#36 questions ask meme

[edenesth]

[2:36 PM]

"Holy crap, I'm stuffed! I feel like I've eaten enough to last a week," you exclaimed, embracing your bloated belly in amazement as you glanced at Seonghwa, who was still happily devouring his meal. You'd been indulging at the all-you-can-eat buffet for hours, yet he showed no signs of slowing down. "Thank god one of us has a black hole for a stomach; I swear, Hwa, you make every buffet meal so worth it."

Your boyfriend chuckled, "You say that now, but I bet you'll be craving convenience store snacks by tonight like always," he teased, feeling a rush of affection for you as you stuck your tongue out playfully.

It was your fourth anniversary together, and he had let you choose the venue for your date. You opted for the Japanese buffet near your shared apartment, knowing it would make him happy. And it did; he was over the moon, utterly in love with you for your thoughtfulness. So much so that he could propose to you on the spot. In fact, he had a ring ready and was eagerly planning to seize this perfect moment to pop the question.

As he finished his bowl of ramen, his heart warmed at your immediate response—reaching over to delicately wipe the corner of his lips with your napkin. You smiled, asking, "Was it good?"

He nodded, holding your hand and planting a kiss on your wrist after you finished cleaning his mouth. "Everything tastes better with you around, my love. Now, be a good girl and wait here while I go get us some desserts."

You giggled before exclaiming, "Ooh yes, I want to come with you!" as you began to rise from your seat. But he panicked and stopped you, "N-no, please, let me take care of you today. I'll be back real quick, I promise," he said before darting out of the private room you had reserved. He had plans to hide the ring in one of the cakes for you to discover later, and if you were to go with him now, he wouldn't be able to execute his plan.

With a satisfied hum, he admired how perfectly he had hidden the ring in one of your favourite cakes. Oh, he couldn't wait to see the look on your face when you realised what was inside. Walking back to the room, his heart raced and his mind swirled with all the possible romantic outcomes of this surprise. If all went well, you'd be his fiancée by the end of this meal.

It's going to be perfect.

"Yay, you got all my favourites! Thank you, Hwa, you're the best," you cooed, pulling him down by the collar to give him a chaste kiss on the lips before allowing him to return to his seat across from you.

He grinned, biting his lip excitedly as he watched you begin to eat, "Anything for you," he murmured. His attention was momentarily diverted when his phone chimed with a few texts from his friends in their group chat. He clicked open to find a couple of silly memes, offering a quick 'Haha' reaction before returning his focus to you.

"Hwa, say ahhh," you said, holding out some cake to feed him. Absentmindedly, he looked up from his phone and accepted the bite. "Thanks, babe. You enjoy it, I'll get more later," he said, his words slightly muffled as he spoke with cake in his mouth.

Wait a minute, I—

His eyes widened in horror as he realised the ring was in his mouth. He was dangerously close to swallowing it when he attempted to push it back out, causing him to choke violently and startling you in the process.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" you rushed over to his side immediately, lightly slapping him on the back. Your concern intensified as his body shook. "Cough it out, Hwa!"

And he did, eventually spitting out remnants of the cake onto his trembling hand. In the midst of the mess lay a shiny object. You didn't know what it was, but one thing was certain: it clearly was not meant to be in a cake. "Wh-what's that? Why would they put something like that inside a cake? Are they trying to harm someone? This is unacceptable; I'm going to file a complaint."

"N-no, babe!" he called out, gently grasping your wrist and pulling you close before you could scold anyone for his own mistake.

"But Hwa, you could have died—"

He sighed, "It was me, I put it in there." He grabbed a few new napkins and cleaned up the mess in his hands, and your eyes rounded, your breath catching when you recognised what was in his hand. It was a ring you had once jokingly shown him, telling him how pretty it was and that you would love it if he could propose to you with it. You didn't think he would actually do it.

"God, this went way differently in my mind. You were supposed to discover it on your own; it was supposed to be so romantic, and I ruined it all because I'm an idiot—"

You silenced him with a kiss, pressing your lips to his and cradling his face while you caressed his cheeks, tears tracing down your own. Pulling back slowly, you rested your forehead against his with a soft chuckle.

"Well, I think it's rather romantic."

"I swear, I'll redo it properly—wait, really?"

"Mhm. Oh and, yes, I do."

ATEEZ Masterlist

Look what you made me do, @itstheghostofmypast😭 this was a little something my pookie and I came up with while we were talking hehe ilysm istg pls never stop feeding me these ideas.

Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed this random little timestamp and as always, let me know your thoughts! <3

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[whimsicalcotton]

36 on the kiss meme?

36 - to give up control

you didn't give me a particular ship so i'm gonna take the liberty of providing myself w more apf because i. am insatiable.

^^^ that's what i said before i started writing and then i got lost in the amberfield sauce. like actually idk what came over me but i straight up just wrote 4.5k of pointless/shameless rachel&max flirting and then took Several days to edit it. sorry? sorry.

--- --- ---

Max Caulfield likes to be sure of herself before she tries something. 

Like, super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure. It's caused some problems over the years, and maybe everyone else finds it somewhat irksome, but she needs at least some degree of certainty if she has any hope of working past that initial burst of anxiety that so often arises at the mere thought of doing something unfamiliar. So she tends to stick to the sidelines. Asking a lot of questions she hardly puts to use, watching on as others are able to effortlessly do things she can scarcely bring herself to imagine. 

Chloe's been helping her out with it. Or at least attempting to. Serving as the (mostly) gentle push Max needs to step out of her comfort zone, trying to teach her how to be a little more impulsive, but always remaining patient and reassuring when Max finds herself in over her head or chickening out. 

And then there's Rachel.

Rachel helps in a… different way. Max thinks she overheard Chloe calling it, “throwing her to the wolves,” in a conversation that probably wasn't meant for her ears. 

Whatever it is, it’s how Max finds herself in the blaring lights and veritable sea of drunken bodies known as a party. But it's fine. It's been fine. She’s just been hanging onto Chloe for dear life and trying to remember how to talk like a normal person whenever someone spoke to them. No biggie, no problem.

And then they lost Rachel. And Chloe's immediate response was, “Goddamnit, not again.” That definitely added a few points to the metaphorical uncertainty metre. 

Though they still had fun off on their own for a bit. Chloe even mixed her one of those infamous red solo cup drinks, so she's getting a good grade in acting like a normal high-schooler tonight; something that is totally not weird of her to want and surprisingly difficult to achieve. It sort of helped and sort of made it worse that Chloe kept checking in with her every so often, looking at her like she was expecting Max to crack at any second. 

Max misses the looks. She realizes it as she's wandering through yet another unfamiliar hallway, semi-frantically looking around whatever rooms she finds, having now lost both Rachel and Chloe. She doesn't know half the faces here, let alone names, so if anyone has to be looking at her she'd really, really prefer it be Chloe. 

Alas, for the moment it's just a bunch of strangers’ gazes darting over to her every time she pokes her head into a room, searing into her skin even if only a momentary glance. Not to mention everything everywhere is so goddamn loud. Like, unreasonably loud. I don't know how anyone else's ears aren't bleeding loud. Even in rooms where the music is barely audible, there's chatting and laughing and a hundred conversations all happening at once. And don't even get her started on the lights downstairs.

She's just beginning to debate the merits of tearing her hair out over everything when she nearly crashes into yet another girl she doesn't know. 

“Sorry,” she squeaks out, wincing at the sound of her voice. “M-My bad. I didn’t mean to.”

The stranger beams down at her. “Hey, no worries. I saw you come in with Rachel, didn't I?”

Max nods vigorously before realizing she probably looks ridiculous and uttering an, “Uhm, yeah,” in its place. “Have you seen her?”

“Looking for her, huh? Aren't we all. She's pretty slippery when she wants to be.” The stranger leans in to put an arm around Max's shoulder, and she goes rigid as a board under the touch. “Come with me, I think I saw her over this way not that long ago.”

“You think?” Max asks, half in earnest and half in reactionary grouchiness. 

“Ooh, the puppy can bite,” answers the stranger, grinning at her with a hungry gleam in her eye. Max gulps. “Have a little faith in me. I've partied with Rachel before, I know where she likes to hang out.”

Max can feel her face going red. Maybe those stupid bright colored lights could actually be helpful right now. 

Thankfully the very touchy stranger does actually know what she's doing, and it doesn't take too much walking and weaving through the crowd to find a certain flannel-clad blonde. She's at the head of a table full of people playing cards, and Max has no idea what they're playing but it sure looks like Rachel is winning. She's got her signature big, bright, confident smile plastered across her face, and there's a pile of loose change, cigarettes, and joints off in her corner of the table; next to a small stack of empty solo cups. 

“Hey, Rach,” the stranger calls over to her, one arm still wrapped around Max. “Is this your lost puppy I've found?”

Everyone turns to look at her. Max’s face goes hot and she isn't sure if all the ensuing smiles are genuine or mocking and she still doesn't even know the name of the girl draped over her and –

“Maxie!” Rachel's voice is just as bright and boisterous as her winner's grin, and she too has taken to Chloe’s habit of calling her almost every iteration of her name under the sun. But Max is sort of grateful for it right now. “C’mere and watch me wipe the floor with these guys. We're almost done with this game.” 

The whole table grumbles in protest to Rachel's gloating, but Max doesn't need to be told twice. She ducks out of the stranger's grip and rushes to Rachel's side, half hidden behind her. She lets out a shakey sigh of relief, knowing there's at least a cap on her nerves now that she's near someone familiar. Usually Chloe is her designated safe person, but she's in no state to be picky, and next to Rachel feels about as safe as she can manage right now. 

Rachel looks back to give her a softer, sweeter smile before turning to the girl who brought her here. “My puppy,” she snaps, in full seriousness. “Paws off.”

The girl holds her hands up in mock defense and gives Rachel a scoff, turning to leave. 

“Sorry,” she tells Max in a laugh. “A girl's gotta stake her claim. She'd eat you up if I didn't.” 

Max chokes on nothing. “She'd what?”

“You heard me,” Rachel answers, pulling some cards from her hand and dropping her offering of cigarettes into the new betting pool at the centre of the table without really paying attention, practically playing with her eyes closed. “You are absolutely fucking adorable, after all.” 

Max short circuits for a minute while she tries to process the sentiment. A chorus of groans and grievances circle the table. 

“Goddamnit, again?”

“What are you a fucking wizard?”

“C'mon, Rach, you're bleeding me dry here.” 

“She barely even looked at her fucking cards! What the hell!” 

Rachel answers them all with that dazzling smile, tone honeyed and blithe. “I can't help that Lady Luck favors me so.” She nods towards Max beside her. “Especially now that I have my good luck charm with me. Back out while you still can.” 

That's something about Rachel that Max can't help but admire. That damn silver tongue, effortlessly charming and always sharp enough to quip back with ease. She's somehow bolder when she's been drinking, if such a thing is even possible. So far Max has only ever dealt with the aftermath of drunk-Rachel, she's never actually been around to watch it in action. She can see why the girl is often considered the life of the party, bouncing from conversation to conversation without a hitch and still managing to make a show of shuffling the deck all the while. 

“Where’s Chloe? Weren’t you guys sticking together?” 

Max startles back to attention, still disoriented from being off on her own and maybe the slightest bit buzzed from what little she had to drink earlier. She finds Rachel staring up at her with those all too alluring hazel eyes of hers. Maybe Max doesn't mind her looking, either. 

To say it's a struggle to get her voice working would be an understatement. “We were. And then we went looking for you and I– I got lost.”

Rachel hums as if considering a particularly tough equation. “Ah, I see, I see. Well, come sit with me for a bit. Chloe will find us eventually.”

Max raises an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure?” 

“Poor, sweet, Maximilian,” Rachel replies in her infamous Shakespearean drama voice. “Always so caught up in the pesky certainties of life. Sit, have a drink, see for yourself if I'm sure or not.” 

When Max continues standing there staring at her like a very confused fish out of water, Rachel offers her best impersonation of Chloe by grinning like a great, joyful fool and moving to tug Max down into her lap. Both hands gripping her small waist, relishing in the startled little eep it earns her. 

“C’mon, Caulfield. Live a little.” She drops her voice to a murmur, husky and low and so close to Max’s ear that she could probably nibble on it if she wanted to. Not that Max is thinking about that or anything. “You’ll be fine. I'll look after you, promise.” 

Max shivers and she knows that Rachel can feel every second of it, that she's enjoying it. For a minute still she debates what to do, but as much as she wants to find Chloe, Max also doesn’t want to get up and risk losing track of Rachel again. Besides, she’s probably right. Chloe will find them eventually. She shouldn’t get so caught up in knowing every last detail ahead of time, that’s the whole point of why they brought her here. Like Rachel said, she should live a little.

So she takes in a breath of that jasmine perfume Rachel's so fond of, tries to relax in her hold, and asks what game they’re playing.

Rachel is all too happy to talk her through it as she deals everyone’s hand, putting an unequivocally silly amount of theatrics into her explanation, not that that stops everybody from hanging onto her every word. Even if most of them have undoubtedly heard the whole spiel before. Max then proceeds to watch her demolish everyone at another few rounds, midway through which someone brings them both a refill of something fruity and red.

“You made mine a double, right?” Rachel calls after them.

“They’re both doubles,” they answer with an enthusiastic thumbs up and a foolish grin, before disappearing back into the crowd outside.

“Sorry about that,” Rachel offers with a half bashful, half guilty expression. “Don't worry if you can't finish yours, I'll take it.” She pauses for a moment, laughs to herself. “Although it would be kinda fun to see you go wild for once.” 

And Max, perhaps incentivized by all the physical affection or perhaps looking for a way to enjoy it without feeling like she's going to blow up, takes that as a challenge. “It's okay,” she assures, with far too much determination for her own good, a hamfisted plot to impress already forming in her mind. “I can handle it.”

First things first, she takes a massive gulp of whatever was just handed to her. Then, instead of whatever the hell she thought she was gonna do, she grimaces like she just swallowed a brick. 

Rachel laughs, a brilliant, golden sound that serves as higher reward than Max could ever hope for. “Easy there, tiger,” she says, holding Max a little tighter, closer. “You’ve gotta pace yourself.” 

“Sorry,” Max splutters in return. “I'm not used to this.” 

“I can tell.” Rachel laughs again, this one slow and syrupy; eyes roaming Max’s face with reckless abandon. “Don’t worry, I think it's cute.” 

“Jesus, get a room,” one of the boys at the table huffs. “I thought we were playing cards here.” 

“I'm in one,” Rachel replies without missing a beat, delightfully glib and sounding far too proud of herself. “And I think you mean losing at cards here. Read ‘em and weep, fellas.” 

She lays her cards out for everyone to see with decidedly cocky flair, all but basking in the latest bout of cursing her name to fly around the table. She offers Max a victory toast, giggling once more at the girl's sour expression and knocking back half of her own drink without even flinching. By the time Rachel actually comes out of a round empty handed, they've had so many victory toasts that Max can't remember just how long they've been here. Long enough that she's been able to arrange their hoard of treasure into several smaller piles. Long enough that the sensory onslaught she'd been so arduously fighting through feels a thousand miles away.

Drinking makes everything a little fuzzier, makes all the lights and sounds and staring a little more bearable. It also destroys her sense of time and makes her approximately a thousand percent more likely to say something stupid. But it's not all bad. She manages to crack a few jokes that have everyone laughing, and as the minutes march on and the drinks keep magically appearing beside her on the table, Max finds herself growing bolder.

“Looks like your hot streak is finally over,” someone says to Rachel as the round comes to end, slurring their words and leering over at her in premature triumph. 

Max watches in equal parts concern and entertainment as Rachel swings her latest cup around a bit dangerously. “Hey, don't count me out just yet,” she huffs, sneaking a sip between sentences. “Max, quick, give me a kiss for good luck.” 

And instead of questioning it, instead of stammering and getting all flustered, Max leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek. Which is bold by her standards. She's still a bit shy about kissing either of them, but especially Rachel. She's just so intimidatingly pretty, and nice, and way, way out of Max's league. Sometimes she still doesn't understand why Rachel was even willing to be in this little triangle relationship with her, let alone be the one to suggest it in the first place. But when a gift horse opens, you don't look it in the mouth. Or something like that. 

And why not try and be a little brave for once? That's what all the liquid courage was for, after all.

But Rachel, as Max has often heard, is someone who isn't afraid to ask for more, more, more. Even as the alcohol robs her of some of her usual eloquence. “I meant tongue luck,” she says, complete with an admittedly adorable and endearingly earnest pout. 

For a minute, the nervousness returns tenfold. A thousand worries and wonders swirl around her head and she can't help but think of all the eyes on them, all the pressure, all the ways she could mess this up. All the ways she could disappoint. If it's all just meant to be a joke and she's taking it way too seriously and getting herself worked up over nothing again. 

But then she's looking at Rachel and Rachel's looking at her and Max is drunker than she's ever been and suddenly none of it matters anymore. Suddenly, she doesn’t need to be sure of anything other than the fact that she’s the lucky one for getting to be so close to Rachel. Before she can talk herself out of it, Max takes the girl’s face in both hands and kisses her. Really kisses her, just barely sliding under the bar of full stop making out as she startles back when someone at the table cheers for them. 

“I-Is that more what you had in mind?” She mumbles upon pulling away, fixing Rachel with a bashful, doe-eyed stare. She knows people must be staring again, but it’s fine. She can just look at Rachel and pretend no one else exists instead, let go of all her nerves and replace them with those sunny hazel eyes and that silky, honey-blonde hair.

And that's so, so goddamn easy it isn't even funny. 

Rachel blinks back at her, momentarily dazed, before breaking out into an expression best described as the cat who got the cream. “Yeah,” she says, half breathless, moving to ruffle Max’s hair. “Good puppy.”

Max just keeps looking at her, for a moment or two, and then she feels her face going red again as it catches up to her, so she rushes to hide in Rachel’s shoulder. “That’s mean,” she whines, piteous and small, doing absolutely nothing to help her case. “That’s so mean.”

“Duly noted,” Rachel answers with a devious little hum, and Max can picture the way she’s grinning ear to ear at the new source of teasing material. 

She reaches out over Max to grab her latest hand, and Max knows solely by the way Rachel's fingers dance along her waist that it's another good one. She tries to keep her drunken grin hidden from the silent tension of the rest of the table. The quiet won't last long, of course. Even without looking Max can count down to the oncoming clamor; four, three, two…

The person who'd been taunting Rachel a few minutes ago drops their cards down and heaves a melodramatic sigh, and the guy next to them lets out a cry of, “You fucking jinxed it, dude,” while giving them a playful shove. 

“This is madness. This is actual madness.”

“So fucking unfair. Yo, can I get some of that tongue luck over here?”

Max winds up with a fresh lungful of jasmine as Rachel wraps a protective arm around her, threading her fingers through her hair. “Nope,” she answers in Max's stead. “No way. Didn't you hear me earlier? Mine.” 

Max is learning a lot of things about herself tonight. Like how it's kind of exciting when Rachel gets territorial over her, or that the more she hears it the less she questions being likened to a puppy. Or that she apparently isn't above letting Rachel hold the cup to her lips and coax her into another victory sip after finding her own cup empty. 

Oh, and according to one of the many strangers at the table she's, ‘so light of a lightweight she should win an award.’ Rachel agrees wholeheartedly and gives Max another pat on the head, which Max was too busy enjoying to really pay attention to what they were saying. 

All in all a very educational evening. 

“I think that’s it for you tonight,” Rachel says, finishing off the rest of her cup in one swig. Max almost shudders just watching her. “Chloe will probably have my head if I get you any more wasted.”

“She’s already gonna have your head.”

Max turns to face the source of the interruption, smiling like she's just laid eyes on the sun after a long dreary winter, but Rachel scoffs and remains oblivious. 

“Says who?” she huffs, defensive and gloating. Everyone stares at the space behind her.

“Says me,” answers Chloe, arms crossed, leaning ominously over Rachel and donning an I'm so gonna kill you sort of grin. Rachel tilts her head back to look up at her. Her tone comes out sickly sweet and simmering with a hint of trouble just beneath. “And what have you two been up to while I was running around half the night wondering where the fuck you were?” 

“Winning,” Max says, without a hint of irony. In fact she can’t help but to beam with pride as she proclaims, “I’m her good luck puppy.”

Chloe blinks down at her once, twice, and then moves to pull Max up into a hug. Max hums contentedly to herself. She really is the lucky one, having not just one but two girlfriends tossing her around like a hot potato. Oh yeah, this is the life.

“There, there,” Chloe assures, probably meant in jest but Max soaks it up as if it were genuine, leaning up into Chloe's touch as the girl pets her hair. “What's reckless ol’ Rachel got done to you, huh?” 

Rachel gasps in melodramatic mock offense. “What have I done? You wound me, good sir.”

“You got Max drunk.”

“Well, you lost her.” 

“Not on purpose,” Chloe snaps back. “Pretty big distinction there, Rach.” 

“Tomato, to-mah-to.” 

Max interrupts them with the utmost confidence, even as she finds her tongue heavy and uncooperative. “Ladies, ladies, please.” Both the words themselves and the hiccup that follows them are muffled in the fabric of Chloe’s jacket, but Max doesn't move. “There’s enough a’ me to go around.”

“Oh she's smashed. Jesus, Rach, you really are a bad influence.” Chloe's probably trying to tell her off, but the effect is greatly lessened by the fact that she's audibly covering up a laugh. “Max, Maxster, Maximilian, how are you doing? How much have you–”

“Rachel already used that one tonight,” Max notes, somehow coming in too late and too early at the same time.

“... had. That answers that question.” Chloe pulls back all of a sudden and Max scrambles not to tip over. “Wait, which one? First or second?”

“Second.”

“Ugh, what? C'mon, Rach, you know I've been saving that one.”

Rachel offers her best attempt at that snake-charmer’s smile, and Max finds herself thinking that she'd never be able win an argument against her. “Yeah, sorry, it just kinda slipped out. It is pretty good.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere now, Princess.” Chloe huffs back. “C'mon, up, both of you. I'm cuttin’ ya off.”

One of the guys lets out a cheer. “And my wallet is once again saved by the power of Rachel having a spousal dispute! Thanks, Price. You're a lifesaver.”

Rachel starts saying something about finally getting lucky only to have the competitive smirk wiped off her face by Chloe elbowing her in the side. Max dutifully gathers up the various little piles of Rachel's winnings and the two of them share a look as she hands them over. Though it must have been longer than just a glance, because the next thing Max knows Chloe is between them and has them both by the shirt collars like a pair of unruly kittens getting picked up by the scruff of the neck. 

“Well, I’d better get Romeo and Juliet over here back home before they start fucking on the table–”

“Chloe,” Max sputters, having just enough remaining wherewithal to get flustered over such a remark. 

Rachel does another one of those laughably dramatic gasps. “What kind of brute do you take me for?” She adds, far too nonchalantly, “I'd bring her to a room first. I'm not an animal.”

“Rachel,” Max squeaks, balking over at the girl with her face undoubtedly turning cherry red. Rachel offers only a drunkard’s smirk and a wink in return.

“ – And as you can see, I've got my hands full.” Chloe continues, barreling over them. 

She lets them go and gives them both a pat on the back, trying to get them to start heading out but only succeeding in sending them stumbling into each other. 

“Thanks for keepin’ an eye on ‘em for me,” she sighs. It's quickly replaced with a devilish smirk of her own as she reaches to give the guy a few rough pats on the shoulder. “Oh, and thanks for never learning your lesson when it comes to betting joints against Rachel. I'll be smoking good tonight, thanks to you.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.” He nods towards Rachel and Max, both of whom are not so subtly eyeing the setup for the next round. “Now get those two outta here before they find a way to win from halfway across the room.” 

Chloe turns back to them. “Alright guys, you heard him. Time to scram.” 

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Max says as they head for the door, giving Chloe a haphazard salute. 

“Ooh, are we pirates?” Rachel asks, before nodding sagely in approval. “Hell yeah. Yeehaw.”

Chloe fights to form a sentence around the burst of laughter that follows. “That's cowboys, you dumbass. How much have you had?”

“A lot,” Max supplies, trying not to trip over herself as they step into the cool night air outside. “Like, twenty cups.”

“It wasn't twenty,” Rachel huffs. “More like a sensible seven. And jeez, way to tattle on me, Caulfield.”

Max blinks over at her. “Oh, sorry. Can I try again?” Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Chloe. “Rachel had a nice sensible seven drinks and there's nothing to worry about.” Then, she turns back over to Rachel with a thumbs up and a lopsided, optimistic grin; whispering as if Chloe isn't right next to them and listening to every word. “Was that better?”

“Perfect,” Rachel just barely manages to answer through a bout of giggling. “Thanks, Maxie.”

The sharp flick of a lighter draws both of their attention, and they find Chloe in the process of lighting up one of the joints she'd claimed as ‘drunk-sitter tax.’ They both watch a little too intently as she takes that first drag and lets it plume out into the dark. “Don't mind me,” she coughs. “I'm just tryna get on your guys’ level. You've got like one brain cell between you right now, I gotta get in on this shit if I'm gonna be the one dealing with it.”

“Do you want some tongue luck?” Max asks, too earnest for her own good. “For dealing with us?”

Chloe stops walking. “Do I want what?”

Max turns on her heel and closes their distance, reaching up to take gentle grip of Chloe's jacket. “Here,” she says, getting up on her tiptoes. “Let me show you.”

Chloe makes this cute little noise of surprise, muffled by Max's mouth over hers, and it only serves to spur the girl on. It doesn't take long for Chloe to melt into it however, unconsciously leaning towards Max as she pulls back, keen on continuing. 

“Damn,” Chloe whispers, eyeing Max with a look of eagerness and wonder. “Drunk-Max has game.”

“I know, right?” Rachel agrees on the end of a smokey exhale, having nabbed the joint from Chloe's hand while she wasn't paying attention.

Max puffs up like an overexcited budgie trying to show off for its mate. “I can't help being so swaggy.”

For a minute, all is quiet.

“Aaaaand we're back to normal,” Chloe notes with a humorous sigh, while next to her Rachel breaks into a fit of contagious cackling.  

Max merely smiles to herself, watching their faces light up as they chase each other in circles over the joint, listening as they calm halfway down only for one of them to start up again and drag the other into a fresh round of barely contained laughter. She may be playing more on the wild side than usual tonight, but she still finds herself sure — super extra mega double absolutely positively one hundred percent sure – of one thing.

No amount of alcohol could compare to the rush and butterflies of making her girlfriends happy. 

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[lingthusiasm]

Lingthusiasm seventh anniversary: help share the show!

Lingthusiasm turns seven in 2023!

In celebration of our seventh year making a podcast that's enthusiastic about linguistics, we’re asking you to help introduce the show to people who would be totally into a linguistics podcast, if only they knew it existed! Lingthusiasm is a great fit for anyone in your life who is curious about language or who likes hearing ad-free conversational deep-dives into hidden patterns in the world around us from people who are extremely invested in articulating why it’s so cool.

Your recommendations really do work (we see it in the stats each year!), whether it’s sharing this very post, tagging us on social media, sending an episode you enjoy directly to a friend who'd like it, or rating us on podcast players. Or if you've been following us on social media for a while but have gotten behind or haven't gotten around to actually listening at all, this is a great cue to dive into an episode or two!

We also love being recommended as guests on your (other) favourite podcasts! We love chatting about links between linguistics and your other favourite topics (we’ve done linguistics and science fiction/roleplaying games, linguistics and conlanging, linguistics in romance novels, linguistics and mythology, and more!). 

Trying to figure out what to say about Lingthusiasm? Here are some ideas:  

What’s Lingthusiasm like?

Ever find yourself distracted from what someone is saying by wondering about how they say it? Lingthusiasm is a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics as a way of understanding the world around us.

From languages around the world to our favourite linguistics memes, Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne bring you into a lively half hour conversation on the third Thursday of every month about the hidden linguistic patterns that you didn’t realize you were already making.

“Lauren and Gretchen know their stuff, have an easy rapport, and are skilled at pitching linguistic concepts to a general audience.” —Sentence First

“Joyously nerdy.” —BuzzFeed

“I checked out Lingthusiasm by playing a random episode and it was funny and fascinating and educational AND it had a shout out to Dinosaur Comics!” —Ryan North

Which episode should I start with?

You can start listening to Lingthusiasm anywhere! Here are some episodes that people often enjoy: 

How to rebalance a lopsided conversation (Episode 39)

When nothing means something (Episode 23)

Why do C and G come in hard and soft versions? Palatalization (Episode 26)

Or if you like, you can start with an interview episode: 

What If Linguistics - Absurd Hypothetical Questions with Randall Munroe of xkcd (Episode 72)

Researching signed languages in real-world contexts with Lynn Hou (Episode 36)

The grammar of singular they with Kirby Conrod (Episode 43)

All episodes have human-made, edited transcripts.

Journey back through time to previous anniversary posts:

Sixth anniversary post

Fifth anniversary post

Fourth anniversary post

Third anniversary post

Second anniversary post 

First anniversary post

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 3 - Canning Town Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 2 Summary: Flirting, Leicester Square station mixtape, flowers and breakdowns in the cantina. Or another chapter of an unlikely liaison. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language and imagery and more outrageous flirting. Author's Notes: Chapter a month might just be the new deal here, apologies. And this one's long, by which I mean over 11k 💁🏻‍♀️ It also seems like now that I've started, I can't stay away from Neil's POV so... yeah. Look out for a cheeky cameo too 😉 Other than that, I can assure you this is just as chaotic and ridiculous as the last chapter. These two are in full control, I'm just a mere scribe, doing my best. Hopefully it works. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

Incorporating Neil into your daily (and weekly) life was easy. Almost terrifyingly so if you did as much as stop and think about it. Perhaps the self-preservation rooted deep within forbade you to reflect on it. Which, in hindsight, was a good thing.

After that first victory of obtaining Neil’s number, you did not hold back from texting and bombarding him with daily nonsensical memes that could have driven a different man to madness. Neil, however, took it in his stride. It was rare not to get a reply from him after longer than an hour. And that boosted your courage like nothing else.

Some days, the conversations went like this:

/ 🏹, 12:07 pm/ Show me what socks are you wearing.

/✝️, 12:13 pm/ Jesus, that’s forward.

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ That’s basically my second name. So?

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ I swear I won’t sell the pic on OF.

/✝️, 12:20 pm/ Well, if you do, then at least share the earnings with me.

Although you started the ridiculous conversation, when the next text came, consisting of a single image of a socked ankle bared by the familiar hand pulling up the pant leg, you nearly dropped the coffee cup in the middle of the Covent Garden. It was just an ordinary Tuesday lunchtime, with the square bustling with sound and movement. Using the rare sunny September day, you escaped the confines of the Royal Opera House to have your coffee break on the kerb. Thanks to the dwindling sense of coherence, you did not drop said coffee when you opened the photo. The socks you had asked for were black with a grey argyle pattern. But that was where the normalcy ended, for the rhombuses were filled with corgi heads. The brown-beige dogs stared at you through the screen with their beady eyes and were the reason for your hysterical laughter.

The overprotective mother tending to her children close by shot you a dirty look. Well, fuck her.

/ 🏹, 12:23 pm/ Neil, you’re too cute. Way too cute.

/✝️, 12:32 pm/ It’s what every guy wants to hear. Thanks, Cupid.

/ 🏹, 12:34 pm/ I never said you’re not hot, though. Which you very much are. So much that I thought of you when…

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ Yeah, don’t finish that sentence. Please.

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ I’d rather maintain my innocence.

/ 🏹, 12:36 pm/ As you wish 😘

That was not a lie. It was a result of yet another tiring day and an early night in bed when it was too early to sleep. So, you chose to fill the time like most women would, letting your thoughts drift to images and scenarios that always did the trick as your hand delved between your thighs. When you realised who you had been thinking of, the tension was so close to bursting that you did not try to shift the attention. When you came, the guilt was nowhere to be found.

After all, it was not a sin to think of pretty boys when taking the edge off. As soon as you realised that Neil did not take the flirty line seriously, that feeling of potentially having done something wrong became non-existent. It was fine. It was all fine.

Other times, especially during those Wednesday mornings on the Tube, your conversations looked more like this:

“I’ve got an invasive question…” changing the subject during your weekly chats was easy, for as soon as you set a weighty gaze on Neil, he sobered up too.

The endless questions did not seem to bother him either. Your boundless curiosity was particularly grateful for that.

“As long as you’re not going to ask me what underwear I’m wearing, I think we’re fine,” the poker face was only disturbed by Neil’s twitching lips, and the sparks danced in his eyes as he inclined his head in your direction, blessing you with the golden strands, “Shoot,”

Every time, you took a deep breath, silently gathering the courage to ask, and then let the question fall from your lips without a pause:

“When was the last time you’ve been in love?” the curiosity was all it was.

Yet still, Neil’s widening eyes made you consider that perhaps something else was underlining that desire to know. And that this question was different than others you had asked. Different from “Dogs or cats?” “Typical coffee order?” and “Any hidden talents?”. But it was too late to take it back.

“Oof, you weren’t joking” Neil seemed to shake it off quickly, only briefly offering you a glare before looking down to find the needed words, “Probably two-ish years ago…?” you were sure you had imagined the broken edge in his voice as Neil swallowed hard and continued “It was a disaster. She didn’t- Let’s just say I went in too hard and too fast, and she got scared. Pretty much ghosted me after a half-assed excuse” when he raised his head and meet your gaze, you could see the depths of hurt in his eyes.

Your heart felt pathetically hollow, but you smothered the feeling to nothing but an uncomfortable sting.

“Ouch,” a wince was easy enough to muster, and you followed it with an apology, “Sorry,” Neil’s crestfallen look was an inspiration for you to place your hand on his shoulder and give him a reassuring squeeze “I know that it doesn’t help, but it’s her, not you” you knew the light statement was the right way to go when Neil cracked a wry smile and gave your other wrist a tap.

“Thanks,” it was evident enough to realise that Neil was eager to drop the subject. It was clearer still that you were going to be the next target, “I won’t ask you the same since I know better, but… Do you really think no one could change your view on love?” yet when the question fell in the space between you, it was not what you had expected.

The surprise must have painted on your face, for Neil looked a second away from taking it back. You stopped him from doing that the only way you could think of – by extending your hand in what was universally thought of as a ‘hold up’ motion. It was not that you did not want to answer. And it was not the first time someone had asked either.

But it was not something you were keen on inspecting and tearing apart to offer an honest answer. It was a fact, pure and simple. A fact that you would believe in till the day you died. There was no place for love in your life, and there would never be. Full stop.

“Yeah, I do,” you met Neil’s waiting gaze and offered him a weak shrug. The strange disappointment in his gaze made no sense, so you chose to ignore it to shift your attention to the world outside the carriage as it arrived at the next station. The belief in your next words was as tangible as anything else you could conceive, “It would take a miracle”.

He did not ask that question again.

Those Wednesday morning conversations also became a source of information, which you had stowed securely in the compartment of your brain labelled ‘Neil’. After almost two months of acquittance, you knew that he was born and raised a Londoner (from Richmond, the posh fuck [affectionate]), was decidedly a dog person and had a chocolate Labrador growing up (a girl named Daisy), listened to alt-rock and 80s music and was what he described as a hopeless romantic. You still did not know what he did for work, only that he was decidedly not a tattooist, literary agent, paramedic, jockey, art critic, dressmaker, choreographer, or bus driver. Whether he was truly not just a priest undercover was still up for debate.

***

Only when you fled the confines of the ordinary tiny London flat kitchen and felt the night breeze of the city on your skin, left bare from the jacket you did not yet put on, had the question of the ages pop into your head. What the fuck? There was no answer. You shook your head against the memories of what had just conspired and stopped on the pavement to put on and fasten the jacket. Even annoyed, you could still feel the biting cold begin to settle in your bones.

You never expected to bump into Liam. Never in a million years would you have considered that those two friends you shared would extend the invitation to that man out of all people. And you certainly did not expect him to come.

Although, as he had unhelpfully explained himself, he only showed up because of the chance you would be there. The audacity made you shake your head vehemently, without a doubt attracting a glare or two from those who remained sober at this hour. In Soho on Saturday night, that was unlikely.

You walked through the cobbled streets with the neon lights lighting your path without an aim or a map. The only objective was to stomp the frustration into the cracked pavement and end up home. Somehow. Specifics were to be determined later.

Sure, rushing out of your mate’s flat like a lightning bolt could be seen as impulsive. But Liam offered you no choice. The pleasant buzz of alcohol did nothing to stop the embarrassment, which grew worse by the minute. The long walk in an unknown direction was a sad but acceptable consequence. Or so you aimed to maintain.

By the time you had seriously begun to consider using the dwindling phone battery to order an Uber and save you from the penance of someone else’s transgressions, the red circle with a navy blue bar appeared on the horizon. Salvation, at last. You picked up the pace, eager to get out of the cold and that one step closer to home. This close to Leicester Square and the theatres just having closed their doors on the last patrons, the bustle seemed quieter somehow, more subdued. It was a blessing for your budding headache and a threat to the thoughts eager to appear with nothing suppressing them.

You crossed the road and descended the staircase with a sigh. The heat of the station enveloped you like a hug as you passed the ticketing gates and spent an unnecessarily long time staring at the Tube map. When the logic kicked in, at last, you rushed over to the correct platform.

Only to regret it as soon as the timing screen came into view. Heathrow Airport 25 mins. The polite PSA text below informed you the line was experiencing delays. No biggie. They were sorry. The usual shit. A curse litany lodged in your throat as your eyes roamed over the platform.

All the noise in your head faded to nothing when your gaze settled on that familiar blonde head of hair. He was sitting in one of the few chairs with his head bowed over his knees in a position so exemplary for a Saturday night in the glorious London town. You skimmed over his body, taking note of the casual jeans and a t-shirt, peeking from beneath the unbuttoned jacket.

Before you knew it, your legs had started carrying you in his direction, a goofy smile present on your face. The improbability of it happening made everything easier. Because what were the odds?

Instead of counting them, you approached Neil, still so blissfully unaware of your presence and delivered an opening line:

“Hello, Father,” the joke did not yet get old, and you still got the kick out of it.

Especially when Neil raised his head fast enough to give himself a whiplash and gasped from shock.

“Jesus- Oh, what the fuck?” clutching at his heaving chest with all the drama he could muster, Neil offered you a look so full of surprise you knew he did not expect this to happen either.

The only weekend plans you had discussed over texts were that you had a party to go to, and he was likely to go out with his workmates at some point. But that was it. Zero specifics, no need to share them because there was no need for either of you to know the details. And yet.

“Is that how you should greet a lady?” playing on his theatrical reaction, you feign a shocked expression.

It was clear you would fail at any attempts of annoyance. Your cheeks were already aching with that kind of wide, manic grin only Neil seemed to cause. You could see his eyes skim over your figure, taking in your clothes with that sort of precision only he seemed capable of. Finally, satisfied with what he saw, Neil raised his head to meet your gaze again and got up to bow lowly at your feet:

“Apologies, m’lady,” before you knew what he was doing, he took hold of your hand and kissed your knuckles. A move so fast you almost thought you had imagined it if not for the fading sensation of his lips still ghosting your skin, “What are you doing here?” with his hand lightly touching your elbow, Neil steered you towards the seats.

Only now, with the surprises fading into the background, you took note of the empty platform. It was just the two of you sitting on the creaky plastic chairs. You shifted an inch closer to Neil, seeking the warmth radiating off his body and replied:

“As I’ve mentioned, I had an invitation to this flat party in Soho… And I went, but then, and you’ll never believe that happened-” recounting the improbable story felt good, and you took pleasure in the attention Neil gave your every word.

“Let me guess… Liam showed up?” his interjection followed your dramatic pause flawlessly.

Of course, he got it. Of course, he guessed. You shook your head at his eager smile, aware of the glee in your eyes:

“Damn, you’re good” your low approving whistle reverberated in the space. Most shockingly, there was a certain level of joy in sharing the story, even as your skin crawled with the embarrassment of what transpired, “Yeah, and it turns out that getting blocked did not make him smarter. It became a whole thing, along with him getting down on his knees in the middle of a kitchen and proclaiming his undying love to me,” you wondered if Liam was still there, kneeling on the tiled floor and waiting for your return.

Partially, you hoped that was the case.

Throwing you out of the strange ruminations, Neil shook his head and offered you a serious look:

“Blimey,” his tsk almost got lost in the PA announcement, crackling from the speakers. When it ended, Neil met your gaze with a sympathetic smile, “No wonder you ran away,” his knee nudged yours, triggering something you would not understand even in months.

Sitting upright, you nodded fervently:

“I had to” the emotions you did not know were present poured out from your lips as the next words fell in the space between you, “And like- He doesn’t even know me? He never saw me on the stage, and he thinks that making me cum a couple of times is enough?” a frustrated growl tore from your chest as you finished the tirade with a tired sigh and simple punchline, “Bullshit,”

There was no time or willingness to take apart where all that anger came from or why it was suddenly so important Neil understood your reasons. It just was. Later it was easily blamed on the alcohol still present in your veins. For now, you met his gaze and shrugged, answering the questions he seemed too shy to ask.

“With that, I must agree. It’s bullshit” nudging you with his shoulder, Neil smiled, brightening the clouds that still seemed to hang over your mind.

You shot him a brilliant grin, brushing away the concerns with terrifying ease. They had to wait, ideally forever.

“Thanks, babe” sugar coated your smile as you allowed yourself to gaze, taking note of the blush spreading on his cheeks. Although you would never admit it out loud, the blue of his eyes was slowly becoming your favourite shade of the colour. It was that thought that triggered your next confession, “Admittedly, meeting you here is a highlight of the night,” you watched as his eyes grew wider, evidently not expecting to hear something that honest. The moment stretched for what felt like ages until you found the strength to look away, focusing on the timing screen and the issues it posed, “Though, those delays are bullshit, too” your eye-roll elicited an instant laugh, which only added warmth to the kindling sparks in your chest.

“Mhmm,” Neil’s hum acted like an anchor, tying you to reality.

It was a better place to get lost in than the chaos raging in your head. You chose to stick by it, following the easy way out with a simple question:

“How come you’re here?” you turned towards Neil, hoping to block the platform and the world beyond from view.

Even if just figuratively and for a short while. If the answering bright smile was anything to go by, Neil was happy to humour you:

“I’ve been out for drinks at a pub, but then our crowd isn’t very… boisterous, so we all went our separate ways, and here I am,” he signed off the summary with an explanatory shrug, but you should have kept your guard up. Once his gaze settled on you with an intensity of intent, a pathetic instinct kickstarted your heart with all the subtlety of trainwreck, “Bored as fuck until you’ve shown up” the joy in that simple sentiment was enough to make your cheeks heat up.

Of its own volition, your brain provided the fresh memory of how Liam’s attention in that cursed kitchen had made you feel. How running away was the only option you saw then. It was different now; the quiet focus of the man sitting next to you was a welcomed change. A company you were happy to keep. For however long you were allowed.

“How long do you think till it’s-” ignoring the shyness that did not seem happy to be buried in Neil’s company, you changed the subject with all the grace of an elephant.

It was evident in how you stuttered, quickly abandoning the idea of finishing the sentence and letting it trail off into the quiet. It was too early to raise your head from the depths of shame it was drowning in. It was all a little too much.

“Could be twenty minutes, could be an hour… or never,” Neil’s voice gained a cheeky edge as if conscious of your minor crisis and happy to offer a distraction.

You risked a peek at his face, finding the signature smirk gracing his face. That expression never failed to feel like a sharpened knife piercing through the walls of your uncertainty. It complimented his face too well, dragging the attention to Neil’s sharp features and his remarkable eyes that always felt like they could see right through your bullshit and the pretending. It was terrifying.

It was then, in the light of his frightening beauty, that you decided what to do next. What was necessary to keep you (moderately) sane. One look at your tote bag lying on your lap offered inspiration:

“Fab,” your dry comment elicited Neil’s laugh and sealed the deal on what you wanted to do next. There was no backing out. You straightened your spine and swivelled on the seat to face him fully. When your knees touched him, Neil’s eyes widened almost comically. But that was only the beginning of the wild ride for him, you were sure of it, “Well, then… Dance with me,” the delivery of that line required a special nonchalance.

One that required you to hold Neil’s gaze long after you had finished speaking, and the words had only just dawned on him. Once they did, his eyes got comically large, and his lips parted on what could only be a mute expression of horror. A giggle got trapped in your throat, but you fought valiantly against it. For now.

“Pardon?” Neil’s choked-out question came after sequenced opening and closing his mouth with nothing coming up.

Your poker face was tearing at the seams. Foolishly.

“Dance with me, Neil,” repeating the request (order?), you extended your hand towards him, signing off the invitation for what it was.

The shock was still present on his face. Despite that, Neil slipped his palm, warm and fitting perfectly, into yours. You could tell that it was not entirely conscious on his part.

You sure did not mind it, though.

“I might have had a drink or two, but I didn’t think I was drunk enough to be hearing things,” Neil’s incredulity bled into his tone as he stared you down as if hoping the sheer disbelief would be enough to deter you.

Tough luck.

“Come on,” squeezing his hand, you switched the tactic with a question, “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” there was no judgment in your gaze, and you hoped Neil knew that.

If asked, you could not explain why that was something you wanted to do with him, there and then of all places. But it still felt important. Urgent, even.

The no-bullshit look you got in return almost made you burst into laughter.

“You’ll see me dance,” Neil deadpanned as if it was clear.

As if that was the peak horror that could befall him at your hands. Using the lifeline of your joined palms, you rubbed your thumb over the tender skin of his hand, hoping to let that act as a reassurance. That was a nonsensical fear to have.

Who gave you, a mediocre ballerina, the right to judge? Absolutely no one.

“And?” you offered Neil a brilliant grin, doing your best not to think about how right it felt to have his hand resting in yours.

That question seemed to catch his attention, pulling him back from the precipice of self-doubt. You watched as Neil pondered the answer, staring at you with that bright-eyed, anxious expression, complete with his teeth nibbling on his lower lip. He picked at the worried, fragile skin, and you did not think about soothing the damage with your tongue. Not at all.

“I don’t know… You’ll leave and block me?” when he finally found a plausible answer, it was the last thing you expected Neil to say.

Despite the seriousness on his face, you could not hold back the laugh that spilt from your lips. What an idiot [affectionate]. The adorable pout in his bottom lip was responsible for the recklessness you chose to implement.

Without thinking about it too much, you leaned in and used your free hand to cup his face, eradicating the remains of the gap between you. As your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, Neil gasped, barely disguising the sound with a cough. The grin spread over your face as you spoke:

“It takes a little more than that for me to block you,” that was true; you could barely fathom blocking Neil, least of all because of such a trivial reason. It was only after a beat that the second meaning of what he said sunk in. The meaning you expected Neil did not exactly consider slipping out like that. You grabbed it with both hands and a knowing smile, “Also… you enjoy talking to me that much?”

The jackpot shot came with a furious blush on his cheeks and an embarrassed scoff as Neil turned away from your watchful gaze. Your hands stayed linked. That, too, was an adorable reaction. It made that pleasant warmth in your chest burner brighter, though you refused to inspect it too closely.

Before you could consider pushing him for a reply further, Neil jumped up from the creaky seat and pulled you to standing using your tight handhold. The fake pep was visible from miles away, especially in that manic grin that almost seemed too wide on his face. But you did not have the time to question it.

“Okay, let’s just dance,” Neil tugged at your hand impatiently.

He did not seem capable of standing still, hopping from one leg to another. If that was a sign of what was coming, you knew you were not ready. Your eyes narrowed in what you hoped was a mildly threatening look:

“That’s a deflection tactic,” still, you took a step closer to him, finally putting that handhold to use.

“Yes, it is,” Neil nodded as his arms opened in a shrug.

That was your answer. You could only cement it with a smile as you allowed him to pull you closer, almost into his open arms, except-

“Wait, we need music,” remembering that crucial missing piece, you let go of his hand and darted back to the tote abandoned by the seats.

“No shit,” Neil’s dry comment was accompanied by the scuffling of his shoes over the cracked tiles.

You grinned, triumphantly holding out the speaker you had fished from the bag. That was the only pro you could think of that came from your earlier practice, and no time in between that and the disastrous party.

“Lucky for you, I came prepared,” you showcased it like a spoil of war and turned the speaker on, awaiting the sound confirming it had connected to your phone. When it came, you ceremoniously placed the device on the vacated seat and pressed play on your phone. Only once the music was playing, you turned back towards Neil with a flourish, “Voila,”

It took him an additional second to identify the song, the synthesizer filling the empty platform with a special kind of vibe. When the proper beat kicked in, you started shimmying your hips and shoulders to the rhythm, awaiting Neil’s reaction. You were not disappointed when he gaped at you with joy barely disguised underneath a frown:

“Really?” still, his foot started tapping with the singer’s voice.

Shrugging, you spun around him, feeling the music fill your body like it always did. You always felt the most alive when dancing. When your feet were following the choreography, and head was deliciously empty of everything but the musical notes and lyrics.

When you stopped to meet Neil’s gaze, you found him staring back in awe.

“What? It’s not me; it’s the holy spirit of the shuffle,” the song started heading towards the chorus, so you added the hand movements, orbiting around Neil and hoping to pull him along, “Can’t argue with it,”

‘Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me

Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me’

It was an all-time favourite. A bop you did not have the heart to resist whenever it came on. Now was not any different. Your lips started whispering the words as your body moved through the space, overcome with the feeling of dancing. At that moment, you were grateful for the sensible footwear your past self had chosen that morning. Sure, dancing in high heels was possible, but the Converse made for a much better choice. They slid along the cracked tiles without resistance, allowing you to double the efforts.

It did not matter that you had an audience. Or that it was a particularly attentive one, for you never once felt Neil look away. He was still staring, standing almost stock-still, save for how his feet tapped out the beat. That had to change.

‘Don't you want me, baby?

Don't you want me? Oh!’

You stopped, chest heaving and limbs still too giddy with the effort. You met Neil’s unwavering gaze over the space and mouthed the chorus, aware of the interpretations he could easily reach. That was fine, nothing you were opposed to. In a way, him noticing half your actions did have a tentative hope behind them would have saved you time. And words. But that was a thought for another time.

Once you heard the female vocals come in, you reached out towards him, yet again presenting Neil with your open hand. Yet again, he did not hesitate, letting you pull him close. When the distance had been eradicated, Neil placed his hand on your waist with an experimental level of timidity. As if he was still fully expecting the move to backfire. Silly goose. Your hand ventured up his chest to his shoulder as you steeled your frame into what was expected of ballroom dancing. The habits were hard to shake off, after all.

Despite the booming synthesizers and grooving rhythm, you let him lead you into a slow dance. With each step, Neil’s confidence seemed to grow, for his grip became firmer as he splayed his hand over the small of your back and pulled you closer. It did not matter that his technique would bring your snobbish teachers from ballet study to tears. What mattered was that you felt safe within his embrace, never shying away from Neil’s gaze as it stayed trained on your face. What also mattered was that the genuine smile was fixed on your face. Especially when the song was slowly ending, and Neil was not letting go. What a novelty that was. You worried that once you tasted it, it would be impossible to let go. To forget this careless feeling, encapsulated within a simple, tender hold and open, beautiful eyes.

“That was hardly a song for slow dancing,” when Neil spoke, the remark came upon a hesitant smile, so at odds with how sure his hand was within yours.

“We made do, didn’t we?” you could only offer him a smile, aware of the wobbly edges of your voice and the yearning of your treacherous heart.

Even with years of practice, it sometimes wanted what it could not get. Affection, namely. Or the tenderness that meant something, rather than the mindless touch of a loveless fuck. You hoped one day those two would disappear, leaving you perfectly satisfied with what you had.

As if aware of your dangerous thoughts, the song switch came at a perfect moment. The last beats of The Human League died down, replaced with an equally cheesy rhythm. If not worse. Neil’s reaction was instant. He stopped dancing abruptly, making you nearly miss stepping on his foot. Your eyes darted to his face as curiosity soared in your chest. The barely masked joy you found there only made that warmth in your heart feel like tongues of fire. You disentangled from the embrace to place your hand on his chest and push him back lightly:

“Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you’ve got,” you completed the encouragement with a wink and stepped back to give him space.

The hesitation stage lasted much less this time. Neil stared at you, evidently weighing the pros and cons of giving in, but as soon as Falco opened the song with the lines in German, he had made up his mind. It was your turn to be dumbfounded as you watched Neil thrash to the music, almost keeping up with the beat. He slid across the tiles, barely managing not to slip as Falco went on about Mozart and his flair.

‘Er war ein Virtuose, war ein Rockidol

Und alles rief: Come on and rock me Amadeus’

It was easy to say Neil got lost in the music as his lean body twisted and turned, claiming the space he was allowed to occupy. There was grace in his movement, as well as carelessness, perfectly balancing the dance into an ideal mixture. A rare spark of envy kindled in your chest as you did your best to ignore the question of what it must feel like to be this free. During the poor attempt at moonwalking as he circled you, you could no longer hold back the laugh. Neil’s hands weaved through the air as he threw his head back to shout the hook along with the singer. With each call of Amadeus’ name, the affection in your chest grew, becoming increasingly lethal. A show of that kind displayed not only his trust but also what kind of a man Neil could be if he got rid of his shyness and inhibitions. It was something you doubt you could ever forget.

And that could be a problem.

When the song drew to a close, and Neil’s heaving breaths alerted you that he was probably worn out with exertion, he stopped. The reverberating beats sunk into the background as you met his gaze, aware of the silly softness you could not eradicate from your eyes. Neil looked manic, his pupils dilated and irises sparkling. He was breathing hard, the exhaustion making him shrug off the jean jacket with impatience, so far that Neil did not bat an eyelid when the article landed on the dirty floor. The reveal of an old, worn-out t-shirt underneath that hugged his broad shoulders and biceps just right made your jaw fall slack.

That, too, could be a problem.

Despite the common sense screaming at you to look away, you stared on, aware of Neil gazing right back. A wiser person would have shaken awake in time to switch off the music and call this quits before any further damage could be done. But you were never the wiser person.

You looked on as the song switched into a different era of music, and gentle, cheesy chords of piano and percussion filled the platform with a ballad almost everyone knew. Neil was not any different. You noticed the change in his eyes, switching from playfulness to mild seriousness. As if he, too, knew your fates were being decided at that exact moment.

However, the results of those decisions would not be noticeable until much later.

Using Elvis’ crooning as a backup to help drown your thoughts, you reached out your hand towards Neil, repeating the invitation. It was up to him whether he wanted to take it. Just like everything else in your friendship. The eager hope was hard to nip in the bud. It itched and ached until you could hardly stand still, awaiting the sentencing for what felt like hours. At last, Neil closed the gap and took your proffered hand with an impassive look.

The second time bore all the experience of the first, making it easier to fall in place without hesitation. Neil clasped your hand in his and let his other arm wind around your waist, pulling you close. Much closer than before. Your hand found its way to his shoulder, curious fingers stroking the expanse of his neck, revealed by the t-shirt collar. You did your best not to notice the goosebumps rising on his skin. It was impossible to tell which of you moved first, leading into the gentle sway. Only once you started waltzing around the empty platform, it was impossible to stop.

‘Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?’

Halfway through the song, you tilted your head back from where your gaze had been trained on the expanse of his chest and met Neil’s waiting gaze. The shock passing through your system felt like a fatal blow. There was no denying the fact that this was a first. The first time you had ever danced like that with someone, motivated by nothing else but the desire to do it. There was also no denying the fact Neil’s watchful eyes and the soft strokes of his fingers, running along the expanse of your waist down to your hip, felt like nothing else you could have ever experienced before or after. It was well past your usual flirty chats and casual innuendos. Well past the daily playfulness of whatever it was blooming between you. It was well past the worn-out tracks and lived-in spaces.

Absolutely fucking terrifying.

‘Take my hand,

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help falling in love with you

For I can't help falling in love with you’

It was impossible to say what had tipped the scales right then. Whether it was the song lyrics, drawing attention to all those things you would rather ignore till the end of time or the unwavering eye contact you had maintained as you spun across the space with grace that had not been there previously. Or whether it was due to how Neil held you steadily, all the while allowing himself to stare, eyes roaming over your face in a meticulous study. But perhaps it was just a trick of fate, a sudden loss of reason and logic that made you tip forward and give in to the gravitational pull of his orbit. Perhaps Neil was guilty of the same thing.

Before you knew what had failed and why, you were close enough to feel the gasp of his breath fan across your face. The air ghosted your lips as your nose brushed against Neil’s, and the time slowed to a crawling speed. There was no denying the fact that you wanted it. The want hummed underneath your skin and made it hard to think clearly.

You only knew that Neil closed his eyes, and his sharp intake of breath hit your lips, making you tilt forward. Making it oh so easy to let go and-

“This is Piccadilly Line service towards the Heathrow Airport,” the PA system crackled to life, forcing you to separate as if burned.

You blinked awake, barely noticing the train slowing at the platform and the music still playing from your speaker. One glance at Neil told you all feelings were very much mutual. It was a close call. So close you could almost feel the kiss that never happened. An uncertain smile played upon your lips as you turned off the music and jumped aboard the train. You could only hope the King of the Rock’N’Roll himself was wrong about this one.

***

It was a well-known truth that a pretty boy could make you a little stupid. Stupid enough to do things that, under normal circumstances, would be off the table. But all it took was a flash of blue eyes and a charming smile, and boom, logic gone, reason decimated. Usually, there was a price to pay for that.

But the potential costs meant nothing in the face of the revelations the Saturday night brought. Namely, the kiss that never happened but you could easily dream of. Which you did, just to brighten up the restless sleep. Needless to say, that night unlocked some things. Things that perhaps were best left untouched. But hindsight was a gift you did not yet possess.

Instead, you battled with a single idea that was difficult to eradicate. Sure, that night, or how it had almost ended, was never mentioned again. As early as the next day Neil reached out to you and set the tone you were happy to follow. But the memory remained, nagging at your brain for a week and not once letting go. It was a seed that planted another thought. The thought that nothing was preventing you from reaching out for more. That there was no script to follow with Neil. That idea was like a brainworm making a home inside your skull.

Because, yes, you were known to be a little stupid for attractive boys. And Neil was potentially the most beautiful man you have ever met. That proved to be a problem.

Exactly a week after that Saturday, you caved in. The autumn breeze was hitting your face and tangling your hair as you stared at the Thames. There was no better place to start a catastrophic chain of events than the Blackfriars Bridge. Or so you told yourself. You took out the phone to stare at the messages and opened the text conversation with Neil. It took an additional fortifying breath to start typing out the proposition and start the exchange.

/ 🏹, 5:39 pm/ So, I figured, since we already broke the rules on our hangouts last Saturday

/ 🏹, 5:40 pm/ Would you like to grab coffee tomorrow?

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ That’s unexpected.

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ Why the sudden change of heart?

/ 🏹, 5:46 pm/ I liked your moves.

/✝️, 5:47 pm/ I’m pretty sure no one’s ever said that to me.

/ 🏹, 5:49 pm/ Maybe they just weren’t looking. I knew I was.

/✝️, 5:51 pm/ Okay, yeah. I’d like that.

/✝️, 5:52 pm/ Any labels I should be aware of?

/ 🏹, 5:52 pm/ Nah, fuck the labels.

/ 🏹, 5:53 pm/ Unless you want to bring me flowers. Then let’s call it a date.

/✝️, 5:55 pm/ Then it’s a date 😘

You stared at the phone long after the screen went dark. Along with the buzzing joy and anticipation of what tomorrow would bring, there was also an eternal question. The question you had avoided pretty damn well so far. What the fuck have you done?

***

By the time you were meeting Neil in a café (chosen because of its perfect location between St. John’s Wood and Swiss Cottage), those nerves of anticipation had transformed into anxiety. The worst was that you did not even know what you were so nervous about. A date (that was not really a date) was nothing new. You have done it many times before, usually to great results. But suddenly, when Neil was inserted into the equation, all that you got was uncertainty. And a strong fear of fucking it up. It did not make for a good mix.

Part of it dissipated once you turned the street corner and saw him waiting in front of the café, a bouquet in hand, despite your line being nothing more than a throwaway joke. An affectionate smile was impossible to get rid of no matter how hard you may have tried. It stayed as you closed the remaining distance and met Neil’s gaze. Then it got transformed into a stupid grin as your eyes scanned him head to toe (hair just as messy as always, leather and jeans completed with sneakers – in other words: fucking hot). Once that foolery was complete, you could shift your attention to the flowers, now held out in your direction like a sheepish offering.

It was a colourful bouquet of wildflowers, freshly bloomed and coming from a florist rather than Sainsbury’s. The thoughtfulness was enough to make you blush. Before you could delve into an embarrassing attempt at cover-up, Neil broke the silence:

“You haven’t specified what kind of flowers,” his shyness was easily seen from the fidgeting hands and eyes unwilling to stay on your face longer than necessary.

That was your cue to get yourself together and accept the bouquet with a courtesy. That, too, was just a trick to drag that shy smile onto his face. It worked.

“Those are perfect, thank you,” with another smile, you turned towards the entrance and went in as Neil held the door. It was a cosy café with only a few tables and a bar-service ordering. You motioned towards the smiling server behind the counter with a question, “Wanna go order coffee?”

You did not expect in response to your innocent ask for Neil to come to a strange stand-still in the middle of the entryway and measure you with a look that spoke volumes about him having something to say and no way of expressing it. You raised your eyebrow, urging the words to come out and save you from death by perplexation.

After a beat, Neil seemingly found the ability to speak again and stumbled through a sentence:

“I’ve got… uh… a thing,” the emphasis on the final word was accompanied by an awkward shift, his hand automatically reaching up to comb through his hair and messing it up even more.

That did not help. At all. You blinked, aware of the comedy role you had just been awarded without warning. You were vaguely conscious of the server’s gaze, undoubtedly staring at the spectacle presented with fascination.

“Jesus, what thing?” when Neil did not elaborate, you prodded with another question, gaining a slightly hysterical edge.

It was probably that tone which made the most impact. Neil seemed to wake up, his hands gesturing as he attempted to explain:

“A thing about figuring out people’s drink order,” he shrugged, almost as if already embarrassed by ever bringing it up; that would not do, “Like a-”

“A kink?” you interrupted his explanation with a devilish grin, knowing that it would do the job.

That and the teasing, of course.

The reaction was instantaneous. Where previously there had been mild shyness and uncertainty, the furious blush had bloomed. Neil looked horrified as he took a step in your direction as if considering sealing your mouth shut before finally admitting defeat. What you got instead was a glare and an affronted reply:

“What? No! More like talent, I guess,” Neil shrugged, visibly battling the dilemma you were not privy to. You decided to help him the best way you knew how – by reaching out and squeezing his hand. Once. Just once. It was enough to do the job and make your fingers itch with an inexplicable desire to prolong the contact. Luckily, it disappeared when Neil recovered from his internal crisis and gestured towards the counter, “May I?”

You could only nod, happy that whatever had just transpired was past you. Not that it was not fun, but because of the audience that did not deserve to see what had happened. Whatever it was.

“You’ve got me intrigued, so now you have to,” shrugging upon Neil’s hesitant smile, you ventured inside the café, scouting for a perfect table.

Soon enough, the ideal booth had been located and taken as you awaited Neil’s return. You did not have to wait long, for as soon as you settled and placed your coat on the backrest, he sat in the chair in front. That sheepish smile was still in place, so you tried to bring back his confidence with dumb chitchat until you were interrupted by the server approaching your table. It worked. As you both fell quiet, Neil was visibly fighting a grin threatening to transform his face. The pride surged in your veins without respect towards your sense of humility.

The woman shot you both a bright smile as she set neared the table and put a steaming porcelain cup in front of Neil:

“Flat White for you, sir, and for your girlfriend-” you never got to hear the end of that sentence as Neil’s horrified expression and a loud interruption stole your attention.

“Oh, we’re not-” your laughter was almost enough to drown out his protest.

Almost because the server still looked extremely apologetic as she placed a larger cup in front of you with a clink.

“-Caramel Macchiato,” you waved off the atonement she seemed ready to launch and smiled, the curiosity at his choice already occupying your mind.

“Thank you,” as soon as the woman was out of earshot, you turned your cheeky smile onto Neil and covered his hand resting on the table with your palm, “Are you ashamed of me, my darling?” your favourite blush spread upon his cheeks, widening your grin in the process.

A blunder like that was not something you would ever lose sleep over. Even less so, considering that you were there with Neil. Even with your deep-rooted dislike over anything that had to do with relationships and the complications they lead to, you could not possibly be angry over being perceived as belonging to Neil. If anything, it was flattering.

“Stop it,” he shook off your hand, way too gently, and shook his head as if desperate to clear it, “I just didn’t-” after a beat, he dropped your gaze, giving up the fight, “It doesn’t matter, sorry” although you would do anything to understand the thought processes unfolding behind those slightly vacant blue eyes, you were not given a chance. Instead, he took a fortifying sip of coffee and looked at your cup, (not so) swiftly changing the topic “So… how did I do?” the anticipation in that gaze offered no space for a bargain.

You glanced at the beverage in front of you and slowly raised it to get a tentative taste. The warm liquid slightly burned your tongue, but before you could mourn the damage, the caffeine and creamy caramel filled your mouth with pleasurable goodness. It was a top-notch choice, making you follow that first sip with another almost without a break. Burned tongue be damned.

“Very good, actually,” raising your head, you met Neil’s proud smile. It was a much better look than the embarrassed expression from earlier, motivating you to add, “Maybe you should try getting into BGT with that talent,” you winked at him, even if to prolong the blush, which had begun to fade.

But also because it was fun to compliment him, considering that you meant every word and because of your suspicions that Neil did not get them often. That alone was a travesty, in your opinion.

“Very funny,” rolling his eyes at you with a happy smile tucked in the corner of his lips, Neil looked even better.

It was easy enough a conclusion that lightness and happiness were a good look on him. Especially when you were the cause. You tried not to let that go into your head, but… Well.

“I know,” you matched his smile with a smirk of your own, “Hysterical,” with the perfect pause to take another sip of the glorious coffee, you shifted the topic, “How was the week at the clergy?”

Without Neil’s continuous amused reactions to the same old joke, you would have dropped it by now. But how could you if it still got a laugh out of him each time? You couldn’t let opportunities like that slip by. No chance.

This time, Neil hid the joyous huff of laughter in the coffee cup as he pondered the answer.

“It’s been good. Fine,” a noncommittal shrug offered no room for guessing what it was that he did, which was still a mystery, but you counted wins where you could find them, “A bit busy, but what can you do. I might have a work trip coming up soon, so…” it was only when the second part of his reply was processed by your brain, currently preoccupied with staring at Neil’s mouth (which was a very normal state of mind to have), that you perked up.

That was important information. For two contrasting reasons. One was that whatever Neil did for work involved work trips, and that narrowed down the field, albeit barely. Two was that it would mean he would not be around every Wednesday, ready to meet you. That second deduction took hold of your heart with the icy grasp of disappointment.

“So, no more Wednesday meetups?” it was impossible to keep the sadness out of your tone as you settled a wary gaze on Neil.

Sure, it was survivable. But where would be the fun in it?

It was not fun to see that same apprehension creep into Neil’s eyes.

“Yeah, but only like… for a few weeks,” from his sudden dislike of eye contact, you guessed that the estimation might have been an understatement. Though you did hope he was not lying. The pitiful look must have been still present on your face, for Neil followed the statement with reassurance, “I’m sure you’ll survive without me,” he hesitated for a millisecond before returning your previous gesture and giving your hand a comforting pat.

You did not move it away, the pleasant warmth and weight of his palm seeping through your skin and soothing the sudden spell of sadness. It was difficult not to let that inexplicable feeling lead you into the deep end as it was not something you understood. It settled in the darkest cavern of your heart and accompanied its beat with its foreboding presence. There was no choice but to push past it.

“I don’t know, I’m going to miss you,” the confession felt dangerously light on your tongue as you registered Neil’s reaction. His beautiful eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he quickly dropped your gaze, choosing to stare at the table instead. The only sign that you were heard was how his thumb stroked your hand repeatedly, “I hope you’ll be back before the premiere,” using the only way you knew of lightening the conversation, you made sure to slip in a playful tone.

Ever since the day you had shared joyous news with Neil, he often asked about the preparations for the ballet. He seemed genuinely interested in the process, the rehearsals, and your impressions at every stage.

When you innocently hinted at a costume fitting in your texts Neil immediately asked for a picture. You complied, gleefully posing in the dressing room mirror wearing the whole get-up, complete with pointe shoes, tights, and a white ballet tutu with the accents of blue flower petals. All in all, you had the right to believe that Neil would be interested in coming to see the ballet when it premiered. You had that covered.

“I’ll do my best,” his hopeful smile was enough to distract you, for soon Neil followed it with a question, “Do I get an invite?”

The cheeky smile was back in full force, almost wiping you off the surface of the Earth. More of that, please. Feeling brave, you slowly tangled your fingers with his to raise your joined hands from the tabletop and squeezed his palm. It was a silly question to ask. You had to make sure Neil knew that.

“Well, duh,” you started with an eye roll, taking pleasure from the feel of his hand holding yours, “I’m going to need a personal cheerleader for when I fail big time,” it was a rare thing to hear you admit the fear and anxieties out loud.

Most of the time, they only existed in your mind, never expressed. And especially not in a conversation because that fear of someone else confirming all you feared was overwhelming. It was better to appear invincible to the world than to let them know your weaknesses. Somehow this logic did not want to apply itself to Neil. No, he has heard it all. And yet, he did not seem keen on confirming you were right to doubt yourself.

“That’s not going to happen. You’ll be the perfect Cupid,” punctuating the encouragement with a squeeze of the hand, Neil shot you a brilliant grin.

The nickname was growing on you. It was also the cause of a few silly smiles during the rehearsals when you were addressed with your character role. That was alright, too.

Now, with the force of his beautiful smile shining upon you like a rare beacon of hope, you tried your hardest not to let the praise consume you whole. Instead, you turned to the faithful vice of sarcasm as you let go of his hand and settled your chin on your folded palms. Eyelashes and doe eyes in full force. Naturally.

“Wow, my charms must be working if you’re this blindsided,” curling the corner of your mouth in a smirk, your eyes roamed over his face in familiar patterns.

It was refreshing to remember why you invited him out in the first place. Why you have decided to break the unwritten role and step on the line you both had been tiptoeing from day one. Why nothing was holding you back from reaching for what you wanted.

This time, Neil did not turn away from your taxing gaze and met it head-on. Almost as if permitting you to proceed with whatever you desired.

“You’ve no idea, sweetheart,” mirroring your tentative smirk, Neil offered you a wink and picked up the coffee cup.

You were certainly not going to eschew a chance like that.

***

As far as first dates (could he even call it that?) went, meeting up for coffee and letting the conversations run without a disaster somewhere in between was rare. Even rarer still considering that Neil did not know how he got to this point and whether it was not all a dream. The jury was out on that. Even though Sunday was now two days ago, the meeting was still fresh in his mind, posing a thousand questions.

Because he really did not know how he got that place. The only certainty was that sometime between the surprising Saturday night meeting at Leicester Square station and the day after, Cupid made up her mind and chose to strike. Alternatively, she decided to act considering the realisations he was not privy to. Sure, that night at the station almost ended with a kiss. He knew that. He was there. But it did not offer answers as towards why an almost kiss made her behave in contrast to what Neil thought he understood about her.

Because a date was definitely a step above flirting. And it was hard to understand what that meant. If anything at all.

Now, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Neil stared out the window of the HQ cafeteria and tried his hardest not to think about it (her) for a change. It was not going well, as one could expect. From the corner of his eye, he could tell Ives was staring. Those piercing blue eyes (bluer than his, which has once or twice been proved during a night out as those things usually are) have been glancing his way instead of focusing on the sandwich on his plate. What a prick (affectionate). After what felt like a fiftieth glance, Neil dropped the napkin onto his place with force and turned towards Ives with a glare. The patience has worn out.

“Oh, just spit it out,” Neil hissed the words with ire.

The grin spreading upon Ives’ lips did not help a bit. The soldier leaned forward, abandoning his food and setting the perceptive eyes upon his friend. Mercilessly. With years of friendship, Neil knew this was not ending well.

“I haven’t said a word,” the man shrugged; a picture-perfect nonchalance.

If only.

“But you’ve been staring,” Neil’s attempt at covering up the tension with a bored tone failed.

He knew that as soon as he saw Ives’ unimpressed smile. There were no doubts about where this conversation was heading. It was the interrogation Neil had feared from day one. It was only a matter of time. Damn it.

“Go ask Henrik. Maybe he can help you gauge my eyes,” in moments like this, Ives’ cockney accent came out in full force, tearing at the shreds of patience Neil seemed to have.

Despite himself, he cracked a smile at the comeback.

“Doubtful,” quickly hiding it in the sip of tea, Neil muttered a quip of his own.

While Henrik, the team’s medic, was a peculiar man, it was improbable he would be into that kind of thing. Unfortunately.

“Eh, I wouldn’t put it past him,” before he could hope this was the end of the conversation, Ives levelled him with another no-bullshit look and delivered the sentence in four simple words, “Mate, spit it out,”

If only it were that easy. For one, Neil did not even know what there was to tell. Sure, he has met a girl. He was probably thinking too much about said girl daily. But that was it. The end of the story. Pathetic, as per usual.

“I’d rather not,” as the last resort of keeping his dignity intact, Neil averted his gaze and fixed his stare on the dirty floor of the cantina.

A solitary potato chip was lying there, attracting attention. For one, maddening second, his brain tried to concoct an elaborate metaphor in which he was like that lonely, forgotten chip on the ground.

Thankfully, the idea was soon dispersed by his irreplicable companion and his booming voice, cutting through the idiotic thoughts:

“I beg to differ,” the hint of reassurance in Ives’ voice was responsible for luring Neil into listening, just as the soldier delivered the question, “What’s her name? His name? Their name?”

Admittedly, the inclusive way of asking was a nice touch from someone who frequently lacked decorum. Or, more accurately, did not bother with it. It was that addition that made Neil crack, with the final resolve crumbling as he tried to protest:

“There’s no- Cupid,” giving out a tired sigh, Neil finally raised his head and repeated the nickname with something ridiculously close to the softness of affection, “I call her Cupid,”

It made no sense. He knew that. But it did not help that whenever he thought of her, that stupid, embarrassing part of his heart was roused awake from periodical slumber. So much for being reasonable.

As soon as Ives whistled lowly and that familiar sardonic grin appeared on his face, Neil knew it was a mistake.

“Kinky,” his murderous glare got ignored in favour of another pressing question, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Lucky was definitely an overstatement if you asked Neil. But he did not fancy getting into the specifics of the relationships yet. Instead, he happily let himself delve back into memories of that first meeting. He still could not find other apt ways to describe it than a strike of fate. Dramatic? Sure, that was his second name.

He did doubt that Ives would appreciate the insane poetic ruminations, however.

“I’ve met her at the Tube, and she’s a ballerina… Pretty fucking cool, at that” that was a non-negotiable fact. Period.

Yet from the way his friend stared at him, Neil could easily deduct that here, too, he sounded like the insane idiot that he was. An idiot that finds friends on the Tube and lets that develop into something else. Something he tried very hard not to define. It was going splendidly well. Of course.

“Uh oh,” as if reading his mind, Ives, the prick, pasted on a silly grin and bated his eyelashes down at him, continuing the interrogation, “Is that a crush I’m sensing?”

Fuck. That was, indeed, a mistake.

Not that there was a crush because there absolutely wasn’t anything of that sort. Idiot, he might have been, but not… No. No. Which is exactly why Neil had to pause to cover his face with his hands and let out a deep sigh. Conveniently ignoring Ives and his bullshit assumptions.

Only once he felt like the annoyance had simmered to an acceptable white noise, Neil dropped the hands covering his face and met his destiny in the form of an infuriating sardonic smile.

“No, she’s just… I’m fascinated, okay? I’ve never met anyone like her before, and we’ve got a good thing going with weekly chats and… stuff,” running out of steam, Neil let the last word trail off into silence.

He knew what it all sounded like. He did. Except that there was no better way of describing it (them) to the outside world. And he was certainly not keen on showing Ives the texts. Not after the last conversation this morning, which involved more innuendos and another rendition of What socks are you wearing? - his favourite game. Truly. What made the exchange more incriminating, however, was the fact that Cupid’s current socks brandished an image of an adorable pug with a caption: “Send dog pics”. Yeah, that. That was a theme he was so far happy to ignore. Kind of.

“Did you kiss her yet?” another ridiculous question acted like a wake-up call as Neil felt the loathed, crimson blush fill his cheeks.

“What is this? Middle school?” another outburst got met with a stoically blank face, not helping to ease the shame of being so goddamn transparent “No, I didn’t,” I wish, “We danced” offering the alternative lowkey felt like self-sacrifice.

Not because Neil was embarrassed of what had happened that Saturday night but because it stayed a secret to anyone who was not him or Cupid. At least, that is what she told him, much to inexplicable surprise, which he could not and would not try to understand.

“I never knew you dance,” the soldier’s remark, as always, missed the mark.

Annoyance at the whole world, at this rate, rose at a steady pace. Perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that Neil was frustrated at the circumstances of the relationship with the woman in question, but it was too soon for self-realisation to do its work.

“Of course, I do,” instead, it was the distant feel of pity that nagged at the edges of his soul as Neil allowed the dismissive reflection to be voiced without the veil of fake pep, “Anyway, none of it matters. She’s not into relationships, so…” he shrugged, aware of the pitiful picture.

In a way, it was easier to know that about her ahead of time. It was perfect information to push at his brain and heart whenever they got too comfortable with the situation. To remind them (and himself) that it was not going anywhere, and it never would.

But, for some infuriating reason, the heart tended to be a stubborn beast holding no regard for facts. Not that heart had anything to do with this just yet. Of course not. Neil just… liked her. As a human being likes another human being. Platonically.

“Surely, your roguish charm will convince her otherwise,” as expected, Ives looked as if he was trying very hard not to feel sorry for him and was failing.

The reassurance hardly worked if Neil was being honest. The existence of said roguish charm was highly debatable. But who was he to argue?

“Nah, it’s fine. I can be just friends with her” manifesting much, or whatever. It was a blessing to have a different topic to switch to, “Anyway, I’m not going to see her for the next couple of weeks since we’re leaving,” another attempt at a nonchalant shrug got lost in the heaviness Neil could not shake off if he tried.

Going off on a mission right now, in the middle of it all, was far from ideal. Neil liked his job, loved it even, but then, some operations felt like a drag from the moment they appeared on his desk. That was one of them.

“Yeah, Lisbon is on,” from the tiredness written all over Ives’ face, Neil could tell the lack of enthusiasm was shared, “Two weeks, but it might be longer,”

“Great,” sarcasm dripped from the word as Neil glanced at his friend and asked, “We’re going to bunk together?”

It was only half a joke. Because only the company made the perspective of that mission seem a little less daunting.

“You wish, love,” the answering grin on Ives’ face was the perfect punchline to the dramatic conversation. The soldier got up from the table with another quip, “You know I’m not into blondes,” he walked away without another glance, yet the laugh he elicited from Neil could be heard in the room above the cantina.

[nerdalmighty]

For the Tav/Durge Ask Meme

4. Hiding/sneaking/hidden movement

11.Sending them to talk to their romanced partner (or best friend if not romanced)

36. What are some situational dialogues they would say when something happens to another companion or you talk to them while in a quest-specific location (such as commenting on Karlach's heart, Elminster visiting Gale, visiting Cazador's mansion, etc)?

39.If romanceable, what lines would they say if a player character prompted them with, "Can I kiss you?"

25-34* party banter with (romanced companion) and/or (best friend)

*Dealer's Choice/Choose one you'd like to answer*

Oh I'm so excited to do this one 🤩 (Thanks for being patient with me, I've been busy but thinking about this the whole time!!)

Original post/questions can be found here.

AHEM! Here's stuff my Tav, Birdie, a silly bard with mermaid/siren qualities, would say as an NPC (this is kind of a long post so I'll drop my answers below the cut):

4. Hiding/sneaking/hidden movement

I feel like a lot of her sneaking dialogue would be related to not talking/keeping your voice down since she's a bard and singing is normally a bard's jam. Birdie's got a complicated past with singing, but I think she'd still say things along the lines of...

"Keep your voice down," "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" "Keeping my mouth shut," "Quietly now."

She sounds a little like Astarion but I think that's okay! He can't have ALL the good lines lol

11. Sending them to talk to their romanced partner (or best friend if not romanced)

Birdie is currently romancing Astarion, so I think lots of the dialogue I imagine she'd say would relate to him BUT as an NPC, she'd probably say stuff like...

Romanced: "There you are, my love!" "When an idiot loves an idiot..." "A word, muse of mine?" "My favorite melody..." Best friend: (Humming some sort of jaunty tune), "Time to cause a ruckus," "Yoo hoo!" "Stopping by for a chat."

She's silly and she likes to keep things silly, but I believe she'd be more earnest with her romanced partner.

36. What are some situational dialogues they would say when something happens to another companion or you talk to them at a specific location (such as commenting on Karlach's heart, Elminster visiting Gale, visiting Cazador's mansion, etc)?

This one's tough. Birdie's silly so I think a lot of the things she'd say would be similar to Karlach who's hilarious and has a huge heart. Birdie is just as sweet and loves to cause trouble when she knows it'll get a laugh and not harm anyone in the process (unless they deserve it). I think the most unique dialogues she would have would be at the Water Queen's House. In my head, she was raised there and was looking for an escape when the mindflayers got to her (Which you can read more about here). She'd probably have a scene like this:

Birdie: You guys go ahead. I'm going to hang back for a moment. Tav: Are you alright? Birdie: The music... It's our mourning song. I can't go in there. Tav: What do you mean? What are they mourning? Birdie: This is a Temple to Umberlee, the queen of the depths. I was raised here. When we sing that song, it only means one thing - a drowning. Death.

I think like Astarion, her plot wouldn't be integral to the main story, but it would be rewarding to players who want to help her. I think you'd either be able to help her get revenge on the servants of the Temple or gain closure. There's probably an ascension plotline in there somewhere, lord knows everyone else has one 😂 I also think the Harpies in Act 1 would really spook her. That would probably be what kicks off her personal quest.

39. If romancable, what lines would they say if the player prompted them with, "Can I kiss you?"

Interesting! I love this idea. I think she'd probably get giddy or bashful about it and occasionally get serious. Maybe like...

Asked for a kiss: (Smiling and humming a happy little melody before going in for a kiss), "Who, me? Oh, alright!" "Have we met? Kidding," "Get over here, you," "Please do." After the kiss: "Don't be a stranger," "I really like you, did you know that?" "You're good at that," "The bards could write songs... oh who cares" "Come back, my love."

That's my favorite one so far! I think there's a lot to play with with those interactions. Astarion ALWAYS has something to say, but Gale doesn't say anything which is a shame! (I can't speak for the other romanced NPCs, I only know Ass and Gale because my roommate romanced him lol)

25-34. Party banter with (romanced companion)/(best friend)

SO MANY OPTIONS! Since in this scenario Birdie is an NPC, I don't think she and a romanced Tav would be able to banter (since that's not really something that happens in game, they more or less just comment on the situation). While yes, in my game she's romancing Astarion, there aren't really any banter sequences between them besides the ones I make up in my head lol. Therefore, I'm picking Gale, since I think they'd be besties:

[How to trigger: have the two of them in your party in Act 1] Birdie: Have you ever written a song, Gale? Gale: Not a song, per say, though I have been known to try my hand at poetry. Birdie: Is that so? Got anything for me off the top of your head? Gale: There once was a wizard from Waterdeep... Birdie: Sing it for us! Gale: (Clearing his throat and inhaling as if he's about to do it) No. Birdie: Booooo. BONUS! (Because I love them) [How to trigger: Find Skittle the rat in the Heapside Prison in Act 3] Birdie: (Gasps) Gale! Come look at this! Gale: What is it? Skittle: Step up! And marvel at the spec-rat-ular wonders on offer! Gale: Oh. My. Gods. This is rat-solutely amazing. Birdie: May we have a squeak at your wares, sir? Gale: That's good. A rat merchant. What sort of work does that en-tail? Birdie: Careful Gale, he may not want to let you in on his squeak-rets. Astarion: Would you two shut up? [Beat.] Astarion: And Birdie, you said "squeak" twice. Birdie: Rats. Astarion: (Groans loudly)

I could banter all day ladies and gentlemen. I'm constantly rotating these guys in my mind. If you LIKE banter (and are 18+) please check out my fic that I posted on my writing account! It's got banter FOR DAYS. And is sweet too or whatever. You can find that here and on AO3!

~~~~

Anyway, THANK YOU @the-pale-elfs-love for tagging me in this!! It was such a blast to think about Birdie as a character I was writing for in game :) I'M COMING FOR YOUR INBOX NEXT!

If anyone wants to answer these questions for their own Tav or other ones from the original post, feel free! Tag me in them so I can read them too!

[vykio]

WIP GAME

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs

Thank you for the tag @naturecalls111 !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

I actually don't have that many wips and my file names aren't very exciting LOL

Andreil Book Club Outline v2

Andreil We Contain Multitudes AU (kink meme)

5 - Draft v1 "Kevin, your crush on Aaron is embarrassing."

AFTG 36 Questions AU

Hbd Eddie

kevaaron breakup v3_Flash fic canon-compliant kevaaron breakup 2024.06 v3 => Note: it is no longer a flash because it requires so many words LOL

Kevar - Push & Pull

Please please do this if you'd like and put me down as the person who tagged you! I'm going to tag @merceyca @codename-adler @moondal514 !!! ! ! ! ! !

[the-pen-pot]

For the fanfic asks: 1, 15, and 36, please?

Thanks for the asks, @mandysimo13, and if anyone else wants to ask any questions, the meme is here

1. Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

Oof, I spend so much time daydreaming about stoires, both before I start them and while I'm writing them. It helps explore where I think the story is going and sketch out scenes in my head. I am definitely one of those people who plays themselves a little movie from my fic in my head before I go to sleep 😁

15. What’s your favorite time to write?

I write by habit in the mornings, between about 8am and midday, but sometimes I like to settle down in the evening. That's my illicit, no stress writing time, and I do love it!

36. What fic are you proudest of?

Oh, that's a tricky one. I'm proud of them all, honestly, but Gilded Cage and Hiraeth are probably at the top, just because of the scale and complexity of them. I'm proud that I managed/am managing to pull it off 😁

[bagog]

Mass Effect Questions: 18, 36 49

It's an ask meme! Thanks! 18. Favorite Mass Effect 2 Mission

Mass Effect the second is probably the game I look forward to playing the least, so this was a tough one. Either Kasumi or Samara's loyalty missions.

36. Funniest Moment in the Games

The first thing that sprang to mind was Niftu Cal the Biotic God, but I know I'm forgetting something...

49. Favorite Shepard Headcanons

I headcanon that Shepard is on the spectrum. I dunno, it just never occurred to me that he wasn't. Hard to say the difference between 'my Shepard' and my idea about headcanons for ALL Shepards in general. I headcanon that Shepard is actually really boring to be around? Like... countless scenes of wonder have befallen Shepard, and yet I headcanon that Shepard just... sucks at conveying stories, noting what details are interesting, and generally in thinking Shepardself as a source of entertainment.

[blackjackkent]

Personal asks :)

13, 30, 36

(general questions ask meme)

13. Fears?

Straight to one of the deep questions. XD I have a lot of answers for this that are probably too serious for a goofy ask meme (anxiety/depression/OCD will do that XD), so I will instead talk about my irrational fear of bees. :P

I was stung on the eye (well, eyelid) as a child after accidentally swatting a rotten log that had a bee's nest in it, and ever since am irrationally twitchy any time a bee (or wasp/hornet) is anywhere in my general vicinity.

I love bees in the abstract and know they are super important contributors to the global ecosystem, and find them very cool or even cute to watch on videos, but I go straight into freeze-or-flight as soon as one is anywhere near me. o.o;

30. What are you looking forward to in the near future?

Hm. [examines calendar] Two of my best friends from high school are going to be visiting in a couple weeks; one of them is gonna be in town for a conference and so we decided to have a meetup and have the other fly in to hang out as well. :D

I haven't seen them in forever but it's always a good time whenever we do manage to meet up. :D

36. Do you like your middle name?

I don't dislike it? Haha. It's Mary, which is a fine name but I don't really have any attachment to it like I do to Rosalind; I'm not even sure why my parents picked it. XD

[fereldanwench]

Hi, I'm Wench! 💙 I'm 36, my pronouns are she/her, and I'm a connoisseur of DILFs, coffee, and nail polish. If you'd like to know more about me, you can check out my about page here, or if you'd like to peruse the stuff I make, you can check out the links below.

🎨 ART | 📚 FIC & VP STORIES | 📸 EDITS & VP | ⚙️ MODS | 🛠️ RESOURCES

Goro Takemura Master Post

Valerie Powell Master Post

Goro + Valerie AU Master Post

Featured Goro x Valerie Content

🔞 NSFW & Adult Content Warning This is not a minor-friendly space, and I strongly discourage anyone under 18 from following me.

📝 What I Post My original posts are mainly about Cyberpunk 2077, specifically Valerie and Goro, with a life update, selfie, or shitpost thrown in for good measure. 😘 Other game series I enjoy and create for include Tomb Raider, Dragon Age, Mass Effect, The Outer Worlds, Assassin's Creed, Uncharted, The Elder Scrolls, and Fallout.

🔁 What I Reblog I reblog a mixture of video games, movies/shows, art, scenery/aesthetic, fandom history/commentary, and meme posts. For a full scope of what you’ll find here, you can check my tag page!

💌 On Following Back I get very overwhelmed by super active dash, and I am just about at my limit for how many blogs I can keep up with--I can't guarantee I can follow everyone back. I don't follow minors at all, and I typically prefer blogs with at least a basic tagging system, e.g. tagging for a game or character at minimum.

📃 Miscellaneous - I queue or schedule many of my posts, and my queue can be as long as a few weeks out. - Ask box is temporarily closed as of July 2023. DMs are available to mutuals only.

Frequently Asked Questions

Other Accounts

Q: How do you make your Cyberpunk 2077 screenshots? A: The main tool I use is the Appearance Menu Mod, which is used to spawn NPCs, decor, and lighting. I wrote a very detailed guide on how to get started with AMM, available here.

Please note as of December 2022, this guide is somewhat out of date, and I haven't had the time to update it. The method described here still works, but there are other options that are less cumbersome. You can check my CP77 Help tag for more recent information.

I also use Reshade for the Cinematic DOF and Real Long Exposure shaders, and I occasionally use the paid Otis Injectable Camera for hotsampling or if I need to unlock more camera movement. All color editing is done in Adobe Lightroom and Photoshop.

Q: What mods do you recommend? A: I have a list that I update every few months that links all the publicly available mods I use in my game as well as a more general mod tag for any mods that look interesting/useful.

I’ve also dabbled in making some of my own mods (mostly pose packs), which are available for free at my Ko-fi shop.

Q: Is Valerie's preset/NPV publicly available? A: Nope, I only share Valerie with very close friends who I know will take good care of her.

Q: Is Valerie available for RPing or OC shipping? A: Although I'm very flattered by the interest, she is not. This is not a roleplaying blog, and while I love getting to know about other people's OCs, I'm currently not interested in Valerie having a romantic past with anyone else's characters. However, I am open to plotting non-romantic relationships between Valerie and mutuals' OCs. 💙

Q: Do you take commissions? A: I currently don't take commissions of any kind, although I am sometimes open to art trades with mutuals (art for art, VP for VP, or VP for art). I can't guarantee my schedule will permit it, but if it's something you're interested in, feel free to send me a DM! 💙

I'm fereldanwench in most fandom-oriented spaces. These are my main accounts:

AO3

Twitter

Instagram

Dreamwidth

Pillowfort

Pinterest

YouTube

Reddit

Ko-fi

I'm not an active participant in any Discord community, but I do lurk in the AMM Community, Cyberpunk 2077 Modding, and Men of Night City servers under the same name.

The banners on this post were created from a combination of my personal virtual photography and Flaticon graphics.

[dispatchpodcast]

The ninth episode is here!

In this episode, meet @catdadeddie (aka @911bts aka Nova), get "behind the scenes" on Nova's running of 911bts, and find out what question Rachel asks on behalf of her mum.

Listen to a preview above, stream the full episode on Anchor.fm, or find it on platforms including Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, and more.

See the show notes below for timestamps of when specific discussion takes place, and for links to Nova and 911bts, and her recommendations for works by creators @diazly @kimsparis @like-the-rest-of-la @henswilsons @nymika-arts @zainclaw @herodiaz @extasiswings @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @littlespoonevan

Episode 10 is coming Monday 23rd of January!

Show Notes:

Topics:

Welcome and guest intro (03:15)

How Nova got into 9-1-1 (07:00)

Nova's favourite things about 9-1-1 (31:50)

Favourite character (feat. how Eddie became a character) (37:33)

Favourite episode and scene (feat. the 100th episode is closer than Rachel thinks you think) (45:16)

Favourite bts thing to happen (feat. the Ryan slipper debacle) (50:13)

What it's like running 911bts (feat. they put crack in the firefighters) (1:04:38)

Rachel asks a question on her mum's behalf (1:36:35)

Gif making (1:40:06)

Nova's fandom history (feat. fanfic reading habits) (2:16:40)

Thoughts on Season 6A and predictions (feat. Rachel's failure to even conceive of the possibility of the sperm donor arc including an actual pregnancy) (2:33:08)

Recommendations for creators and fanworks (2:57:32)

Goodbye and outro (3:05:06)

Referred to in episode:

Nova's Tumblr

911bts Tumblr and Instagram

Gifs of Nova's discussed: late for this set; tarot set; Buckley siblings home; Mastermind lyrics set

Other gifs of Nova’s mentioned: first gifset (May in 4x07); Eddie Ana lyric set; characters as Taylor Swift albums set; left me no choice but to stay here forever lyric set

Gifs of Rachel's mentioned: red string set; Bobby as the slug meme set

littlespoonevan's blackout prediction

oliver's bf ex and crush intsagram posts 1, 2 & 3

the director/writer liking the buddie tweets post

Oliver on the fire truck posts 1 & 2

tarlosbuddie's AU sets + Eddie and Shannon Foreigners God lyric set that Nova requested

captainhen's blended gifsets (some examples selected by Rachel)

Other users mentioned: Jess (mistmarauder); Chapel (extasiswings); Mads (letmetellyouaboutmyfeels)

Nova's recommendations:

diazly's (previously yeaheddiediaz)'s Buck set with typography + Labyrinth lyrics set

kimsparis (previously fear-o-phodia)'s gifsets such as the 1x04 set

like-the rest-of-la's witches!Buddie fan art

Mr LAFD Updates Man series by henswilsons (hammersmiths) + the Great War photo set

nymika-arts' you’re on your own kid gifset

songpong's Buck and Abby photoset

zainclaw's vampire!Buck edit

herodiaz (previously vampirebuckley)'s vampire!Buck and werewolf!Eddie edits

Fics by extasiswings (extasiswings)

Fics by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (letmetellyouaboutmyfeels)

Fics by littlespoonevan (allyasavedtheday)

Contact details:

Dispatch Tumblr: dispatchpodcast.tumblr.com Dispatch email: dispatcha911podcast@gmail.com Rachel's Tumblr: burnthatbridge.tumblr.com

Credit:

Intro and outro music by BrightestAvenue from Pixabay

[jumping-jackalope]

3, 5, 7, 9, 17, 36, 43, and 69 for the ask meme :)

thank you SO much this is so exciting I love these questions :)

3. Foaming hand soap or normal hand soap?

foaming! i loooove a good tactile sensation . very satisfying.

4. Least favorite chore?

Shopping for clothes. wretched experience. for this i often have to go into a mall or department store (evil places). a month ago I had to get some new underwear and socks (holes had finally worn thru :/) it took 1.5 hours to aquire 1 pack of 6 white ankle socks & 3 pairs of underwear. i walked out of there more exhausted than if I had gone 3 rounds with a heavy weight champion.

7. Any groceries you've been getting into lately?

once a week ive been buying a loaf of interesting bread from a nearby bakery. it's been rad. this week was a sunflower seed loaf 🍞 :)

36. Do you keep a daily journal or agenda?

moved this question up in the list in order to illustrate the next q/a. okay anyways. not a formal one! but I write down notes & to-dos & little project ideas in a Notes doc on my phone. am also always writing shit on scraps of paper or the back of my hand

9. What's your emotional support craft?

yk, I don't think I have one − I really jump around from project to project. no consistency, lots of variety. I'll learn the basics of an art or craft then drop off on doing much of it for a few years. but i go back, and I'm often picking up new little things. like -- ooh I can pull straight from my notes, these are some of my little projects going right now

17. What's a movie you saw recently that you liked?

I watched Moonlight (2016) for the first time like 3 months ago and found that to be a really beautiful film. also gonna cheat and name two: I also really enjoyed Dirty Dancing

43. Favorite book you've read recently?

Lakota Star Knowledge: Studied in Lakota Stellar Theology by Ronald Goodman. but shout out to Sr. William for the runner up, Othello.

69. What are you looking forward to next week?

To be honest I think next week is gonna be a rough one. but the week after I have a bunch of fun plans and my Day of Birth anniversary . .... tho maybe. next week I can look forward to a new interesting bread loaf 🍞 :)

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have any fics where Sherlock is overstimulated?

Hey Lovely!

Hmm, good question! I don't have anything on my personal bookmarks that seem to be tagged, but I have a few tagged with "overwhelmed" so that's kinda close? Here's what I got on my bookmarks:

OVERWHELMED / OVERSTIMULATED JOHNLOCK

Affirmation by jamlockk (E, 3,096 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Dev. Rel., PWP, Love Declarations, Emotional/Overwhelmed Sherlock, Comforting/Caring John, Gross Fluff) – "Sunlight dappled John's skin, casting a glow across his spreadeagled form as he dozed among the rumpled sheets. Sherlock knew the expression on his face was hopelessly soft but for once did not care about showing his true feelings so openly. He simply stood there, in the doorway, gazing at the impossibly beautiful man currently snuffling softly in his slumber." Part 8 of All the ways we love

In Nomine by Atiki (E, 3,517 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, PWP, Anal, Domesticity, Love Confessions, Sherlock Loves John, Overwhelmed Sherlock, Fluff, Bottom Sherlock) – “Alright?” John asks gently, planting a kiss on Sherlock’s left collar bone, smoothing a hand down his chest and belly until it rests in the soft trail of hair below his belly button. John’s smile is all soft and warm. His hand feels tender and solid and real. A soldier’s hand. A surgeon’s hand. A lover’s hand. Oh. “John”, Sherlock gasps. And that’s where it begins. Written for a prompt on the Kink Meme: The only word Sherlock says during sex is "John".

Maintenance and Repair by patternofdefiance (E, 106,650 w., 71 Ch. || Future AU, Augmentation || Augmented John, Depression, Body Modification, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Sci-Fi, Self-Care, Body Dysmorphia) – John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say: Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain. Part 2 of STATIC

MARKED FOR LATER

The Doctor's Reward by CarmillaCarmine (E, 3,124 w., 2 Ch. || Quarantine / Self-Isolation, Doctor John, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Prostate Massage, Overstimulation, Autofellatio, Come Swallowing, Masturbation) – Sherlock decides that John needs a reward after a day of working from home. Part 11 of the The Johnlock Utopia (Holidays and Celebrations) Series

The Joys Of Onanism by KittieHill (E, 5,102 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, For Science, Patient John, Overwhelmed Sherlock, Mutual Masturbation, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Virgin Sherlock, Loving John, Intense / Multiple Orgasms) – “The man was almost seventy! He had chronic heart disease. He could have had a heart attack whilst having a shit!” John scoffed. “It's no worse for you than a brisk walk.” “Prove it,” Sherlock insisted, eyes focussed entirely on John. “Prove what?” John asked. “That I won't die from wanking?” “No – That – must you be so crude?” Sherlock complained. “That an edged masturbation session is no worse than brisk walking. Prove it.” “And how do you expect me to do that?” John frowned, picking up his water and drinking it again.

Show and Noise Series by philalethia (E, 22,625+ w. across 4 works || Series WiP || First Time, Explicit Sexual Content, Kink Negotiation, Sadomasochism, Biting, Scratching, Knifeplay, Bloodplay, Scars, Possessive Behaviour, Dirty Talk, Texting, Painplay) – In which John has an occasional kink for pain, Sherlock finds out and begins acting oddly, and John quickly becomes (pleasantly) overwhelmed. Lighthearted painplay fic.

Unwind Series by illwick (E, 741,176+ w. across 36 works || Series WiP || Light BDSM / Power Dynamics, Dom!John/Sub!Sherlock, Switchlock, Hair-Pulling, Sensory Deprivation, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Handcuffs, Overstimulation, Forced Orgasm, Prostate Milking / Massage, Rough Sex, Biting, Food Sex, Consensual Kink, Sex on Everything, Chair Bondage, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Oral/Anal, Fingering, Sex Toys, Captain John, Establish Relationship, Bratty Sherlock, Greedy Sherlock, Military Kink, Uniform Kink, Gunplay, Roleplay, Shower Sex, Oral Fixation, Praise Kink, Dry Humping, Facials, Dog Tags, Edgeplay, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Threesomes, Homophobia, Size Kink, Past Relationships, Past Drug Use, Double Penetration, Angst/Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Panties) –  John and Sherlock unwind after a case. 

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If anyone has something they'd like to add, please do!! <3

[borom1r]

AAAAAAAAAA @theshakespearetrash sent another ask meme/Fara questions THANK UUUUUUU i fell asleep answering these last night sjfjshdh so That’s why they’re getting posted now ✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻

1- How to soothe them

HMMM I think it depends on the person. I think for a veeeeeery long time Boromir was the only person Faramir would let touch him when he was upset/overstimulated (though that list has grown to include Éowyn, Éomer + Aragorn). If he’s fine with touch, that Is generally preferred. Hugs + having his hair pet > 10/10. If he’s NOT ok with touch, geeeenerally conversation/distraction (if he’s overstimulated from noise, silent companionship) — if he’s nonverbal, err towards reading aloud to him or just rambling. Pippin is especially good at rambling to get Faramir out of a funk

2- Favorite color

I think he does really like that deep blue that’s seen in a lot of Gondorian finery. reminds him of the night sky

5- Best date night

HMMMM dinner at home, I think. sth quiet and romantic, intimate. no pressure to Perform around other ppl, to mask— just him n his partner <33 im especially fond of the thought of him + Éomer curled up, Faramir playing w/ Éomer’s hair while he reads thru whatever text he’s working on translating at that moment.

6- Best friend

Boromir, Pippin, Aragorn. don’t ask him to pick between those three

8- Personal style

I think much like Boromir, when he’s not On The Job so to speak he leans towards rather plain clothes— or honestly even just staying in the base layers of his ranger garb. I find it really interesting that Fara is the only character who EXPLICITLY uses a gambeson as an undertunic. silly hc time but Bc He Is Autistic To Me, I suspect it is a sensory issues thing + he finds the snug padded sleeves comforting.

9- What they want in a SO

HMMMMMMMM someone who SEES him, and values him FOR him. I like pairing him up with Éomer obvs and I think Faramir would.. like I don’t think he’s clueless but I think Éomer is the first person who really made him feel desirable. like IN Minas Tirith there’s the weight of Denethor’s perceptions of him that just. haunt him. and then with the tower guard he’s Boromir’s Baby Brother but with the rangers he’s their captain + in a position of power over them. Not to mention the obvious general risk of “If Denethor finds out……” (ominous) (threatening) — and then Éomer visits the houses of healing to see Éowyn one day and finds Faramir instead and is. IMMEDIATELY head over heels. And there’s that freedom of Éomer having no fucking idea what Denethor said about him. He knew Boromir so if he heard anything it was Boromir pulling out the Gondorian equivalent of Wallet Photos + being like “have you seen Faramir? now you have :)”

+ ofc Fara’s walking on eggshells w any potential spouse bc again, that fear of them Perceiving Him As Denethor Did. the moment he slips and does sth that would Prove His Father Right is the moment his SO realizes how Awful he is + despises him. much as Aragorn might like to try, the hands of a king are not gonna magically heal 36-ish years of parental abuse + neglect skfhshhfjs — so when the moment inevitably comes where he DOES “slip” in front of Éomer, whatever shape that takes, and Éomer meets him with compassion and understanding… where it sinks in that Éomer loves him BECAUSE he is Faramir, not in spite of it (bc to Denethor, simply the act of “being Faramir” was an unforgivable character flaw).. I think thaaaaats huge

12- Something that always makes them cry

Silly: LOVE POEMS. that man is a SAP and good romantic poetry WILL get him tearing up.

Serious: IF Boromir is dead, certain reminders of his brother— or moreso the fact that Boromir does not live to see their home restored. that they will never share another summer afternoon in the gardens, that Faramir will never walk past the sparring ring to see his brother training new Guards, etc..

14- Preferred weather

RAIN!! Faramir is a rain guy in my heart. actually a water guy in general. a man who would generally prefer to be Wet at any given moment (ignore the innuendo there lmao pls just dunk him in a river or lake). the first time Éomer visits Henneth Annûn with him + it storms Faramir is 100% dragging Éomer outside to dance in the rain

15- First impression of this chara

I OVERLOOKED HIM AS A KID. TRAGIC. but tbf I was busy obsessing over Merry and Pippin when I read LotR for the first time skfhshhd

16- My thoughts on this chara now

I ADORE HIM SO MUUUUUUUUUUUCH (Aragorn Kinnie Voice: that’s my little brother!!!!!!!)

17- Best thing about them

he’s so tender!!!!!!! he’s such a gentle soul….. augh. also he’s SO gender to me. clasping his hands very gently and giving him a little kiss on the forehead bc it’s what he deserves.

18- Worst thing about them

BOOK!FARAMIR UNPACK YOUR WEIRD PREJUDICES AGAINST OTHER COUNTRIES!!!!!!!!!! (whacking him with a cardboard tube)

19- Their happiest moment

that we see in canon? celebrating w Boromir in Osgiliath, before Denethor fucking Shows Up. Faramir in that scene has genuinely THEE cutest grin I’ve ever seen put to film he’s adorable. he’s adorable!!!!!!

in my head?? bc im partial to it + wrote a fic abt it already (lol), his wedding in Rohan <3333

20- Their worst moment

AGH. angst-wise, definitely the whole “that will depend on the manner of your return” bit. resigning himself to a violent, pointless death just for the mere glimmer of hope his father might look favorably at him. even if it is only at his corpse. you know.

but if it’s “worst moment” in the I Need To Have Strong Words With This Man sense, 100% the whole “taming” bit with Éowyn. rage-inducing tbqh

26- If they had one month to live

it’s spent with family (in Gondor, in Rohan, visiting Merry and Pippin in the Shire, etc). I don’t see there being many grandiose things he’d want to do— bc at the end of the day he knows it’s the mealtimes and quiet conversations and shared drinks he’s going to miss, and wish he’d had more of.

27- How they’re mischaracterised

HMMMMM idk that he is necessarily? or I’ve been lucky dodging fandom bullets + just haven’t SEEN him being mischaracterized. I WILL say, I will die on the hill defending movie!Faramir. I think it’s so much more effective to HAVE Faramir be tempted by the ring, both bc his temptation Mirrors Boromir’s, and it solidifies that it is not actually some failure specific and inherent to Boromir. ANY man, as good and pure as they might be, can fall to the accursed thing. not to mention they cut the weird biases against the Rohirrim which I am endlessly glad for el oh el

28- How to hurt them

Generally speaking, I think he’d find words more hurtful than actions. Like, at least he can find a way to justify/understand the reasoning behind an action (like was he hurt by Boromir leaving him behind to go to Rivendell. yes. does he understand WHY Boromir insisted? also yes.) + if you’re a person who puts a lot of weight in words it is a little harder to just let them go, you know? and again Denethor’s abuse was verbal/emotional and even on a good day the man was fully willing to belittle Faramir to his face in the MIDDLE of a crowd of ppl. It took Boromir leading him away to put an end to that at least In Front of Faramir, Denethor still drops the “I know his uses and they are few” line to BOROMIR’S face. so when you’ve grown up in that environment too, where yeah maybe your parent never raised a hand to you but they are CONSTANTLY wheedling away at you with words….. it’s Bad. and anything along the lines of what Denethor used to say of him, coming from someone he loves/trusts? that cuts right to the bone.

[whatinthe-greenbeans]

1-98 ask game

Im not gonna answer some of them just cause 1- I’m lazy, and 2- I couldn’t think of an answer. I’ll just put N/A (no answer) for those ones

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Mugs definitely, I love mugs. Teacups are a close second though, those are pretty cool.

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Chocolate bars

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Bubble gum (this also depends on what brand of bubble gum though)

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

I was homeschooled so idk

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

Soda cans/bottles, whatever the soda originally came in basically

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Grunge or goth

7. earbuds or headphones?

Headphones 100%

8. movies or tv shows?

tv shows, movies are too much commitment

9. favorite smell in the summer?

This is oddly specific, my mind is blank

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

Again, homeschooled. I’ve never done p.e.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

A bowl of cereal

12. name of your favorite playlist?

“More unnamed vibes ✨🕺”

13. lanyard or key ring?

Lanyard

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Skittles

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

The kite runner was really good. I also loved when we read Shakespeare

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

It depends which part of my body hurts that day

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

combat boots

18. ideal weather?

When it’s really sunshiney right after it rains

19. sleeping position?

On my side

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

Notes app or google docs if I’m on my laptop

21. obsession from childhood?

✨dinosaurs✨

22. role model?

N/A

23. strange habits?

I have a lot of habits but I wouldn’t say any of them are strange or out of the ordinary? I’m sure there’s something but I can’t think of it right now

24. favorite crystal?

N/A

25. first song you remember hearing?

Idk man that was too long ago for me to recall. Probably some Katy Perry or something??

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Old lady activities- but outside (reading, crocheting, etc but it’s in the sun so it’s 10x better)

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Old lady activities still but it’s inside because cold

28. five songs to describe you?

That requires way more thinking and self awareness than I posses. Ask pyxy maybe they know

29. best way to bond with you?

Literally just hang out or hold an interesting conversation with me

30. places that you find sacred?

N/A

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

I dunno, probably jeans and a cool shirt ?? (I wear the same things every day)

32. top five favorite vines?

I LIKE A LOT OF THEM HOW SHOULD I PICK???

33. most used phrase in your phone?

Probably me yelling ‘KYEL’

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

🕺 Avocados from Mexico 💃🏼

35. average time you fall asleep?

Like how many times per day? Once a night, I don’t nap. If we’re talking how long it takes me to fall asleep then it’s more like an hour+ of laying in bed and staring at the ceiling

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

Some of these questions are really challenging my memory

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

Suitcase

38. lemonade or tea?

Lemonade

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

Pie

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

N/A

41. last person you texted?

@pyxy-styx

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

Jacket pockets

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Hoodie

44. favorite scent for soap?

I do not like scented soap

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Fantasy but I also like sci fi

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

T shirt and leggings /pajama pants

47. favorite type of cheese?

All of the above

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

A peach?? Idk

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

N/A (I can’t think of any rn but I’m sure there is some)

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

Watching someone else laugh so hard that water came out of her nose

51. current stresses?

I have a concert coming up soon but I think we’ll be fine

52. favorite font?

Times new Roman (I don’t use a lot of fonts, this one is nice though)

53. what is the current state of your hands?

I’ve colored all over them

54. what did you learn from your first job?

N/A

55. favorite fairy tale?

Dude most of the original fairytales are pretty gruesome, they’re all really cool

56. favorite tradition?

My family is boring we don’t really have specific traditions

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Oh boy do you wanna know (N/A)

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

Creative ability in general, specifically with music and crafts like crocheting or sewing. Ig I would also consider my fixation and knowledge on psychology and brain stuff a talent.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

Gaslight Gatekeep Kivenboss

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

N/A (I haven’t watched any anime so)

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

“But before I can live with other folks I’ve got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a persons conscience” -Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

62. seven characters you relate to?

Nimona(Nimona), hiccup haddock(HTTYD), Charlie spring(Heartstopper), Peter Parker(specifically the Tom holland MCU spider man), Anne Shirley(Anne of green gables), Katie Mitchell(Mitchell’s vs. the Machines). Kinda basic characters but idc.

63. five songs that would play in your

club?

All the gay songs

64. favorite website from your childhood?

I wasn’t really on the internet as a ki

65. any permanent scars?

Yeah

66. favorite flower(s)?

Marigolds and carnations are really pretty

67. good luck charms?

N/A

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

I’m not typically picky when it comes to the flavor of things, nothing comes to mind that I just really hated the flavor of.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Pretty much everything I know about cannibalism

70. left or right handed?

Right

71. least favorite pattern?

Anything that has so much going on it overloads my brain

72. worst subject?

The one I’m worst in is probably any type of history but I don’t hate any subjects

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

I dislike weird flavor combos in general so I can’t think of any I like

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

I could probably get up to a pain level of like 5 or 6 and not even really notice just cause I suck at noticing what’s going on with my body. Pain meds also just don’t really work well for me, so I rarely take any

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I think I was six, almost seven probably?

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

French fries 🫶🫶

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

I know nothing about plants. I think plants with vines hanging out of the windowsill would look cool though

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Sushi

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

School ID. I have a horrible rbf in my license photo

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Earth tones

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

I grew up saying fireflies but lighting bugs is so much cooler

82. pc or console?

PC

83. writing or drawing?

Writing

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Podcast

84. barbie or polly pocket?

Barbie

85. fairy tales or mythology?

I don’t know much about mythology but it’s cooler so I pick mythology

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies

87. your greatest fear?

I don’t actually know

88. your greatest wish?

My father dies (/hj)

89. who would you put before everyone else?

Your mom

90. luckiest mistake?

N/A

91. boxes or bags?

Depends what I’m putting in them

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

lamps and other alternative lighting over the big lights any day

93. nicknames?

My legal name + the nickname that goes with it (I hate these), my preferred name + nickname of my preferred name, kiven, plus whatever random crap my friends come up with

94. favorite season?

Autumn

95. favorite app on your phone?

Tumblr (im a mobile user, tragic I know) or Spotify

96. desktop background?

A drawing of a rainy day

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

All in all it’s around eight

98. favorite historical era?

The renaissance was pretty cool. Industrial Revolution era is also really fascinating

This took way too fucking long to do but here it is