicked in and you’re laughing like a psycho. “I’m high,” you repeat, and then he kisses you, effectively sobering you up.

Huh. He kisses you, effectively sobering you up. He kisses you.

You kiss back, shocked and relieved, deepening it, trying to get as much of him as possible. His hands are big and wide and warm, traveling all over you. You want him. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, lips molding against yours deliriously. 

“Want you,” you say when his hands play with the hem of your dress, teetering closer and closer to your core. “I said, I want you,” you whine, “now.” Mark only laughs, his hands under your dress and playing with the lace waistband of your underwear. 

“I like how this feels,” he mumbles. “Wanna take a look.” You whimper, hiking your leg up and nodding. “Please, just…touch me,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”

“I will,” he says, voice calm. “You’re being good.” You can’t deny the noise you make at the praise, breathy and loud. You pull him in again, drunk for more, your hands raking through his hair. It’s dark, the both of you basking in the small red light. Mark hikes your dress up, inching it higher, slowly, until he sees the hem of your white lace underwear. He grunts and pulls at it. “I love this,” he says. “So fuckin’, Jesus.” 

You giggle against the smile. He toys with your panties for a bit before finally pulling them down, watching them sink to your ankles. “Hot,” he jokes, and you laugh in disbelief. “Why would you even be joking abou—”

“Mark! Let’s go, it’s 2:30!” Donghyuck’s voice is just as loud and clear as it would be if you weren’t separated by a door. Jolted, you and Mark instinctively break apart and stare at the rattling door. “Maaaark,” he sing-songs, knocking to a beat. You stare at Mark, waiting for him to respond.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” he says. You stifle a guffaw, pulling your panties up.

He pouts, tapping your ass. “Bullshit,” Donghyuck says from outside. “I’m cooomin’ in!”

In the span of a minute, where you realize Donghyuck is not bluffing and in fact has a stolen bathroom key from Jungwoo’s bedside drawer, you manage to shove yourself into the bathtub and hide yourself with the curtain. Mark switches the light back on, much to both of your disappointment, and pretends to smoke the blunt you’d left on the sink fifteen minutes ago. Ergo: pre-kiss.

You find your phone on the bathtub floor and grip it, turning the brightness down. You have a plethora of messages and voicemails from Lia, five calls from Daniel, and an interesting iMessage of Donghyuck’s red, weed-induced eyes from an unknown number. It could be anybody, and that scares you.

The texts are all frantic, and they’re the last things that bring you out of your high and back to reality. Where are u, who u with?, u getting railed??!, Have you seen mark?

“Hyuck, if I actually did have a shitstorm coming out of my ass, you’d be so sorry for breaking in,” you hear Mark say. You sink lower into the bathtub, awaiting Donghyuck’s voice. “You were the one who suggested we go at 2:30, and you’ve been smoking weed for the longest time, dipshit,” he says, “now let’s go. I haven’t seen your Psych girl all night, so you can cry about it at home.” You faintly detect Mark protesting and then, “Let me just freshen up! Just go ahead.”

Reluctantly, you peek out and find Mark alone. You get up and fix your dress.

You’re sober now. The red lights are gone. It’s just you and Mark, plain and simple. Your feelings haven’t gone away, though. You’re fucking fucked. You want him to fuck you. Oh, fuck.

“Go,” you say instead, spluttering. “And I’ll see you. Tuesday.”

You leave first despite yourself, not turning around for even a split second, finding a worried (and then relieved) Lia and taking five consecutive tequila shots to down the nerves and denial bubbling in your system. She raises a brow, but you refuse to even meet her eyes, head and heart pounding impossibly fast. You want to kiss him again. So, so bad. But what the fuck did you just let happen?

—

Stage 2: Anger|

Lia hadn’t pressed, and you were nervous, but it was getting easy to diverge the details of what happened during Johnny’s party. You had instead opted to work alone, too much of a coward to even see Mark’s face. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you feared you might just kiss him if you ever saw him. So you spent days at class working, and then at your dorm working, adjusting your route to avoid, as much as possible, Mark or Hyuck’s buildings and that godforsaken cafe. You did text Mark, though, and the exchanges were brief, not even a “thank you” or “good morning” preceding them. It was awful.

Working alone forced you into a heavy load of retrospection. You would think deeply, like how you are now, spiraling into a series of questions where you studied the play-by-play of what happened in the bathroom, up against the wall. You liked it. A lot. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. Why it even happened…God. You mentally berated yourself for giving into it. Didn’t you hate him? Or at least dislike him? Didn’t you take pleasure in scolding him or fighting with him?

“You’re freaking me out,” Lia says from her bed. She’s been staring at you. “You’ve been lying on your bed staring at the ceiling for twenty straight minutes.” She walks over to you, flopping next to you, her arms winding around your body. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you say, nervous. You gulp.

“Okay. If you’re n—”

“Mark and I kissed.”

She sits up and turns to look at you.

“Made out, more like. We were going to fuck if we didn’t get interrupted.” You’re mortified, refusing to meet her gaze. When you look up, her face is even, but you know she’s bubbling over with giddiness inside. “That is so fucking great, dude,” she replies. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because it’s Mark,” you whine. “He’s not…I don’t know.”

She lies back down. “You’re overthinking this.” You laugh, poking her waist. “I know, but I just…I feel like he might not like me much anymore.” You recount the way you left him hanging, despite the lack of awkward air and the potential to talk and become something. She tsks but justifies it, because she’s so good at that, being a mediator, and you continue with your day quietly. 

Your mind is always on it, though, his hands and his lips, and you’ve scoured Spotify for the song playing that he had commented on.

It’s called Pussy Fairy. You cannot make it up. It’s a weird title, but the song is heavenly, and you can’t deny when it’s full blast on your AirPods and your hand is creeping closer and closer there, trying desperately to replicate what you felt in that moment. When you’re not sated, ashamed and sighing, you resort to working on your paper. There are moments where both you and Mark are working at the same time, and you hate yourself for getting all flustered when it happens. 

—

It’s a Tuesday, in the early afternoon, when you’re out of class and cleaning out the little litter in your dorm, repasting whatever decorations fell off, et cetera. You have the time, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to fix the place up a bit. You’re halfway into re-stringing Lia’s fairy lights when someone knocks on the door, jolting you. You curse under your breath, hopping off her bed to swing the door open and reveal—

“What is up?!” Donghyuck grins back at you. His hand is raised in a high-five invitation, which you hesitantly reciprocate. “Mark tells me you’re meeting today, and that I should come remind you, since it seems like you forgot. He says you haven’t texted all day. Since I was on this floor—do you know Jeno Lee? Do you know it’s so amusing how Mark, Jeno, and I all have the same surname? Anyway. I was here on your floor to remind Jeno about an Econ presentation, and Mark texts me and goes, if you’re with Jeno, then remind you—you as in you, you—to come meet me and work.” 

He talks so goddamn fast. “You talk so goddamn fast.”

He just guffaws, high-fiving you again. “Well, you get my point, right? Meet Mark at the cafe and work is all he said to do. If you wanna.” You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “Tell him I’ll be a little late,” you say simply, and as you’re about to shut the door, he talks again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you were hiding behind the curtain.”

You pull the door open again, so fast a minuscule gust of wind washes over both of your faces. “You’re kidding,” you say, “you’re kidding.” You stare at each other for a second before his solem features break into a smile. “I am. Mark spilled everything to me, so I decided to trick you.” Relief and annoyance break over your system as you swat Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” you spit. “You’re bringing a bad image to Econ majors.”

He merely laughs and closes the door himself, light brown hair fluffing with the severity of his laugh (cackle.) Slightly annoyed, you drag yourself to get dressed, dread building up in your stomach at the prospect of seeing Mark again. Not when your mind conjures up what happened everytime you just see his name. Or the word mark. You’ve been out of it since it happened, not even responding to your usual heated debates with the conservative Trump supporter in class. You suppose the best way to confront it is to simply confront it.

When you get there, though, it’s clear that confrontation would not be an option. Immediately, when you sit, the air shifts into something oddly familiar—the atmosphere between the two of you when you first got partnered up. Except now, Mark won’t even give you a pinch of attention, or banter, instead typing his questions into the document to avoid verbal conversation. (He is a fucking petty bitch, you’ll give him that.)

You stroll over to the counter, pout set on your lips. “Hello,” Chan says politely, and you just smile half-heartedly. “Lover’s quarrel?” He teases, and you roll your eyes. “He’s ignoring me,” you respond, watching him make you a latte. “And we’re not dating. We never were.”

“Mm, right,” he says, finishing and setting your drink in front of you. You laugh a little, taking it. “No. We weren’t. But I’ll update you.”

When you return, Mark’s looking at you, quiet as ever. You break his gaze and continue working, working and working until the sun sets, nestled deep behind the horizon. When you look up again, the sky is already dark, city lights providing solace to the place. You look at Mark quizzically, as if to ask him what time you should both leave, but he just shrugs. “Any time,” he states plainly, and huffing, you get up.

“I’ll go right ahead then,” you say, trying your best to sound annoyed and get your message across. He says nothing, watching you pack up your stuff and sling your bag over your shoulder, and then eventually, leave.

Daniel is the first to see you in your raged, annoyed state—you meet him in the elevator of the lobby, your blood boiling and your fists balled. Knowing you’re headed to the same floor, he presses the button, ruffles his hair, and then lets the silence take over. And then, “What’s going on?” You breathe deeply, turning to him with a tired look on your face. “Mark’s going on,” you mumble, “he was ignoring me the entire time. And to think he was the one who requested my presence! It makes no sense. Why would he ignore me when we can just talk about it?”

“About what?”

It suddenly occurs to you that Daniel knows about your weird feelings for Mark, but not how they culminated. You splutter. “Um, about us. Everything.” Daniel looks amused, but the doors open, and you thank them for the temporary exit from the topic. He stops you right outside, though, and pulls out two ticket, card-looking things. “Wait, um. Listen, Lia and I are going to reach our seven-month…anniversary, I guess, of, y’know, being a thing. I know it seems really small, but I want to give her a little something out of appreciation, so I got us a room at this ski lodge outside the city.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say honestly, “but I must admit, it comes on sort of stalker-y. Like you’re whisking her off out of the city.”

He beams even louder. “That’s why you’re coming. With Mark!”

You gape back at him. “Did you miss the whole I-hate-him thing that happened in there?” You jab your finger towards the closed elevator doors, disbelief written across your face. He laughs. “Sometimes you can’t keep hiding behind”—he begins walking to your room, and you follow suit—“emotions, like anger. When I liked Lia, there was a point where I was just pretending to alienate her so I wouldn’t have to face that I was starting to love her. Like her. And you know, she did it right back.” 

“Oh, quit it,” you scoff, insistent. “You’re lecturing me like you’ve been married a decade.”

“That’s what I want,” he says, and you gag. “The first step to that would be ski lodge trip, so you’re coming!”

You’re in front of your room now, and you pinch his wrist as he reaches for the handle, gaining his full attention. “I’ll gladly go,” you whisper, “if Mark’s out.” Daniel just laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. An overnight trip would delay your paper severely. Plus, they have two beds per room.”

“We’ll be staying in the same roo—hey, Li,” you say, quickly cutting your angry rant off when she opens the door, her face confused (to say the least.) 

“Mm, hey,” she says, ushering the two of you in. “How long were you two out there?” Daniel shrugs, ruffling his hair and then pressing a kiss on Lia’s forehead. You boo from your place on your bed, buried under your duvet. “You both suck,” you holler, “always sexing it up in a sacred space. AKA my room.” Lia just grins and jumps on top of you, drawing grunts from you both. Daniel seats himself on the floor and busies himself with his phone. “How was Mark,” she whispers into your hair, and you groan.

“Bad,” you respond, “I’m so annoyed. We’re back to square one.” She makes an apologetic noise and gets up with a sigh, adjusting the strings of her pullover and then hugging Daniel. You watch them. You want to kiss Mark again. Life sucks that way.

—

Predictably, Mark turns down the offer of the ski lodge. He’s polite about it, too, especially since he and Daniel have grown a little bit closer since the start of your project. Daniel is, by no means, a “Mark anti”, but he would participate in the ribbing sometimes. Still, he’s insistent on the trip, saying it’s the best way to welcome December and that the forecast predicts a nice, thick layer of snow. It takes a week and two coffees everyday for Mark to give in, under the condition that he buy his own room when you get there.

Which, honestly, really, you have no problem with. Really, you think to yourself as you unceremoniously shove a knitted sweater into your bag. Really. Lia, who had graciously accepted the surprise, watches you abuse your bag, shoving sweater and scarf inside like they want to murder you. “Relax,” she says after a while. You laugh, playing it off (not so) casually.

The drive up there, courtesy of Daniel and a borrowed Prius, is fun, and cramped, but still decent, considering it was just an hour long. You’re in the back with Lia, and Mark is in charge of the AUX, which, of course, comes with its own bout of jokes. You even find the heart to participate and laugh in a few, not daring to meet his eyes. But all his songs are so fucking good. Frank Ocean, Jhene Aiko, SZA, and smaller indie artists flow from the speaker under his phone. The car ride has its share of epic karaoke moments—Mark plays ABBA, and Queen, solely to make sure everybody is belting out to the high heavens.

You get there when the sky’s purple and orange and there are some skiiers scattered around, though, since it’s not the proper holiday period, not too much. You trek over to the main lodge and that’s where Daniel pays for his reservations, and he and Lia retire to their room and promise to get up for dinner. You’re, again, alone with Mark in the lobby as you both stare at each other, willing the other to get up first. He does, to buy his own room like he said he would, and you can faintly hear the exchange from your seat on their nice, fluffy couch.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re renovating a majority of the rooms for the holidays. That’s why reservations were a prerequisite for staying here.”

Mark sighs. “Okay, right. I’m so sorry. Um”—it’s at this point that you go up next to him, polite smile on your face, ready to take the room key and fuck off—“could we just get an extra blanket, please? For one of the beds.” The receptionist gives a curt smile, handing over the keycard and nodding. “That’ll be one queen-sized warm blanket, then,” she hums, typing away. The receptionist beside her goes to the back, presumably to get the blanket. Mark nods, smiling. “For two queen-sized beds, it must be a big room for both of them to fit comfortably,” he comments offhandedly, fiddling with the card.

The receptionist chuckles. “There is only one bed, sir.”

Oh, God. “Oh, God,” you whisper. “One bed?” She nods with an eye-crinkling smile, like her words have not just rained hell upon the two people across her. “One bed and a sofa,” she corrects herself, reading the information on the computer by the desk. Not wanting to risk your last shred of sanity, you smile profusely, walking quickly towards your room which, thankfully, is on the same floor, at the end of the hall. It’s a small, quaint place that would be honest-to-God perfect if not for the fact that—

“There’s one bed,” Mark sighs, the truth clicking into place. “Daniel is a fucking shithead.” You drop your bag onto the carpeted floor, surveying the room with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s sizable—a bed, a couch, a window. There’s a small wooden desk that looks like its legs can barely hold its weight, and then another door, leading to the bathroom. It’s not bad at all. But you’re exhausted, the sun’s long gone, and your resolve is shredding away as the seconds tick by. “Take the couch,” you say dismissively, “or the carpet.” You make a beeline for the bed, but Mark’s arm wraps around your waist, effectively stopping you.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod “Shut up and let go of me, dick,” you stutter out. Mark loosens his grip and you shove him off, glaring at him. He gazes back down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t just make up terms without negotiation,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blow a raspberry. “Fine. Let’s negotiate then. I’m a girl and that puts me above you because chivalry isn’t dead, thus, boom, I get the bed.”

“I was in the uncomfortable passenger seat all day and my lower back hurts,” he counters.

“My legs are wobbly.”

“Bullshit. My back aches.”

“You already said that, it’s invalid.”

The back and forth only intensifies, your arguments growing more and more bizarre, until finally, your volume is so high Lia says she can hear it faintly, four doors down. 

“The couch looks comfy,” you try, but Mark stands firm. 

“Do you know what? The bed is big. It’s a big bed. And we’re not going to take up much space. If we divide the bed with the sofa pillows…” you pick up the cushions and line them up neatly along the middle, “…then we can sleep beside each other without having to make contact with each other.” He seems convinced, stepping closer to the bed and nodding. “Okay. I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you let him anyway. You’ve unpacked nearly all your things and he isn’t done yet, so you’ve resorted to scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok and laughing at just about everyone that pops up on screen. Mark finally exits after what feels like forever, and you keep your eyes trained on your screen to avoid looking at him. From your peripheral vision, he is very much shirtless. There are no words exchanged, the thickness in the air only building bit by bit.

—

Three hours later, post-dinner, post-abandoning the thought of working on your paper, you’re stumbling into your room after helping the very tipsy couple of the night into theirs. You’re beyond tired now, and you can tell Mark is, too, despite the lack of eye contact or communication between you. You don’t even look at him, brushing your teeth and removing your makeup and clipping your hair up into a bun. It’s when he does the same, and you’re both in bed, using your phones, that he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he says. His voice is even and calm, and you quickly shut your phone off and sit up, peering over the pillow boundary you had created. You look at him expectantly before he sighs and continues. “Why did you leave?”

You stand up, getting out, trying to increase distance. You’ve never really liked confrontation. “I was weirded out,” you spill, “and scared…? I guess with the nearness of being caught, and with all the lights on, I was just shocked back to reality.”

He sits up. “What’s reality?”

“I don’t—know,” you splutter, getting back on the bed. “Not kissing you?”

He laughs, and then it becomes silent. “Right. Let’s sleep, then.” Without another word, he pulls his lamp off, and only the white moonlight is left illuminating the both of you. Shucking yourself under the covers, feeling your heart practically thump out of your chest. You honestly think he can hear it, or at least feel it. Suddenly the boundary doesn’t do much. You turn away from him, nervous, and you can faintly hear his breathing even out. You shut your eyes for a second. When you open them again, he’s looking right at you. “Just checking to see if you’re asleep,” he says quietly. You nod. And then you lean upwards, just a touch, so your lips nearly brush slightly. “Night,” you say, before turning to sleep for real.

You’re not sure when. And how. Sure, you faintly remember digging your legs sleepily through the sheets to find warmth and tangling Mark’s in your own. But still—when you’re up, the pillow fort is at your feet, hanging precariously off the four post bed, and your back is against Mark’s chest. His breath fans lightly over your hair and you blearily register what happened overnight. His arm is slung over your middle, it’s quiet, and oh Christ, he is hard.

It’s fairly late. He’s hard. The antique clock mounted up on the wall tells you it’s around nine, which essentially gave you seven hours of sleep. He’s hard. You bask in the warmth of Mark for a while before your resolve solidifies and you gently push his arm off from its position on your hips. He only comes on stronger, wrapping fully around your waist, mumbling incoherence into your hair. He’s hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, summoning sleep to overcome you quickly, but it never does. Dread overcomes you as you feel your underwear grow damp.

“Mm,” Mark grunts, his hand around your waist loosening. You move away but his head suddenly lolls into the crook of your neck, his lips touching the side of it. You whimper. He’s a fucking asshole, even when he’s asleep. You pinch his arm, jolting him to half-awakeness, and you roll away, despite your body’s protests.

He blinks his eyes open. “Sorry, shit,” he says, voice deep and ridden with sleep. You’re fucked.

“It’s okay,” you splutter instead. “Just go back to sleep.” You faintly register that you sound just as exhausted as he does, and you bury your head back into the covers. Everything, plus the sound of his voice, has you dripping, and you breathe in deeply to poorly disguise a whimper. He chuckles, already half-asleep, from where he is, and it’s quiet for a few minutes before you realize he’s fallen asleep. Knowing Lia and Daniel will be busy for a while, you pull a spare pillow over your head and chant to yourself before falling back asleep, too.

When you awaken, the bed is cold and empty, and the shower’s running. You check the time to find only an hour has passed, but you’re much more awake now, getting up and knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. “Hurry,” you demand hoarsely, “I want to go skiing.” You hear a muffled okay and scurry over to your bag to find the pair of leggings you had packed for this. You also find your parka, and you pull off your shirt to clasp on a bra.

“Not that I don’t mind,” Mark says, eliciting a yelp from you as you tug a sweater on at record speed, “but generally, that kind of thing only goes unnoticed in nudist colonies. I could research some for you, if you’d—ow! I was joking, God!” You bonk him twice over the head with the Bible on the bedside table, your brows furrowed angrily. “You looked, asshat,” you say, collecting your things and locking yourself in the bathroom.

When it becomes increasingly evident that Lia and Daniel have no plans of exiting their room, you grumble and resort to skiing alone. But as you’re shuffling out, bundled up, you spot Mark leaning against the exit waiting for you. He looks up and tsks. “About fucking time,” he says, holding the door open for you. It’s not that cold out—maybe you’re just used to having snow and chilly weather, and so is Mark—so you barely shiver, walking around and looking for a good place to ski.

“Forget skiing,” Mark says after a few rounds. “Let’s go sledding. I have a thing.”

“A toboggan, you mean.”

“A funny word. Really, just say sled.”

You let up, anyway, the bright sky and cold ground sending serotonin right into you. Sure enough, Mark does have a nice, blue sled that he lets you on, and then the two of you are bolting down the hill at breakneck speed, laughing all the way. It’s quite a long ride, and you’re smiling and yelping so much the cloth you’ve used to cover your neck has ridden down, the cold air hitting your face harshly.

You land very ungracefully—the toboggan hits a small tree and sends you and Mark catapulting in the same direction, your hands clawing at the air for expense. You find Mark’s arm and cling onto it in the split second you’re in the air, landing on a clearing of thick snow. The arm you’ve clung onto pulls you closer, Mark grunting “be careful,” and when the whole fiasco’s over, you’re smiling like an idiot, and you’re right on top of Mark.

You’re not straddling him or anything, but you’ve just happened to land with your face a little above his. You can’t stop laughing, your face flushed and red with the cold air hitting your face. So you laugh. Why wouldn’t you laugh? It was a good day. A good ride down the hill. So you keep laughing until they’re reduced to giggles, Mark laughing right along as you pull down the covering of his mouth and tug his beanie off, ruffling your hands in his hair and dipping down to kiss him.

He kisses you right back, his lips cold but quickly growing warm with the friction. You smile into the kiss, your hands roaming all over his pink face. The kiss is giggly and light, your hands all over each other as the sunlight filters in through the thick trees overhead.

You pull away after a while. “I hate you,” you whisper. He presses a kiss to your jawline and lets it linger there. “You think I don’t?”

—

Stage 3: Bargaining, Depression|

You’ve begun to type the structure out when Lia tugs on your pajamas, her tone insistent and curious. “What’s up with you and Mark?” she presses, her cheek pressed to your stomach. You fervently hope she doesnt notice how your breathing quickens, and, keeping your voice even, you answer. “We’re…thinking about things.”

Which—you were thinking about things, to be fair. There were things to be thought and you had to think about them. It was a broad half-truth. It had been two weeks since the ski lodge thing, and you and Mark had decided it was probably best to shut the fuck up about everything you had done. (Everything meaning a few kisses here and there, and maybe a little more under the covers.) You’d hated yourself for hiding it from Lia, but you and Mark were actually feeling hesitant about moving forward with whatever you were. There was a lot of ambiguity and questions, and until you could clear it up yourself, you knew you weren’t ready to tell anybody else. You had talked about it already—clearly, the two of you were beyond jumping straight into a relationship after not liking each other that much and then becoming hesitant friends.

But it was, if you had to admit it to yourself, nice having that little secret.

“I’d want to tell Lia soon,” you tease, walking steadily beside Mark. The afternoon sun is warm on your heads, the snow falling intermittently. He turns with a small smile. “I’d want to tell Hyuck, too.” You scoff, burying your head in his chest. You probably look fucking disgusting. Around you, Washington Square Park is full of natives and tourists, and college students like you, all scurrying around and giving you that very much holiday feel.

He buys you a hot cocoa and hands it to you. “Are you heading home soon?”

You take a sip, your tongue hot. “If my ratty dorm counts as home, then yes.”

“Home is a feeling, not a place. Does your ratty dorm feel like home?”

“Kind of. Lia’s there. And so is the rat infestation in the ceiling.”

Mark nearly chokes on his cocoa. “You’re gross as fuck.”

You let out a loud laugh, your beanie nearly falling off with the bounciness of it. Mark reaches behind you to catch it, pressing a kiss to your lips in the process, soft and light and God, you like it. A lot. “Clumsy,” he remarks, pulling it back on and dragging a generous amount of your hair in front of your eyes as he does it. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon, and thank God we’re nearly done with this paper.”

“It was my genius idea to combine bargaining and depression,” you quip. “That’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas, Mark Lee.” He laughs at that. His laugh, you’ve noticed, is goddamn loud, and it’s a literal cackle, but he always looks so happy when he laughs. And buoyant. “You look stupid,” you say, but the smile on your face is undeniable. He glares playfully at you, taking your hand and walking you both in the direction of your building.

“New York in the snow,” he hums. “Always a great place.”

“It’s full of tourists,” you counter. Always disagreeing.

He chuckles and then, like clockwork—like how you’ve done it for the past six dates—you separate when you’re just shy of a meter away from the lobby entrance. Your fingers curl in search of his, and you jog up the steps, eager to get into the warmth of the building. The lobby’s pretty empty, save for a couple of students. Mark’s ahead of you, already pressing the elevator button and waiting impatiently. 

“We’re alone,” he sing-songs, his eyebrows wiggling. The doors open right as you take Mark’s hand, and you look up to meet Daniel’s wide eyes. Then you look to the right to meet Lia’s.

Despite your inner turmoil, you remain nonchalant, pinching Mark’s wrist instead of holding it like you’d planned. “That’s why our professor fucking hates you,” you say, narrowing your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, but you muster a neutral expression, shoving your hands back into your pockets. Lia knows you, though, and her furrowed eyebrows and parted lips say everything—but you just shrug, playing off what they could have caught you doing. “Hey,” you say, walking into the elevator with Mark. It all blows over.

AKA: Daniel has to drag a curious Lia away from you, with a promise that you would converse later. You and Mark are alone again, in the elevator, your hands barely touching, laughs loud. It’s all blurry after that. You’re high on a laugh and the thought of a kiss—you drag him over to your room, hands in his hair, breathless, loose kisses. You’re both so exhausted, though, that all you manage to extend your energy to is taking your tops off and making out lazily to the songs you’d recommended to each other.

“Mm,” he says when one of your songs starts playing. “It’s a nice song.” You nod with a smile. “I know it is, it’s one of my recommendations. It’s called Softly.” He plays with the strap of your bra. “I’ll give it more of a listen, then. Also, a red bra to school? Whatever will the professors think,” he jokes lightly, pressing insistent, but soft kisses on your shoulder. You laugh, pinching the inner part of his arm and eliciting a swear from him. “I was joking! I know you wore this for me, stupid.” The wind whistles outside, barely audible from the half-open window across the room, overlapping with the music.

This all feels too real, now.

You pout lazily against his bare chest. “Get off before Lia gets in,” you mumble, your heart beginning to race. He does, for what it’s worth, rolling off your bed with a loud thump and tugging his shirt and sweater back on. You watch him (fondly) annoyedly, your hair draping over you as you get up to properly shove him out. “Out, out,” you chant, laughing, and he giggles, turning abruptly to poke at your waist.

“Shut up,” you groan, a smile on your face. There’s a beat, then he pulls you close and kisses you, running outside right after with a literal guffaw. You watch him, wrapping your fleece blanket around your frame as he runs to the elevator, sweater backwards and hair messy.

—

Doubts are normal. This you’re assured of, but your head pounds with the sheer amount of things you’re cramming into it. You squint impossibly harder, trying to get the nail polish into the crook of Lia’s nail. You’ve probably overdone it, judging by the way she jabs her knuckle in between your eyebrows, her face contorted in worry. “Are you…okay?”

You narrow your eyes, the inner debate of telling her raging on and on. The nail polish drips onto her fingernail, rolling onto her pant leg, and she yelps, but her eyes are still on you. “You can tell me anything,” she says, softer this time. You know she’s serious—you know you can. You always have. You told her about every fling, one night stand, pregnancy scare, bad grade, hot professor, and spoiled deli food you’d encountered since you ever became friends. She knew you. And you were so sure she knew what you were about to say.

Except you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your feelings were a mess, and you wanted one thing as much as you wanted the other. You couldn’t place what you wanted, and if you had to narrow it down, you’d realize that you were scared of what you wanted. You were never really one for commitment, or a relationship, or really anything, for that matter. And the fact that you were so hung up on thinking about what you and Mark would become—Mark? It all seemed so dystopian, almost. Like you’d never expected it. Your friendship was a childhood bubble that popped in the span of your first high school semester, and that was that. But just two days ago you were being kissed all over by the same guy you’d had a cutthroat student council president competition with.

It seemed so absurd? Crazy? Those adjectives were a little over the top. Deep down, if you dug deep enough into the parts you didn’t even tell yourself, you knew what you were. And if anybody else were to know, it would be Lia.

“I’m scared,” you choke out, your voice shaky. “I’m scared and sad, and happy and angry, and I want this but I don’t.” You cover the nail polish, shaking your head. “This is all so new to me. I hate how much I feel, especially because it feels so wrong. You know me—relationships are just not cut out for me. They’re scary and new. And people in relationships turn all gooey. I’m scared that this won’t last, but I’m scared that it will, and I’ll be doomed to an eternity of bland, padlocked relationships. It’s weird. I could be feeling this way for anyone, but it had to be Mark? If only I didn’t hate him, then maybe we could’ve gone off on a better foot. If only this whole thing never fucking happened, right?”

“It’s okay,” Lia cuts in. “Being scared is okay. It’s part of the whole process. And nobody said you had to get along like conjoined twins in a relationship. They just go when they go and end when they end. Not every relationship starts as a high school sweetheart thing and ends with three kids and a picket fence. And I’m so sure Mark would be so understanding if you didn’t like him or if you chose not to continue.”

“You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I knew. I know a post-sex glow when I see one, and I was blinded that morning at the ski lodge.” You groan, pinching her indignantly, hiding your face in your hands as she laughs out of view. “Okay. Take some time and think about it, but for now, I want to get my nails done, so.” 

—

It’ll be a week before you come up with what you want, and the whole time you generally avoid talking about solemn topics with him in person. 

It’ll be another few days before you finally talk to him personally—with your paper nearly finished, you suggest a meeting at the library. It’s just two days before Christmas Eve, and you know Mark’s going to be driving to Canada, so you want to snatch him away for your own personal time for just a second. The snow has all but thickened as you meet outside the building, the silence deafening.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. You know he’s probably picked up on your erratic, quieter behavior in the past several days, but you gulp and lead him inside anyways, to your favorite section. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” he says, watching you stall, surrounded by Philosophy books from just about every century. “I know,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too nervous.

“You sound nervous,” he says.

“Do I?” you ask shakily, your voice taking on an unnaturally high pitch. “I mean, er. I guess I sort of am. I guess I’ve been thinking about everything lately—about you and me and everything that just happened so suddenly. Because—because it did happen so suddenly. I just…needed time? Yeah, time. To think about everything. Because it all happened so quickly, I…” you stutter. “I’m scared of these things. I’m not used to them. Relationships? Things that last longer than a couple weeks? I don’t like these. 

I have something bigger I want to focus on and anybody who gets in the way just isn’t worth it. And it’s so weird how it was you out of all people I started thinking about it with. Usually I just have the rare fling and then they’re gone, and I’m not even mad. But you’re different. And I like it. 

But I just needed time to find out if I really liked it. If I really wanted to try. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I probably sound really fucking stupid, but you get me—you get me, right? And that’s how I realized—if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I don’t know why I overthought it. I mean, it’s a good thing and a bad thing that I did. Like, on one hand, I got to really think about how this would play out, and on the other, I’d just end up spiraling. And it’s just weird. I hope you don’t know I hated you. Hate you? Hated you. I was just—it was all so juvenile. Everything just stemmed from that one awfully dumb high school rivalry. But other than that, you were always a cool…see what I mean? I’m kind of rambling—even if I thought I had planned this out. And. Yeah. I dunno. I fucking…I hate you, stop laughing.”

Mark smiles down at you—you’re busy pretending to read a Sartre book to look unfazed, but your flickering gaze says it all. 

“Okay, stupid,” he says, bordering onto a laugh. “If that’s your way of saying you’re willing to give this a try, then I graciously accept. Should I be saying something equally long? I—is that how this works?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him instead, pulling him close, Sartre’s postulates dropping to the floor alongside your tiptoes.

—

Stage 4: Acceptance|

“Acceptance is just that. Just accepting that you love that person after weeks or months of all the other stages. With her, it was. Like. It’s the whole sitting down after silence, having some time for the revelation to set in before you realize you love them. Or like them? Well, love them, I guess. But I don’t know why you would be asking me this.”

You bury your head further into Mark’s shoulder, your eyes strained from how long they’d been trained onto your screen. You smile up at Daniel, thanking him for the input and beginning to type it in, watching Lia doze off on his shoulder. “We’re asking because we’re not quite there yet,” Mark hums, “it’s just February. It’s barely been two months.” You nod, watching Mark type where you left off on the document. Daniel snorts from across you. “You’re just about, I guess.” Mark chuckles, shrugging so your head bounces off his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Like I’d ever fall in love with that shitstorm,” he says pointedly.

“Oh, and I’d fall in love with this dickwad?”

“You’re perfect for each other. Bullying, but we all know Mark brought back gifts from Canada and that you stitched an initial onto his sweater.”

“To practice my embroidery. Also, I stitched Mark’s initial. M. Asshole.”

“Okay,” whistles Daniel, his hand unconsciously coming up to make sure Lia doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “But hey, you’re just about to submit this paper and I’m fondly remembering all the times you despised each other. And when you”—he points at you, devilish grin on his face—“started gushing to Lia about how he”—he then turns to Mark—“kissed you at Johnny’s party.”

“God, it’s not the time for that yet, we’re still a fresh couple,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. “You have so much dirt on me, Choi.” Mark just laughs, though, loudly, bringing the other cafe-goers’ attention to yours. He bites your shoulder to stifle it, eliciting a laugh from you. “I agree, there should be a certain time requirement for pre-relationship embarrassing stories,” Mark says, closing his laptop. Lia gets up at that point, already half-awake from the ruckus (AKA Mark’s laugh), pulling on Daniel’s sleeve. “Alright, and that’s my cue to get this girl some more coffee and then go.”

“Mm, I’ll come with,” you say, “I need a refresher before we leave soon, anyway.”

You walk in between them, your fingers laced in Lia’s as she squeezes them sleepily. They order first and then they’re off with a smile and a polite goodbye, leaving you to order your drink. You gaze up at the menu, and then down at—

“Long time no see,” Chan says with a knowing beam. “How is your not boyfriend boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend now.”

“See, I always know. What do you want?”

“An iced ca—how did you know?” You ask, tempted.

“It’s just…the energy? It was a hit or miss, but I kinda got that feeling that something was going to happen.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “An iced caramel then.”

“And a black coffee for her best friend!” Hollers a new voice that you could never miss, turning slowly towards the entrance to meet Donghyuck’s crazy eyes. He’s in a suit, which isn’t unusual given the sheer amount of presentations he’s had to do since the new year started. You roll your eyes but put in the extra cash anyway, much to Chan’s amusement. Hyuck nears you with a sly grin. “I hear you’ll be submitting your paper soon. I just want my name in there so I’m in your professor’s good graces.”

“She’s not even going to be your professor, Hyuck,” you say, taking your drink and smiling at Chan. You and Donghyuck both walk back to where Mark’s sitting, you beside him and Hyuck across the both of you. “Yes, but it pays to be in somebody’s good graces, I swear. See what happened? I got you two together. I orchestrated your entire love st—”

“Okay, now you’re just lying, Hyuck,” Mark says with a laugh, finishing up the first few paragraphs and closing his laptop. “We’re not even in love.” But his friend lets out a teasing smile, his eyes narrowed, and he gets up with a loud farewell and alibi about “being needed by my better friends.” You assume he’s talking about Jeno.

—

You walk to Mark’s room alongside him, thanks to the promise of his roommate, Jaemin, sleeping at a friend’s. Your fingers are intertwined loosely. The sun’s setting and Mark’s room is sheathed in beautiful shades of orange and pink, a vast array of dusk settling over the space. It happens quietly, but full of laughs, which is how it happens when you’re both tired and/or shitfaced. You do this a lot—a routine of sharing new songs or books you’d picked up over the week and then making out while they play in the background or while one of you read. It’s awfully, horribly, terribly fucking intimate. 

“Your bra sucks,” he jokes.

You love it.

“Get better abs and we can talk about it,” you counter, poking his toned stomach. He really, fully guffaws at that, pulling you onto his lap and then tugging his guitar out from where it stands at the corner. You flop back onto his bed, watching him play—and then registering the familiar opening of the Jonas Brothers song you used to request nearly everyday. “Lovebug,” you muse with a smile, singing along to his voice, carried away. You’re sleepy and light, and you know deep down—in that space of yourself where you’re all but honest—that you were going to fall in love with him someday.

Later, when all you’re doing is hugging him as he reads your latest Philosophy requirement to you, he pauses.

“Is this the 21st century idea of love?” He asks idly, unclasping your bra and connecting the moles on your shoulder. You hum. 

“It’s the Gen Z idea,” you say, connecting the ones on his bare back. “And this isn’t love.”

“Corny.” he smiles against your collarbones. You kiss his neck. It’s all very gradual.

—

hope you liked it :) drop an ask! I absolutely love all types of feedback 

[ladyc0312]

A Jikook Guide to RunBTS: 66-80

Things in this batch start out a little slow, KM-wise, but seriously pick up around the Toronto episodes. It features the episodes where both RM and Jin ask if JK and JM are a couple, so it includes the giggly hand-push game that helped make me a jikook believer! 

As usual, let me know if I’ve missed anything or should take another look at something. :)

Ep 66 "BTS in a Comic Book Cafe Part 1" (Ep: 2 / KM: 1)

The one that I can’t help but feel would be more fun if I was more familiar with the comics involved, but the guys make it cute anyway

3:08 - This is a little hard to see because they use weird angles and cuts, but JK sings a piece of a theme song and JM catches his eye and sings with him.

9:23 - JK leans in over JM's shoulder to see how many people are on the comic book page

10:18 - JM does the same when it's JK's turn

BEHIND 10:29 - JM jokes around with JK and does the playful chest tap thing

Ep 67 "BTS in a Comic Book Cafe Part 2" (Ep: 3 / KM: 1)

None

BEHIND 7:28 - JM asks JK if there's a comic book he wants and says he'll buy it for him if so

Ep 68 "Heart Pang" (Ep: 1 / KM: 0)

The one where I can't for the life of me understand the board game they are playing

None. 

Ep 69 "BTS in Toronto Part 1" (Ep: 4 / KM: 5)

The Toronto one where Jikook wear matching denim shirts while going to Niagara Falls, getting lunch, and playing games

2:36 - RM says there are certain people who will struggle with the wake up challenge. JK and JM readily seem to admit it's them. 

6:29 - JM hangs back (to walk with JK?) when the rest of the group starts heading for the Falls.

8:06 - There's a "teleporting" moment where Jin is in between JM and JK, then the camera cuts away, then it comes back and jikook are next to each other. They stay next to each other as they walk on.

9:52 - You can see jikook interacting in the background.

12:25 - JM takes a photo of JK and gets him to giggle, then they huddle to look at the pic.

13:56 - JM puts his arm around JK and takes a selca in the background, causing RM to ask "what, are you a couple or something? Both wearing denim shirts?" He says it fairly seriously for a line that seems like it's supposed to be a joke and they don't laugh or say anything in response - it looks like JM looks away and flips his hair while JK shifts and awkwardly rubs his forehead. You can also see a quiet exchange after between RM and JM where RM says no to something, then nods at JK. Unclear if it's related, but including it just in case. 

15:25 - JK doesnn't try to distract JM while he did the staring contest like he did with Hobi. When Jimin passes, JK is the only one to clap. 

18:04 - Quick moment where you can see JK start to rub the arm of JM's shirt before the camera cuts away.

18:50 - JM laughs and touches JK's chest after JK loses the rocks paper scissor game, too.

19:53 - When the other five walk away and JK is doing something with his mic, we don't see where JM is.

22:02 - JK appears to help JM with something with his camera in the foreground.

BEHIND 4:12 - After JHope scolds JK for letting Suga pour everyone's water, JK goes to pour JM some water, then puts the pitcher down. JM seemingly tries to help him out by saying it's a new trend for the oldest to pour water. 

Ep 70 "BTS in Toronto Part 2" (Ep: 3 / KM: 5)

The Toronto one where the guys go shopping, pick beds, and play games

1:15 - JK slows down to walk side by side with JM.

2:00 - When JK messes up the game he was confident he'd win, JK laughs and playfully shoves at his chest.

7:23 - When JK loses a game and has to buy the others hoodies, JM sneaks a hat into the pile while JK has his back turned. RM rats him out.

8:01 - JM quietly puts the hat back in the pile, then walks over and hugs JK.

8:40 - JK walks over to Jimin to show him something (sunglasses he wanted?).

20:30 - When they're all joking around about whether they can fit four people on a bed, JK moves JM into an L-shape and then lays down nested with him.

BEHIND 0:09 - JK calls out "Jimin-ssi!" and tosses JM that hat he bought him.

4:49 - When the guys are all stretching and JM is in an inconvenient place, JK calls him "Jimin-ssi" again, essentially feels up his calf, and then pushes his upper thigh, all purportedly to get him to move over.

5:28 - JK kneels down behind JM, who's on all fours, and holds his hips to correct his position (I am literally just describing what happens in the clip, but I kind of feel like I'm writing porn, here...). JK then picks Jimin up to move him over a bit. Both giggle as JK starts to stand up and then the camera cuts away.  I can't even begin to think what exercising looks like for these two when there aren't cameras on them...

6:55 - JK reads out the words on the Jimin shirt they're all wearing, which happen to be, "BTS Park Jimin, I love you! I root for you! I'm ARMY!" with a huge grin on his face. Jimin laughs - no one else does - and then jokes that they should wear the shirts back to Korea, prompting JK to tell him "bye!" and wave while giggling. 

7:37 - Jimin shows the parts of the shirt design he would change by poking JK's chest, and then JK and JM share a fairly steamy look until RM interrupts. 

7:52 - JK folds up the shirt so JM's face looks weird and Jimin points to him doing it and laughs. No one else does.  Man, these two were really in their own world this whole Toronto trip, weren't they?

8:02 - JM tries to give JK some advice on the game he's about to play. Before starting, JK starts what seems like it's going to be a silly pose, but ends up being him dragging his fingers down his face, neck, and chest. Sadly for JK, JM wasn't looking. Happily for us, we can look as much as we want. 

8:18 - When JM wins a game, JK claps for him. You can probably guess by now that he's the only one who does. 

10:09 - JM steals a piece of steak, then JK does some cross-cut teleporting to come over and sink down into a chair next to him. JM overdoes making his eyes look big and innocent (perhaps hoping to get caught and scolded?).

10:35 - JM makes Jin move when he takes JM's seat next to JK I feel like just the Behind for this episode needs it's own jikook rating! And most of it is watching JK lead the guys in a workout. If you're going to watch just one Run Behind, consider making it this one!

Ep 71 "BTS in Toronto Part 3" (Ep: 3 / KM: 3)

The Toronto one where the guys have dinner, have breakfast, and play games

14:28 - Maybe nothing, but just to note it - in this and the next shot, you can see JM heading towards where JK is lying back on the couch after losing a game, then there's an abrupt cut and everyone is in a totally different position. 

29:20 - JK tells JM the "super-pancake" he made is for him since he has to do the penalties. 

BEHIND 6:59 - JM says that he thinks JK will want to eat and calls out for him.

Ep 72 "BTS and Mafia" (Ep: 3 / KM: 2)

The one in which we learn that BTS is so terrible at the Mafia game that it almost comes back around to being impressive 

3:10 - When Jin says JK is suspicious because he isn't talking, JM defends him, saying "you know he doesn't talk much." 

8:34 - JM seems to direct his appeal to be spared to JK.

18:16 - JK compliments how well Jimin is doing at the game.

20:13 - After Jimin says he's ARMY, JK asks, "do you like me that much?" Then there's a quick cut and Jin is doing a Jim Halpert face at the camera.

28:03 - Confusing maybe-moment - let me know if it's clearer to anyone else! - but after JH is sending finger heart guns, JM points gun fingers directly at JK for no apparent reason. 

BEHIND 2:39 - Before they start playing, JK predicts that JM and Jin will be good at the game.

Eps 73-76 “Run BTS Drama Parts 1-4″ (n/a)

The ones where BTS spend four episodes making a “comedic” skit

01:09 - After JK explains that he had a wisdom tooth taken out, Jimin adds the info that they had to take out the whole root.  09:10 - Even though V is the "director" of Jimin's scene, JK speaks up and takes over the role, saying that directors use informal language and repeating twice in informal language "Jimin, let's go!" He continues speaking informally when Jimin messes up and JK scolds him.  11:40 - When it's JK's turn to deliver a line and he gets nervous about remembering it, JM reads it out loud for him. He also says as soon as JK delivers the line that he did the best job and adds to Hobi, "he doesn't get embarassed, I told you."  16:26 - It's a little hard to see for sure, but it looks like Jimin votes for JK when it's time to choose who should be the skit's director. I'm going to be totally honest with you guys - I didn't rewatch these episodes past this. I first saw it months ago and remember being disappointed and fairly bored through most of it past the first half of the first episode - I don't find the skit funny and the behind-the-scenes stuff isn't amusing enough to make a four-part episode about. I’m sure there are others who completely disagree with me and no judgment if you don't share my opinion! But I'm doing this guide for fun and I don't want to spend two hours rewatching them. 

I don't recall a ton of jikook beyond the above - I think there's a moment in part 3 where JK is getting tired and Jimin offers to take over slating for him. So, anyone who is a fan and knows / finds more jikook moments, please let me know and I will update this guide to reflect that. Otherwise, let's happily move along. :)

Ep 77 “Food Guest Part 1″ (Ep: 4 / KM: 5)

The weirdly-named ones that are prob better translated as "food connoisseurs" but the specifics of the foods theme don't really matter because JIKOOK  

07:41 - When Jin says JK and JM will be competing in a palm-push game, JM says he's already lost (because JK is strong).

07:55 - I'm fairly certain that, if you're a jikook-er, you've seen this moment. It's so unabashedly flirty a description can't really do it justice.   JK and JM are supposed to be playing a game where they put their palms together and shove to see who can make the other lose their balance. JM shoves lightly at JK's chest before they even start the game, then both start giggling. Still giggly, JM asks if JK's ready and JK says he is. JM pushes at JK's palms and JK just swings his arms back as they look at each other and smile. Jin interrupts to ask, "are you a dating couple?" (that's the most direct translation - V app translation is "are you two together?"). JK and JM both laugh, the latter so hard that he spins around, thus losing the game. 

17:08 - JK is staring so intently at Jimin on his knees with a blow-pen in his mouth that he completely misses RM trying to give him a high five. Jin has to call for JK to please respond to RM before JK looks away and returns the high five, laughing and apologizing. He looks back immediately after. 

BEHIND 0:58 - JK gives JM a shoulder massage while holding his chest as JM makes satisfied noises. I've seen this clip in compilations before, but hadn't realized it was also from  this episode. It's really the gift that keeps on giving! 

4:29 - Just prior to the above palm-push game, JM reaches out to do something to JK's sleeve (I think?). The camera cuts before we see clearly.  

4:31 - Slightly different angle of JM and JK giggling at the start of the palm-push game.

7:11 - Reveals that RM actually tried to high five JK and was ignored TWICE before Jin called JK's attention away from JM on his knees with a blow-pen in his mouth. 

Ep 78 “Food Guest Part 2″ (Ep: 3 / KM: 3)

15:00 - JK jokingly asks what the answer is and Jimin giggles at him as the on-screen text says, "how adorable." Unsurprisingly, the others are less enamored. (JK's biggest fans = 1. Jimin  2. Run BTS on-screen text writers)

BEHIND 9:56 - JK watches JM dance playfully, then wiggles his own hips, seeming to want JM's attention. Jimin smiles and starts to say something that gets cut off. 

10:03 - JK films JM as JM dances and smiles while looking into the camera. Jimin is doing silly dance, but JK zooms in on his joyful face. He quickly licks his lips as he watches. 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Good Vibrations

Thank you to @permanently-exhausted-witcher for that Geralt edit yesterday! You really did me a solid and, as promised, I have written you the fic! I love stoner aus (because I myself am a bit of a stoner) and this was so much fun to write. Thank you for the prompt, boo!

Good Vibrations - The Beach Boys

tw: drug use, marijuana only, horny

---

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Jaskier asks. “They’re all...red.”

“Yeah, that can happen,” Geralt replies. The room Geralt had rented before Jaskier even reached the mid-sized Redanian town was unusually cushy. His Witcher’s tastes were usually more spartan in nature and the bard was curious as to why he’d chosen such a place to stay for the two of them. And why it smelled so weirdly sweet and skunky at the same time. 

“Did you burn incense or something? It smells weird in here.”

“Not quite,” the Witcher giggles. Fucking giggles. “Come over here and I’ll show you.”

Jaskier crosses the room and sets his pack and Sexy down next to the bedside table. He perches on the edge of the mattress next to his favorite Witcher and waits patiently for the strange red-eyed ailment to be explained. Geralt giggles again and puts a finger to his lips, signalling for secrecy. Another small, happy sound finds its way between his lips and Jaskier can’t help but smile encouragingly in response.

“I’m high.”

“What?”

“Lambert found a huge field full of the dankest kush behind Kae-”

“Hold on.”

“Huh?” Geralt looks over to Jaskier again and finds the bard looking positively flabbergasted.

“Did you just say the words dankest kush?”

“Yes, I did. It’s really good shit. Do you want some wax? It’s all I brought because it’s easier to travel with.”

Jaskier considers for a moment, running his hand along his smooth chin as if pretending to stroke a beard. Geralt is gazing at him with eager eyes and his hands are clenching and unclenching in the sheets beneath him. The bard has never tried this particular substance before but if Geralt is offering it then it’s probably not something that will kill him or make him sick. He nods, brown bangs flopping in and out of his eyes as he does, “Sure, I’ll try a bit.”

The Witcher’s face lights up in a new and unfamiliar way, like he’s truly relaxed for the first time since Jaskier has met him, and he breathes out a soft: “Excellent.”

Geralt pulls a strange, jointed glass contraption, half-full with water, from beneath the bed and removes a tiny tin (almost small enough to be a lip-rouge tin, it looks like) from his bag. Using a small metal pick, the Witcher takes a glob of some odd yellow, sticky substance and transfers it from the tin to a protruding stem on the glass thingy. “What is all this?”

“It’s called a dab, Jaskier. It gets you high in a different way than just smoking the herb.”

“Can’t say I’ve really tried this before,” the bard shrugs. “So for now it’s all the same.”

“Really?” The Witcher seems extremely surprised. His grey eyebrows disappear nearly all the way into his hairline; he’s rarely this expressive and Jaskier is reveling in it. “But you’re always so...horny.”

“Thank you for that assessment,” the bard deadpans. He shrugs off his doublet and undoes his chemise where it laces at his throat, letting some of his chest hair peak out. Geralt swallows the growing lump in his throat as his friend mutters, “It’s fucking hot in here.”

“Well yeah, it is now,” Geralt snorts. He can’t seem to stop himself from adding,  “It’ll only get hotter if you keep taking your fucking clothes off.”

“Alright, whatever this shit is,” Jaskier says, gesturing to the dab rig, “I want some in me like yesterday. If it can make you, the great and grumpy Geralt of Rivia, joke around so easily then I want to be on the same spiritually transcendent plane.”

Geralt’s brow furrows as he squirrels the tin back into his bag. Without another word he signs for Ignii and watches the amber wax bubble and melt a little in the stem. Geralt breathes in through a tube at the other end of the rig and Jaskier watches a swirl of thin white smoke bubble through the water in the wide glass chamber and into his friend’s lungs. After a moment the Witcher releases the cloud back into the room and that sickly sweet stink returns.

“Your turn,” the Witcher half-coughs, gesturing at the multi-jointed pipe. Jaskier leans forward and mimics his friend, taking a long, hard pull of white smoke. Geralt yanks the dab rig away with a bright laugh. “Fuck, Jask! You’re going to die!”

The bard releases the smoke more quickly than Geralt had, taking the Witcher’s words to heart as he’s compelled into a coughing fit by the strange itching burn of the drug. “G-Geralt! Wh-What the fuck!?”

“Are you okay?”

There’s already a pleasant, tingling buzz settling at the back of Jaskier’s skull and behind his eyes. He breathes through the cramps in his chest and settles more firmly against the mattress. He feels soft. Pliant. “I feel like a…”

Geralt waits a moment to hear what Jaskier feels like but the sentence never ends. The Witcher glances over to find his friend, glassy-eyed and silent, staring down at his palms where they rest atop his thighs. Oh. Jaskier is high. Like really fucking high. And he’s only taken one little hit.

Geralt has had four.

The bemused Witcher sets the now-empty dab rig on the table and tugs Jaskier closer so that their thighs are nearly touching but not quite. The bard looks up from his hands, startled, and allows himself to be moved. “Oh, hello again. Geralt?”

“Yes, Jaskier?”

“You’ve been smiling this whole time,” the bard muses. His voice sounds dreamy and far away, half a register higher than usual. “Are you going to die? Is that why we’re doing this? Why have you gotten a nicer room than usual, one that I would like, and why are you giving me this...stuff? Is it all so you can break the news to me that you’re dying of some strange Witchery ailment?”

“No, it’s the drugs,” Geralt replies. “They make me feel very relaxed. They make my mind a little quieter. I got the nice room because I had a little extra coin and I thought...I thought you’d like it.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

“Thank you.

“You’re welcome.”

“I can feel so much,” Jaskier sighs. Geralt glances over at him again, watching his long fingers swirling against the soft material of his high-waisted trousers. 

“I’d like to feel you.”

“Huh?” Jaskier looks dazed. Geralt slowly lowers his large hand, settling it against the top of the bard’s unoccupied thigh. 

“You always look and smell so soft,” Geralt murmurs. ��Are you? Are you really always that soft?”

Jaskier glances up. His face breaks out into a wide, dopey grin. “Yeah. I’m really that soft.”

Geralt’s hand is rucking up his shirt a second later, sliding his hand along the smooth skin of Jaskier’s rib-cage and over onto the man’s slightly coarser, hirsute chest. The Witcher is fucking purring. A loud, deep rumble comes fluttering out of his chest as he caresses the man beside him. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighs. “Yes, like that.”

“It’s been so long; I’ve missed you.”

The Witcher’s lips seek out and sink against his bard’s. The two men slide down against the pillows and adjust until both are shirtless and tangled together. Jaskier is resting with his head against Geralt’s chest, his fingers swirling through the silvery hair, and Geralt’s hand is buried in the thick brown hair atop Jaskier’s head. 

To the bard’s extreme surprise, his Witcher begins to sing very softly above him. 

“I - I love the colorful clothes he wears;

And the way the sunlight plays upon his hair. 

I feel the sound of a gentle word 

On the wind that lifts his perfume through the air.”

“Are you singing about me?”

“Hmm.”

“Did you write a song about me?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Geralt chuckles, “I overheard it at a tavern on my way  north and it happened to remind me of you.”

“So you memorized it?”

There’s another lazy hum from the Witcher and Jaskier feels tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. 

“That’s so incredibly sweet of you, my love.”

“Well, you’re incredibly sweet. Only makes sense.”

“Kiss me again, Geralt. I swear that I’ll die if you don’t.”

“No dying on me, bard,” the Witcher orders, dragging his lover up his chest and pressing their mouths urgently together. “Never.”

“Let’s have some more of this stuff,” Jaskier suggests breathlessly. “And then see what happens. I’m feeling very...touchy.”

Geralt grins and reaches for his bag.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

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[invisibleinorange]

Chapters: 15/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton, Genevieve Delacroix Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin Summary:  Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes".

It hadn’t been too much trouble getting Daphne into the carriage and to her London home with the Duke.  The majority of the family returned back but the men had forged ahead with the Duke to help get her inside and to ensure that a physician could come tend to her.   It turned out that the baby wasn’t actually trying to make an early arrival.  It was just sort of false labor.

As many children had been born to their mother, Colin still found himself painfully ignorant when it came to the majority of it. He was grateful that Simon wasn’t going to be attempting to murder him for bringing harm to Daphne and the child.

It was dark by the time they got to leave.  

As eager as he was to get home, clean up and change clothes before finding Penelope there was someone else he needed to speak with.  He was most grateful to the fact Anthony had decided to stay behind a little longer with their mother so that he could be alone with Benedict.

The silence between them was strange.

He couldn’t recall a moment in his life where things had been estranged with anyone in his family. He didn’t think that Benedict was mad at him but he definitely wasn’t acting excited to see him.

There was only one way to forge ahead and that was by addressing the elephant in the room.

“I’m sorry for… ruining your wedding,” Colin said after a long moment.

“It’s for the best,” Benedict said after a long moment. He didn’t look at him though and his jaw tensed in a way that didn’t convince Colin that he was happy about it.

“Listen if you-“ Colin started to say knowing that family would always come before all else and if his brother was in love with Penelope, he would make himself scarce. He would move aside as painful as it might be.

Benedict cut him off at that though.

“It was Anthony’s idea after he remembered your letter,” he said after a long moment.  “We just wanted to protect her and that felt like the best course of action.  She loves you. You know that, right?”

Colin wasn’t completely sold that Benedict was giving him the full truth there.  It was a bit too dismissive but it was hard to think to properly investigate when he was hearing precisely what he’d wanted to hear longer than he knew he wanted to hear it.

“And I love her,” he said confessed after a moment.  “You’re my brother though and I don’t want to get in the way of something good for you either. I wouldn’t intentionally harm you even if I kind of did want to punch you for a solid minute.”

“We were going to name our first born Colin,” Benedict told him after a long moment.  “I had started looking for a property for us to build a proper home that would be ours.  I’ve been weirdly sketching her a lot of late. There’s a lot more to her than meets the eye.”

Colin was both touched and a bit caught off guard to hear Benedict speak of her in that way. His worst nightmares had all involved coming back and finding out that there was something real between his brother and her.

“She’s always been pretty special,” Colin said after a moment. “I mean, it took me a while to figure that out and … I’m grateful that you would have really taken care of her.”

“She’d never forgive me if I got in the way,” Benedict added. “Don’t tell her that I told you this but Eloise told me that she caught her trying to harm herself after we heard about the boat and we thought you were…”  

His voice trailed off but Colin had the full picture there.  He felt sick thinking about the pain he’d inflicted toward everyone even if most of it was accidental.  He couldn’t change any of it now. Al he could do was forge ahead.

“If she’d hurt herself, I would never have forgiven myself,” he said earnestly. “I assure you that I won’t hurt her again though.”

That earned a glance from Benedict as they moved toward the house.

“Good because the next time you do, you won’t come back from the dead,” Benedict said.  There was no smile to his face to indicate that it was a joke and Colin was quite clear that it was the truth.

--

Colin was half way up the stairs, taking two at a time.  He actually found himself humming a song as he bounded, not even pausing as he moved through the hallway with practice skill knowing where the best guest room was, having no doubt that he could finally steal Penelope to talk.

There were other things on his mind but talk would have to suffice for the time being.  After months of being without any of the people he cared for, he was certain that just being able to look at her face and hear her voice would be enough.

The door was shut but he doubted she was asleep. He knocked nevertheless, practically unable to keep still as he waited for her to come to the door.

Whatever his reaction had been to her in what was supposed to be her wedding dress to Benedict was eclipsed by the way his throat went dry and his eyes widened slightly when she answered the door in a state of undress that meant she might have thought their talk wouldn’t come to the next day.

She was wearing a shift that was practically transparent. It was clearly new and meant to grab attention.  Perhaps it had been meant to be worn for her honeymoon and hadn’t saw fit for it to go to waste.  He could hardly stop himself from looking even if he knew it was nowhere near appropriate.

“Colin,” she practically squeaked, grabbing for her robe to tighten it over her that was a little less transparent.  “I thought you were still at Hastings House.”

Every inch of invisible skin turned as red as her hair.  It was completely unpinned and loose at the moment and he definitely hadn’t seen her like this before.  Colin felt almost dumb as he shook his head no.  He had to find his tongue and quickly.   He clenched his fists to keep himself in check.

“It was a false alarm.  Daphne has to take it easy but she’s going to be fine,” he managed after a long moment, lingering in the door frame.

“That’s honestly marvelous to hear,”  Penelope told him.

She bit her lip, completely subdued by her own nervousness. She’d always been a bit nervous when he was near and that definitely hadn’t changed.  She also wasn’t sure what was going on in that head of his. The clenched fists indicated anger but his voice didn’t.

There was a long stretch of silence that followed before whatever self-control Colin had been holding onto evaporated and he moved past the threshold, shutting the door behind him with a decisive action.

Penelope was so stunned by it that she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing but she didn’t get a single word out before the gap between them was closed-in and he had leaned down, pressing a needy kiss to her mouth.  

She didn’t properly even think about how utterly inappropriate it all was, instead leaning up and into him as she returned it.

A strangled moan escaped Colin against her mouth.  He’d tried to keep his thoughts of her pure but God help him that whatever desire he had to be a gentleman until he could properly court her, make her his wife went out the window the minute she kissed him back. Maybe they could talk about everything later.

He reached a long arm backwards, aiming to latch the door knowing full well that even if he had every intention of wedding her, his mother would literally have his head for this if she or one of his siblings were to accidentally catch him with her.

His other arm looped around her and as soon as he was certain that it he’d succeeded at the lock, the other joined it a hand curling around the curve of her backside to pull her closer.

“Forgive me,” he murmured against her lips.  

It was Penelope who properly broke the kiss, teasing him with a little nip that took him by surprise.  She took a step back, eyes watching his.

“On one condition,” she said after a long moment, fingers moving up to toy with the robe she’d shielded her gown with before.  She teased him for a long moment before pushing it to the floor.

Colin was prepared to give her anything she wanted. If she was trying to get him to leave though, she was definitely moving in the wrong direction. If she kept playing with him like that, he’d do far worse than look at her.

“Anything,” he told her.  “I know that I’m not worthy.”

That at least earned him another peck. He took another step forward, trying to grab at her again but she pushed away his hands lightly.

“You can have me and you can have me,” she told him with a grin, her voice light and teasing. “But you’ve got to properly court me first.”

“Pen,” he pouted.  He had made a promise though and he did fully intend to romance her.  He wanted her to have anything she desired but at the moment, he had more pressing needs.  If there was ever a time for his charm to be effective, he hoped it now. “Does that mean I can’t steal any more kisses?”

She laughed.

“Perhaps a few more would be appropriate.”

He was going to push his luck.

[thespacebetweenworlds]

so... i’m not actually in the witcher fandom, nor do i know the most about it...but i still think you should write witcher!hyunjin + bard!jisung. i just approve of the notion idk

I WROTE IT!!!! lmao, be proud of me! this was a whole ride and I loved every second. I hope you’ll find this amusing, too!

Here's the tags: KPOP RPF, Stray Kids Fanfic, Han Jisung/Hwang Hyunjin, rated T, warnings for violence and blood, Witcher AU, 5k, complete. Read it on ao3 here or continue forth below the cut.

Inspired by this Witcher!Hyunjin edit. Beta’d by Reltic, who writes very good skz fic y’all should go read it <3

Anyway let me know what you think :]

 Hyunjin punched him in the face.

 … by accident. That was important. Or it would be important, if Hyunjin didn’t wish he could punch the annoying bard a second time.

 Unfortunately, they were currently caught and bound in the bandits’ cave, back to back, and if Hyunjin wanted to break free fast, the knife in his arm guard would also stab the annoying bard in the back. And he had to admit that that annoying mouth was currently the only thing preventing the bandits from slashing their throats and leaving them to bleed out in a ditch.

 Fuck.

 So Hyunjin lost himself in the memory of the bard’s stupid soft cheek on his knuckles, the impact he felt before the bard’s head snapped back and he stumbled away. The blood on his teeth when he smiled up at Hyunjin, who had honestly (oh, his past self new nothing) meant to punch the lackey of the village’s head who refused to pay him. The space around the bar had been packed, and someone was pushed into the lackey just before Hyunjin hit him.

 The annoying bard.

 Hyunjin, feeling sorry and embarrassed, had kicked the lackey a few metres away, relishing in the thump of a body against the wall and then the following slump to the floor accompanied with the sudden scared quiet of the room. And then he’d glared at the guys who had been pushing the annoying bard and escorted him out, meaning to apologise. He had not meant for the annoying bard to follow him on the dusty dirt road to the next village and never stop talking.  

 “You really should let us go, my dudes,” the annoying bard laughed – Jisung, oh how Hyunjin wished he didn’t know that name – “I mean come on, have you ever seen a man as beautiful as him? It would be a crime to kill us, a crime.”  

 The first that hit Jisung’s bruised face after that was deserved, and Hyunjin wished he was the one who did the punching.

 “You trespassed into our territory, we will do as we wish,” one of the bandits crossed his head and lifted his chin as if he was almighty. For the moment, he was. “We have heard of a witcher with ties to the queen, and we can’t let him run to her and tell her about our secret drug ring.”

 Hyunjin closed his eyes and groaned quietly. Life was just out to get him specifically.

 “Ah, we don’t kiss and tell,” Jisung said, and Hyunjin just knows he’s winking and putting on his ‘flirting’ face. “Wait, Hyunjinnie, you know the queen? Me too!”

 Hyunjin wished he could close his ears too. Those were definitely the words the bandits needed to hear right now. Yes. Good thinking there, Jisung.

 “Who are you that you know the queen?” Another of the bandits spoke up, walking closer. “Maybe we can exchange your dead remains for money.”

 Jisung, at least, had nothing to say to that. “Ahaha, a joke, of course! How would I know the queen! Why would he know the queen? He’s a witcher, not a witch.”

 Hyunjin groaned. “The queen and I are on bad terms right now, and I won’t tell her about your drug ring because I will kill you all.”

 Finally, blessed silence. Hyunjin counted his heartbeats and breaths, relaxing his shoulders. Quiet. Nice. Now if only there was a breeze carrying some fresh mountain air.

 “Hey,” Jisung hissed, “don’t encourage them!”

 And the room broke in frantic yells and panic as they tried to decide what to do since both their prisoners apparently knew the ruler of the kingdom, except of course if they were lying. Hyunjin sighed.

 “Hyunjin,” Jisung whispered, shuffling around, “how do we escape? You have a plan, right?”

 Hyunjin took a deep breath. “I have a knife in my boot,” he told Jisung quietly, “if we stand up at the same time, I can take it, and cut us free.”

 Jisung let out a breath. “Oh, that’s good! I knew you got this.”

 Hyunjin just brought his legs under him, swiping the dagger from his boot – really, what kind of bandits didn’t tie their prisoner’s legs? – and as he stood with Jisung scrambling to his feet himself, he cut the ropes tying them together.

 The bandits noticed a second too late, and drew their swords a second too late. Two put up half a fight, but soon they all lay dead on the floor, blood splattered all over Hyunjin. Hyunjin wrinkled his nose, and made an attempt to wipe the blood off of his daggers on the only bandit who still had a clean shirt.

 “Where did that second dagger come from?” Jisung, his wrists still bound, interrupted Hyunjin.

 “You’re still here?” Hyunjin shoved the daggers back, one into his boot and the other under his arm guard where it was concealed under black leather.

 “Wait so you could have broken free all along with the dagger in your sleeve? Why didn’t you…” understanding slowly crawled across his expressive face, followed by a bright smile. “Hyunjin! I knew you care about me!”

 “I don’t,” Hyunjin said, but somehow couldn’t stop himself from untying Jisung’s hands. He took his sword from where the bandits had tossed it in a corner and drew the blade. More bandits would still be outside. Jisung picked up his lute and hugged it close to his chest.

 As Hyunjin had expected, a few bandits were in the surrounding woods, just far enough to not have heard their companions’ dying screams. Hyunjin killed the ones that attacked him and let the others run away.

 When he reached the road, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and whistled.

 Loud breathing and stomping reached him not much later.

 “Hyunjinnie!” Jisung emerged behind him, cheeks flushed under his bruised face, lute strapped to his back. “I don’t understand how –” he gasped for air, “– you can run through the woods so fast. Wait for me.”

 Hyunjin, however, only had eyes for the beauty that approached him now. “Kkami!”

 Kkami was his trusted companion and only friend. And a horse. But she was the best. Better than all humans he ever met. A good listener too. And quiet. Unlike a certain annoying bard.

 “Oh, pretty,” Jisung stumbled towards Kkami, who neatly stepped around him as if he was just an unusual kind of tree.

 “I’m so proud of you,” Hyunjin whispered to her, leaning his forehead against hers and stroking her long neck. Kkami was truly his only friend.

 Hyunjin climbed up on her back in one smooth move. He patted the parts of her neck he could reach and steered her down the road with his legs alone. She started walking in a comfortable walk, one that she would be able to hold for days. The sun was high in the sky, the trees green, the birds singing. It was calm now. The breeze smelled of forest and moss and rotting leaves and flowers in bloom. Hyunjin could hear his own heartbeat as well as Kkami’s, their breaths aligning like they so often did on long journeys.

 It was wonderful.

 Except that his and Kkami’s weren’t the only heartbeats he heard.

 “Oh, can I also ride on your horse? No? Alright then, it’s your horse, I understand. Did you call her Kkami? That’s so cute. Like you! You were so badass back there, I had literal goosebumps. I must admit the blood splattered clothes fit you very well. And did you see their faces when they realised we got free? And oh, we busted a drug ring, if you were on good terms with the queen we could totally go to the capital and receive money for doing good deeds in the name of the crown. But alas, we’ll have to live as vagabonds! Lonely heroes on their way to defeat evil!”

 Yup. There he was.

 “I should write a song about it. I can write a song about us. I will write a song about you! Hyunjin, how do you feel about songs? I promise I’ll also credit Kkami with defeating a villain, of course, she’s lovely. Do you think a long ballad would be suitable? Or a drinking song? If you don’t mind, I’ll try some freestyles, yeah?”

 “Shut up.”

 “Ah, but I write my songs by freestyling! I just start singing, play some chords, and continue until I find sounds and words I like. You know, as a starving artist with only my lute, I can’t rely on making notes and writing my lyrics down, I have to memorize them as I come up with them! So talking to myself helps with that, obviously. And now I have you, too! You will help me, right?”

 Hyunjin contemplated kicking Jisung in the face. It would… even be possible, he realised as he studied the distance between his leg and Jisung’s head. He’d have to stretch weirdly though, and unless he shifted his weight, the kick wouldn’t be very strong. The movement would surprise Kkami though, and while she definitely wouldn’t mind or be inconvenienced, Hyunjin was sitting comfortable and breathing in synchrony with her.

 Why mess that up? He could just pretend he wasn’t hearing anything, anything at all. A fly, maybe. A bee. Human voices? The last time he heard a human speak was one of the bandits, before he stabbed him in the chest with his sword and left the body in the shrubbery.

 Oh, the calmness of the forest… so quiet… so nice.

 In the late afternoon, the trees gave way to the next village, with fields spreading out into wasteland and far away mountains. The village was just big enough to have a bit of stone ground in the middle, with a river and a mill. An inn sat in it’s center.

 Hyunjin sighed. He had exactly no money, which meant he’d have to ask for a job first before he could rent a room. However, he had yet to see a village that didn’t have at least one monster to get rid of. It just meant he’d have to go monster hunting before he could go to sleep for a day.

 “Oh, are we staying here, Hyunjin?” Jisung stood in front of Hyunjin when he jumped off Kkami. And Jisung grinned. He swaggered towards the door of the inn. “I don’t have money, but I’m sure I can get us a room in exchange for entertainment! I’ll sing of your victories, witcher, and the town will love you!”

 “Uh… bard,” Hyunjin said, because he’d actually have to warn him, didn’t he? “Jisung.”

 Jisung turned to him with wide eyes and his grin turned into a soft smile.

 “That might not help. As a witcher, people don’t usually… like… it… when I’m around.” Hyunjin gestured to his appearance, dark leather armour splattered with blood. Long white hair bound together but he knew there were leaves caught in it. It really spoke for itself. His glowing eyes didn’t help his case. “I’ll ask for a monster to kill, which will hopefully get us a meal and a room, and Kkami a place in a stable. That’s all, and only if we’re lucky.”

 A look of something crossed Jisung’s face, there and gone too fast for Hyunjin to read. He squared his shoulders and bared his teeth. “Trust me on this, Hyunjin.”

 And Jisung sauntered into the inn as if he owned it.

 Hyunjin and Kkami shared a look. “I don’t know either, Kkami, sweetheart,” Hyunjin sighed.

 Kkami neighed quietly.

 “I know, I know, I better go and save his ass or something,” Hyunjin cringed. He was actually going to, wasn’t he?

 Kkami snorted.

 Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Yah, don’t laugh at me! Wait here, okay? If anyone comes at you, you know how to drop kick them.”

 Jisung had maybe one minute alone in the inn. Somehow, Hyunjin expected there to be fire and screaming and new bruises on Jisung’s annoying face.

 One minute, and yet what Hyunjin found when he opened the door was Jisung pointing a finger at him, yelling, and cheering from a crowd of mostly drunk farmers and a handful of young women who curiously turned their heads.

 “That’s him!” Jisung was laughing, too. “He saved my life.”

 Hyunjin didn’t have time to process that before he was shoved next to Jisung by a smiling man with a long beard and a cup of beer was handed to him. The women oohed and aahed.

 “Jisung-ssi, why didn’t you say he’s pretty?”

 “Mr Bard, he truly looks as beautiful as you said! A hero!”

 “To have defeated a Barghest! I’ll drink to that!”

 Jisung cheered with the small crowd, and Hyunjin lifted his beer in cheers, setting it back down when it seemed like most people were briefly shifting their attention to their own drinks. Alcohol did nothing for him, and he didn’t like beer. Jisung swiftly switched his own cup with Hyunjin’s, and when Hyunjin brought the cup up to his face, he noticed it was water.

 “I told you to trust me, Hyunjin,” Jisung said quietly.

 Hyunjin could only nod.

 “Oh, your hair is so pretty,” one of the older women said, sliding into the seat next to him. “I’m the co-owner of this establishment, by the way.”

 “Um, thank you,” Hyunjin swallowed a mouthful of water. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you had a job for me here.”

 Jisung, now a few metres away, strung his lute and started singing a catchy song about ‘that time a handsome witcher saved me from the beast’ which, despite his raspy throat, sounded good – if you could ignore the terrible text. And the fact that it was all lies. Well, Hyunjin had to admit that he did save Jisung from certain death, but there was nothing heroic about it, and Hyunjin also hadn’t taken off his clothes to use his undershirt to bind a cut on Jisung’s ankle.

 “We are uncertain still,” the woman quickly tugged Hyunjin out of his thoughts with her serious tone. “A monster dwells upstream. Sometimes the river is dyed red, or pieces of ripped clothing will pass the village. My niece disappeared two weeks ago. One of the farmers went up to see what was causing the issue last week, and he never returned. One of his shoes did, though.”

 “Hmm,” Hyunjin nodded. “I have a few ideas of what it might be, and none of them are good.”

 The woman nodded, smiling worriedly. “If it really is a… monster, as you say, we will of course pay you accordingly. For now, your drinks are on us – see it as a gesture of good will for saving that bard.”

 With a polite smile, she turned to attend a group of newly arrived villagers.

 Hyunjin eyed the sliver of fading daylight streaming in through the dirty window. If it really was a drowner, it might move closer to the village when hungry. Drowners lived in streams and ponds and sewers, but if this one was upstream it might not take long for it to decide to live closer to the village. Hyunjin remembered the mill. There must be a body of water directly connected to it.

 And if the last death was already a week ago, then he’d have to hurry. He finished his water and got up.

 “Jisung,” he said when he reached him and Jisung had taken a small break from singing to hydrate. “I’m going after a monster here. I will be back by moonrise.”

 Jisung smiled a gummy smile, eyes sparkling. “You’ll be back?”

 “I’ll be back,” Hyunjin agreed, wondering if it would destroy his fragile positive image in the village if he punched Jisung in the face right now. Why bother though, Jisung’s bruises were just reaching their darkest point, another one wouldn’t even be visible.

 Hyunjin turned and left, hearing Jisung loudly announce that Hyunjin was going to defeat the monster.

 Kkami was eyeing him.

 “What,” he grumbled. “So, he was right. So what. I still have to go kill a monster now.”

 Kkami snorted judgingly.

 Together, they swiftly galloped towards the mill, and in a slower tempo they followed the water upstream.

 There were a few hills there, some shrubbery that quickly turned into tall trees, the river courving and going into the forest. The smell was the first thing that told him something was wrong here, so he got off Kkami, drank one of his witcher potions – never a fun experience, the way his insides twisted and bones shuddered just wasn’t a good vibe – and he felt his sight sharpening, eyes turning black.

 Kkami, unbothered queen that she was, turned to snack on some leaves.

 Hyunjin followed the smell of blood and death deeper into the woods to a clearing. A dark pond greeted him, and yes, this was it. He would never get the smell out of his hair.

 He kicked a pebble into the water.

 The water made waves, but not the ones physics predicted the pebble would have created.

 In the end, killing a drowner wasn’t that much different from killing a human. They were, after all, human shaped with extra gills and fins. Somewhat. The difficulty didn’t lie in their superhuman strength, but Hyunjin was a witcher, and he had drunk his potions. Not even the coldness and darkness of the water surrounding them really bothered Hyunjin.

 The difficulty lay in the fact that Hyunjin didn’t like the quiet that came after. He waded out of the pond, wet and cold, hair plastered to his forehead, the slippery head of the drowner in his arms, and what greeted him was cold starlight and absolute silence.

 He walked the way back to the village. Kkami was waiting where he left her, but he didn’t want to ruin his saddlebags by getting them wet with smelly pond water and the drowner’s blood.

 The moon rose just as he made it back to the village.

 And when he opened the door to the inn, the first thing he saw was Jisung’s annoying face. Could his day get any worse after this?

 “You’re back!” Jisung smiled again (why did he smile so much, and why did he smile at Hyunjin?) and then he saw the water dripping down his clothes and the monster’s head in his arms. Naturally Hyunjin couldn’t really grab the head in one hand, it was too fishy for that. Jisung winked at him, before turning back to the room. “The witcher defeated the monster! Your village is safe now!”

 Cheers sounded through the room, which seemed to be packed with the whole village and not just the handful of farmers from earlier.

 “Should I leave the head outside,” Hyunjin asked the woman who had spoken to him earlier.

 She took a look and briefly looked nauseous. “Yes, just leave it outside, thank you. I’ll prepare a room and a bath for you, master witcher.”

 Hyunjin blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever been addressed with this much honest respect. “Thank you.”

 “Follow me.”

 Through a crowd of mostly drunk cheering, the owner led him up a narrow stairway in the back, and opened one of the doors for him. There was a fairly big bed, a small window with curtains, and a tub behind a paper screen.

 “Uh, excuse me,” Hyunjin stopped the woman just as she walked past him with the promise of getting someone to bring up hot water, “my horse, she’s outside. Could you send someone for her? If it’s too much trouble, is there a stable I can bring her to?”

 The woman smiled. “Of course, dear. I’ll send my son, he’ll take good care of your horse.”

 Relieved, Hyunjin started to undo the straps of his armour, putting the pieces on the clothes rack next to the tub. Hopefully the leather would be dry by morning. When he was down to his undershirt and pants, the woman returned with two people following behind her, all of them carrying buckets of steaming water.

 “Thank you,” Hyunjin smiled politely, only to be told thanks in return, ‘for saving the village.’

 … Jisung must be composing an epic ballad.

 Tired, Hyunjin decided to not care about that right now, and fully undressed. He was just starting to relax in the hot water when the door behind him opened. Jisung’s familiar heartbeat sounded in the room. Hyunjin closed his eyes and sighed.

 “Are you – oh.”

 “What,” Hyunjin groaned. “Don’t tell me they only have one guest room and thus you simply must share with me.”

 “Ah, yes, actually. How did you know?” Jisung crossed the room and sat next to Hyunjin, keeping his eyes strictly on Hyunjin’s face.

 “Just – a hunch, I don’t know. Are you blushing?”

 “No.” Jisung blushed.

 Hyunjin hummed and started to cover his arms and chest with soap. It smelled too strongly of flowers, but maybe that would cover the lingering smell of blood and forest. He moved on to wash his hair, getting his fingers tangled in the knots.

 “Wait,” Jisung interrupted, “let me do that.”

 Stunned, Hyunjin didn’t move when Jisung grabbed the soap out of his hands.

 “Your hair is really pretty,” Jisung murmured. “I want to braid it and give you a flower crown. Did you know that one of my aliases is Dandelion?”

 “I did not,” Hyunjin said, because Jisung’s aliases were the most conceivable piece of information he just received.

 Jisung laughed and used his hands to wash the soap out of Hyunjin’s hair. “You pretend you’re all tough and dramatic but really you’re a big softie.”

 “Are you talking about yourself,” Hyunjin replied, because really, he did not come here for an emotional evaluation.

 “Aw, no,” Jisung lightly splashed water in Hyunjin’s face, “I never pretend to be all tough and dramatic, I am all tough and dramatic.”

 Hyunjin wrinkled his face in disgust. “You’re annoying.”

 Hyunjin noticed how Jisung’s musician’s fingers lightly lingered on the scars on his shoulders and back when he washed the soap away. He let Jisung hold his hands and massage a pleasant smelling oil into his skin after he dried and got dressed in a long nightshirt the inn had kindly provided for them. He sat still as Jisung used a towel to gently dry Hyunjin’s hair, and in the absence of a comb used his fingers to disentangle the worst of the knots.

 Jisung, for once, blessed Hyunjin with silence. Hyunjin still noticed Jisung. Even when he wasn’t talking a steady stream of nonsense, his presence was still… loud. Strong. The many buttons on Jisung’s jacket were undone with skilled fingers, and Hyunjin pinched himself when he finally remembered to look away. He walked through the room, closing the curtain, locking the door. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and looked everywhere except at Jisung, who pulled the nightshirt over his bare skin.

 “You don’t mind sharing the bed, do you?” Jisung asked at last, sitting down next to Hyunjin.

 “If I did,” Hyunjin replied, raising an eyebrow, “I’d have removed you from this room already.”

 Jisung’s annoying mouth formed a big, heart shaped smile.

 Hyunjin wanted to punch him. With his mouth. On Jisung’s mouth. He shuddered internally. Oh no. This wasn’t happening. He was definitely not going to kiss the annoying bard on his annoying mouth. Nope. Not happening.

 “Thank you for saving my life,” Jisung said, serious. “Not just from the bandits, but you also kinda saved me back at the other village. You also punched me, but I know that was an accident.”

 “I will punch you again,” Hyunjin grumbled, getting under the covers and scooting to one side, “it just won’t be an accident.”

 Jisung laughed. “You’re really funny, you know that? I think most people don’t even notice, which is a shame.”

 “You’re not funny,” Hyunjin yawned.

 “Is that a challenge? Keep thinking that, then. I’ll make you smile.”

 Hyunjin didn’t dignify that with an answer. He closed his eyes.

 “Sleep well, Hyunjinnie,” Jisung murmured, burying himself in the blanket just a hand width away.

 “Night,” Hyunjin returned after a pause.

 It didn’t take long for Jisung’s breath to even out and his heartbeat to slow. Hyunjin listened to the muffled and fading noises of the inn for another while before he allowed himself to drift off. Even witchers needed sleep.

 When he came back to consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the early morning light streaming in from behind the curtain. He still had his eyes closed and felt no need to move for the moment. Jisung’s heartbeat sounded steady, his breaths warm against Hyunjin’s neck. Hyunjin was warm and comfortable in a way he hadn’t been in a long time, the sheet comfortable around him.

 Arms tightened around him, and a voice in the back of Hyunjin’s mind started screaming like the house was on fire. Except Hyunjin really didn’t mind burning houses, he was a witcher, why was his brain screaming? He firmly told himself to shut up and enjoy the lingering sleep. Awake time would be later.

 “Hrngg warm,” Jisung murmured, and threw a leg over Hyunjin’s hips.

 That woke Hyunjin.

 Wide eyed, he stared down, only to see Jisung half on top of him. He realised that it wasn’t the blanket that was so comfortably warm and soft, but Jisung, because Jisung was draped all over him.

 Carefully, Hyunjin tried to extract himself, but Jisung only tightened his hold on him.

 “Fuck,” Hyunjin whispered.

 What did one do when one woke up with a human octopus attached? Hyunjin didn’t know, so he tried to breathe normally and not disturb Jisung further. The bruises on his face were thankfully already fading into lighter shades of purple, but Jisung must have been exhausted. One of Hyunjin’s arms was free, and he’d left a bruise balm on the small table beside the bed, in case he hadn’t healed fully in the morning.

 Carefully, Hyunjin reached over, scooped a bit up with his finger, and very carefully started to cover the bruises on Jisung’s cheekbone and temple. Jisung didn’t wake.

 After a while, Hyunjin closed his eyes and fell back asleep. When he woke up again, it must have been late morning – golden light illuminated the room. Jisung was staring up at him, wide eyed.

 “You drool in your sleep,” Hyunjin told him and gently pushed Jisung off him.

 Jisung blushed furiously and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, eyes not leaving Hyunjin.

 Hyunjin stretched and stood. He opened the curtain, squinting against the bright daylight. When he turned to Jisung, he found Jisung rubbing at his eyes, looking lost in the center of the bed, blanket pooling around him. His hair stood around his head and looked – despite all logic – fluffy.

 “I – uh, did I sleep on you?” Jisung averted his eyes.

 Hyunjin hummed, turning to his clothes. His armour was dry, luckily, but he’d hate to wear the same undershirt and pants again. He’d have to find a river where he could wash his clothes soon.

 “I’ll go find the toilet,” Jisung mumbled and left for the door. He almost stumbled in the doorway. “Oh, clothes! The nice lady must have left them for us.” In front of their door, indeed, was a neatly folded pile of clothes. Simple linen undershirts and pants, nothing fancy but of good quality.

 When they had fully dressed and Hyunjin had wrenched his hair into a bun, they made their way downstairs just to find the barkeeper grinning widely at them, reminding Hyunjin that this village thought him a hero.

 Thankfully, Jisung did all the talking, and Hyunjin could eat as much breakfast as he liked. Maybe he should keep Jisung around.

 A handful of villagers came together to bid them goodbye, and the woman from the inn for some reason apologised for being unable to pay him, but instead offered a horse. A cute, mischievous black mare that had been her niece’s favourite, and as such had never learned how to be a proper farm horse. Jisung thanked the villagers profusely and loudly, and sang another rendition of ‘the handsome witcher saved my life’ as they left.

 Out of sight and out of earshot of the last farm belonging to the village, Jisung’s voice went high and panicky.

 “Hyunjin! I don’t know how to ride a horse!”

 Hyunjin just looked Jisung up and down slowly, making his point. Jisung was, after all, sitting on his horse. Sure, he was also hugging his lute to his chest and also gripping the saddle with white-knuckled fists.

 “Ha! I did it!” Jisung whooped then, and pointed a finger in Hyunjin’s face. “You smiled!”

 Hyunjin wiped the smile off his face, furrowed his brows and glared. “No.”

 “You did! I clearly saw – Hyunjinnie you’re so cute when you – ah!” Jisung blanched and cowered over his horse, who had just made a bigger step than usual to nose Kkami in the face.

 Hyunjin laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Jisung was confident, or good at bullshitting confidence, and pretty, and annoying, and brave. And he was afraid of riding on a horse.

 He leaned back just a bit, letting Kkami know to stop just by shifting his weight. Jisung’s horse also stopped, probably because it had decided Kkami was the best living being on the planet. What a smart horse. Hyunjin jumped off and patted the black horse on the nose, smiling at her.

 Kkami snorted loudly.

 Hyunjin grabbed the reins of Jisung’s horse and started walking. “Just relax, Sungie,” he said without looking over his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

 “What about Kkami?” Jisung sounded very relieved and adorably worried about Kkami.

 Hyunjin hummed. “She’s the best. The smartest. She’ll walk with us on her own. You’re the one that needs to learn how to communicate with your horse. What’s her name?”

 “Uh,” Jisung paused. “I forgot? Or they didn’t say.”

 “Well, then you should start by naming her,” Hyunjin replied, and then started to talk about horses. What they liked to eat, how to care for them, what they did when they felt good and what they did when they felt scared, and what to do to calm a scared horse down. He talked about saddle care and the different kinds of signals most horses learnt from humans, and then he talked about Kkami.

 Jisung listened.

 And Hyunjin, the complete and utter fool that he was, talked himself hoarse (ha, get it, horse?) and taught Jisung how to not fall off his newly acquired companion.

 In the afternoon, they rested by a stream, Jisung complaining about sore legs the entire time and whining when he tried to sit climb back up on the horse. Hyunjin laughed at him, which made Jisung smile brighter than the sun in the sky, and they decided they’d just walk next to their horses to relieve the stress put on Jisung’s legs. After a while, Jisung started singing again. Maybe it was chronic. Still, Hyunjin found himself enjoying the company, and if his ears didn’t betray him, Jisung’s lyrics were better now, too.

 As the sun set behind some mountains in the distance, the annoying bard’s voice cracked from dehydration every few minutes. Jisung settled for humming melodies. Hyunjin caught a small animal for them to eat and build a fire on a clearing off the road. Jisung found an apple tree. As night fell, they huddled close together under Hyunjin’s thin blanket.

 “I’m seriously unironically glad to have met you,” Jisung’s loud voice startled Hyunjin, who’d gotten used to the quiet and the fire’s crackling. “I forgive you for punching me in the face, too.”

 Hyunjin took it all back. The annoying bard was annoying and Hyunjin did not enjoy his company at all. He sighed, pouring all his long suffering pain into the release of air.

 “But only because you’re pretty,” Jisung continued his monologue.

 That was it. Hyunjin couldn’t listen to another word. He leaned in, punching Jisung in the face. On the mouth. With his mouth.

 Jisung made a strangled noise and returned the kiss with a small smirk in the corner of his lips.

[orange-waterfalls]

Hello, Nurse

Yancy x mute!gender neutral!reader

@glitchbitch69 ty for the prompt!

A/N: I heard that mute was an offensive word... but I didn't know what else to use... reader is a person who cannot talk. That's the best way I can put it. @glitchbitch69 I am 99% sure this is not what you asked for but here??? I did my best. Rated T for a couple "fuck"s and like... 2 "shit"s.

Word Count: 2.5k

--

Yancy enjoyed prison life. He loved his family, the food was good, the cells were comfortable, Shithole Hank's hooch wine was fucking wonderful, it was almost perfect.

Almost.

Apart from the fact that he wanted a companion

A spouse.

A life partner.

Whatever you want to call it.

One day, he notices someone new. Someone he hadn't seen before. Which was very weird because he knew everybody. They all practiced their musical number every Thursday.

He decides to introduce himself, so he follows you to wherever you're headed. You end up in the infirmary.

"Hello, there." He greets. You turn to him, slightly surprised. He's smiling at you, and not in a malicious way like you'd probably expect from a man who killed both of his parents. It's a sweet smile. A "I want you to feel as comfortable as possible" smile. You return it and wave.

"I haven't seen youse around here before. Youse new?" He asks. You nod. He raises an eyebrow

"Alright… what's youse's name?" You gently tap the name card on your chest.

"Hm. What's youse's favorite color?"

You point to your shoes.

"What's youse's favorite animal?"

You point to the animal poster on your wall.

"What's youse's favorite season?"

You point to the background of your computer. He huffs.

"What, can't youse talk?" He jokes. You shake your head.

"Oh…" he clears his throat, suddenly feeling very awkward. You make a gesture with your hands. He furrows his eyebrows. You huff and grab a Post-It note, writing something down and handing it to him. He looks at it and sees that you wrote "it's okay". He chuckles.

"Must be hard being a nurse and not being able to communicate with your patients," he comments. You roll your eyes, and wave it off. You write something else on a Post-It and hand it to him. "I can handle it" He smiles.

"Yeah, I bet." He glances back up at you. "So, uh… do--" he was cut off by two guards bursting into the infirmary with a man of a gurney. You rush past Yancy to see what's happening. Yancy follows you to see who it is. You make another gesture at the guards.

"He collapsed while in his cell. He won't wake up," one explains. You grab Yancy by the arm and lead him out, closing the door. He stands there for a moment before deciding it'd be best to head to his cell. He runs into Sparkles McGee on the way there.

"Hey, Yance!" He greets. Yancy smiles at him.

"Hey," He responds and they start to walk together

"Where ya headed?" Sparkles asks.

"Y'know… to my cell…"

"Already? It's only 7:00…"

"Well, I'm tired…"

"Hm… alright…"

"Hey…" Yancy stops walking. Sparkles, who was in front, turns to him, tilting his head. "Do you… know about any nurse?"

"You mean Y/N? Oh, yeah, they've been here for a couple of days," Sparkles responds.

"Really? How come I didn't know?"

"Well, you didn't really have a reason to. You don't get into a lot of fights and you don't get hurt so…"

"So… if I wanted to see the nurse… I'd have to get hurt…"

"Well, I wouldn't say you have to. You could just… talk to them?" Sparkles looks at Yancy weirdly. Yancy apparently did not hear that last sentence because the dumbass immediately went off to find a way to get hurt. He could get Jimmy the Pickle to punch him… that seemed like a solid plan. Yeah. He'll do that. He sits on his bed and thinks about what he's gonna say when he sees you again.

"Hey there!" No, too excited… "Howdy!" No, too awkward… "Sup" Nah, too "I want to be cool so you don't leave me". Just a simple "Hey" that's it. He sighs and lies down. He closes his eyes, letting sleep overtake him.

--

The next day, during breakfast, he sees you. He waves to you, but you don't see him. He figures that's a good time to start his plan.

"Hey, uh… I gotta do somethin'... See you guys later," he slides the rest of his breakfast over to Tiny, who promptly devours it. He meets Jimmy in a hallway.

"You got the stuff?" Jimmy asks. Yancy nods. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lavender candle. Jimmy takes it, putting it into his pocket.

"Now it's your turn. Don't do it too-" Jimmy just straight decks him. He does miss his nose, but he nearly dislocates the smaller man's jaw.

--

Yancy wakes up and opens his eyes, but quickly closes them again due to the bright light in front of his face. He slowly opens them again, allowing himself to adjust to the light. He turned his head slightly, eyes widening when he sees you scribbling on a clipboard. He begins to smile, but stops because it hurts. He reaches up to feel his cheek. Jimmy really did a number on him…

You glance at him, noticing he's awake. You set down your clipboard and pencil and walk over to him, smiling gently. He gives you a half-grin in return.

"Hey there, hot stuff," he says, voice slightly cracking. Damn, I fucked it up, he thinks. You snort and pick up a sheet of paper, along with the clipboard. You write something down and hand it to him. It seems to be a little quiz.

"On a scale from 1-10, how much does it hurt?

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10"

He gently touches his cheek, wincing at the coldness of his fingers. He circles the number "4" and hands the paper back to you. You look at his answer and nod. You go get some supplies to give him a checkup and make sure everything else is ok.

As you perform the tests, you can clearly see his cheeks turning a light shade of pink whenever you touch him. A couple minutes pass, and you finish your check-up. Apart from a few slow reactions, he seems fine. They're probably because he was punched unconscious. You walk over to put your items away. He exhales deeply.

"So… uh…" he starts. You turn to him. "...do anything fun recently?" You roll your eyes and turn away. He pouts and crosses his arms. "Oh, come on! I'm doin' my best here!" You smack your lips and turn to him fully, making sure to obviously shake your head. He scoffs and mumbles something under his breath. You continue putting away supplies. When you turn back to him, he looks a bit upset. You frown, suddenly feeling guilty. You grab the same sheet of paper as before and jot down a couple of questions. You fold the paper, slipping it into his hand as you escort him out of the infirmary.

Yancy heads back to his cell and sits down, feeling gloomy. He takes the paper you gave him and opens it. It's seems like a little quiz. And the bottom, you wrote "I'd like to know you better, so here" and a small heart next to it. Yancy smiles widely and starts filling in answers.

You two write letters to each other back and forth, since you were usually busy in the infirmary. You learned a lot about him. He killed his parents and that's why he was in jail. That should have thrown you off waaaaay more than it did. You learned that him and all the other prisoners wrote a song and performed for new inmates. The practice was on Thursdays. You occasionally go and watch if you're not busy. The first time you went, he saw you out of the corner of his eye and smiled to himself while trying to get the newest inmate to stop fucking up the dance routine.

You two start to fall for each other.

For you, it was almost instant. You saw him singing and dancing and your heart just sped up.

For him, it took a bit. He was hesitant to trust you since you worked at the prison. He thought maybe you were only being nice so he wouldn't kill you. Which he would never, but you didn't know that. It bummed him out, until you covered for him when he got into a fight. You let Mr. Murder-Slaughter know that he had fallen , not gotten into a fight. For some reason, he took your word for it. Said you "looked trustworthy". That was about the time Yancy actually fell for you. Not a crush, no. This soft prison boy loves you with all his heart. That was a couple nights ago. You two had sent more letters since then.

He's reading the newest one in bed while he's supposed to be sleeping, giggling like a schoolgirl. He clutches the paper to his chest and sighs contently. He wipes his forehead, feeling a bit warm, but he ignores it. He would write you a new letter in the morning.

--

He wakes up in the morning, feeling like absolute shit. He tries to sit up, but his brain spins and screams at him to lie the hell back down. He obliges, only to suddenly go into a coughing fit. His body racks with the force, and he feels like his lungs are filled with something other than air. A guard enters his cell.

"Hey, you ok?" He asks. Yancy tries to answer, but goes into another fit and falls off of the bed. The guard rushes over to him.

"Whoa, ok… we gotta get you to the infirmary… c'mon," the guard tries to help Yancy to his feet, but his legs won't let him put any weight onto them. He groans as his head pounds, begging to lay back down. The guard manages to drag him to the infirmary, where he's plopped onto a bed. You turn, wondering what the commotion is. You gasp at the sight of Yancy. You make hand gestures at the guard. Yancy had been studying up on sign language, so he understood that you were saying "what's wrong?". The guard begins explaining what happened as Yancy begins to close his eyes. He lets himself slip out of consciousness.

--

He wakes back up to the smell of food. Chicken noodle soup? He hadn't eaten that since he was 11. He slowly turns to the side and sees a steaming bowl next to him, along with a small bottle of Gatorade. He looks around the room, searching for you. He sees you behind you computer. He tries to say "hi", but his body decides to say "fuck you" and make him hack his lungs out. You perk up at the sound, quickly walking over to him holding a whiteboard. You take a marker and write down "how do you feel?"

"Like… shit…" he croaks out. You smile sympathetically and write something else, showing to him.

It says "I convinced Mr. Murder-Slaughter to let me make you chicken noodle soup. I hope you like it. You might want to wait until it's cooled. I also bribed a guard into sneaking me Gatorade." He nods as you grab some objects and sit next to him.

You open your mouth, hoping he gets the memo. It takes him a moment, but he understands. You push his tongue with a stick and search his throat. What for, he has no clue. You eventually take it out and pick up a thermometer. He takes it in his mouth. You both sit quietly for a moment, waiting for it to go off. Yancy takes this opportunity to try and memorize every detail of your face. Were your eyes always so sparkly? He began to think he was hallucinating. The thermometer beeps, and you remove it from his mouth. You frown.

"What? Bad?" He asks. You turn the thermometer towards him so he can see the temperature. 108. "Oh… bad…" you shake your head and get an ice pack from a freezer, laying it on his head as you perform more tests. Once your done, he starts eating the soup, joyfully. It's all gone in the span of 30 seconds, along with the Gatorade. You blink at him before he crosses his arms and turns away.

"'s not my fault youse made it so good…" he grumbles. You smile, sitting next to him.

He turns back to you, a small grin appearing on his face. You two stare at each other for a moment before he reaches out, putting his hand on your neck. You glance at his hand, wondering what he's doing. He leans in. You lean in as well out of instinct. He closes his eyes because you're right there! You begin to close your eyes before you scramble to your feet, stepping away from him. He holds his hand in the air, a bit startled with your sudden disappearance. You stand and look at him, breathing harshly. Yancy groans and covers his face with his hands.

"Oh, I'm so stupid. Of course you don't like me," he says. "Why would you? I'm a scumbag…" you shake your head, immediately feeling regret for how you acted. You frantically look for your whiteboard. When you find it, you write something down and tap Yancy on the shoulder. He looks at you, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. You hold the whiteboard in front of him. It says "108". He looks at the board, then at you, wondering what it means. You stare at him, expecting him to catch on at some point. He doesn't. You roll your eyes. You point at the board, then at him. He knits his eyebrows together in thought, before raising them and gasping.

"OOOOH, IT'S BECAUSE I'M SICK!" He yells. You nod forcefully. "Wait… so, you do like me?" He asks. You smile and nod. His face darkens. "O-Oh… well, uh… I like you too?" You erase the whiteboard and write "I know". He chuckles as you continue to smile.

--

A little while later, you deem Yancy ready to go back in his cell. He gets slightly upset because he liked spending so much time with you, but he was so glad he wasn't sick anymore. It's a bit late when you lead him back, so he decides to go to bed. He crawls in, covering himself in the blanket and you start to leave.

"Goodnight!" He calls. You smile and wave at him. He snuggles in and closes his eyes. He suddenly feels his shoulder being shaken as he tries to sleep. He turns to whoever's bothering him and almost decks you in the face. "Wha-" he starts. He's cut off by you leaning forward and gently kissing him on the forehead. He plops back down and gazes at you loving. You softly pat his chest as you start to leave again. You pause and turn back towards him, making a gesture with your hands. He doesn't know much sign language, but he does know what this means.

"I love you".

He smiles and makes the gesture back to you, making you smile. You turn and head back to the infirmary. Yancy sighs happily as he falls asleep.

--

The next morning, he meets you near the infirmary. He's about to say hi, but you frown, holding your arm up to your face. He stops, not knowing what's going on.

You sneeze.

You slowly turn to him, glaring. He nervously chuckles.

"Uh… sorry?"

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 23 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter:  Paul and Gene watch T.V. and continue to delay the inevitable.

          They went home after that, stopping only to pick up some more takeout for dinner. Paul was bemoaning it a bit, and offering to make them both sandwiches instead, even when he was pulling up to the restaurant.

         “I’ve gained three pounds just this past week.”

         “You’ve been weighing yourself?”

         Paul looked at him weirdly.

         “Well, yeah. Every day.”

         “Even since this happened?” Gene was a little bewildered to think that even getting cursed hadn’t been enough to distract Paul out of that particular concern.

         “Yeah. I think I’m still gaining it all in the abdomen.” Paul took a disgusted glance down at himself, assuming he could even see his stomach past his chest. Gene was beginning to wonder. “We can’t keep eating like we’re on the road.”

         “Can’t we?”

         “Fuck, no.” Paul grimaced, shaking his head as he parked the car and turned off the engine. “I spent the entire break trying to get my weight down.”

         “You look fine. Why are you so worried?”

         “The costume girls’ll have a fit.”

         It was the first time either of them had mentioned anything related to the tour all day. It cut through the Central Park fantasy like an Exacto knife. Gene wasn’t going to have some cute girl—this cute girl—hanging on his arm for much longer. Maybe no more than a few hours.

         Gene rubbed his elbow uncomfortably. Paul, gazing at his own reflection in the car mirror and pushing his hair in front of his shoulders, didn’t seem to notice, so Gene pushed the rest of his thoughts aside. They got out of the car together; Gene paid for the food, and they returned to Paul’s place soon after. Half the takeout was gone before they’d even gotten home with it. They finished off the rest at the kitchen island, then laid around on the couch awhile, T.V. running in the background while Gene read and Paul doodled.

         It was kind of funny, really. Occasionally it felt like nothing had really shifted. Still watching T.V. together like they used to in the hotels, back when getting laid after the show was a distant hope and not an inevitability. Eating out of Styrofoam boxes. Joking around and shooting the shit.

         The rest of the time, Gene was painfully aware of how much had shifted. There was the sex, sure, even if they hadn’t gone all the way, but that wasn’t the whole of it. He’d still have his gloomy spells, sure, but overall, Paul seemed so happy. So open. So—maybe Gene was giving himself too much credit, but Paul seemed—taken with him. He’d never been aware of anything like that out of Paul before. If those big, dark eyes had ever looked Gene’s way with half the warmth and attention he was getting now, then—well, then, Gene hadn’t noticed.

         He’d thought Paul didn’t like him a bit when they’d first met, in fact. He’d been high on his own bravado, and Paul had just hung in the periphery of his circles. Somebody had introduced them, and Gene had popped off immediately, something like oh, you write songs?, and Paul—well, he’d been Stan, and Stanley if you wanted to piss him off, back then; he hadn’t gone by Paul until a year or two later—had snapped right back with an affirmative.

         He remembered asking him to play one for him, and Paul had. The song was a lousy, incoherent mash-up of the Stones, Bowie, and the Beatles at their most soused, and his playing was worse. But somehow after, they’d just… Gene didn’t know. He couldn’t remember a definitive point where they’d clicked. Paul had still been in the process of nearly flunking out of high school, while Gene was a sophomore, or maybe a junior in college. But he remembered starting to call him up after classes, inviting him to parties and jams. He remembered thinking Paul was standoffish and nervous, not cut out at all for the rockstar career he was so desperate for. But he didn’t remember ever getting the feeling Paul dug him. More that he was just lonely.

         He didn’t want to delve into it too deeply. Rethink nearly ten years of interactions. It wouldn’t do any good, and it wouldn’t change any of the way things were right now. He watched Paul kick up his ankles against the arm of the couch, and finally spoke.

         “What did you take us out for, anyway?”

         Paul glanced up from his drawing. It was something weird and abstract, not the eerily-accurate dick sketches Gene was accustomed to out of him. Hatchmarks, parallel lines, and weird, elongated shapes were well on their way to completely covering the sketchpad.

         “To pay you back. I told you.” The pencil resumed its scratch across the page.

         “No, why did you really do it?”

         “Because we’d never get to again.”

         That was all he said for awhile. The words hung like streamers. Gene sort of wanted to argue him down, even though he wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know exactly what Paul meant.

         “You can take me out anytime.”

         “Not like that.”  Paul shifted abruptly. “I’m gonna go shower.”

         Gene raised his head, half at the words, half at the slight thump of Paul’s sketchpad next to him on the couch.

         “Want some company? I hear there’s a water shortage.”

         Paul shook his head. Gene felt guilty at his own weird relief. For whatever reason, Paul wasn’t ready yet. They could keep on pretending for awhile longer.

         “Maybe later tonight.”

         Gene nodded. Paul’s expression seemed a little bit strained, but he turned and headed for the bedroom, not closing the door behind him. A minute or two later, Gene could hear the sound of the water running.

         Then he got up, looking through the living room’s bookshelf as if he hadn’t done it prior. Paul didn’t really read for pleasure. He had stuff like  The Power of Positive Thinking,  Games People Play, I’m OK – You’re OK, and a ragged copy of  How to Win Friends and Influence People, the last of which was highlighted like a book of scripture. Gene had been flipping through it while Paul drew.

         Then he had magazines with his face or KISS’ picture on the front cover. No intellectual reading material at all, though that wasn’t what he was looking for. At the bottom of one shelf were Paul’s junior and senior annuals and a small line of photo albums. Gene pulled one of the older-looking albums out at random.

         It was green and typical, with thick black pages. Probably one Paul’s parents had started of him. The initial contents weren’t surprising. A faded birth announcement. A taped-in lock of baby hair dated August 2, 1952—Paul’s parents hadn’t bothered with upsherin, so maybe it was no wonder he’d never had his bar mitzvah. Sepia infant photos—Gene swallowed a bit when he realized that even in the pictures where Paul was barely able to sit up on his own, the photographer had him posed with his head turned to the right, to hide the microtia. Some pictures from birthdays. A picture of him along with the rest of his second grade class. They were lined up by height, and Paul was standing towards the back, easily recognizable just from the eyes and expression. By that point, he’d apparently figured out the pose on his own; he was almost aggressively facing right, while everyone else was looking the camera head-on.

         All that misery and insecurity over two square inches of missing cartilage.

         Gene shook his head. He flipped past most of the rest of the pictures of Paul as a kid, past even the awkward handful from when he was a teenager, before finally coming up on photos slightly closer to current. He’d apparently kept a few Polaroids from Wicked Lester and the earliest days of KISS, before they’d even had the makeup. Then, as he turned the pages, he found a scattering of random, more recent shots. Paul goofing off in hotel rooms. Paul lounging in swim trunks by the pool. Paul in a tux sucking cake frosting off his fingers at Ace’s wedding.

         He was trying to hammer in his head that this was how Paul really was and really looked. He was trying to figure out if he’d still be attracted to him once he was back to normal. If he’d feel something while he looked at the pictures. Start getting hot under the collar, maybe, the way he did with Playboy centerfolds. But—well, Paul only tried provocative poses when he had on the greasepaint, and most everything in the album was barefaced and fairly candid. Gene wasn’t sure he was feeling anything beyond some fondness while looking over pictures of Paul in front of the Eiffel Tower or eating poi in Hawaii.

         That bothered him. Not that he was planning on jacking off to a stupid picture of Paul sitting shirtless on the hood of his car, but—he’d—he’d wanted something definite out of this. Arousal or repulsion. He needed to know. Whether Paul had wanted him for four days or four years, Gene owed him that much.

         The dull white noise of the shower cut off. Gene put the photo album and the book back on the shelf and waited for Paul’s returning footsteps. Maybe later tonight, he’d said. Maybe later than that.

--

         Paul spent longer than he meant to in there. Cleaned himself up, washed his hair and shaved. He’d gotten into the habit of shaving almost everything but his chest and sometimes his underarms because of the tours. Now that he was basically down to only having to worry about his underarms and legs, the effort took two minutes or less, leaving him just standing useless for awhile under the spray.

         He knew what his next move ought to be, just as well as Gene did. Invite him in, get rid of the whole virginity problem, and get back to normal. There was no reason to keep delaying it. He’d had his time with Gene. More of it than he probably deserved, the way that they’d already wormed themselves out of the curse’s terms of consummation, like wily lawyers with contracts.

         He wasn’t scared. Well. He wasn’t just scared. He knew it was probably going to hurt. He hadn’t tried to penetrate himself since that second night with Gene, and even Gene’s fingering had pretty much been rubbing. If he couldn’t tolerate a finger inside him, a dick would be even worse. Paul was tempted to blame it on Carol, but if one less-sexy Playboy article was anything to go by, it was really just his nerves. He’d have no bulwark against them, either, no drugs or alcohol, when he slept with Gene. When he really slept with Gene.

         That wasn’t his real problem, anyway. His real problem was the same as ever. Knowing it would all be over as soon as he let it happen.

         He skimmed a hand over one newly-smooth thigh, fingers sliding across his wet skin. Up to his stomach, then his breasts, idly pushing them together. Considering. Wondering how it must’ve felt for Pinocchio once he got everything he ever wanted, once he was flesh instead of wood. Funny how that was Gene’s takeaway from that movie. Work hard, get your wish. Input-output. But he wasn’t going to get his wish here. Paul couldn’t be a real girl for him. No part of him ought to have ever wanted to try.

         He’d just have to steel himself up for the end, that was all. Delaying it too long was only going to make it worse. It was—it was abysmal, not having taken care of it already, when he’d been so desperate to do it only the day before. But he couldn’t bring himself to commit just yet. Whether out of cowardice or longing, he didn’t know. He wanted to keep messing around with Gene as long as he could. Have Gene keep looking at him, keep touching him. Keep being with him. 

         He swallowed thickly, stepped out of the shower, and dried his hair off a bit with a towel, pulling on a bathrobe before heading back out to the living room. Gene was still on that same couch,  Hawaii Five-O playing in the background. Jack Lord was really starting to look craggy now.

         “You wanna go to bed?”

         “This early?” Gene looked a little amused, but Paul thought there might be something else there. Something on the border of disappointment.

         “There’s nothing on T.V.”

         “Did I play my cards right?”

         “You didn’t play them wrong. We can fool around some more. I’ll keep my top off.”

         It was a lousy offer for a guy who had girls chomping at the bit to sleep with him, and Paul knew it. But the grin he got in response was enough to make some of his guilt, some of his self-disgust, ease off, if only briefly.

         “C’mon, I’ve got an idea.”

--

         Gene followed him to the bedroom affably, taking off his borrowed t-shirt and tossing it on the floor. He didn’t start on his pants, but Paul did for him, unzipping and tugging them down. Gene’s mouth crooked up, uncertain but pleased.

         “You’ve got an awfully wide berth for fooling around, Paul.”

         “I’ve got an awful lot of practice.” Paul untied his bathrobe but didn’t take it off yet. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing beneath it. His hair was still pretty wet, skin pink from the shower. The musky scent of him was almost gone, rinsed away by the shower and soaps, only readily apparent again when Gene’s hand moved between his thighs. It was kind of a thrill to find that earlier hadn’t been a fluke. Paul just kept getting wet for him easier than even a groupie.

         Kissing down his neck as he kept stroking, getting a couple soft grunts in response, Gene wondered what Paul was up to. He was positioned a little awkwardly, legs spread wide, with Gene kneeling in the space between them. Paul kept shifting on the bed, posture a little stiff. Not like yesterday; he just seemed like he was deliberating, anticipating. Gene didn’t think Paul was comfortable enough to pull out any toys or handcuffs. Even light bondage seemed like a little much. Possibly—

         “Did you want to 69?”

         “Nah, I hate that shit. Give me your hand.”

         “Paul, if you’re going to tie me up, I want a striptease first.”

         Paul shrugged off the bathrobe and tossed it at him with a grin.

         “I’m not gonna tie you up, Jesus. Just give me your hand.”

         Impishly, Gene offered the right one, already soaked in Paul’s fluids. He was surprised when Paul took it, grabbing his wrist and pressing Gene’s palm into his cleavage, guiding it up and down. Gene felt a shiver run up his back, dick stiffening to full attention when Paul let go of his hand. The thin streaks of clear fluid left behind were their own promise, one that only got more definite as Paul lowered himself onto the bed, gesturing for Gene to come forward. He did, straddling him carefully, cock resting between his slightly-slick breasts. Paul squeezed them together experimentally, the brief pressure enough to make Gene twitch. Fuck. He hadn’t even fantasized about this one. Fucking Paul against the wall, eating him out--sure, sure. Paul letting him go for a titfuck had been way too far out of the realm of possibility for him to picture.

         “It’s enough, right?” Paul’s voice was soft, vaguely pleased. Gene grunted an assent. They were definitely enough. Another squeeze, though Gene hadn’t tried to thrust yet, Paul watching for his reaction. “Figured we could put them to some use.”

         “What’re you getting out of this?”

         “The same thing you got out of me getting off on your leg. A good view.” Paul reached a hand up, stroking along Gene’s arm. “Now c’mon, I don’t wanna have to put K-Y on my tits.”

[generalzar0ff]

FERNGULLY REVIEW REVISED

beware of recycled jokes

I’m redoing this review because there are some things I wanna discuss that I didn’t bring up in the original review. For starters, it was not directed by Don Bluth, but rather by Bill Kroyer. I’m a dummie who didn’t do their research; I apologize. Well, I guess the review is starting...

For a reminder, here’s the Wikipedia plot synopsis:

Now, there is a character that the movie that the synopsis didn’t bring up. Here’s what I said about him in my original review:

“What the summary failed to mention is that Crysta has a friend called “batty” (cuz yknow creativity) that was tested on by humans. But here’s the catch; he’s voiced by Robin Williams, and he raps. He raps on his experiences of animal experimentation and cruelty. Keep this in mind: the song was cut in half for the production of the movie. This wasn’t the only song cut in half, but I’ll get to that soon. But anyways, the full version is darker than the version used in the film.”

With that being said, this character is simultaneously the most sane and insane character in this movie. It’s great. One moment, he’ll be buzzing around all over the place, and the next, he’ll be talking the main characters out of a bad idea.

The thing about the main characters, those being Crysta and Zak, is that they have this unnatural and unnecessary

kind of thing that the filmmakers totally forced. There’s this one scene where they go into a cave, do romantic stuff, kiss, and it drags on for so long that I had to skip it when rewatching the film for this redone review. Another scene I skipped the second time is this song that a monitor lizard sings about eating Zack-without-a-C, and after being exposed to vore, I think it’s the most unsettling scene in the movie.

But anyways, I’m legally required to talk about the villain of the film, Hexxus. So this bastard shows up looking like something you’d find in a sewer, naturally. But then he becomes unbearably sexy and like???? Hello???? Why have you putrefied my mind by making me go through a crisis of what I should think is attractive?! Anyways (man, I say that word a lot), in my OG review I touched upon how his song, Toxic Love, was weirdly sexual, and how in the uncut version, it’s even more sexual. But one of the lines in this uncut version is “flowers and trees depress and frankly bore me”, so that leaves questions about Hexxus’s motivations. If he was trapped in a tree for so many years, wouldn’t he find the outside world exiting after being released from this prison? Plus, the barren wasteland he’s trying to create is wayyy more boring than a ｒａｉｎｆｏｒｅｓｔ with an abundance of wildlife. But really, this guy got pretty unlucky with the people controlling the machine destroying the rainforest. For real, until the climax of the film these guys don’t notice this gigantic sentient mass of smog taking control of their giant weed whacker (tree whacker?). Yes, these characters are stupid, and one of them is the subject of plenty of fat jokes, but the producers really didn’t give a shit about how purely DENSE these characters are. Imagine being Hexxus for a sec, yeah? You finally escape from the trap you thought was eternal, and now you want vengeance on the trees that trapped you.... I guess. Anyways, you take hold of this machine that corrodes anything in its path, just what you’ve always wanted. And the people you have to manipulate are stupid and gullible enough to help you, fantastic! But they’re so dumb they won’t even do their job half of the time. Imagine how dragging that would be.

Okay, stop imagining. I don’t want you to have an identity crisis involving a fictional character.

So Crystal Pepsi and friends gotta do something about the chaos going awry, yeah? So Crysta’s grandma, Magi, turns this sort of teal color, starts evaporating à la Infinity War, and gives her granddaughter a magic seed and a Mufasa-esque “Remembah who u are” speech.

Extra stuff I couldn’t really smoothly fit into the review:

-There’s this really annoying character named Pips, and I don’t like him.

-The way the film portrays Hexxus’s relationship with the pollution is pretty cool. It’s treated as both an energy source and a drug, and when it’s taken away, Hexxus experiences “withdrawal symptoms”, coughing and becoming weaker. This whole thing is both similar to the relationship humans have with pollution while also twisting and contorting it to create the message of “polluting takes effort to quit”

-Wow, I just got pretentious there. Anyways, I don’t like Hexxus’s nose. It looks weird; That’s why I didn’t draw it in that picture I made earlier.

-I still don’t fully know how I feel about this movie

-The animators were probably dying having to animate all that smoke and sludge, poor guys...

Alright, shoutouts to @purplemeanie and @kkatpon for giving me support on the first review!

I don’t know how to end this, so peace out and keep rockin’ on!

[eirenare]

My TROS experience and thoughts (the good, the bad, a bit of speculation, an “old” WIP drawing, and... hopes)

Putting this under a “read more” because, well... this post is a huge walking spoiler

This morning I woke up really, really early to re-watch TLJ with my brother and do stuff before the hour of watching TROS arrived—I remember almost crying watching TLJ, already almost crying listening to that damn TROS song on Fortnite as my brother played it for a while

I was nervous all day long, honestly. I accidentally stumbled the other day into a hashtag on Twitter called “BenSoloDeservedBetter”, and I was already on edge. A lot. Not to mention that I accidentally saw half a comment somewhere on Twitter saying something that had made me doubt

So, yeah, I basically spent all day trying to give myself hope and reassurance while deeply having ONE FEAR. That was: Ben not surviving

You see, I love with every inch of my being Reylo, but—Ben is my favorite character of all Star Wars. Like, I can’t help it, I have a super soft spot for him

I had, like, super high hopes for TROS, and yeah, I liked the movie... or well, most of it (and I got some things right to my delight and surprise, one of them being the throne with Dark Rey sitting in it, but more on that stuff later)

There were funny moments I enjoyed (Babu Frik, Finn joking about Poe’s past as spice runner, C3PO being C3PO...), the scary/terrorific moments were amazing (gods I love Palpatine’s new appearence, all the Sith and eerie stuff, the whispers, the machinery...), the action/fight scenes were cool overall (Rey and Ben fighting together against their enemies after seeing each other and doing the lightsaber trick was amazing, for example, also the jumps, and I loved seeing all the spaceships together), the imagery was sometimes amazing too (Palpatine sending that enormous lighting to the sky, for example) and the emotional stuff weirdly enough didn’t make me cry but had my heart pounding (Leia’s passing, Han and Ben’s parallel scene, Rey and Ben’s healing scene and their last scene...), not to mention I was gripping tightly my bag and jacket to my lap throughout most of the movie, BUT

B  U  T

The fact that Ben didn’t make it out alive left me very, VERY bitter

I have to say, again, that weirdly enough I just... didn’t cry, even when Rey died, not even when Ben died, and he’s my favorite. Most of the times it happens, that my brain’s kind of... messy, when it comes to emotions (it seems that, most of the time, my brain just goes from “step: something happens” to “step: body/voice reaction” skipping “step: feel” in the middle—... although that usually doesn’t happen if the emotions are negative, which sucks specially if you already feel like you yourself are a mess—), so... yeah

It kind of... Well, the tears didn’t start falling until I was watching the credits with my brother (bless his soul for listening to my rambling, and for granting me multiple hugs, for calling my dear “Ben” instead of “Kylo” now, and overall being so patient with me—I didn’t miss the fact that he was looking at my reactions at some points, like when the Reylo kiss, and then Ben dying, because he knows how much I love them), when it registered that it was really the end, and that yes, Ben was... dead. I kept crying as we watched the credits, and then outside of the theater a bit again, and then at home, and I’m now crying as I write this

Look, I loved the Reylo moments we got even though I wanted some more. And although (as I explained above) I was “numb” almost all the time and even while watching the kiss, I enjoyed it and I could “feel” that I was happy and excited about it because my chest was pounding like crazy and my lips were doing that kind of quivering when you can’t quite contain yourself and you’re emotional

(... Yes, living with this brain of mine is a mess, and I don’t even know if this has always been like this or started at some point, because my memory’s also a good mess—I hate this so much)

But then—then I saw Ben fall backwards and start to disappear, and I went from glee and triumph to “oh no” (also: hello there pit my old friend)

I mean... They just went and killed a character that was trying to do good after a life of strife with himself and what he did and did not do, a character that was just starting to go to the light (to see the light)—a character that’s been all his life marked by the abuse he’s been suffering ever since he was in the kriffing womb, therefore not even allowing him to really live. They basically killed... a symbol of hope

It feels sad and discouraging for me, even though what he did was noble

It just stings. And the fact that Rey didn’t see Ben at the end alongside Leia and Luke, when she adopts the surname “Skywalker”? ... Why. They could’ve added him, but no. Why. And I have to say, while I like a lot “Rey Nobody”, I also like the contrast between her and Palpatine, the subversion of dark and light, that even though darkness runs in her veins, she would still choose the light.

(Also, the totally not serious question my brother and I joke about, though: who the fuck decided to have a crazy night with Mr. Raisin Ass and to give him an “heir”?)

To soothe myself, I like to think that since Ben “vanished” into the Force and became one with it, and that since Rey’s kind of “a host” of the Force (?), he’s now always with her and they can feel each other. I like to think that, sometimes, they’ll see each other, be able to be together if only for brief moments—maybe at night, sleeping, Rey would feel Ben wrapped around her (my feels asdbfkffnggjglg)

(You can bet your ass that I’m abso-kriffing-lutely going to write something about this because I NEED IT BADLY)

Another thing that soothes me is that Ben passed away with the biggest, most beautiful smile on his face, and even though I hate that he died, I’m glad he was able to feel that kind of happiness with Rey and that he was able to join the light side in the end—now, yeah, give me Force Ghost Ben at some point in the future at least,  p l e a s e

EDIT (addition of paragraph) — Also: Ben’s face when he looks at Rey every damn time, Ben running to Rey’s rescue with only a kriffing blaster, again the fight they had and when Rey sent him the lightsaber, and then lifting himself up from the pit with all his kriffing injuries and the pain he must have been enduring to then give up his life to save the love of his life—iconic, badass, a true dork in love whom I adore, the kriffing boss. But you know what I missed A LOT, that I realized I didn’t remember it being in the movie after watching it?? The “I DO”. I don’t think I’ve heard its equivalent in Spanish, and that has me pretty much confused and bitter. Like, wtf? If they let that out:  w h y ?

Kathleen Kennedy pretty much hinted that maybe we’ll see “more Skywalkers” in the future, so, yeah *looks sideways at Rey and her ghost husband* Praying that they’d be in that “Project Luminous” of 2020, or later, but just... be somewhere else more

Something that bothers me, though—is there really a balance in the Force, after TROS? Rey’s lineage may be of dark and she may have taken the path of the light, but does that mean the Force is balanced now, or maybe not...? *scratches head* I don’t know, I need a re-watch and to have some serious thinking of this

As I write this post, I’m trembling almost to a shaking point and my chest is hurting. In all honesty, as much as I love Reylo... If I had to choose between Reylo happening or Ben living, I’d choose Ben living

... Now, it’s gonna hurt so much more reading “The Rise of Kylo Ren”. Oh, dear

If we set aside Ben’s passing, though, regarding how I saw the movie, I’d say that as much as I enjoyed it overall, it kind of felt like... it lacked things. Explanations and a bit more of worldbuilding, for example? More Knights of Ren stuff (although luckily we’re having them in “The Rise of Kylo Ren” alongside their leader, Mr. Hottie McHotHot aka Ren? Maz explaining how she got the Legacy lightsaber? TROS kind of feels, like... a little incomplete to me. I don’t know if to others it feels that way, but it kinda feels like that for me and my brother

Still I’m aware that, well, it HAS to be difficult to end such a story, and that it can’t possibly be easier to fit a lot in a 2h33 movie, you know? It seems... very complicated, and the stakes were high. So yeah, I understand that (while what I don’t take well at all, I don’t think I’ll ever do, is Ben’s death—it was pointless, and the fact that Rey didn’t show too much feeling about it... it feels weird). And well, the junior and non-junior novelizations will come out in March, so I like to think that we’ll get more details in them (like with the TFA and TLJ novelizations)

... And I really, really need a good rewatch of TROS because I’m forgetting a lot of stuff probably. So yeah, next Thursday if all goes well, I should have a ticket to go and watch it again, except this time in English with Spanish subtitles

A funny thing that happened at the theater, by the way, was that a woman hissed in excitement a pair of rows before us “I KNEW IT” when Rey was revealed to be a Palpatine

Also: I really, really hope that Rey doesn’t stay in Tatooine with how much she loves greenery landscape. I hope she went anywhere else that’s green and lush and was able to lead a nice life, to actually live the life Ben granted her, whatever path she would choose to take—and that Ben’s ghost would kind of like, be around her, you know?

Now, there are some things that made me laugh inside, and that is... that I got some stuff right. An example of that is the fact that Rey mentioned seeing herself sitting on that throne, something that happens in my “Rey of Jakku” fic and of which I was doing a WIP the last days of november (look, that happening was the thing least probable in my mind so... lol):

Also the cannon distroying Kijimi, too, and it seems that about the nature of Rey and Ben’s bond too. Also, when C3PO started explaining about the Pasaana festivity it kind of reminded me of how he started explaining the marriage customs in my “arranged marriage in Pasaana” AU. And I don’t remember now because my head’s pretty much a mess and specially right now (and as I said I really need a re-watch), but I think I recognized other things too

TROS wasn’t what I expected, and on the scales it has both its good and its not-so-good things (being the worst of them, for me, Ben’s death—of which I’m trying to cope by thinking what I said of him being literally with Rey now, maybe sometimes being able to see each other and interact), so... it’s a weird mix of me liking the movie while also not enjoying it nearly as much as I wanted to (as I think I should’ve)

Even though I’m super bitter about Ben, however, thank you to all of the team for working hard on the movie—doing the last piece of the Skywalker saga movies sounds everything but easy

Now, looking forward to the future...

I see myself continuing to write and draw Reylo, honestly. Ben’s death has kind of spurred me further to do stuff, so yeah—gonna keep up with my alternate TROS Reylo fic (“Rey of Jakku”), and I’m pumped to attempt writing other stuff, like... trying to write regarding Force Ghost Ben interacting with Rey, or working on AUs (*looks sideways at the “arranged marriage in Pasaana” AU, “Ice-skating” AU and the “padawan Ben meets mechanic Rey in Batuu” AU)

Will also be looking forward with utmost interest at “The Rise of Kylo Ren”, and to see what the merchandising team and the books and comics have to show in 2020—which means I’ll be dying inside all over again when I see Ben and Rey’s last scene, but well *shrugs* The novels are specially interesting to me. I mean, getting to read how these two felt about each other throughout TROS, and specially at the end? Written by Rae Carson? YES PLEASE

Also, if “Project Luminous” happened to have Rey (and even better yet: Force Ghost Ben appearing), I’d be even more interested in it—a lot more

The experience with TROS was a mix of good and not-so-good things, coupled with the One Fear I had regarding Ben (my baby... oh, how that kriffing stings), but still, it wasn’t that bad of an experience in my case

So, yeah... I think I’ll write some more thoughts later, tomorrow or another day when my head’s clearer (probably will write more when I re-watch), but so far, these are my thoughts on TROS

Rest in peace, darling, beloved Ben... </3 T_T

[thesmalltowngal]

Snowbaz #19- I’m Always Sure Of You

Otp Prompt #19: Simon insists that he’s okay with Baz’s homosexuality. So okay, in fact, that he demands that they go on a double date (Baz with Niall and Simon with Agatha). Of course, Simon is angry when Agatha seems to express interest in Niall… so he decides to flirt with Baz to make her jealous.

I know I haven’t posted in forever- I’ve just been so stressed and tired lately. This one is just five pages of fluffy filler sentences, but I don’t think it’s half bad.

“Baz, it’s fine,” I insist as he rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. I swear- here how’s this?” I take a step closer to him while setting up my proposition. “How about we go on a double date so I can show you how okay with it I am. I’m so okay with it.” I never thought Baz was gay. I mean, it would explain why he never had a girlfriend (but not how he never had a boyfriend- I would suspect that a fit bloke like him would attract every non-straight guy at Watford), but I just… I suppose I never thought about it before. But trying not to think about it after I found a pride flag in his notebook (he was showering and plotting- I was snooping) was bloody hard. 

He raises an eyebrow at me now (he knows I fucking hate it when he does that) before replying. “Snow, you don’t have to-”

I cut him off in a rush. “I know! I know I don’t have to but I want to. Agatha and I, and you and some bloke.” He thinks for a moment. (I didn’t think he’d actually consider it).

“I’d have to find a date.” He sneers at me. (But a soft sneer, if that makes sense). 

“Crowley, I’m sure it won’t be hard for you to find one…” I mutter, mostly to myself. He sighs defeatedly, and I know I’ve won. (Probably because he knows I’d never let up).

…

Agatha isn’t happy when I tell her the news. “Baz is what?!” She whispers furiously in the hall I pulled her off to. 

“Gay, Agatha. But that’s not the point. The point is that we’re going on a double date with him and a bloke this Saturday. Okay?” Her entire face falls, and I can almost hear the words that are probably pinging around in her head. ‘If Baz is gay, I don’t have a chance,’ or ‘Maybe I can convert him.’ But that’s not how it works. Because 1. She has a boyfriend, 2. Baz is our enemy, and 3. You can’t just convert someone. That’s not how it works, even if Agatha is the most beautiful girl at Watford. (If converting was possible, I’m sure Baz’d probably convert about half of the Watford boys). 

She thinks for a moment before saying, “I thought you hated Baz…” “I do,” The response is almost like an immediate reaction. Like I don’t even think about the answer before responding. It’s like the way it’s supposed to be- always has been. It’s a sure thing; like night and day. You can always count on the sun to come back up, and the moon to come out later, just as you can count on me hating Baz. “I do, but I just want to show him that I support him.”

“Why?” She crinkles her nose and furrows her brow. Why do I want to support Baz? I suppose I don’t really bloody know. 

“Well because I… well I- I don’t really know, Aggie. It just feels like the thing to do.” As she nods her head, I smile and squeeze her hand before walking away, mentally preparing myself to see Baz in class when I feel as though I know some sort of big secret that is meant only for my ears. (Even though technically he never formally told me- I had to find out by snooping).

…

Baz looks weirdly handsome in a green suit. Granted, he looks bloody handsome in anything (the tosser), but this green suit looks especially good on him. It fits him just right, snug in the correct places without showing off too much (although I suppose he does have plenty to show off, I’m sure). His hair (usually slicked back) is falling in waves around his face, framing his sharp jawline and cheekbones. (It makes his eyes look bluer; his hair, that is). He made reservations at an Italian restaurant off campus (we got special permission from The Mage to go), so everyone is dressed up kind of fancy. I felt like a blundering git when I had to ask Baz to borrow a suit. He had a grey one that fit me just fine. 

Getting ready together is kind of weird- especially since we’re going out together in a little bit. Well not together together. Just… to the same place. Usually when we get ready in the morning, we go to the same place but we leave at different times. Now, we’re wordlessly moving around each other, getting ready separately to go to the same place at the same time. Every now and then I’ll look over at Baz and he’ll say ‘Stop staring, Snow,’ so I’ll look away and blush. (I can’t help but blush. Not because I’m embarrassed or anything, but because it’s my body’s knee jerk reaction). 

I decide to break the awkward silence as we’re finishing getting ready and putting our shoes on. “So… who are you going with?” He looks at me curiously but then just sneers. 

“Niall,” He says it simply, but when seeing my eyes pop out of my head, he clarifies. “We’re not together, you bloody halfwit. Although he’s bi, he’s not my type.” He lets out a short laugh and I can’t help but wonder who actually is his type. Probably someone posh and rich and perfectly controlled. 

“So then why not go with someone you like?” I inquire. He looks at me for a moment, thinking. (Maybe plotting). 

“I am a collectible that very few can acquire, Snow,” He scoffs and stands, looking at me expectantly. “Ready?” I nod and get up to open the door for him. He simply rolls his eyes and says (voice heavy with sarcasm), “How chivalrous.” I just roll my eyes and close the door behind us. 

…

Agatha is still not in a good mood. She wasn’t in a good mood on the way to the restaurant (although she smiled when I told her how pretty she looked), and she’s not in a good mood now, sitting at our table and waiting to order. (Sidenote: I don’t like Baz and Niall together. Niall makes Baz laugh, and when Baz took his hand, Niall blushed and smiled. They probably plot my demise with each other). There’s a certain tension in the air, which I suppose is to be expected when you’re having dinner with your enemy. 

“So, um, Agatha. How’s your… family?” Niall asks politely. She smiles at him a little and lets my hand go from under the table, starting to talk animatedly with him. Baz and I stay silent as they laugh together, but I catch Baz smiling at Niall ever so slightly as he talks. My heart twists in my chest (I can’t believe Agatha is flirting with Baz’s date- I suppose now that she knows Baz is gay, she needs to find some other bloke to flirt with) (Part of me is relieved). She is so obviously flirting with him that it’s just painful to watch. 

When we finally get to ordering, Agatha is still smiling brightly with Niall, and when the server leaves, they go right back to talking. If she wants to flirt with someone’s date while she’s here with me… I suppose two can play that game. I turn my full attention to Baz and prepare myself for snarky remarks and sneers. “So Baz. What’s your… favorite violin song to play?” He looks at me like he thinks I’m joking, so I give him a look to tell him that I’m serious.

He (hesitantly) says, “‘The Last Rose of Summer I suppose…” He smiles like he’s trying not to. He likes talking about this, but he doesn’t trust me not to make fun of him. He can trust me. 

“Which is…?” I let out a little laugh with him as he goes on.

“It’s a beautiful song that took me years to learn, and…” He continues on, a spark in his eye that shows that he’s passionate about this. It’s odd to admit it, but it’s slightly endearing to hear him talk about something he loves like we’re friends. (If this is what it would be like to be friends… maybe I wouldn’t mind so much).

When he’s done talking, he goes back to closed off, but all I want to do is get him talking again. “Crowley, what’s your favorite song to listen to on the violin?” It’s probably just my imagination, but I think I see a little pink rise to his cheeks. Just enough to make me think I see it, but not enough for me to be sure if it’s real or just my imagination.

“Er, it’s um…” He stumbles over his words more than usual, which is weird. “It’s called Bite. By Troye Sivan.” I can feel myself lean slightly back in shock. I’ve heard that song before (by a gay artist- Baz is more homosexual than I ever thought) and it’s wonderful. I couldn’t help but hum it for weeks after the first time I had heard it. It’s funny to me that that’s his favorite song to hear on the violin. 

“I love that song!” I exclaim, Agatha and Niall’s conversation barely even registering in my brain anymore. 

For a second- just a second, I see Baz’s hard exterior soften as he says, “You do?” I nod my head vigorously. It seems like he’s about to say more, but our food gets to the table, promptly cutting off all conversation and making Baz go on red alert again. For that split second that he seemed open (I can’t help but be proud of the fact that I made him feel that way), he was actually enjoyable, which is odd to admit. For a moment, I didn’t want to cut his bloody head off or light him on fire. And he even seemed like he didn’t hate me. 

The table lapses back into silence for a second as we begin eating, but Agatha quickly goes back to talking with Niall. I should be paying attention to make sure no funny business is going on, but instead I can’t take my eyes off of Baz. (And not because I think he’s plotting, this time).I just let myself admire the way his eyes crinkle sometimes when he smiles at something Niall says. The way he runs his hands through his hair like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, and how he doesn’t eat much on his plate, but when he does, he puts his hand over his mouth, embarrassed. (I wonder if he has an eating disorder) (I actually think his fangs pop out when he eats; his cheeks always look fuller when he’s around food). 

“So Snow, did you get the History of Magicks essay done?” Baz turns his attention to me, and I feel lighter for some reason. Ha, I want to say to Niall. (For reasons I’d rather not think about at the moment). 

“I, um-”

“Because if you didn’t, like the bloody tosser you are, I suppose I could help you and your small brain,” Even though he through in insults, I’m still taken aback by his offer. He would help me with my essay? Voluntarily? Who is this bloke and what has he done with Baz? (I suppose he’s had a few glasses of wine- maybe he’s slightly buzzed) (can vampires get buzzed?)

“I suppose… yeah, that’d be…er- nice, I suppose.” I stumble over my words more than usual (which is very very much) when I’m talking to him. Maybe if he helps me with my essay, we can have more nice moments like this. (I mentally slap myself for wanting more moments like this with my ever-plotting enemy). 

He smiles a small smile at me and goes to take another bite of his spaghetti. When I look over, I see Agatha twirling her fucking hair and laughing with Niall like he’s the worlds funniest guy. Suddenly I remember what I had wanted to do before; make her jealous. I lean forward in my chair a little towards Baz and smile sweetly at him. (It’s a first; a nice first). He just quirks that infernal eyebrow at me as he continues to chew. 

“Tell me a joke, Baz.” I smile extra brightly at him. I try to add extra sweetness into my voice, which is the polar opposite of the venom usually laced in my tone when I talk to him. 

“Okay?” He says it like a question- like he’s waiting for me to explain why I’m being weird. (Maybe because I feel kind of fuzzy right now. Maybe because I feel kind of fuzzy whenever I’m around him). “Today at the bank, an old lady told me to check her balance. So I pushed her over.” He delivers it hesitantly, but still well enough for me to chuckle out loud. I try to laugh extra hard like Agatha but it comes out as kind of forced, so Baz slightly frowns and looks down. 

“That one is actually really funny!” I try to catch his eyes, and when I finally do, I hold his gaze for a few moments. I realize now that out of all the years I’ve lived with him and all of the times that I’ve fought with him, I’ve never really looked him in the eyes. I think I was always scared about what I’d find there. Anger, disgust, disdain- complete and utter repulsion. But looking into his blue-grey eyes, I only see softness. Some hesitance; sadness, maybe. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then Baz’s soul is beautiful and soft and full of love. (Can vampires have souls?) (I think they do. Baz certainly does, at least).

When I look into his eyes, it almost seems like the rest of the restaurant fades away. Just turns into black until Baz and I are the only two people left in the room- maybe even the world. But he looks away (back to Niall) and blushes (only just barely) before I get to indulge myself in ‘getting lost in his eyes’ for much longer. When I look over, I see Agatha playfully putting her hand on Niall’s arm across the table, lingering for a second longer than she should have. (If it isn’t clear, we are probably going to fight after this dinner). 

“Looks like Wellbelove seems to want to swap dates,” Baz looks back at me and smiles a bit, adding just a small sneer to it. (It doesn’t look menacing- it just kind of looks sweet). I want to tell him that that’s okay; switching dates would be perfectly fine with me. (I don’t know why I want to tell him that. Or why I feel that way). 

Instead, I say, “Yes, I suppose…” And trail off. (He hates it when I do that). He looks at me curiously as I look back to see Agatha’s hand on Niall’s arm again. I decide to do something stupid. 

Before he can say anything, I take his wrist that’s laying on the table and lace my fingers through his. He sucks a breath in between his teeth and then lets out a shuddering breath. His hand is cold and calloused in mine, but it’s an oddly soothing feeling. I know that this isn’t affecting Agatha (she’s not even looking), but I can’t bring myself to let go. (That is now on my list of things not to think about).

“What are you doing, Snow?” He curls his lip, but doesn’t let go- even as I start rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand. 

I just shrug. I know he hates it when I shrug, and now he’s pulling his hand away with an eye roll, but I grip harder and stop him. “I don’t know… I don’t know, Basilton.” I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m flirting with my enemy and holding his hand to make my girlfriend jealous when 

She is flirting with someone else

She’s not even looking 

I am not even gay

All I really know is that I don’t want to let go of his hand. I don’t know what that means, or why that is, but I just really want to keep holding on. 

All through the rest of dinner, I don’t let his hand go. He doesn’t make a move to remove it, either. Even as we eat, and as we pay for dinner, his hand stays planted firmly in mine. I know Niall has noticed- but he just looked and smirked. I don’t know if Agatha as noticed or not yet- she’s too busy flirting with Niall and hanging all over him.

When we get up to leave the restaurant, Baz finally starts pulling away, but I just wind my fingers more around his. He cocks his head at me, but gives in, letting me continue to hold his hand. Why is he letting me do this to him? Why do I want to keep doing it? I must be drunk. (I only had one glass of wine) (maybe drunk on Baz). Agatha is huddled close to Niall because she’s cold. (I don’t care). Maybe I’m a bad boyfriend. (I don’t bloody care much about that, either).

…

The walk back to rooms was uncomfortable and awkward at best. Agatha was dropped off at The Cloisters first. Before going inside, she leaned in and gave Niall a long hug, me a quick (and emotionless) peck on the cheek, and Baz a curt nod. (Baz and I didn’t stop holding hands- does that make me a bad person?) (No, it doesn’t. I don’t like Baz. I just like the way his hand feels in mine). 

After Agatha was dropped off, the walk to Mummers is quiet and slightly awkward. Baz and I are still holding hands, and Niall walks a few feet away from us. When we drop him off at his room, he nods to both of us and slips in without a word. (I swear I saw him wink at Baz- maybe I’m just tired). Baz and I hesitate for a moment before starting to walk back to our room. (Crowley, I have to share a room with him after tonight). I’m sweating in my (Baz’s) suit as we near the door. For some reason, I just don’t want Baz to let go, but I know that once we get to our room, he’ll probably pull away and spit on me, grilling me about what the fuck was that, Snow?

But when we enter our room and I start walking to my bed, letting go of Baz’s hand, I feel a sharp tug at my hand. It pulls my entire arm back and forces me to spin around and stumble forward- right into my roommates’ arms. He spins me around (again, I suppose) so that my back is against our door and he’s holding my wrists to the door and by my sides. He’s so close that I can smell the spaghetti he just had for dinner. Looking into his eyes, I feel my heart flip in a way that it never did with Agatha. Is that possible?

“What in the fuck was with the hand holding and flirting, Snow?” I assume he’s trying to sound threatening, but he just sounds breathless. I stutter, looking for an answer. 

I… I- I don’t know.” He gazes down at me, his eyes a soft contrast to the rest of his collected exterior. 

“You never know, Simon Snow,” I gasp quietly when he says my name. He’s so close our noses are touching and I can feel every single place where his cold skin sets me on fire and I want to know the taste of his lips and-

I cut my own thoughts off when I say, “I know one thing.” “And what might that be?” 

Deep breath. “I know that I want to kiss you.” The words that come out of my mouth surprise both me and him. At first he doesn’t say or do anything- just stands there staring at me. 

“Well are you going to do something about it then, Snow?” His breath tickles my cheek.

“You called me Simon before.” He scoffs.

“I did no such-” I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. Cold. Soft. Wonderful. His eyes come up to cup my face and I grab fistfuls of his hair, tilting his head down to deepen the kiss. I could do this for hours. I feel free. Like that line from Baz’s favorite violin song: Kiss me on the mouth and set me free. Well Baz is doing exactly that. 

I may not know much; Normal math, elocution, why I don’t feel romantic love when I’m with Agatha and why she feels the need to flirt with others right in front of me. But if there is one thing that I am always sure of; one thing I always know…

It’s that I love Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

[gdxnicky]

Whalien: Part 1

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance

Word Count: 1710

Summary: Namjoon comes to visit you and you decide to tell him the biggest secret you have been hiding.

You and Namjoon have been friends for a few years now. He has been absolutely busy lately with his music but finally has some time off. You are doing a semester abroad to a university in Maine. You invited Namjoon to come visit you because you are convinced he would love the miles of Atlantic Ocean coastline. He agrees to visit and now you realize that this is your chance. Here is your opportunity to confess what you have been holding back for years. You are madly, truly, deeply in love with him. He has been the epitome of a great friend. He has always been there for you and is your biggest fan.

You drive down to the airport and pick him up.

"Y/n!" He excitedly exclaims as he rushes over to you. He wraps his arms around you. You melt into his chest and all you can smell is his cologne and all you can hear is his heart beating.

"Hey Joonie! I missed you so much."

"I missed you too. My life is boring without my best friend around." You chuckle at his remark because you know better. His life is far from boring. He is the biggest workaholic you know...well next to Yoongi that is.

You lead him to your car and drive home. It is late at night and you can tell he is exhausted. Once home you show him to the guest room he will be staying in.

"I hope this is ok for you..."

"Of course it is y/n. I am going to unpack my things and then how about we hang out watching some tv?" He propositions as he turns away from you.

"Sounds like a plan Batman" you respond and giggle slightly. He turns around and looks at you weirdly. "What?"

"For a minute I thought Jin had followed me where with that semi dad joke." He grins and laughs. His dimples emerge from his cheeks. Oh his dimples they are what initially attracted you to him.

"Whatever." You scoff playfully. "I will be in the living room."

You sit and wait for what seems like forever. You go to check on him just to find him passed out on the bed, fully dressed. You grab a spare blanket to lay over him, shut the light off and whisper "Good night Namjoon. I love you."

The next day is the day. You have planned this down to the smallest detail. You wake up early to make a nice big breakfast for him. Egg, sausage, bacon, pancakes, fresh fruit and berries. He walks out of the spare room woken up by the aroma from the feast you have made. He walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your belly giving you a gentle hug. Your eyes widen and your cheeks start to blush.

"Y/n, what are you cooking? It smells delicious." He asks while resting his head on top of yours.

"I am making breakfast for the two of us. I have fun stuff planned for us today and we are going to need the energy. Go sit at the table and I'll bring it over."

He goes to sit down. You set the table for the two of you before bringing over all the plates and bowls of food. You wait until he takes the first few bites before starting yourself. Sitting in silence as you eat for a few minutes. Namjoon must have been starving because he is eating so fast you wonder if he is stopping to take a breath. You just watch him and giggle slightly to yourself. Eventually he starts to slow down.

"So y/n what are we doing today? You said you have plans for us." He questions as he reaches for a glass of juice.

"Well Joonie, that is a surprise." You reply, hiding your face from him.

"But I don't like surprises. Come on just tell me." He begs.

"Nope. Don't forget I am older than you so I am the boss." You boost back.

"That isn't even fair. You are only a few months older but if you want to pull that card..." He argues back then sits back and pouts. You look up at him and giggle.

You stand up to take care of your plate.

"Are you done eating Joonie?" You questioned.

"Yeah I am. Leave this I will clean up since you cooked."

"We can do it together. Plus you probably want to shower and stuff since you did all that traveling and then passed out when you got here. Leaving me all by myself." You respond and pick at him for falling asleep so hard last night.

"I am sorry. I didnt mean to but that is fair." He responds before helping cleaning up and jumping into the shower.

While he is in there you place a couple phone calls to make sure that everything is ready and prepared for the two of you. He comes out of the bathroom wearing a dark wash jean that weren't technically skinny jeans, but his manly thighs sure made them look super tight, and wearing a tshirt you had bought him for Christmas last year and sent to him.

"Okay my turn to shower." You say to him.

You go shower than walk out in the tightest pair of light wash skinny jeans you own and a form fitting shirt that hugged your womanly curves beautifully. You did light make up and your hair just like Namjoon likes. You walk out and he looks up at you in awe. He has the deer in headlights look as he sees his best friend presenting herself basically as his dream woman. Eventually he shakes his head to bring himself back to reality.

"Are you ready y/n?" He questions.

"Yeah, I just need to throw on my shoes." You respond grabbing out a pair of high top converse that compliment your outfit.

"Okay. I just need to grab my wallet from my room." He replies. Little does he know though, everything for today has been paid for in advance.

The two of you leave the house and drive toward the Maine coast. Eventually you end up at a pier that has an advertisement for a 4-hour whale watch tour. You walk up to the booth and tell them your name. The woman in the booth says "Oh yes. I have it right here. A private whale watch tour for two." She signals for a man on the side of the building and he ushers the two of you to the boat. The boat is not small but it isn't huge either. Normally, capacity is about 50 but today it is just Namjoon, you, the captain, and one boat hand.

The two of you walk to the front of the boat to take in the sights as you ride. Namjoon is taking pictures of everything he sees. Lighthouses, seals, seagulls, cormorants, mola mola fish, lavish summer homes, and eventually dolphins that are jumping along the side of the boat as if they were guiding you. After about an hour and half into the tour you arrive to the grounds where the whales typically are. The Captain silents himself from his normal tour speech as he searches for whales. You turn to Namjoon.

"Joonie remember that whalien story from when we were kids?" You ask.

"Yeah. I have a song about it. There was a lonely whale that did not have friends or family because no one could hear his song." He answers not looking at you and still searching the water for the smallest sign of a whale.

"Exactly. I remember you always saying that you felt like whalien a lot. You felt like you didnt have people in your life because they don't hear your song." You responded with the nerves finally building in your body. Your heart races, palms get clamy, and start to question if this is even a good idea.

"That is true. No one really understands me. Well except you and that is why you are my best friend." He says looking back at you for a short second before focusing back on the ocean.

"Kim Namjoon." You say hesitantly. He turns back and looks at you. He knows you have something important to say because you never use his full name. He looks into your eyes. "That is what I am trying to say to you. I hear your song. I have always been able to hear your song. To be honest, it is the only song I can hear." You fight back your nerves and anxiousness. You stare at him for a moment waiting for it to sink in. You are about to say those three words that you have rehearsed over and over, but get interrupted by the captain announcing to look at the 2 o'clock position off the front of the boat. Just at that moment a beautiful humpback whale jumps from the ocean and breaches for you. Then a second one follows it. Namjoon and you just stand there and watch this breathtaking dance they are performing for you.

After a while of watching a bunch of whales parading for you the captain turns the boat back around and heads back to the pier.

"Y/N, I have to ask you something. Was there more to what you wanted to say to me before we spotted the whales?" He asks while staring into your eyes very intensely. You feel all those nerves flood back to you.

"Kim Namjoon. I just wanted to take this day and opportunity to show you that you aren't a lonely whalien because I am a whalien with you." You respond, bitting your lip and letting out a sigh. "I love you Joonie."

"I love you too y/n. You are my best friend." He replies with a smile on his face.

"Joonie. I mean I love you as more than a friend. I see you as a man. This whole thing is me confessing to you." You stand there in shock that you could even bring yourself to say that to him. You look at him waiting for his response....

To be continued.

Gif source: @parkjimni

[tegary-blog]

not sure why i was thinking about ragnarok in the shower, but an au concept (which i would love to turn into fanfic but we all know about how bad i am at actually committing)

this turned in to a whole plot synopsis/ramble so be warned lol. i needed it out of my head.

loki lands on sakaar in a very similar fashion to thor (albeit a few weeks earlier). he is captured by scrappers and fitted with an obedience disk, the shock of which is powerful enough to force him to drop his aesir glamours. (remember, the disc is enough to knock him flat on his back later in the movie, so i don’t think this is much of a stretch).

the grandmaster is elated at having found a frost giant (having never had one on sakaar before). instead of sending loki to fight, he traps him in an exhibit-style enclosure where he keeps “rare” and “exotic” beings. every so often he’ll bring the rich spectators through to ogle his “collection” (even more colonialism commentary!! with the added benefit of not having loki, who is a direct victim of odin’s colonialist vision, be a participant himself. it was played off as a joke, but during his time disguised as odin, loki did maintain non-interventionalist policies. it always sat weirdly with me that he would participate in the grandmaster’s shit, even if it was to save himself [[which now that i think of it, could have been commentary in and of itself. hm]] but i digress).

during this time (i think i read somewhere that loki was on sakaar ~2 weeks before thor fell?) loki does try to recover his glamours, and succeeds two or three times before he is shocked again and forced to return to his jotunn form. (scene where he’s only partially successful and ends up half-jotunn half-aesir anyone?) this sends him into a pretty bad spiral—he’s trapped on a strange planet, with no discernable escape, and forced to take on a form that he hates and has never truly come to terms with before. (plus, he likely believes that thor is dead during this time).

this sets up a storyline for loki that runs parallel to thor’s own. he begins to form connections with the other beings in this “exhibit” (running the possibility of bringing in some bonus characters from the comics that we haven't seen in the mcu yet, but i’m drawing a blank for specifics atm). through these relationships and some more introspective moments where he examines himself (has to come face-to-face with the blue skin and red eyes in the reflection on the glass of his enclosure), loki begins to grow more comfortable with himself. throughout the span of the events of ragnarok, he starts to realize that his jotunn form is beautiful, powerful, and nothing to be ashamed of. that it can be a part of him, just as his aesir form is. (and his masculine form, and his feminine form, and everything else that he feels and performs and is).

he and the other “exhibit” prisoners plan and execute an escape (probably by using loki’s newfound frost powers. the complex suppresses most of loki’s magic, but the grandmaster didn’t account for loki’s natural jotunn abilities). this is right around the time that thor and bruce escape, and their groups end up colliding. loki sees thor first, and is stunned by the fact that he’s still alive. he makes a split-second decision and shifts back to aesir form before thor spots him. he’s become more comfortable with his jotunn form, but is afraid of how thor will react. the rest of loki’s group looks confused, but they don’t question it. 

cue the revengers shenanigans of the movie. loki never gives anything besides vague, noncommittal statements, but as thor interacts more with loki’s ragtag group of beings, he begins to understand where exactly loki’s spent most of his time on this planet. this leads to a few poignant, brotherly (or, in my case, less-than-brotherly) scenes in which thor and loki finally get to have some genuine discussions about their family, loki’s past, etc. there’s even a part where loki looks down at his hand, where his fingers are starting to tinge blue as he recedes his glamours, but they’re interrupted by someone and the moment disappears.

the whole heist thing happens and thor and loki are still partnered up, they still kick major ass, and there’s still a genuine moment between them in the elevator, though probably a bit different in tone. in the hangar, thor and loki meet up with loki’s group, who have already commandeered a small ship. torn, loki ends up telling thor that he wants to go with them and try the rest of the galaxy on for size. thor, though sad, is proud of his brother, and they bid each other farewell.

of course, loki has a change of heart and he and his group go back to grab the freed contenders and arrive on asgard to assist thor and the others. and then baby boy gets his badass moment where he’s kicking absolute ass and someone (hela maybe) snarls “what are you?”

and loki just smirks at them and drops his glamours and starts decimating with his ice powers.

cut to thor, who looks so damn proud of his baby brother (in, of course, a parallel to my favorite moment of the movie. cue immigrant song.)

well that ended up a lot longer than i had originally intended. if only i could do that much writing for my current projects, lol. anyway, i was just trying to come up with a way that the movie could have gone that would have allowed for loki to come to terms with himself (and, you know, have thor finally see loki in his jotunn form) because i feel we, the fans, have been robbed of jotunn!loki content. plus i just feel like a deeper dive into loki’s jotunn heritage really would have added to the movie’s anti-colonialist message? loki realizing that he’s been seeing himself through the eyes of a conquerer this whole time and learning to think of himself as beautiful and powerful and worthy of love?

but, i digress. kudos to you if you read this whole thing. i’ll tuck this neatly into my pile of prompts that i would love to write but will almost certainly never get around to 

[koalas-koalas-everywhere]

Live blogging the Hobbit pt.7

Flies And Spiders

I’ve been looking forward to this one.

“There were black squirrels in the wood. As Bilbo’s sharp inquisitive eyes got used to seeing things he could catch glimpses of them whisking off the path and scuttling behinf tree-trunks.” I should write a fic about this myself, but I think it would be a funny scene to have Bilbo, with his sharper eyesight, mention the squirrels and the dwarves just. Have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about? What squirrels?? Bilbo: … the squirrels. Dwarves: wut. B:The squirrels that run around every once in a while. And him trying to point them out but being unable to because of their speed and their black colour. Eventually, after they’ve been in the woods a while, becoming irritable and kinda muddled and just really freaked out, Bilbo snaps and out of nowhere throws a rock at one of them, only stunning it, but effectively bringing it down. The dwarves are all like, Bilbo wtf, both because it was very sudden and because they didn’t know he had that good of an aim, but he just goes “you see it? you see it? oh thank heavens I was starting to think I was going crazy and just imagining it.” That’s when they decide to try to shoot them and eat them and when they realise… well, I’ll keep it for that bulletpoint.

“Even the dwarves felt it, who were used to tunneling, and lived at times for long whiles without the light of the sun; but the hobbit, who liked holes to make a house in but not to spend summer days in, felt that he was being slowly suffocated.”

Lmao why does he always get the worst of it? Tolkien, I’ll see you in hell.

“They tried shooting the squirrels, and they wasted many arrows before they managed to bring one down on the path. But when they roasted it, it proved horrible to taste, and they shot no more squirrels.”

Here it is, back to the story, they hunt the squirrels, realise they’re gross, and are like, “Bilbo, you’re the most weirdly skillful yet useless person we’ve ever met.”

‘Dori is the strongest, but Fili is the youngest and still has the best sight.” Fili is the what

“All the time he was wondering whether there were spiders in the tree, and how he was going to get down again (except by falling).”

why not

“They did not care tuppence about the butterflies, and ere only made more angry when he told them of the beautiful breeze, which they were too heavy to climb up and feel.” It is kind of tacky, Bilbo

Double fuck, my bookmark fell off and the spine got cracked. This has literally never happened to me before D:<

In theory, leaving a mark that something’s been used and loved is a concept I like. In practice? This is bothering me.

“That night they ate the last scraps and crumbs of food; and next morning when they woke the first thing they noticed was that they were still gnawingly hungry, and the nest thing was that it was raining and that here and there the drip of it was dropping heavily on the forest floor.” I mean, they’ve eaten the last of the food and they’re still hungry — chances are that even if they’d known they were almost out of the woods, they wouldn’t have made it anyway. (So certain authors can stow it.)

“There were many people there, elvish-looking folk, all dressed in green and brown and sitting on sawn rings of the felled trees in a great circle.” Why elvish-looking and not just elves?

“They were lost in a completely lightless dark and they could not even find one another, not for a long time at any rate. After blundering frantically in the gloom, falling over logs, bumping crash into trees, and shouting and calling till they must have waked everything in the forest for miles, at last they managed to gather themselves in a bundle and count themselves by touch.” First off, I want to serve this as an example of and proof that Tolkien, while not going quite so low as to make scatological and fart jokes, used plenty of slapstick comedy. Second, oh my god you guys, that is not the way to find each other in the dark!

“Thorin said: ‘No rushing forward this time! No one is to stir from hiding till I say. I shall send Mr. Baggins alone first to talk to them. They won’t be frightened of him--(‘What about me of them?’ thought Bilbo)-- and any way I hope they won’t do anything nasty to him.’” All praise the fearless and generous leader! 

It reminds me of a fanfic I really like, still in progress, where the fanon dynamic for Bagginshield (and indeed, most common tropes of romance) gets subverted by having Thorin trust and rely on Bilbo to protect him instead of being overprotective. It was started after the first movie but before the others, and I can really see it in the book. (Of course, that probably has something to do with the fact that Tolkien didn’t write it to be romantic.)

“‘They are the best I am likely to get in this beastly place,’ he mutteres, ad he lay down beside the dwarves and tried to go back to sleep and find his dream again.” Dwarf(and hobbit)pile!

“He was deep in thoughts of bacon and eggs and toast and butter when he felt something touch him. Something like a strong sticky string was against his left hand, and when he tried to move he found that his legs were already wrapped in the same stuff, so that when he got up he fell over. 

Then the great spider, who had been busy tying him up while he dozed, came from behind him and came at him.” Almost executed for daydreaming about breakfast in the middle of Mirkwood at night crimes.

“He beat the creature off with his hands--it was trying to poison him to keep him quiet, as small spiders do to flies--until he remembered his sword and drew it out.”

Bilbo: *balls up fists and swings them like cartoon boxer* Let’s do this Shire style!

But also, I want to point out that it says he beat it off not tried to beat it off. That implies success.

Also, I’m kind of freaked out at the implication that that’s a small spider.

“Then it went mad and leaped and danced and flung out its legs in horrible jerks, until he killed it with another stroke; and then he fell down and remembered nothing more for a long while.

There was the usual dim grey light of the forest-day about him when he came to his senses.” Fair.

“Bilbo was a pretty fair shot with a stone, and it did not take him long to find a nice smooth egg-shaped one that fitted his hand cosily. As a boy he used to practise throwing stones at things, until rabbits and squirrels, and even birds, got out of his was as quick as lightning if they saw him stoop; and even grow--up he had still spent a deal of his time at quoits, dart-throwing, shooting at the wand, bowls, ninepins and other quiet games of the aiming and throwing sort--indeed he could do lots of things, besides blowing smoke-rings, asking riddles and cooking, that I haven’t had time to tell you about. There is no time now.” There are so many levels of hilarity here, like

1- Bilbo used to be a fucking menace. And he didn’t quite get over it either!

2- They only ran away when he stooped? This just makes me think that he might have done nice things to make them at least tolerate him otherwise, instead of outright avoiding him or attacking him. Like, “ah, it’s that little boy, who’ll either feed us, he’s so nice and- uh oh he stooped, time to go boys.” Alternatively, it’s genetic memory warning them away from Bilbo. I was thinking maybe it was about all hobbits, but it does say “until they got out of his way”, meaning there was a time when they didn’t.

3- That’s such a hilariously late time in the story to introduce us to the fact that the main character has not only good aim but a strong enough arm to throw a stone right through a giant spider’s web, which would be thicker and probably more durable than the normal variety, already stronger than steel. And then kill the spider on the other side.

4- “Other quiet games of the aiming and throwing sort.” Idk man, other games of the sort, figure it out yourself.

5- I want to know about the other stuff Bilbo can do.

“This is what he sang:

Old fat spider spinning in a tree!

Old fat spider can’t see me!

Attercop! Attercop!

Won’t you stop,

Stop your spinning and look for me?

Old Tomnoddy, all big body.

Old Tomnoddy can’t spy me!

Attercop! Attercop!

Down you drop!

You’ll never catch me up your tree!

Not very good perhaps, but then you must remember that he had to make it up himself, on the spur of a very awkward moment.” Tolkien, shut up, it’s beautiful.

Also, lol, about to be eaten by spiders, how awks.

“Standing now in the middle of the hunting and spinning insects Bilbo plucked up his courage and began a new song.” Bilbo: If I’m gonna die, it’s gonna be as annoyingly as possible.

Honestly, though, this is my favourite song in the book.

“Bilbo’s next job was to loose a dwarf.” Very different from losing a dwarf, which he’s already done x14 (Thorin counts twice, especially considering he hasn’t even realized he’s lost him yet).

“Suddenly Bilbo noticed that some of the spiders had gathered round old Bombur on the floor, and had tied him up again and were dragging him away. He gave a shout and slashed at the spiders in front of him. They quickly gave way, and he scrambled and fell down the tree right into the middle of those on the ground. His little sword was something new in the way of stings for them. How it darted to and fro! It shone with delight as he stabbed at them. Half a dozen were killed before the rest drew off and left Bombur to Bilbo.” Bilbo’s gone berserk.

Also, Sting shone with delight? What a bloodthirsty blade.

“Away behind them now the shouting and singing suddenly stopped.” DUN DUN DUUUUUN

“Things were looking pretty bad again, when suddenly Bilbo reappeared, and charged into the astonished spiders unexpectedly from the side.

‘Go on! Go on!” he shouted. “I will do the stinging!”

And he did. He darted backwards and forwards, slashing at spider-threads, hacking at their legs, and stabbing at their fat bodies if they came too near. The spiders swelled with rage, and spluttered and frothed, and hissed out horrible curses; but they had become mortally afraid of Sting, and dared not come very near, now that it had come back. So curse as they would, their prey moved slowly but steadily away. It was a most terrible business, and seemed to take hours.” Love this part. All very heroic.

“They knew only too well that they would soon all have been dead if it had not been for the hobbit; and they thanked him many times. Some of them even got up and bowed right to the ground before him, though they fell over with the effort, and could not get on their legs again for some time.” I can imagine Bilbo all flustered, going “good. Hope you’ve learned your lesson and won’t be doing that again. Limit yourself to fawning.”

“All of a sudden Dwalin opened an eye, and looked round at them. ‘Where is Thorin?’ he asked.”Lmao, finally!

“They differed from the High Elves of the West, and were more dangerous and less wise.” Feral.

“All this was well known to every dwarf, though Thorin’s family had had nothing to do with the old quarrel I have spoken of. Consequently Thorin was angry at their treatment of him, when they took their spell off and he came to his senses.” Another change done for the movie: Thorin’s family wasn’t involved in the feud.

Also lmao this weapon, a prisoner and all “how dare you”.

I’m not going to talk about the conversation between Thorin and Thranduil bc it’s probably been done to death.

Definitely my favourite chapter this far. Main character’s skills and learned courage begins to show? Check. He uses them in a fight that gives him extra confidence? Check. Heroics mixed with witty commentary and one-liners? Check. Team begins to see them in a new, more positive light? Check. Elves being made fun of and painted as kinda ridiculous? Check. (This one’s very subjective ig.)