#I PROBABLY FORGOT SOME PARTS BUT GODDDDD

[wonustars]

ahem ahem. *taps mic*

hello, here i am with another long reblog because one of choco’s stories has absolutely crushed me (in the best way possible). *SPOILERS AHREAD*

let me start off with my initial thoughts going into reading:

if i’m gonna be honest i didn’t want to start this till the last part was posted and ended up reading it during the weekly updates because i got too impatient 😂

i was so immersed into Wonwoos character while reading the first two parts. he was lowkey miserable but the contrast between Wonwoo and Her had me by the throat. there is nothing i love more when the couple consists of a girlboss and a shy man who would do anything for said girl boss

back to Wonwoos character:

i found it very enjoyable to read everything in his pov. every emotion he felt, i had felt it too. im ngl i cried during a few parts of the story just envisioning how he views the world and how he works through all his emotions.

Her’s character:

i loved Her so much. you dek. she reminded me so much of myself. The outgoing, outspoken, and sometimes can be perceived as intimidating to those who aren’t very close to her. the jack of all trades yet master of none. my god. that’s how i portrayed her at least, getting hyper fixated on one thing just to abandon it the next day to try something else. her relationship with mingyu made me raise my eyebrow once or twice. i knew from the very moment that fight between her and bells happened at the party, that mingyu was cheating on her with bells. it was clear as day, and my heart went out to her. she deserved so much more. i’m not sure if it’s character development or maybe we just got to see more of her true personality once the story came to an end, but Her is so much more than what people made her out to be.

if there’s one character i could yap on about its MINGYU:

god. i’ve never felt so heartbroken for a fictional character until i learnt about how he was when he first started dating Her. He had become so brainwashed by Her’s parents and the need to become some successful man for the future that he forgot what his past self truly wanted to achieve. the way Her described mingyu made my heart hurt, because when Wonwoo described Mingyu it was like he was a shell of the person he used to be. Going thru the motions to satisfy everyone but himself? maybe i’m just yapping but that’s how i saw him. He used to have his own aspirations, he used to be in love. HE WANTED TO BE AN ARCHITECT 😭 damn it i just felt like he lost so much of himself and so did Her, they both did. and in my head they become happier after their break up and Mingyu decided to do what he truly desires and is happy.

the plot:

honestly, i’m glad that i read this when the parts were posted once a week. it gave me time to reflect on everything that happened in the story. watching Wonwoo overcome his last relationship and also finding better ways to regulate his anxiety thru the help of Her just made me so happy for him. I really felt his emotions at the beginning almost as if I was the one really feeling that way, and it made me so upset. Seeing the way Wonwoo had changed for the better with Her in his life made my heart melt. you could see the obvious changes. and same with Her! they both had become better versions of themselves the more time they spent together. although i do think that the fight they had was very needed. it seemed like wonwoo had so much piled up inside him, and he needed to learn how to just let it all out, albeit yelling at Her probably wasn’t the best way, im glad he stopped bottling up his emotions. they’re honestly perfect for each other, and the way this was written is just so damn good. THEIR TENSION! especially the night she slept in his room and the first time they had sex. goddddd the smut scene was just so satisfying, cathartic almost after all that pent up TENSION!! i was so happy with how it went. they really match each others freak Aifkskhdskjdjfjek. anyways i loved how every character was written in this story but if i commented on everyone i would probably be typing in this google doc for about 5 hours. so i’ll end it here.

thank you choco, for writing this, for taking the time out of your days to write this masterpiece and post it on tumblr FOR FREE. you’ve really outdone yourself. all your stories are great and i will definitely be reading this one again. the way you described the characters feelings, their actions, everything. i’m in awe and as a writer i aspire to get become this poetic in telling a story. thank you for allowing everyone to be graced with your writing, i cannot describe how appreciative i am of your existence!!! 🫶 im so happy we’re mutuals btw :”)

p.s vernon was my fav character ever! i would’ve done an in depth analysis on him AND seokmin if it wasn’t almost 2am rn hhehe

HER | part one.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

potentially triggering scenes within the fic are NOT MARKED in advance

the content is already quite mature, so pls heed the warnings!

bolded and italicized text implies characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts

everyone's patience and understanding has been endlessly appreciated! you have no idea ;_; i give you all shining stars 🌟

⇢ part two | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

 No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.

“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.  

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed a very short disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”

“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”

“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

 “With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”

 “Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

Wonwoo had one very distinct memory of you: creative writing with Mr. T. It had been an elective class he took amongst all his compulsory maths, and at the time it was a much appreciated break when Wonwoo grew apathetically bored from looking at matrices and confidence intervals and equations that engulfed the length of his notebook. Professor T was late one day in the fall.

And that’s when Wonwoo remembered you walking in.

There was a sort of sharpness about your presence that pulled everyone’s spines straight. People tended to angle themselves away from you, though they did it subtly, feigning an adjustment in their seat or a plunge into their bookbag for something that wasn’t even there. Wonwoo lacked the words to describe you. To be honest, he most likely could if he put that infinitely expanding lexicon of his to work, but even then, he feared that everything would fall flat.

Some scruffy looking guy had made the mistake of sitting in your seat—someone who probably skipped most lectures and only happened to find himself near Gildan Hall purely by chance.

It was the seat squat in the middle of the small auditorium.

He remembered the hand propped on your hip as you sashayed up to him—you always sashayed places. Wonwoo found it funny, like there were paparazzi stuffed behind potted plants and vending machines waiting to spring out with their blinding flares, just to capture you picking up a half-empty bag of flavourless popcorn.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.”

“Hm?”

“Excuse me? Yes, hello. You—can you get up please?”

“Up...? Why?”

 “Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry… what’s this about?”

 “Are you a first-year or something? Never bothered going to class until now? All the moshing and beer pong and ending up in some random basement of a friend of a friend of a friend is done so you’re deciding to actually get your money’s worth? Well, let me tell you this—I’ve been showing up to class punctually, and this is my seat. I always sit here. It’s my unofficially-assigned-assigned seat, which seems to be a known fact to everyone in this room except for you. Everyone has one. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to sit in other people’s seats. I don't care who you are. You could be my own mother. You could be my best friend, even. President of the universe. That doesn't make it okay, 'cause it’s a respect thing. It's one of those assumed societal rules and you just fucking kicked dirt all over it.”

Whoever he was, he never came back to another lecture.

Since then, Wonwoo had dually made it his mission to never cross paths with you, look at you, or even so much as huff one single carbon-dioxide filled breath in your general direction, just in case that was some degree of unbeknownst personal law he might violate.

Seokmin had royally screwed it up for him.

What could you possibly want to write a book about, anyway?

—MARCH 26TH.

Wonwoo didn’t know how he was expected to find you in this gigantic mall. As he brushed through the streamlines of people, bumping their shoulders and mumbling the driest, most insincere apologies, he couldn’t stop looking at his phone. Seokmin had given him your number with the instruction that he could find you, here, on a busy Saturday afternoon. So far, Wonwoo had sent you four texts, none prompting a response or the grey-dotted bubble, even. Fuck, why did he agree to this? He couldn’t stop thinking it.

Why did he agree to help you, whom he was beginning to not even like, or want to be aquatinted with, write a book, when he’d been struggling to fill the same page of his own story for months?

Squeezing the phone tighter in his fingers, Wonwoo’s broad shoulder then smacked into someone else while he was busy steeping in his misfortune. It earned him a wildly disgusted look.

“Maybe watch where you’re going," the stranger grumbled, some man with an engrained scowl and big, bewildered eyes.

But Wonwoo ignored him.

He didn’t fucking care, and he was sick of wandering through this mall. It made him feel overstimulated, like his clothes were sticking to his skin differently, like the back of his head was swelling, and like all the smells in his nose were somehow making him warmer.

The stranger just stared at Wonwoo as he walked away.

Ding!

A text, but not from you—Seokmin, instead. Apparently, you were in some clothing store on the second floor. Wonwoo stepped onto the escalator, pressing himself into the barrier to make room for the especially speedy people who couldn’t simply stand and wait. He felt a random touch on the back of his head. Scrunching up the glasses on his nose and turning around, Wonwoo stared at the downward escalator, locking eyes with a pretty dark-haired girl he’d never seen before. She wiggled her fingers at him with a flirtatious smile, the scent of her perfume still lingering. Fresh roses, he thought.

He blinked at her once, twice, then turned back around.

Never in a million years.

It was funny, though.

Once Wonwoo stopped outside the clothing store you were supposedly inside, he felt the myriad of distractions and scents and noises dampen behind him. The irritability he couldn’t shake was slowly transforming into nerves. He’d never met you before, unless half-glances controlled by fear from across the small, basement auditorium that hosted creative writing counted.

Focusing on one breath, and then another, followed by a deep, self-soothing inhale, Wonwoo attempted to convince himself that he was in control, not the emotions quivering at his fingertips.

He cracked his neck and walked in.

After a minute or two of confused isle-pacing, Wonwoo rounded a corner, his eyes immediately fixating on a girl who was picking through a neatly assorted dress rack, her head tilted elegantly and her lipstick glimmering under the sterileness of the lights—you.

He gulped. Just suck it up.

She can’t be that bad. You can’t be that bad.

“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Wonwoo. I know we have a mutual friend in Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. He’s in one of your seminar classes or something, and, uh…. anyway. I believe I’m supposed to help you with a book you’re interested in writing… that’s what I was told, at the very least. And… I know we’ve never met but… um… I guess…” he trailed off upon noting your lack of acknowledgement.

Suddenly, he was taking a step back, letting you progress further along the clothing rack, your fingers hopping between each hanger and your eyes scanning their corresponding fabrics.

Wonwoo jerked on the inside with panic. He hated the situation already, though he somehow found the resounding courage, or perhaps, humility, to address you again, even if he’d rather die.

“So, I’m not sure if you—”

“Can you move, please? Over here or something? I want this dress.”

He kept his mouth shut in order to avoid spilling out any obtuse nonsense, instead watching with a nervous, analyzing gaze as you removed the hanger and shook out the purple, wine-coloured fabric, its sparkles rippling when you stroked your hand along it.

“Woah. This is too pretty.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, unsure if you were speaking to him directly. You already had a bundle of dresses tossed over your arm. Why would you meet up with him when you were clearly busy?

“Hey, what did you say your name was?”

“Me?” He found himself echoing.

“No, the mannequin wearing that hideous plaid mini skirt. Of course I’m talking to you. Should I get you a q-tip or something?”

“No... I don't need a q-tip. It’s Wonwoo.”

“Wonwoo?” You exercised the name slowly on your tongue.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, just so you’re aware, it’s 11:35. You were supposed to meet me outside the boutique at 11:30. I can see you’re not very punctual, so that’s noted…” for a moment, you stood back, and the searing line of your gaze judgmentally raked him from top to bottom. “Anyway… you’ll have to assist me with some things now, thanks to your big delay. I got all bored waiting for you, so I decided to do a little self-indulgent shopping."

It could have been wiser to continue biting his tongue, but even Wonwoo, who had practically vowed to avoid you for all eternity  due to his fear, felt compelled to challenge your unorthodox logic.

“Big delay? I don’t mean to be rude, but I did take the bus to get here, and their timing is never right. I feel like five minutes is a reasonable time to wait. Not that I’m saying you’re impatient.”

“Well, here’s the thing…” your back turned to him as you took a few slow steps down the clothing rack, probing between the different, pricy materials for anything exuberant you might have missed. “That is what you said, isn’t it? That I’m impatient? I mean—jeez—why bother dancing around it when you can just say it?”

He watched you face him again, except he was keeping perfectly silent, clutching his hand into an anxious, balled fist.

“Well, I suspect you lack urgency, making you apathetic, so therefore you have no sense of initiative. I’m sure you’re already aware, anyway. I can be slow, too, with certain things. Like, when I’m icing a cake. Or painting my nails. But I don’t walk slow, ever. That’s for unmotivated, pointless people who will probably go nowhere in life.”

“… Pardon?”

“Hold this, please.”

Suddenly, you draped the wine-coloured dress over Wonwoo’s shoulder. And he left it there for a second, still gobsmacked, chest shuddering from the pressure of his pumping heart, and wondered how you were even a real person. Once you began walking elsewhere in the store, Wonwoo questioned a very understandable escape toward the exit, though, for some reason, he snapped from his stupor and quickly paced after you, now folding the dress more straightly over his arm. He realized he was too afraid to surrender.

“I’m supposed to help you write a book,” he stated, feeling his lungs dig deep for air, “Seokmin said you needed help.”

“Okay, I’m tired of holding these two. Here—” you again blanketed the dresses into his arms, “—please keep this olive one in good shape, no crinkles. I have yet to find this colour anywhere else.”

Swinging back around, you began heading toward the change rooms, your uncomfortably tall looking heels clicking with each step. Wonwoo stuttered, and he couldn’t stop doing it—just, absolutely baffled by you and your consuming sense of worth. He didn’t know what to say, he could only follow, producing bits and pieces of sentences that you were either ignoring or genuinely hadn’t heard in comparison to the monologues in your own head.

“At what point will we discuss why I’m here?”

Finally, he spat out something coherent.

You paused, and for a fleeting moment, flicked your very intense eyes up and down in an examination of Wonwoo, who felt like he was being intrusively picked apart under a microscope.

 He swallowed tautly, “I’m just wondering… that’s all.”

You pressed your wallet against the top of his shoulder, guiding him to sit down on the white leather stool placed just outside the fitting rooms. He sat, too, fighting the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans—even worse, the dresses you’d dumped on him.

“Let’s talk after I try these on, ‘kay?”

There was something different about your voice. It fell lower, sweeter, and he shivered with the thought that you had quite possibly just hypnotized him. He looked up at you, nodding his head.

“Good. Everyone calls me Her, by the way.”

“I know.”

He held his breath as you reached out to take a dress, the wine-coloured one, which was more like a dark, nightly amethyst now that Wonwoo was observing the fabric up close. So, what the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit there, twiddling his thumbs and shaking his knee while you busied yourself with fitting into all those wildly sumptuous dresses? There was a plethora of other things he’d rather be doing—too many to name, in fact. But he wasn’t going to bother slithering away now, chiefly because you petrified him too much and he wasn’t in the mood to be further guilt-tripped by Seokmin.  

Throwing his head back, he blew out a tired huff and looked at the ceiling. Why the fuck was he doing this? He just couldn’t stop thinking it. What on earth could he possibly gain from being terrorized by your weird authority.

“Hey, I’ve been there, for sure.”

Wonwoo noticed an older man waltzing past him, probably in his early thirties or so, who’d spoken in a sympathetic tone. He seemed very polished and clean-cut, made apparent by his sleek suit, and as a university student who was routinely on the verge of going broke after most rents, Wonwoo knew money when he saw it.

“Pardon?”

The man stopped and smiled.

“Waiting for your girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no. I’m just—”

He was interrupted by the squeak of the change room door.

“Be honest. How does this look?”

You had stepped out to examine your silhouette in the large, full-body mirrors against the wall, taking advantage of the heavier lighting to scrutinize every divot and ruffle that textured the amethyst dress. Wonwoo wasn’t sure what to say in the moment, and the man he was explaining himself to had wandered off into another aisle to answer a phone call. He watched your fingers pick and pull at the material so it could be readjusted in certain places, your bottom lip pursed as you angled your hips and tensed a leg to make a pose.

There were at least three other dresses strewn in his lap, and you were most definitely going to make him sit there and judge each one. Now, he could be honest. The dress was glittery yet sophisticated, something like a gloaming, purple-stained sky and its first emergent stars encapsulated into fabric, though he wasn’t completely sold on it. But he also wanted to leave the mall as quick as time would allow, so rather than being verbose, he shaved it down.

“It’s pretty, not great. I don’t really know.”

“Hmm…” you mumbled, keeping your eyes fixated on the mirror, “not great? What’s not great about it? The frilly parts?”

“Yeah, the frilly parts.”

God, he wanted to go home so bad. Warm tea would be nice right now. There were crinkle-cut fries in his freezer.

“Ugh, but I love the colour. I’m getting conflicted. Maybe I’ll toss it aside and think about it again later. Yeah, I’ll do that... okay, let me get the white one next. It’s a little short but I can make it work.”

 Wonwoo carefully pulled out the white outfit from the bottom of the pile and handed it off to you. The skirt was notably cropped.

Again, you strode back into the change room and softly clicked the door shut behind you. Wonwoo pulled out his phone almost immediately, navigating to his texts with Seokmin. His thumbs blasted against the screen, tapping out literary warfare that expanded into a decent sized paragraph Seokmin would most likely respond to with an apologetic smiley face. It might take a day or two for Wonwoo to cool off, but he always forgave him. Mr. Sunshine.

When he heard the door rattle, Wonwoo quickly hid his phone back in his pants pocket; however, he severely regretted that decision because holy fuck—that vinyl white skirt was indeed short and tight and the winding, crossed straps of the top were just maintaining your cleavage. He needed something to help avert his eyes because Wonwoo felt them itch with the urge to stare at your body despite how uncomfortable he was. The floor tiles—count the floor tiles, or count the lights—something, anything to distract his brain.

“Okay, this is like—if I bend over, I’m flashing someone.”

He prayed you wouldn’t ask him his thoughts.

“But like—okay, I can make this work, right? This has potential. If I stand really straight, and proper, and, just… pull this down a bit here—okay, fuck, that was too much. Don’t look for a second… don’t look…. don’t look… m’kay, fixed it.”

Wonwoo wanted to cradle his head in his hands. And, right when he swore that the situation couldn’t sink much lower, the wealthy, black-suit man returned from his phone call. He paused the second he saw you in the mirror, watching intensely as you fiddled with the vinyl and attempted to adjust the x-shaped top a little higher over your cleavage. Except he wasn’t exactly modest about his gaze. It was drinking you in like some sort of insatiable alcohol.

“This is tough,” you huffed, pressing your hands against your chest, “the top is super sexy. I love how open the back is. But it’s such little fabric considering the price. It sucks that I look so hot in it.”

Horrendously, Wonwoo noticed a jewel bracelet slip off your wrist onto the tiled floor. Even more horrendously, he watched in the tensest position possible as you began to bend over and grab it.

No. No, no, no, no way.

The last two dresses spilled in a silk and cotton heap off his lap, nearly tripping him during his rush toward you. He managed to cover your backside in the most heart-hammering nick of time, his hands accidentally brushing in static sparks against yours to help you pull the tight fabric back down your hips. Knowing the man was still watching in the mirror, Wonwoo clasped onto your arm and dragged you back toward the fitting room, his cheeks turned to rubies.

“Fuck, you need to be more careful,” he rasped, “the skirt is too short for you to bending over like that, alright?”

“I’m not leaving a gifted two-hundred-dollar bracelet on the fucking ground. Should I have just kicked it into the change room?”

“Gosh…” Wonwoo rubbed along his neck with tire and lowered his voice. “Bending over in a skirt that short, especially when there’s a fucking weirdo watching you, is not the best procedure.”

“So, it’s my fault he’s a creep?”

“Okay—that wasn’t what I—um—”

“Do you even like this outfit?” You deadpanned.

Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief, “I’m not answering that.”

“This is useless." Your eyes agitatedly rolled. “I’m changing.”

“Great, whatever. Do that.”

He gently pushed you further into the change room and closed the door with a smooth, loud shutter. His heart was still racing.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t let my girlfriend wear that either.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Wonwoo didn’t care that his tone was snappish and clearly tired as he collapsed back onto the stool, making a point to ignore the perverted bastard until he left.

“Wonwoo!” You called his name after a few minutes of silence from the fitting room, “please bring me the green one!”

He wanted to utterly vanish, have the building collapse and crush him in a pile of dust plumes and rubble. Sliding the dress through the small gap in the changeroom door, Wonwoo found himself pausing.

“Why don’t I just hand all these to you?”

“Because, I’m using the hangers in here for my clothes.”

“Why can’t you just pu—”

“Thank you!”

Impatiently, you nabbed the dress and shut the door.

However, that dress was the last one you tried on, and Wonwoo couldn’t have been any more relieved. Talking to you seemed like it might give him heartburn or a hemorrhage.

He thought the shiny colour of olive green suited you best.

The dress was silken and long, slightly form-fitting, with a slit cut far up the right thigh and thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders.

You picked the first three dresses to take home, and left the last shimmery one on the rack.

“We’re leaving now?” Wonwoo asked, cracking his fingers.

“Yes, after I pay. Don’t seem so eager.”

“With all due respect, this place isn't really my scene.”

“Your attitude isn't really my scene.” You swiftly corrected him.

He stood next to you at the counter, observing as you zipped open your small black wallet to pull out a credit card. If you were shopping at a store like this, you must be making bank. But Wonwoo was somewhat nosey, and when you set the card on the countertop, he glanced at its embossed name. It definitely wasn’t your name.

Kim Mingyu.

It was your boyfriend’s.

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm ]: Goddammit Seokmin answer me

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm]: I’ve sent you at least ten texts

[ Wonwoo | 1:16 pm ]: Truly how do you do anything with this girl? I feel like she’s somewhat psychotic and you just fucking had to flash your sad mopey eyes at me in that café so I would break and help her write her book. I’m sitting here with dresses in my lap, pretty much acting as her unpaid personal assistant. Why the fuck is she asking me about dresses, anyway? Did you help her orchestrate this bullshit? I’m actually pissed at you. I want an entire paid lunch.

He wasn’t all that surprised you made him carry the matte silver shopping bag (with these twine handles that he absolutely hated because of how they suffocated around his fingers), and by a certain point, Wonwoo just didn’t give a damn any more. What little social battery he’d maintained since leaving his apartment had officially depleted, for he could feel it weighing in the plaza air around him like an imperceptible mist. Unfortunately, you weren’t lying about being a fast walker. He’d never seen someone stalk with such vigor.

It was nearly an endurance test to keep at your swaying hip, and the few times he fell behind, you would pause and beckon for him.

But Wonwoo discovered that even you needed to stop, to eat and drink like a normal human rather than the disguised cyborg he fleetingly speculated you were. Your touch was so abrupt—a hand had curled around his bicep and suddenly Wonwoo found himself being jerked into a café on the bottom floor of the mall. Of course, you had to pick the most expensive place to buy food in the entire fucking vicinity, and since Wonwoo was penny pinching at the moment, he opted to stand back and let you order.

But then he saw you flick open your wallet, waving Mingyu’s sleek yet flashy credit card between your fingers with blatant enticement.

“I can pay for you.”

He shook his head, muttering a careless, “no thanks.”

“Don't BS me. What do you want to eat?”

Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring at the credit card.

“What’s the limit on that thing?”

“Enough.”

“You haven’t burned through it already?”

“These openly snide comments you’re making aren’t appreciated, you know. Now, please give me an answer before I break off the temples to your glasses so I can use them to stir my drink.”

“… What?” Wonwoo mumbled, completely lost.

“Pick something!”

“Okay, fuck. I’ll just get a coffee, then.”

He took a step forward to examine the menu boards that the employees were wildly scuttling around underneath, browsing down their chalk-written cold brews until he picked one at random.

That was all Wonwoo asked for.

You bought a lemonade and some sandwich he didn’t catch the name of, toasted on panini bread. It felt amazing to sit down. Wonwoo let the silver bag slide completely off his arm and hit the floor, to which he could sense your gaze stinging over him in disapproval. He should have gotten a sandwich himself, but Wonwoo still wasn’t sure how he felt about using the money on your boyfriend’s credit card.

Wonwoo relaxed in his chair, angling a glance down at his phone that he kept below the table, checking for any Seokmin texts.

None. He was supposed to be Wonwoo’s stupid life preserver in this situation with you, and so far, he’d been left for dead. Taking a lengthy sip from his drink was the only way he could stomach it.

“You should put your phone on the table. Screen down.”

“For what reason?” Wonwoo responded in a dull tone, quickly checking his social media with impatient swipes of his thumb.

“So we can have a conversation.”

At that, he almost gagged, slapping down the coffee cup he’d just picked up.

“Now?” Wonwoo laughed, his deep voice reverberating louder than he intended around the café, “you want to talk now?”

“Uh, yes,” you answered, picking up one half of your sandwich and readying it before your mouth, “why is that shocking?”

“Because—you—ah, whatever.”

“You seem crabby. Is that your normal shtick or are you just hangry? Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

He was in a worse mood than usual, but that could be blamed entirely on the mall and how exhausted it made him feel—everything about its environment sucked out his soul. It was most likely the reason he was even daring to act so impatient. You took another bite as you waited for him to answer, and the delicious crackling sound of the toasted bread managed to fissure something inside him.

“Your eyes tell all. Here’s the other half.” You offered.

Finally, he’d experienced his first flares of contentment that day, though he wasn’t expecting it to be from a panini sandwich with what he could taste to be lettuce, mayonnaise, tomato, and different types of melted cheese.

“Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll at least give us time to finish eating.”

[ Seokmin | 2:30pm ]: I can do one paid lunch :)

[ Seokmin | 2:30 pm ]: Her’s not psychotic she’s just uhh

[ Seokmin | 2:31 pm ]: She probs did it to mess with you 

[ Wonwoo | 2:37 pm ]: She thinks being 5 mins late warrants putting me through one of the worst experiences in my life.

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Awwww

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Who doesn’t like a little shopping??

[ Wonwoo | 2:39 pm ]: It wasn’t shopping it was torture. You owe me so much more than a fucking lunch.

—MARCH 29TH.

Unfortunately, Wonwoo never got the opportunity to discuss your book that Saturday. In the middle of eating, your phone buzzed with a brief call that had interrupted your peculiarly passionate rant on the different cup sizes at the movie theatre (Wonwoo had listened without saying anything, mostly because he dreaded the circumstances that may come from peeping a word when you were so fixated on explaining that ‘the medium is too much but the small is too little and they’re both obnoxiously priced’).

He then watched cluelessly as you launched up from the table, collecting every little belonging between your fingers, babbling about some wax appointment that had escaped you.

It was just that simple—you were gone.

In the beginning moments of your absence, Wonwoo had sat there without much inclination of what to do next.

He’d worried it was another test, and that he was supposed to dutifully follow you to said wax appointment and continue bending to your every endeavour with no retaliation throughout the day. He had also found the silence across from him unsettling, in a way.

Nonetheless, if you weren’t there, then Wonwoo figured he didn’t need to be there either. So he left, taking the fifty-six back to his apartment, and you hadn’t contacted him since.

Wonwoo actually knew his landlord quite well.

Her building was comprised of four apartments, which sat above her pottery shop on the ground floor. She wasn’t a very bothersome landlord and it was fairly easy to connect with her whenever something broke or caused problems.

When he first moved in three years ago, Wonwoo had ardently adored living there, constantly studying the shelves of shiny glazed vases in addition to the beautiful water colour paintings that were created by his landlord or her students. It had been an inspiration supernova in terms of his personal literature, and he was able to start writing his book. Though, at the time, Wonwoo hadn’t been living alone in his apartment, and it was an inescapable fact that the only reason he began writing his book was with the hope of eventually presenting it to his old girlfriend-slash-roommate.

Now, it was just him.

And as Wonwoo pushed up from his grave of rumpled bedsheets, feeling lethargic and empty, he tried concerningly hard to pinch those thoughts from his mind. It was nearly lunch. He knew damn well he shouldn’t have allowed himself to rot that long in bed, but the other half of himself, the self-sabotaging kind, just couldn’t be bothered to fucking care. Wonwoo reached for his glasses that lay half-opened on the nightstand, raking them onto his face while brushing the hair from his eyes. The first thing he properly saw was his tall, skinny, orange bottle of venlafaxine. No. He was ignoring it.

Wonwoo had been ignoring it for the past few months.

Whenever he got particularly sick of staring at the bottle, he’d shove it in his drawer, making sure to bury it deep under old, amply-scribbled notepads and inkless pens that he’d worn to the bone. At last getting up from the bed, Wonwoo experienced his entire body sway and he caught the room spinning at the distant edges of his peripheral. But he walked through it without a care in the world, utterly too used to the feeling of imminent nausea even without his medication. He decided on a shower, then dressing himself, one Poptart, a swig of water from the kitchen tap, and almost walked out the apartment door with the minty toothbrush still in his mouth.

After walking three blocks down from his apartment, Wonwoo stepped across the dead, spiky grass and into the lacklustre parking lot behind the bowling alley that always smelled like stale pizza.

He knew the vanilla Camry well enough to identify it—stalled smack and centre amongst the emptiness—the licence plate being chiselled into his head like his old locker combination from high school (16-12-24, because Wonwoo for some reason liked fixating on prehistoric details that were glaringly useless in his present).

Early two-thousands R&B was blasting from inside the outdated-looking car, though it was thankfully turned down once Wonwoo threw the door open and shimmied inside.

The odor permeated Wonwoo’s lungs in a heartbeat.

“I thought you were getting this dry-cleaned,” he sighed to his friend, Vernon, who was busy rifling through a backpack.

“Uh, didn’t happen. Didn’t wanna pay all that. M’gonna find someone else to do it that’s not taxin’ my ass. Air fresheners are all dried n’shit so you’re gonna have to deal. My bad, Glasses.”

Glasses. That nickname had always made Wonwoo huff a little half-chuckle, and almost instinctively, he pushed the glasses a bit higher back up his nose. He was introduced to Vernon at a New Year’s Eve party he was forced to attend back in December, though it had been difficult to speak with him because he was blitzed out of his fucking mind—not to mention the choking pain of ignoring the girl who had been sliding her hands along the divots of his shoulders and chest from behind, kissing at his neck.

But Vernon was branded in tattoos, and had all kinds of metal in his face, and was blessed with concupiscent, honey-burnish eyes magnetized every woman in the vicinity straight to him.

Somehow, Vernon had become Wonwoo’s plug in the mix.

“Now, what are you gettin’, Glasses? The usual quarter ounce, right?” Vernon’s tongue poked between his blistered lips as he dug a heavily-inked hand further into the backpack seated in his lap.

“Yeah, quarter ounce.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Found it. This one.” Vernon exchanged the plastic-bagged ounces of weed with Wonwoo’s cash. “Gimme, gimme. I know it’s all here, but let me check… “ he flaked out the tinted bills with a satisfied head nod. “Prettier than a princess. You’re golden.”

“Did you just say princess?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said… what?”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“It’s not princess?”

“It’s picture, isn’t it? Prettier than a picture.”

“Really? Oh. That’s not how I remember—why the fuck are we even talkin’ about this? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Now, that’s gonna last you if you’re cute,” he said, throwing his notorious bag into the seat behind him, then tapping at his busted radio with a thick strip of tape across it, the next song rasping through the speakers, “don’t go crazy on it with your meds and shit. Do you still got enough papers?”

Wonwoo scoffed dryly at Vernon’s assumption while he hid the plastic bag within an inside pouch on his navy-blue jacket. A second later and his phone buzzed with a text message.

“Fuck the meds, honestly,” Wonwoo grunted, shifting his hips up in the seat to remove the phone from his back pocket.

Vernon itched his dark eyebrow. “Alright. Just askin’.”

Wonwoo opted to say nothing as he checked the text message without much expectation, and he was thankful that Vernon was the type to drop a subject easily. Instead his friend transitioned into a different conversation, something about another tattoo that he’d been debating, but in the kindest way possible, Wonwoo wasn’t listening to a goddamn word. You had texted him. Finally. For the first time. After three days of radio silence. And Wonwoo didn’t know why he’d suddenly exploded into such a fidgety, heart-pounding mess. You wanted to meet up again in order to discuss the book’s details.

“Who the fuck is that? Jesus Christ?”

“No,” Wonwoo laughed, clasping his right hand into an anxious fist, “um, I dunno. Just—Seokmin’s got me doing this thing with a friend of his. She’s trying to write a book and he kinda threw me into helping her. We’re supposed to meet up and talk about it.”

“Oh,” Vernon answered, leaning his elbow against the window and sweeping a hand through his black tresses, “do I know the chick?”

“Maybe?”

“She got any social media? An Instagram?”

“Yeah.”

“Ou, let me see.”

Wonwoo wasn’t following you. Then again, he was hardly following anyone. His Instagram had remained completely empty since his girlfriend left him, which had prompted Wonwoo to archive every single picture and delete all the ones that contained her, even the ones that captured mere traces of her in beaded bracelets and hair ties and white socks left on the carpet.

Wonwoo used Seokmin’s account to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t ever looked at your Instagram before. Without gleaning a single photo, Wonwoo thrust his phone at Vernon.

“Oh, yeah, I do know this chick,” Vernon chuckled, thumbing through your profile with a growing smirk, “Her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm, yeah. Know her. Tried to fuck her. Didn’t work at all.”

Snapping his head to look at Vernon, Wonwoo gaped, “what?”

“Yeah, I mean—” Vernon adjusted himself in his seat, pulling up his knee to rest a tattoo-coated arm across it, “—ran into the chick at a party that some rich dude at your university threw. Sweet-talked her for a bit until I realized she had a stupid boyfriend. She told me a million different ways to kill myself. Yeah, she’s somethin’, for sure.”

“You’re lying.”

“Ha—a little. She didn’t tell me to kill myself,  just scolded me for about ten minutes. God, she was wired as fuck though. Her boyfriend—fuckin’, Mingyu, or whatever—he gets her coke. I’ve seen her take a line like it’s pixie dust, man. This was like, over a year ago, though. Dunno if she’s still that loopy. I don’t care. She’s pretty hot.”

Vernon then flashed him a picture from your account, a full body picture of you sprawled across sparkling white sand in a bikini, meanwhile Wonwoo could only stare at it with the blankest possible expression as his brain splattered with computing Vernon’s story.

“Is she still with him?” Vernon asked.

Wonwoo cleared his throat and sat with his spine rigid against the leather, nearly forgetting where he was and what he was doing.

“With who?”

“Lady Liberty. Mingyu.”

“Oh… yeah. They’re dating, still.”

“No fuckin’ way,” his friend lamented while he continuously plunged further into your pictures, thumb pressed to his chin, eyes glimmering, “you coulda flipped this book thing on its head and actually got some fuckin’ head, especially with that deep ass voice you got there. I know it’s gotta feel good. I mean, look at her lips—”

“You’re being gross as fuck,” Wonwoo groaned, swiping his phone back and stuffing it away, “get a girlfriend yourself, man.”

“I’m tryin’ to clean up my act a bit before I do that.”

“That’s definitely a work in progress, I’m assuming.”

“Asshole,” Vernon’s voice was gritty as he coughed into a fist, slipping his knee back under the steering wheel and proceeding to crank his stereo until the music was practically suffocating Wonwoo, “now get the fuck out. You’re not my only deal today. Sorry, Glasses.”

“Later.”

Wonwoo pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cold afternoon breeze. He sucked in a long, relieving breath. At times the fresh air disgusted him, especially when he cozied into one of his mental ruts and everything in the world seemed so grey it was soul-crushing, but Vernon’s car smelled like straight fucking cannabis.

Fresh air was heavenly.

“Don’t forget to text your girl!” Vernon laughed just before Wonwoo slammed the door shut to swallow up the melodic lyrics.

He wanted to make a snap comment before the boy drove off to his next endeavour, but he didn’t care enough to think of one.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: hey wonwoo, it’s her. I think we should finally settle a date to talk about this book thing. let me attach a pic of my schedule and you can pick any open slots

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: 145_348.JPG

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]:  seokmin isn’t going to be our communicator anymore, so u can stop complaining to him about it

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: Okay, thanks.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm]: I’ll take a look soon.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:45 pm ]: I’m excited to see you again

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: no likewise?!

[ Wonwoo | 1:50 pm ]: Likewise.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: ugh. thx

—APRIL 1ST.

It was around six in the evening and Wonwoo was seated in the SRX building, the sky rolling with lambent, hazy-toned pastures of peach in the windows behind him. He had arrived about an hour ago, taking the staircase up to the third floor. It was much quieter there, making it easier for Wonwoo to endlessly stare with glazed, void eyes at his laptop screen and the cursed document he couldn’t finish. After tapping his fingernails in a bored, repetitious pattern against the shiny white table, he felt the urge to delete each and every paragraph as if he hadn’t poured months of earnest love into them.

You would be meeting him soon.

He could still remember looking at your schedule, pinching into the screen and examining all the different colour-coded blocks: dinner parties, SSA meetings, gym sessions, errands—how the fuck you managed to juggle those things and more left him marvelled yet terrified. You were pretty on point regarding your arrival time, to which Wonwoo could immediately identify you before even seeing your face due to the heel clicking and the sounds of tapping jewelry on your bag.

Emerging onto the floor with a very intense scowl and a notably crushing grip on your drink, you were to say the least, angry. Wonwoo gnawed slightly on his tongue as you sat down.

Your purse clunked like a cinderblock onto the table.

He watched you inhale a slow, shaky breath, raising your hand with the expansion of your chest in order to calm down.

 “I’m going to kill myself.”

Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, subtly trying to establish more distance between you. He flicked a glance at his laptop.

“Damn. Why is that?”

“Because of stupid, incompetent people.”

“Yeah?”

“I just—I don’t get it!” You laughed, though it wasn’t a particularly jovial sound and more than anything it seemed like you were going to start smashing glass. “I don’t get how people are unable to understand that we don’t do walk-ins unless one of the stylists are free—” you dug a hand into your purse, pulling out a straw, “—which in the salon’s case, is almost never! I tell them we can’t in my very sweet, established customer service voice: ‘I’m sorry, but the only way to receive a chair is to book online.'”

Wonwoo tilted his head, grinning a little.

“Blah, blah. I tell them the entire story in the kindest way I can, even though I want to grab them by their fucking neck and drag them over the counter to show them our website.” You slipped out your laptop next, accidentally dragging out a lanyard along with it that you agitatedly shoved back into the purse. “And then, they get all uptight and pissy when we can’t wriggle them in! Sorry, our makeup artists are busy! Working with people who made scheduled fucking appointments! The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”

You scraped the drink toward you, slamming the straw straight through the plastic film lid with such force that several people ended up turning their heads. After taking a long sip, you gulped and glared until they probably realized it was you and pretended not to care.

For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, so he’d folded his arms instead. Considering that Wonwoo worked the late shift stocking shelves at the pharmacy department, your predicament sounded like an entirely new world to him.

“Ugh, I’m sorry to bring all this negativity with me,” you apologized, still exasperated, “I don’t need this fucking tea—I need straight vodka. I’m seriously frazzled.”

“Seriously frazzled?” Wonwoo repeated, finding your choice of words funny as he resumed leaning forward, arms still crossed.

“Very, seriously frazzled.”

“I’m sorry about your day.”

Again, you sighed deeply while removing your long, warm jacket to drape over the chair’s spine—it was a rather elegant reveal of the strapless pearl dress underneath, tinted by the evening light, peach-pink as it rained from the ceiling length windows and framed your body like you were some sort of resurrected angel. Tension at last started escaping your shoulders. Wonwoo quickly realized that he'd been staring, and his fingers curled into a nervous fist.

“You’re actually such a good listener.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Um, thank you.”

“I like that you don’t interrupt me.”

Settling his elbows on the table and ruffling the back of his messy black locks, Wonwoo felt himself panic a little on the inside.

“Well,” he heaved in, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know," you chirped, posturing yourself confidently, “anyway, the book. We need to talk about it.”

“Table’s yours.”

Wonwoo’s knuckles pressed softly into his cheek while he waited for you to prepare your laptop. His own document was glowing at him, and he swore the emptiness of the page made the screen brighter (in the absolute worst, most mocking way).

“Okay, I’ve got my ideas and such pulled up.”

He expected you to continue and introduce the concept, but you had suddenly stopped, and Wonwoo thought you appeared almost smitten and somewhat timorous. It was strange, because from what he’d known and gauged so far, you were nothing akin to that.

“Well, promise that you won’t think it’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t even know what it is.”

“That’s why I want you to promise!”

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses and sighed, “I will need to be honest at some points you know, depending on what kind of help you want from me. Not that I’m going to be a straight-up dick.”

You scoured at him from over your laptop.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll promise if it makes you feel better.”

“Just—shut up." You wiggled your hand at him dismissively and proceeded to tug the laptop closer. “I don’t even care anymore.”

Once you spent a moment affirming the document to yourself, you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m going to write a book for Mingyu. Our fifth anniversary is coming up in the winter—it’s actually on Christmas Eve—the day he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I just want to write him a little memoire thingy that tells our story. I want it to walk through the events of our lives, and how I remember them. First encounter, first date, first kiss, stuff like that. I’ve already collected some good memories to include. I have… somewhat of an outline? But my problem is the writing. I can spew nonsense from my mouth at a million miles an hour, but when I try to actually write? It’s crickets.”

You sat back, a hand poised thoughtfully at your cheek while one leg folded over the other. Wonwoo knew you were granting him the space to speak and at least offer a slice of his thoughts, yet, in that moment, he found himself to be drowning. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or anything of the delusional like; however, hearing you explain the exact premise of a story that he had been successfully writing until a certain breakup—it had shaken him, and Wonwoo felt like the universe was smearing salt fresh into his unsewn wounds.

“So…” your head cocked to the side. “Can I at least an ‘okay’ or a head nod or some sign of life? Or are you just too disgusted?”

What could he say? What was he supposed to say?

Wonwoo was genuinely clueless on how to help you write a story that he’d been utterly failing at writing himself. And, sure, maybe Wonwoo should just give up completely. His ex-girlfriend had ripped out his heart without a single indication that it would happen, and then exited his life in the blink of an eye, disappearing so fucking abruptly that Wonwoo could have said she was a shadow that he imagined in pure lunacy. But he hadn’t dropped the story because there was this very stubborn, unwilling part of his being that could not move on from her—her, who had been his love, and breath, and bones.

He’d decided to finish the story as a manner of easing into closure. If that closure never came, then so be it.

“Are you seriously fucking ignoring me right now?”

His silence had promptly disturbed your peace, and now you were glaring at him with the beginning licks of fire and hell in your eyes.

“I don’t think I can help you.”

“What?” You pronounced sharply. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said while closing his laptop and sliding it back into his shoulder-sling bag, “I just—I’m not the right person to help you. I’m not, and you’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Seokmin told me you could write fucking anything. He made it out like you were some literature God with a golden quill. And—great, you’re just packing up fucking everything. Are you serious? Am I even allowed more of an explanation or are you gonna leave it at that? Wonwoo, you couldn’t have told me this at a worse time.”

“I didn’t plan for it to be like that.” He could hardly push the syllables up his diaphragm. “It can’t be me. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t lift a finger to stop him from leaving, though the wavelength of your incinerating stare was felt like a hot, melting scratch down his neck. This was terrible, he was terrible—Wonwoo already knew that about himself. He wanted to go home. He wanted to shut himself away in his room and sink straight through the sheets until he was swallowed. His anxiety was webbing around him. It was pulling him down into the soil and earth like he belonged there.

He truly hated this part of himself.

More than anything, he truly hated when other people saw it.

Especially people like you.

—APRIL 8TH.

Wonwoo didn’t think you would ever speak to him again, in person or over text message. In retrospect, he was fine with it. You were rather overwhelming and especially tiring for someone like Wonwoo who would be perfectly fine never seeing another human in his lifetime. Not to mention he was freed from helping you with your book, which he learned was a technical love letter to your boyfriend in addition to a romance he wanted a nonexistent part in. Going down that path once was already excruciating enough, and given his anxiety attack that saw him locked in a cold washroom stall last week, it was best you just forget about him. He assumed you already had, anyway.

After he stocked the last red bottle of sinus medicine onto the shelf, Wonwoo used his boxcutter to break down the cardboard package and fold it flat with the others he’d opened. It was time for his break, and then he would only have one more hour until the pharmacy section closed for the night. Once it hit ten o’clock, the store was automatically still and hardly anyone came in—minus the few student couples whom Wonwoo had to point in the direction of pregnancy tests or plan b. But it was a Tuesday night. He was at the bare minimum appeased he didn’t have to console a sobbing, snotty-nosed eighteen-year-old girl imploring for a First Response.

When he collapsed down at his favourite seat in the breakroom, Wonwoo pulled out his phone. He had sent Seokmin a text yesterday evening about going studying at the SRX building for their upcoming math midterm, though Seokmin had yet to respond and Wonwoo couldn’t evade wondering if you were pulling some strings behind the curtain.

He opened his bottle of juice and spent the remainder of his fifteen listening to music and jittering his knee.

Wonwoo took his earbuds with him back onto the floor, sneaking the wires under his shirt to pull out his collar. There were only a few boxes left on his cart that required stocking, and whatever didn’t fit would have to be scanned into storage. That shouldn't take long. Wonwoo could almost taste the crisp atmosphere of the night air and feel the gentle chilliness soon to ghost against his face.

However, halfway into shelving the cough drops there had been a polite tap on his shoulder, and Wonwoo wanted to wither up and lose his head right there on the tiles like a sundried rose.

He didn’t know who to expect when he turned around, pulling out a single earbud while the other continued to blast his music.  

“Oh, shit—I didn’t know you worked here.”

Fuck. He wanted to kill himself.

“Yeah, started a couple months ago, actually.”

Mingyu.

It’s not that Wonwoo didn’t like speaking with him, because they had definitely exchanged cordial conversations in the past, particularly when they both took that Probability Poker elective last semester and Wonwoo learned that Mingyu was a pretty decent bluffer. Unfortunately, Mingyu’s belief that he was a great bluffer was actually the one indication that he was indeed bluffing. It showed in his overly confident eyes before a twitch of the lips or a subtly shifted foot, meanwhile Wonwoo was able to sit there the entire time like he was an Easter Island statue incarnate.

Put simply, Wonwoo had always preferred to avoid Mingyu because he was your boyfriend, and per routine, he attempted to slip around most people that were associated with you.

“Cool.” Mingyu smiled and the flashes of his pointed teeth caught the light. “Stuff’s got switched around in here again.”

“New mods came out last week,” Wonwoo answered, placing the last cough drop box onto the shelf and facing it straight.

“Well, don’t know what the fuck that means,” his tone was brassy as he laughed, “I just came to ask where the plan b is now.”

 “Two aisles down, check the endcap.”

“Appreciate it, thanks—oh, condoms?”

“Next aisle.”

“Got it.”

“Just come get me when you’re done,” Wonwoo said, grabbing his boxcutter and running the blade along the taped seam of the cardboard to satisfyingly slice it open, “I’m the only one in pharmacy right now, so I have to ring you up.”

As soon as Mingyu disappeared around the corner, Wonwoo tossed the flattened cardboard onto his cart with the loudest, most life-draining sigh that could be harboured. He wasn’t the kind of person to cultivate those racing, panicky thoughts that consumed his brain like a merciless hurricane, rather it was typically one single thought that was an eternal black space to swallow him. But Wonwoo had to admit that seeing Mingyu had triggered something of the latter, and now he was feeling sick with the fact you possibly told Mingyu about his episode at the SRX building last week. To Wonwoo it had been the shackles of his anxiety, though it probably came across as a very ill-mannered, abrupt rejection from your perspective.

Mingyu didn’t take long picking out his items. It was clearly a run of the mill routine for him at this point—a mere grab and go.

At the register, Wonwoo mentally questioned why Mingyu had grabbed such a plethora of condoms. He didn’t mean to be vulgar in his thinking, but how often were you getting fucking railed?

Either that, or Mingyu preferred being well stocked.

Vernon would be bruising his knuckles on his steering wheel right now, considering how devotedly he attempted to seduce you.

As payment, Mingyu pulled out that godforsaken credit card that you had borrowed during the dress shopping. Wonwoo felt nauseous just looking at the damn thing. He swiped all of the items into a small plastic bag which he then handed to Mingyu with a notable impatience, wanting to whisk the boy out as quick as possible.

“G’night, man. Thanks for the help.”

“Night,” he answered in a deep, tired sigh, watching Mingyu’s head of thick and bouncy black hair disappear toward the aglow exit.

Well, clearly you weren’t wasting anytime thinking about him despite the dramatics pertaining to the situation last week, not even in the most marginal fraction. Mingyu must rail it out of you every night—not that Wonwoo would be surprised to learn such a thing considering the tall boy’s physique and your openly lascivious nature.

Well, good luck to you both, he supposed.

At least it was closing time.

Wonwoo had always suspected there was something ever so slightly off kilter about his body, especially in the way it reacted to certain situations and emotions. He knew it probably wasn’t the most mundane, ordinary act—locking himself in his aunt’s washroom the day of his sixteenth birthday, sliding down onto the cold, hard tiles, feeling his heart jolt, punch, and thump again his chest like a battering ram. There had been a pattern of rubber ducks on her eggshell blue shower curtain, and Wonwoo remembered counting them row by row, over and over, until his breath managed to steady.

Twenty-four ducks. He could still recall the number.

A doctor’s visit about three weeks later had granted him the diagnosis and a scribbled venlafaxine prescription. Wonwoo was already collecting his sweater off the tissue sheet bed, ready to leave.

In the beginning, he was strict about his medication. He organized them into pill cartridges and set alarms and always ate them with cooked, warm meals. Understandably, his habits dwindled every now and again, however, Wonwoo was quite pious to the routine for a good couple years. But then he met his most recent girlfriend in university. She was shy and reserved. All about the books.

Cute as buttons.

He fell in love.

And it was all such a rush of rose petals and sweet symphonies that Wonwoo became distracted from his healthy habits.

Of course, everything crashed and burned once she abandoned him. He capitulated in an instant, and the sight of the orange bottle made him paler than winter moonlight. It’s not like he wanted to suffer, or despise the way his body put him through a neural hell beyond his own control. The fact of the matter was that Wonwoo just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take those stupid pills.

It was a mountain. Every. Single. Time.

And for the third time that week, Wonwoo found himself awake at an ungodly hour, rifling through the black lunchbox he kept in his closet with his glasses about to slip off the fine point of his nose.

He pulled out the baggie filled with the quarter-ounce, his silver grinder, and his rolling papers. Moving to his desk, Wonwoo clicked on the small overhead lamp to illuminate his space, in which he tapped some of the weed into his grinder and began twisting the lid until he was satisfied. He liked preparing joints to smoke on the roof. It wasn’t particularly hard to access, anyway. Right outside his bedroom window was a balcony with a short ladder attached to the brick, and once Wonwoo had discovered it, he made a habit of climbing up to spark his joints so that their pungent aroma could be carried away by the fresh winds usually stirred up at gloaming.

Honestly, it was the only thing he enjoyed.

Just before he slipped out the window, Wonwoo grabbed a pair of black jeans he’d worn earlier in the week, discovering the lighter he’d accidentally left in the back pocket.

The ladder shuddered slightly when Wonwoo gripped it, though if he were being candour, he didn’t care whatsoever if all the bolts suddenly loosened and he were to splatter against the sidewalk like an uncooked pancake. In fact, the fall probably wasn’t enough to kill him. Maybe a few broken bones and scrapes, some blood staining the street akin to little patterns of rain, bruises that signatured violets into his skin, but Wonwoo would still be painfully, vividly alive, enough to see the stars if the glasses didn’t snap off his face.

It was a colder night, so Wonwoo made sure to tuck on his beanie and huddle into his thicker-sized coat. He sat with one leg dangling over the building’s edge, feeling the wind whiplash against his back and crawl in these chilly, indecipherable whispers from his shoulders to his neck, almost tickling him, like it had missed him.

An orange flicker popped to life from the butane of his lighter, which he used to lightly singe the joint perched at his lips. Wonwoo then tilted his head back, blowing the cloud and its loose, airy curls straight into the sky’s deepest purples.

He loved being alone.

Even when his ex-girlfriend had moved in with him all those months ago, there was an unyielding part of him that hadn’t been ready to forfeit all his space and privacy.

But, over time, his love surmounted the sacrifice.

He would wake up to her sleeping face, and with thoughtful nudges, clear the hairs off her cheeks. He would spend an hour working on his homework or writing his story while waiting for her to stir so messily in the sheets that it became graceful. He would tease her with his cold hands as she boiled up tea in the kitchen, pinching at her hips with the utmost softness and giggling huskily into her neck when she would twist in the arms that bracketed her body against his chest. He would trap her between the counter, sunshine striking the room aglow in these nearly blinding seas of light, mouthing at her throat and tugging at her shorts and hitching his fingers so deep into her heat because all Wonwoo wanted to do was make her feel good.

Opening his eyes again, Wonwoo saw the stars rather than her face. The high was disseminating past his lungs and mingling with the pain that festered in his heart, concocting something that hurt so wonderfully, in all the right places, in all the right spots.

He was a fucking mess.

It wasn’t sustainable. But he didn’t care enough to fix himself.

 —APRIL 15TH.

Why did Wonwoo keep coming back to that café? The number of times he’d sat down with conviction that today would be fruitful—today, the eloquence would flow from his fingertips like perfectly pitched music notes and the symphony would read as beautiful and mellifluous as it sounded in his mind. Today, he was going to write.

Except, he accomplished nothing of the sort.

Repeatedly tapping his index finger against the space bar, he waited for the right adjective or phrase to leap out—to grasp him in a headlock even—whatever it took, Wonwoo was willing to sit there all afternoon until one fucking word conjured in the infinite blankness that was his imagination. He reached for his drink, only to take a sip of dry air that smelled like his earlier cocoa. Wonwoo realized the cup was empty. Had he wasted this much time already?

It pricked similarly to a bee sting. His passions felt impossible. A sigh upheaved from his chest and fingers curled into his hair, musing up the already disarrayed strands and slowly warping himself to look more and more like a mad scientist. Wonwoo removed his glasses and slumped back in the chair, rubbing at the reddish prints left on his nose. Writing had soaked itself in agony and he was going to remain in the storm of it until the bitter, ungratifying end.

‘Till death do us part.

 And then, something struck.

Though it wasn’t what Wonwoo had hoped for.

Literally—it was your hand hitting the glass of the café window, which had jerked Wonwoo out from his self-pitying.

He scrambled to fix his glasses back on, your face clarifying in an instant. You smiled at him with your glossed lips, and he didn’t like the nuance of your countenance one bit. Watching you enter the café was jarring and uncomfortable and his fist immediately clenched, his index nail picking at the ruined cuticle of his thumb. Two weeks ago—that was the last time you had spoken. At the SRX building.

“Hey!” You sounded friendly. “Can I sit here?”

“Well, uh—”

“Great, thank you.”

You pulled out the chair across from him, then set your bag delicately on the windowsill. Wonwoo watched with nervous, fluttering eyes as you smoothed out your cropped skirt before sitting down, ensuring it was tucked under yourself appropriately.

“How are you?”

Gulp.

“Fine.”

“Good. That’s really good. I’m glad.” Your nails drummed once against the table. “I actually didn’t plan on coming here, but I saw you as I was crossing the street, and I thought, ‘I should stop by and check in on him’ because, y’know, we haven’t been talking.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Slap your hand against windows to get people’s attention.”

You swept something off the table with your palm, and this sunshine-like laugh turned your entire face to sweetness, but it wasn’t entirely earnest, and Wonwoo bit into his lip because you fucking terrified him. He caught your sparkling eye and wanted to melt.

“Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re good.”

“What are you working on?”

“A paper.”

Obviously, he was going to lie. Whether or not you could pick up on his lie was beyond Wonwoo’s control at that point. He didn’t know what you wanted, or why you were interrupting the flow of your very organized scheduling system to seemingly toy with him.

You didn’t respond to his paper comment. There was a thick silence between you despite the distant clattering of dishes, bubbling coffee machines, and conversations that coalesced into one big buzz.

Wonwoo bit the bullet.

“Something you want from me, yeah?”

“Not… exactly… I mean, after you left me at the SRX building, I wanted to get very angry about the whole situation. My day was terrible, and you responding to my idea with that sickly look on your face didn’t help. But I thought about it. You said no. I can’t ask anything more of you, y’know? I have to respect what you said.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo unclenched his fist, stretched out his long legs a bit more. “Yeah, sure. I get it. Thanks for understanding.”

“I just didn’t think my idea was that bad.”

“Well… no. It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.”

A twitch to your lip suggested you didn’t believe him. Wanting to clear the air a bit, Wonwoo stopped slouching. He sat straighter and lowered the lid of his laptop, inviting the space between you.

His mouth opened, and then closed.

Fuck, just breathe you idiot—he cursed at himself.

You did that little head tilt thing, half-smiling at him, looking radiant underneath the café sunlight and so oddly patient with his tied-tongue that Wonwoo was miraculously able to find his words.

“There is nothing wrong with your idea. I made it seem like there was. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to help you write a romance story, for personal reasons that would be useless explaining. But you seem very confident in everything you do. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Hm, well, thank you for believing in me. Romance can be a touchy subject—I didn’t think of that, and I get it… I guess I felt more insecure about your reaction because writing is the one thing I can’t ace. I do need help with my story, even if I don’t want it. Well, it’s just the truth, isn’t it? There are some things I can’t do!”

You chuckled at yourself, and Wonwoo thought it to be actually endearing. All your hard edges softened in that moment.

“So, I haven’t made any progress in my story, which sucks because I’m operating by deadline—” reaching into your bag, you unveiled a small, compact mirror, using it to remove something invisible from your eyelash, “—do you have any writer friends that would help me?”

Wonwoo scratched his nose.

“Uh, with the book?”

“Yes.”

“None.”

“What?” The mirror snapped shut as you gagged at him. “How do you have no writer friends? Isn’t that your major? Literature? Do you even have friends that aren’t Seokmin?”

“I’m a math major for fucks sake.”

“You’re fucking joking, Wonwoo. Please, tell me it’s a joke.”

He leaned back, folding his arms and propping an ankle onto his knee. You were still gaping at him, and he wanted to smirk.

“What’s wrong with math?”

“Nothing. Math is… math,” you gritted, shoving the mirror back into your expensive-looking, gold-buckled bag, “but why math? Why straight math? I thought you wanted to be a writer.”

“Man, Seokmin really didn’t tell you fucking anything, did he?” Wonwoo chuckled. Or, maybe you had only heard the things you wanted to hear, which was what Wonwoo assumed.

“Like I have space in my brain to remember the multiverse of information that constantly comes out of his mouth.”

“So what is there space for then?”

“You're toeing a dangerous line.”

“Well, I like math and writing.”

"And what kind of papers would you be required to work on as a math major? Did you stumble across some quintessential theorem that nobody else really cares about except for you and all the other pocket-protector wearers out there? Or is this a Good Will Hunting scenario? Even better—are you waiting for someone to walk by behind you and see all that really complicated mumbo-jumbo on your screen and think to themselves, 'woah, this guy is really smart. He's working on a paper with numbers, and I only work on papers with words. Where did I go wrong in my life?' so you can develop some sort of alternative complex that writing just isn't giving you?"

Wonwoo cocked his head at you, perplexed.

“What the absolute fuck are you talking about?” He felt a laugh in his chest, but he pushed it down. Wonwoo had never met anyone like you before. “You made up everything you just said.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I go on tangents. It’s just something I do.”

“Damn. I can tell.” Wonwoo rubbed at the corner of his eye and slipped the ankle off his knee, further spreading his legs. “You like hearing the sound of your own voice, yeah?”

He always hated when people bothered him at the café, especially when he was trying to write. Today, it was different.

“Well, that’s true.” You beamed at him so matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “The most beautiful sound in the world, isn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“Thought so. Ugh, I just can’t believe you have no writer friends to hook me up with.” He watched you slouch forward, slapping your arms across the table. “I’ll have to go wait outside Gildan Hall and start ambushing all the smart-looking literature majors.”

Wonwoo found himself examining your perfect nail polish.

“Good luck with that.”

“Can you at least try to sound more sympathetic?”

“You don’t seem like a person who appreciates sympathy.”

“Pft. According to who? I like being comforted when the time is right, and you’re not being very comforting.” You groaned into the table.

“You like being comforted?” He scoffed.

Your head popped up, and you were pouting. “At certain times, yes. Most times, no. It’s a complicated system. No one’s really cared enough to learn it except for Mingyu, and that was by force, and I think even he hates it. But I’m not asking for the moon. Just a reasonably sized chunk of it. I have to be worth something, right?”

“What’s life without someone catering to your every whim at the drop of a hat, huh?” He couldn’t help but mutter with sarcasm.

“Yes, exactly! See—you read my mind.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue.

“Ugh, now where’s my stupid phone?”

It was in your purse. Immediately, your eyes lit up.

“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna be late to my electrolysis!”

Like a burst of lightning, you shot up from your seat and quickly fixed the cream-white purse back over your shoulder. It reminded him of that time at the mall. One second you were engrained into a tangent, and the next you were scrambling about, attempting to recover the lost time in your meticulous schedule.

“If you think of anyone, please text me!”

Wonwoo nodded his head.

Now, there was a vacant seat before him, left slightly tugged from the table due to your hectic departure. For a moment, he just sighed, feeling the breath emerge from somewhere so deep in his chest that it ached. That was the thing about you—in a confusing turmoil, you managed to fill him up when he felt empty, but then empty him once he felt full.

He didn’t know what kind of person you were.

But there was an odd thrill to it that Wonwoo couldn’t articulate.

—APRIL 18TH.

Sat with Seokmin at the boy’s dining room table, Wonwoo popped a purple grape into his mouth while flipping a pencil between his fingers. The two had been staring plainly at their last problem from the math homework, but the question was horribly long, and his handwriting had morphed from legible penmanship to the most slurred hieroglyphics. Wonwoo wanted to dump a ramen packet into some boiling water and call it a night. He’d devoured a whole stem of grapes. His head was pounding and his stomach growled for a meal.

“Oh! You see—this is what gets me every time!” Seokmin exclaimed, leaned over his scattered papers, shoulders hunched with strain, “I mess up one multiplication in a matrix, and it screws me all up! Now I have to go over—uh! My fucking pencil just snapped.”

“Good,” Wonwoo mumbled, pressing a hand along the groove of his stiff neck, cracking it, “take it as a sign to give up.”

“We’re so close.”

Scooting the chair back to stretch his legs, Wonwoo then snatched his phone off the table. It was nearly ten at night.

“I’m hungry, and I don’t care anymore.”

Seokmin sighed, “are you going to eat now?”

“Yeah. Any ramen left?”

“It’s in the box sitting on top of the fridge. Soup broth is in the cupboard beside the microwave. I think there’s some eggs, too.”

Wonwoo easily grabbed the noodle packet off the fridge. He asked his friend if he wanted a bowl as well, and Seokmin agreed, abandoning their math homework after his defeating pencil-snapping incident. While they waited for the water to start bubbling over the stovetop, Seokmin had joined Wonwoo in the kitchen, though he leaned against the counter, holding his phone six inches or so from his face. Wonwoo had never seen anyone text that fast.

Gosh—he didn’t even need to ask who it was.

Noticing a few smudges on his glasses, Wonwoo lowered them down to the hem of shirt, beginning to massage the marks away.

“Our math final is the twenty-eighth, right?” Seokmin asked.

“Should be, yeah.”

“Thanks. If it’s on the twenty-eighth then I can definitely go.”

Wonwoo slid the glasses back onto his nose.

“Go to what?

Taptaptaptap—Seokmin’s fingers were practically electric.

“Uh, this thing that Her is having… at her parents’ house… like… a big dinner party… I’m helping her plan it… just need to make sure… I’m free those days… there! Okay, all settled.”

At last, Seokmin had clicked off his phone and slid the device back into the pocket on his sweatpants. Wonwoo folded his arms, staring at his friend with a deeply furrowed yet confused brow.

He sucked in a helpless breath.

“I don’t get you, Seokmin.”

“What—why?”

A few hot droplets of water had leapt from the pot, slightly scalding Wonwoo’s arm. He promptly ripped open the ramen packet and submerged the noodle brick, poking at it with chopsticks.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, “are you obsessed with her?”

Seokmin laughed, sounding astounded.

“No, I’m not obsessed. I’m just helping. We’re friends.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Setting the chopsticks beside the stove, Wonwoo turned around again, habitually crossing his arms low along the chest.

“I guess I don’t understand what you get out of that relationship.” He admitted. “Why can’t she do shit herself?”

“Ha!—That’s an interesting question.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s not that.” Seokmin lifted himself onto the kitchen counter, his head thumping back against the wooden cupboard. “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. And—I meant it’s interesting to see your interpretation of it. Like, my friendship with Her.”

Wonwoo nodded. He wasn’t going to coax anything out of his friend that he wasn’t already willing to say. In fact, Wonwoo had only begun talking to Seokmin back in the early, rainy days of September, since they ended up in the same discrete mathematics course and happened to choose seats right next to each other. Their bond had formed fairly quick, but they never really conversed about topics more intimate than school work and their own interests.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, don’t apologize. I mean, I totally get why you’re curious.”

Seokmin glanced down at his knees, scratched his chin.

“Uh—well, what did you say, anyway? Why can’t her do shit herself? I mean, her life is super busy. Her mom’s a writer and editor for that popular fashion and beauty magazine you always see at all those glamour stores—Stunning Monthly—something like that. Her’s dad is this business tycoon guy. He works with my dad, actually. I’ve known Her since high school. Our families are close, so naturally we’ve spent a lot of time together. Her family picked up all their stuff and moved into Hillcrest on account of her dad needing to relocate for work.”

Wonwoo remained silent at the revelation, even though he was urged by curiosity to badger Seokmin with questions.

“But, uh—without all my non-essential rambling—the relationship with her parents is tumultuous. Who doesn't have a shaky relationship with their parents, though? A few lucky souls, probably. But they've set things up for her quite well, in my opinion. Her mom got her a job at the Milestone—that fancy beauty place down Bank Street? She has a makeup chair from time to time and works reception. She’s definitely gonna graduate Cum Laude with some big fancy scholarship. Not to mention the little power couple thing she’s got going on with Mingyu. She just tends to be…” Seokmin winced, massaging his shoulder, “she’s just a bit unpredictable. It would be way too easy for things to start falling all over the place. She’s a busy girl so I figure it’s nice to help her out. Keep things organized.”

Wonwoo bobbed his head, thinking.

“I guess I’m curious about the book thing. I mean, if everything is so perfectly laid out for her, and she’s so busy all the time…. why write a book? That takes months, extreme dedication, planning out the ass… it’s loving everything you’ve written and then hating it so atrociously… I don’t know,” he sighed, shrugging with confusion, “if I were her, writing a book would be the last thing on my mind.”

Folding his arms, Seokmin leaned back against the cupboards and agreed. “I know. But sometimes she just lurches onto random things out of nowhere. One year she practically turned her entire living room into a freakin’ art studio and I slipped on an open tube of paint on the floor—nearly popped out my tail bone. To be fair, her passion projects never last long. She never has the time, as you said… I know you’re not helping her anymore. She’ll probably drop it without help.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin answered, smiling, “just like that.”

For some reason, Wonwoo gritted his teeth. He would hate for you to discard the feat so readily, just because he couldn’t pitch in as initially planned. Yes, writing was not always a fruitful cherry blossom tree and sometimes chalking down one sentence was equivalent to a month of effort and squeezing out all the creative fibres in one’s brain, but there was so much worth and occulted beauty to it at the same time. It was the art of expression.

Wonwoo thought it was quite cruel to deprive oneself of the ability to express and articulate things as they coursed through the fragile skin and the warm veins, and chiefly, the heart.

“Anyway, maybe I didn’t really answer your question,” Seokmin laughed, “but, y’know, don’t worry too much about turning down the book. You’re right. She’s got more important things to focus on, as I was telling her over and over, and—oh! Fuck, the ramen’s bubbling!”

Wonwoo quickly twisted around as the water began spilling over the edge and sizzling like fried meat. He lifted the pot off the piping hot, orange element, to which Seokmin joined him, twisting the stove dial to a much lower heat. Blowing at the white froth, Wonwoo waited a precautionary minute before returning the pot.

Once dinner was ready, they gathered back at the dining table, entwining the noodles with their chopsticks and hardly allowing a second for the ramen to cool before they were shovelling in burning mouthful after mouthful. The bite in Wonwoo’s stomach was gradually appeased. He soon felt warm, and full, and less tempered.

“Seokmin.”

“Hm?” His friend glanced up from his phone.

“So…” Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, his fist clenched. “I guess what—from what I understand—if I don’t help Her, or if she doesn’t find someone who can, then the book just won’t happen ”

At his observation, Seokmin nodded, seeming unbothered.

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”

“That’s sad.”

“Hey, you two just aren’t destined for each other,” he replied, slurping his noodles, “you were right back at the café.”

Picking up the white and blue patterned bowl, Wonwoo prepared to drink the broth, feeling the delicious heat fan back against his face. Once he finished eating and helping Seokmin with the dishes, he planned to catch a late-night bus back to his apartment above the quaint pottery shop. He didn’t know if he would sleep or not.

Maybe, however, that would give him time to rethink some choices, even if he shouldn’t trust the musings his brain happened to curate past nine at night. Especially any musings concerning you.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: Sorry to message you this late.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: I’ll keep it brief: I’ve given your book idea some thought, and if the offer still stands, I’d like to help you write it. Though, I understand if you want someone else’s help.

[ Wonwoo | 11:50 pm ]: Goodnight.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: AHHHHHHHHHHH

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: good morninggg

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: no that’s so perfect

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: okay. OMG. there’s just so much we have to sort out. I’m trying not to overwhelm myself lol

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: thank u for giving it more thought. I’m excited to plan everything and see u again ofc :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:55 pm ]: Likewise.

—APRIL 24TH.

Since last November, Wonwoo hadn’t invited many guests to his apartment—not even his older brother, who had never stepped foot into the building after Wonwoo originally signed the lease. Seokmin visited once or twice, but everything was curt, and while there had been one time that Vernon slept overnight on the couch, it was hardly notable.

Knowing that you were going to be at his apartment in a few hours was a very daunting thought. Consequently, Wonwoo had done something he hadn’t properly completed in months: clean.

It wasn’t like he just threw out the garbage and wiped down the kitchen counter either. He legitimately cleaned, picking over his apartment with a fine-tooth comb, not allowing one coffee cup or coaster to seem even vaguely incongruous. He fluffed out the couch pillows and vacuumed the floors. He went through his entire room, tidying up piles of clothes on the floor and aligning every book on his shelf. For the first time in months, Wonwoo threw open his heavy curtains, pure sunlight engulfing the space in such a bright glare that his eyes stung and he hardly recognized his own bedroom. Most importantly, he remembered to hide the pill bottle in his nightstand.

After all the anxiety-driven cleaning was done, Wonwoo collapsed onto the couch and stared plainly at the ceiling, the reality of what he just accomplished beginning to sink into his pores.

What the fuck?

He doubted you would care even microscopically if his apartment wasn’t perfectly swept and polished and artistic like a photo from an interior design catalogue. But at the same time, it would have been impossible for him to leave it alone. The burst of productivity undoubtedly left Wonwoo rather hot and sweaty, so he opted to take a shower before you arrived. Standing beneath the cool water and taking slow, languid breaths helped ease his nerves.

And, for the first time in what he imaged to be—months, Wonwoo dried himself off with this feeling that everything was okay.

Not good. Definitely not great. But okay.

While he buttoned up a pair of blue jeans, Wonwoo heard his phone ding from his desk. Reaching over, he tapped the screen.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:05 pm ]: hi, I’m almost there

His chest fucking lurched.

Roughly jerking open his drawer, Wonwoo pulled out the first shirt he saw, tugging the white long-sleeve over his head before he wiggled his feet into a fresh pair of socks. Once Wonwoo found his glasses, he sat on the edge of his bed with his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Okay.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Would you like me to come down?

God—he felt like his stomach was going to collapse.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:08 pm ]: no that’s okay :)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:09 pm ]: it’s really pretty down here

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm]: sorry I was looking at some of the pottery / painting stuff. it’s the staircase down the hall, right?

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm ]: unit 102?

[ Wonwoo | 12:12 pm ]: Yes.

He reminded himself to breathe. Calm and slow and lifting the pressure that dug so bluntly into his lungs. The webs began to burn away. It had been a narrow escape, but it was successful.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:13 pm ]: heyy, I’m outside

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Wonwoo walked to the front door. His fingers brushed the knob in a flash of doubt, though his mind had already committed and now the door was pulled open and you were there, just as you said.

“Well, hello.”

He nodded at you, and then gestured for you to enter.

“Where should I take off my shoes?”

“There’s good,” Wonwoo answered, pointing to a textured mat in the corner that you proceeded to leave your simplistic heels on.

How absurd was this? Never in his life would Wonwoo imagine you at his apartment of all places—the one girl whom he adamantly tried to avoid because you were his gleaming opposite, and everything that you were, certain and in control, scared him. You were gazing around with your hands politely clasped together, ignited in the fulgurant sunlight, a small smile on your mouth.

“Wow, you’re very clean.”

Wonwoo stepped after you, maintaining a shy distance.

“It doesn’t normally look this neat,” he admitted, watching you readjust the strap of your tote bag, “I did clean for you.”

You turned to face him, and your laughter filled the space with a refreshing, long lost tone that made everything brighter. His fist clenched up anxiously and he knew his cheeks were pinkening.

“Um, cleaned or power-washed?”

He merely stared at you. Why couldn’t he fucking speak?

“Jeez, don’t look so afraid. I’m joking. And I obviously appreciate the effort.” You spun back around, continuing to walk past the coffee table and toward the kitchen. “It’s a lovely place, and it’s definitely got your personal touch. Oh—this is a cute mug.”

He breathed out, unfurling his hand and stretching his fingers until the air in his knuckles popped. You began wandering in the natural direction of the bedroom, and so Wonwoo followed, his eyes drifting up the jeans that hugged your legs and your sashaying hips, to back of your delicious-smelling hair. What was that scent, anyway?

Manuka honey?

But it was just a trivial glance, really.

Nothing meaningful.

“Is this your room?” You asked, stopping at the doorframe.

“It is.”

Biting your lip, you peaked inside and started to grin.

“Do you care if I go in?”

 “No.”

He tried not to crumble right there on the floor. Wonwoo’s room was his sanctuary, a fortress, something that barred out everyone but himself and granted him the freedom to do whatever he pleased (whether it was self-detrimental or not). The thought of others in his room was a gash in that perfect sanctuary, in which he could see the walls bleed out all their comfort and familiarity. His ex was the last person to be in his room, typically sprawled across the bed with a good novel in her hand.

It was a sour, sour reminder.

“Oh, and there’s the bookshelf,” you pointed out, “how fitting.” That penetrating gaze of yours roamed his desk and his bed and all his knickknacks in between. “Hey, why’s there a balcony outside?” You then asked, settling your hands onto the window frame and leaning out, the wind fluttering minimally through the layered curtains.

“Just a remodelling error,” Wonwoo explained, “it was supposed to be removed, I think. Never happened.”

Allured by curiosity, you leaned further out, examining the ladder that led up to the building’s roof. He looked at you again, specifically the arch in your back and the way your arms were planted so firm at the windowsill. He looked at the sunlight rippling on your cheek and your lips that appeared to sparkle, like you had kissed glitter.

“You definitely go up there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Half-shutting the window as to keep the breeze flowing, you chuckled. “I figured… so, I guess we should stop dawdling and get to the meat and potatoes. Is here a good spot? Or do you want to go back to the living room?”

“We’re in my room anyways,” Wonwoo commented, pulling out his desk chair and promptly sitting down, “so, why not.”

“Cool. Let me get my laptop.”

You slipped the tote bag off your arm and sat on the edge of his freshly made bed, being careful not to rumple the sheets.

“Okay!” Your hands echoed a series of soft claps. “I’m all ready now. I’ll try my best not to ramble—oh, and please, please don’t interrupt me until I’m done. I’m going to be very pissed if I lose my train of thought and I’d like this meeting to remain pleasant.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I know.”

You flashed him a brief smile.

“So, as you know, Mingyu and I’s fifth year anniversary is coming up in December. My gift to him is this so far nonexistent book. We’ve been through a lot as a couple, and as individuals, and I want the book to fully capture this journey we’ve been on and how much I… appreciate him. Also, I’m going to introduce a second, special element—” a hand plunged into your tote bag and suddenly a video camera was revealed, “—I want to record some of our brain sessions, and, like, our voyage of figuring this shit out. I like mementos. I hope that’s okay.”

“… Do I answer?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Then, yeah. I’m okay with it.”

“Secondlyyy—” you lilted while scrolling a little ways down the notepad on your laptop, the video camera stuffed back into your flower-and-honeybee-patterned tote, “—there are a few places we’ll need to visit—not the actual places that Mingyu and I went to since we grew up nowhere near here—but places that more so have a strong resemblance to the ones in my memory. I feel like it will help me with visual aspects of the writing. I’m a very visual person. Y’know, setting up the scene and technical things like that. I like touching and feeling and seeing and breathing everything in. I want all my senses on fire, basically. Like… the way your lips feel after eating insanely hot noodles.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Wonwoo didn’t really care. He just agreed.

“Lastly, I want to make a schedule for us. So, I’m kindly asking you to set up a schedule of your own—work shifts, doctor’s appointments, tests—the like, so I can incorporate them into my own hectic life and make us one colourful, super writing schedule.”

And then, with a big, winded sigh, you shut your laptop.

“That’s it. Done. Thoughts?”

Honestly, the entire premise didn’t sound all that terrible. He had braced himself for the worst, but you were unsurprisingly organized and had pinpointed all your desires quite clearly. Of course, he knew it was going to be sheer hell—flames up to his knees and desert sun beating on his skin like a hot skillet frying butter. You were structured and dedicated and Wonwoo was none of those things.

No doubt, Wonwoo would have to learn to deal with you.

You would either be his trigger or his pulse.

But, even worse, you would have to learn to deal with him.

“I’m just following your lead on this,” Wonwoo announced, lacklustre of much interest, resting his hands against his stomach while he rotated back and forth in the swivel chair, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. How soon do you want the schedule thing?”

“Like, as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Do you really have no questions?”

Wonwoo scratched the side of his head.

“Uh, have you got anything written down yet?”

“Yes,” you propped open your laptop again, “an intro.”

“Oh, really?”

“Don’t question me. It was already difficult enough to write it, and I agonized over it for hours.” You pouted, slumping slightly.

He shifted up straighter in the desk chair.

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering. It’s good you started.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you. “Do I get to read it?”

Your feet crossed and twirled together. He didn’t think you had any nervous ticks, but that was something easy to pick up on.

“Um, not yet. Not until we officially start.”

“Okay.” He answered with a gentle voice, noticing your swaying feet still again and a bit of rigidity dissipate from your body.

Well, he didn’t really know what to do at this point. Wonwoo suspected you were constrained by more tasks for today and your time with him was limited. It’s not that you were sitting in an awkward, stifling silence, but he would rather occupy himself with something rather than nothing, because nothing left his heart to race.

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

Glancing up from the laptop, you shook your head. “I ate before I came here.”

“Are you going to be leaving soon?”

At that, your face crinkled with laughter. “Sick of me already?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms. “No. Just asking.”

“Well, I have a wax appointment soon. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes or so.” Finally, you looked up, and your eyes clicked with his in a way that made the fine hairs along his neck prickle coolly. “Does that answer your question?” A subtle grin pulled at your soft lips.

“It does, yes.”

“You don’t like having people in your room, do you?”

He huffed at the observation and delved a hand through his black hair, feeling the dampness slide against his fingers. “Not particularly.”

“You should have just said that.” Rising off his bed, you closed the laptop and shoved it back into the tote bag.

Wonwoo’s entire chest jerked. It felt like a ten-story drop.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mm, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.”

Why did his throat close up just then? Why did his vocal cords abruptly feel so coarse and tight? Why was his heart hammering? He didn’t mean to project the wrong impression. He didn’t hate you in his room. It just felt misplaced, and new. Like picking up a puzzle piece from the box and attempting to jam it into a different puzzle.

“It’s fine. Seriously. I should be early, anyway.”

Wonwoo stood up, realizing he needed to breathe. “Um… would you like me to walk you down?”

You stopped on your way out, faced him with a pretty smile.

“That’s okay.”

But then you did something rather strange; your hand sank into his firm upper arm and suddenly you were leaning into him, so carelessly close that he could feel the fanning, light warmth of your breath against his neck. Wonwoo’s head started to spin, and he thought a cloud had enveloped the room because his vision fuzzed.

“Sorry,” you took a step back, removing your hand, “you just smell really good. Like an ocean or something. It reminds me of this beach in Puta Cana. But your hair’s all damp and fluffy so that’s probably why. That was weird. I’m sorry.” Again, you laughed.

Why the fuck did you do that? He was almost angry. But not at you. At himself. For reacting in such a giddy, stupid way. Your touch and breath had burned him and there was this sharp, cutting flare inside Wonwoo that didn’t want to let you leave.

“All good…” he mumbled, sounding groggy and slow.

“I’ll see myself out then. Bye!”

And with a final chirp, you left, the front door closing in the distance while he could only stand there, shuddering and strangely hot and beyond confused. Wonwoo moved to swing the heavy curtains shut, the entire room succumbing into its usual shadiness. He sat on the edge of his very neat bed, removed his glasses, and buckled over while rubbing his veiny, pale hands through his hair.

The feeling was so lost and suppressed to his memory.

Wonwoo didn’t even know what it was.

He was relieved you were gone, but he also wished that you were still there, leaning out his open window with the wind and sunshine in your face. It was a sight so sweet and equally intimate.

Who are you?

What are you doing in his meaningless life?

—APRIL 28TH.

Wonwoo had finished his math final with half an hour to generously spare, and now, he was sitting, bored, sketching his pencil against the last page of the thick packet. The professor wouldn’t care.

Hopefully.

On one hand, Wonwoo knew he  should really just stand up and hand the damn thing in, but on the other hand, he hated—no, abhorred being the first person to return a test, especially an exam at that. Wonwoo was pretty smart. He knew that about himself and he never bothered to maintain the guise he wasn’t. Still, Wonwoo wasn’t pretentious. If he had to wait until the final fucking minute to hand the packet in, solely to avoid being the first student up, then so be it.

Besides, there wasn’t anything too pressing that required his immediate attention—minus the pertinent schedule he was supposed to make and have sent to you approximately three days ago. You had called him last night, to which the phone crackled with a loud, static bark of his name as you admonished him for his lateness.

“I told you three days ago I wanted the schedule! Three days! I can’t believe this. What’s so hard about making a schedule? Beep boop, you press some buttons on your laptop and it’s done. It would take ten minutes tops! Ugh, I’m so done with you, Wonwoo. In fact, don’t call me back—don’t even text me until you have the schedule!”

And then the line had collapsed, leaving Wonwoo to stare rather expressionlessly at his phone screen, the boy huffing out a breath of tendrilled smoke while he relaxed on the apartment roof. That had been his first experience sat on the receiving end of your seasoned quips, and it left him with this very profound emptiness, like his insides had been scooped out and the shell of his body was nothing but a wooden nesting doll. It had been such a long time since he genuinely cared about disappointing someone. Wonwoo had grown far too complacent with the feeling of disappointing himself.

That would never motivate him to do anything.

But you were different. In the sense that Wonwoo mostly remained proactive out of fear you might bite his head off.

From somewhere near the back of the room, Wonwoo heard chair legs scraping, and he eagerly flexed his fingers while observing a girl with the slickest ponytail he’d ever seen march past him to the professor’s desk. She set her packet down. He thanked her. She left.

Jesus Christ. Finally.

“All finished, Wonwoo?” His professor mumbled in a tone that hardly escaped his own lips, glancing up at the boy expectantly.

Pushing up his glasses, Wonwoo nodded.

“I suppose it’s harder for you to sit there and wait than it is to write the actual exam, isn’t it?” The professor noted with an almost undetectable smirk as he slid the test packet inside a tan-coloured folder, to which Wonwoo turned January cold.

“I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugged, pretending to feel unbothered when in reality his skin was slithering like a snake pit at the thought of being even marginally perceived. “Maybe.”

“You have a good summer, alright?”

“Thanks. You too.”

Wonwoo swept a quick glance over the classroom right before he left, noticing that Seokmin was sat beside the wall, one hand tangled tight into his black, ruffled tresses as his pencil scribbled all over the paper like he was writing pure nonsense. He probably was.

And Wonwoo meant that in a nice-this isn’t really your sweet spot, but you’ll manage nonetheless-way. After leaving the classroom, Wonwoo thought he might go home and plunge head first into his oasis of bedsheets and flat, foam pillows that he loved so much, and permit himself to decay until it was physically impossible to lie down any longer. But he decided against it at the last minute, turning up at the café instead with his shoulder-strung book bag and the timely urge for a scone. He then sat down at his favourite table.

Pulled out his laptop.

Opened the document he was at incessant war with.

The last scene he’d written was breakfast.

“Uh, okay. Orange juice… or orange juice?”

“Did you say orange juice?”

“I did.”

“So… chocolate milk?”

“Ha! Funny... is there any sort of correlation between being a complete nerd and making such well-woven jokes?”

“Not sure. But I’ll get back to you when I find out… thanks. Your tea is sitting on the island, by the way.”

“Thank you, Won. Oh—you even put it in my Woodstock mug!”

“Yes, why are you so surprised that I remember?”

“Because it’s always hidden at the back of our cupboard, behind ten other mugs that we certainly don’t need and all our plates. I mean, I guess it’s my fault. Half of them are from my mom.”

“It’s sweet.”

“It takes up too much space. But I can’t tell her no.”

“That, you’ve got to work on.”

“The Christmas thing isn’t happening anymore, if that helps. I think the thought of having to cram all my family into our living room for a night was what motivated me the most. My mom said she’ll send us poinsettias instead. I think that’s way easier.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I can assert myself. Sometimes.”

“No, no. I do believe you. I’m proud. Okay—bottoms up.”

“How’s the combination of venlafaxine and orange juice?”

“I don’t know. Juicy?”

“Better juicy than anxious?”

“You could say that.”

Right, back when Wonwoo actually had the willpower to make himself breakfast rather than slapping a mixed berry Poptart into the toaster or worse, nothing at all. Back when he could wake up before noon without feeling nauseous enough to curl into a ball and drape the sheets over his aching head. Back when he actually took his medicine. Her face beaming at him from across their table had always been like a glass of sunlight and citrus. She had been his own vitamin.

Wonwoo knew he wasn’t going to write. He was just going to stare and mope and ensnare himself in the pinwheel of memories that blew over him whenever he had the gall to reread his past literature.

The Woodstock mug. She’d taken that with her.  

He decided it was strange and sometimes irritating how love, broken or not, could suture itself into even the most mundane things. Orange juice was just that—juice—the carton he used to pick up and impetuously drop into his grocery cart every so often. Now, it wasn’t juice at all, but slow mornings, steaming tea kettles, and reading together on the couch with legs all tangled up until lunch time.

Now, Wonwoo couldn’t drink it at all.

Breaking the lemon raspberry scone in half, Wonwoo dropped a flaky piece into his mouth before it got too cold, and then proceeded to close the document. There was no way in hell he would write, and while he loved drowning in his own misery in order to snuff any glimpse of productivity more than the average individual, he thought it might be worthwhile to finally start that schedule.

[ Wonwoo | 8:20 pm ]: schedule.pdf

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: thanks

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: don’t piss me off again

—APRIL 30TH.

For an April morning, it was surprisingly bright. The sun was out in full and glistering warmth by the time Wonwoo stepped onto the sidewalk and began pacing down to the park, practically needing to squint the entire way. He almost hated it. Early mornings were not his friend, nor were the blades of light cutting across his glasses. But today was his first writing session with you and Wonwoo knew it was more than crucial that he was the furthest thing from tardy—it would be akin to willingly setting his hands inside a burning fire if not.

You agreed to meet at the park since it was roughly equal distance between Wonwoo’s apartment and some breakfast place you wanted to stop at. He thought it was uncharacteristically thoughtful of you to shoot him a text asking if he wanted anything, though Wonwoo declined nonetheless. It was damn near impossible for him to eat a bite of food until lunch time, hence his expression softening in confusion when he at last climbed into the passenger seat of your sleek silver car and was greeted by you passing him a cold tea.

“Am I… holding this for you?” He wondered, sitting still.

You shook your head. “No. It’s yours.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Yes, I realize that. I can read, thank you.”

Wonwoo wasn’t going to argue. He simply shut his mouth, clicked on his seatbelt, and set the tea into the cup holder. He then began looking around at your car’s interior. Everything was exceptionally clean and smelled sugary, like iced gingerbread.

The thing was, Wonwoo still wasn’t very sure how to talk to you, and most often there was the stiffest frog in his throat whenever he sat around you in silence for too long. Your thumbs were tapping against your phone at light speed. It reminded him of how Seokmin was texting you back at the boy’s apartment when they were studying for finals. Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder if Seokmin was naturally more inclined to respond to you out of friendship or fear. Maybe even a pinch of both if that was possible. Another quiet minute passed by.

“Okay, fuck, sorry,” you suddenly spluttered at random, quickly slotting your phone into the GPS holder, “just some shit with my mom. Um, okay. Yeah. We can get going.”

“All good," Wonwoo answered.

“You know where we’re off to?”

“Vaguely. The track by Caldwell High School.”

He watched you flit him a smile. “That’s the place. I’ll explain more once we get there. And, by the way, I am expecting you to drink that tea. It’s not anything crazy. It’s oolong. Only a bit of caffeine.”

“I drink coffee, you know.”

“Yes, and it probably makes you jittery and insufferable.”

Wonwoo preferred not to comment.

The car ride wasn’t too long. Actually, Wonwoo did love a good car ride. He remembered the long trips he used to take with his family to the water park when he was a child, the sensation of the breeze blowing into his face and how different shades of green would scatter in through the windows as the sun hit the tree leaves like emeralds. There was something so limerent and sadly distant about the memory that Wonwoo felt his chest hurt. Even if he were to take that same road, and smell the same breeze, and see his skin glow with the same hues of the forest, he doubted it would feel the same.

His mouth had gone awfully dry. Wonwoo then reached for the cold tea sitting in the cup holder and took a sip, suddenly very appreciative that you had thought to get him something, anyway.

And while he couldn’t be too certain, Wonwoo wanted to think that maybe this would be a good memory, too.

After the half-hour long car ride, Wonwoo made sure to stretch when he stepped out into the empty parking lot. It was cloudier now, a bit more of a breeze to help counteract the warmth that remained in the air. You came around to join him, twisting out a cramp in your leg while adjusting the purse over your shoulder.

The walk to the track field wasn’t long, no more than a few minutes, and Wonwoo obediently trailed at your side until he witnessed the bleachers slowly coming into view. It resurfaced memories from his own high school days in PE, which Wonwoo had actually been quite successful at despite his distaste for sports and their atmosphere in general. He remembered liking kickball the best.

You sighed in a wistful tone while staring across the marked asphalt and fresh April grass. “All high school tracks look the same, don’t they?” Then, you carefully set your purse onto the bleachers.

Wonwoo rolled his shoulders, taking a more observant look around. It wasn’t strikingly different from the track at his high school.

“Sure. I guess.”

“I mean, there are some differences. We had ditches by our track. Come to think of it, I honestly believe they put them there for kids to hurl in from heat stroke or over-exertion… that’s what I did, anyway. It was right before I had to do triple jump. I hated it because you had to really build up speed. I didn’t want to run. So, even if I hadn’t thrown up from heat stroke, I probably would’ve made myself throw up some other way. Straight to the nurse. She gave me a popsicle.”

He glanced at you sideways. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm.”

“You’d rather throw up than hop, like, three times?”

“I said it was the running part I didn’t like.”

Wonwoo couldn’t imagine purposefully making himself upchuck in order to get out of something. If his anxiety was terrible enough, then he wouldn’t even have to worry about it, really.

That was its own mechanism of disaster.

“Running is eighty-percent of Activity Days," Wonwoo said.

You clicked your tongue at him. “Exactly. And I’d do anything to never run. I tried to sit in one time with the seventh graders. They were in their art block and they were doing painting under the trees; birdhouses or something. But their teacher kicked me out. And she didn’t even let me take the fucking birdhouse that I was painting.”

“The nerve,” Wonwoo answered, scratching his temple.

He proceeded to take a seat on the metal bench, rubbing his hands together. He still didn’t know how Mingyu fit into everything.

“So… what’s your plan, here?”

You sat next to him, folding one leg over your thigh and proceeding to reveal a journal that you had stuffed inside your expensive bag. The tips of your fingers skimmed through a few fluttering pages, until you stopped on one in particular that was ink-abused with cursive scribbles. Wonwoo assumed you did most of your planning on a laptop, hence his surprise to learn that you actually used a journal. He had a journal himself, though it hadn’t been touched in months. It mostly contained small poetic excerpts.

Next, you pulled out a pen.

“This is how I first ran into Mingyu. At my school’s track field. He was new and good at all the activities. I swear, his name spread like wildfire. Anyways, I haven’t figured out all the bits and bobs. I want to really soak in the feeling of—oh!” Suddenly, you grasped the journal back onto your lap, the pen hitting the paper in a cursive ribbon that Wonwoo could hardly read. “I just thought of a great line. His eyes, I wanted to soak in them, like an oasis.”

You stabbed the paper again to make a period.

“Not bad,” Wonwoo commented.

“Okay, here it is!” A black case was pulled from your purse, and once you unzipped it, Wonwoo realized it was the video camera that you had initially shown him at his apartment. “Okay, I want you to film some stuff. The field, obviously. I need it from different perspectives. It will help me with setting the scene later on.”

“Why do I have to film it?”

“Because, Seokmin told me you’re quite handy with film equipment stuff, and I don’t want to drop it. So just do it, please?”

Accepting the video camera from your hand, Wonwoo sighed in agreement. Flipping open the side-screen of the camera, Wonwoo began clicking some buttons and adjusting the focus. Luckily, he was familiar with the particular camcorder thanks to a film education course he’d taken outside of school.

While you busied yourself at the bleachers with starting up your laptop, Wonwoo began collecting footage, slowly panning the camera across the vast length of the gravel track and the grassy soccer fields situated beyond. He kept a concentrated eye on the side-screen to ensure the lighting wouldn’t change too drastically. A wind had picked up from over the forest, and he could see how the clouds were consequently being pushed along like herded sheep in the sky.

Once he brushed back the floppy, black hair that kept tickling his face, Wonwoo lowered the camera and turned to you.

“So, where else should I film?”

You were typing something, and didn’t bother looking up.

“Go across the field. Film from the other side.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to go all the way over there?”

“Yes. Walk, crawl. Skip, hop. I don’t care. Just do it, please.”

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed out, feeling tired and yearning to go home, “I hate how seriously you’re taking this, y’know that?”

Your fingers continued blitzing against the keyboard.

“Nobody likes a complainer.”

Ironic, he thought, but obviously kept to himself.

There wasn’t a point in expecting any sympathy from you—that, he already knew—which engendered Wonwoo’s long, trudging walk from one side of the track to the other, the wind irritably blowing his grown-out locks over his glasses every time he attempted sweeping them back. Hoisting the camera back up, Wonwoo adjusted the side-screen and began his same ritual of steadily panning the camera along the landscape.

You appeared in the view, still sat on the bleachers, though nothing about your face or figure was too discernible. It felt like you were a background character in a painting, just a little glob of acrylic.

“All done?”

Finally, you had glanced up at him with a smile.

Wonwoo nodded. “Unless you need anything else filmed?”

“No, that should be enough. The track is most important.”

“Right.”

He tried giving back the camera.

“Actually, do you mind keeping it?”

“Um, okay. But how will you look at the footage?

“Dropbox. We’ll share one. Upload the clips there.”

Wonwoo plopped himself back down on the bench, fitting the camcorder into its black case. He pulled the zipper along the seam.

“How much longer do we need to be here?”

“Not that much. Just let me finish this paragraph.”

There was a dull pain throbbing at the front of his skull, edging down to his temples—across his nose bridge where his glasses pressed in more tightly than usual. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath, trying to escape the feeling, the nausea, the chills that were beginning to seep up his neck as the wind blew turbulently against him. It would be embarrassing if this happened here, right in front of you. The hard lump had suddenly lurched forward in Wonwoo’s throat but he leaned his head down last minute and swallowed it despite the roughness. No, everything was okay.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wonwoo opened his eyes, staring down at the trembling hands buried in his lap. Subtly, he pulled the sleeves of his cardigan over them. He assumed his face was reflecting a sheer, sickly opacity.

“Nothing.”

“Uh, sure. Now look me in the eyes and say that.”

Again, Wonwoo swallowed, but he managed nonetheless.

“Nothing’s wrong. I get headaches sometimes. That’s all.”

“… Oh. Well, I’m basically done here. I was gonna ask if you wanted to walk a lap around the track with me, but maybe we should just go home. I mean, how bad is it? Your headache?”

Yes, yes. Home. Wonwoo wanted to go home. He had only been away from his apartment for a solid two hours, and yet all his mind and body’s energy had completely drained. He felt dried out, withered, fragile as tempered glass. Going home sounded cosmic. 

“It’s getting better. I wouldn’t mind walking with you.”

“Oh! Cool. If it gets really bad, just tell me.” You then spent a minute collecting your belongings back into the cream purse.

Wonwoo immediately looked the other way, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair, mouthing a string of guttural curse words directed at his discombobulated head. Because what the hell was he doing? All his relief and peace had just suckled itself down an invisible drain. Why on earth did he agree? Why?

“I think this will help me, too," you said, having left the shiny bleachers behind, instead kicking the pebbles at your feet, “if we walk the entire track, then it’s like we did the four-hundred meter.”

“You’re supposed to run the four-hundred meter.”

“Well, I know that.”

“I’m surprised you hate running. I mean, you walk so fucking quickly sometimes.”

He heard you snort, clearly amused by his observation.

“It’s because I’ve mastered the art of sashaying. To have a perfect sashay, you can’t walk too slow, but you also can’t walk too fast. It’s like a strut. You need to have confidence while you do it. It lets people know that you’re serious and professional. I’m not dragging my feet, but I’m also not in a rush. It’s the perfect pace.”

Wonwoo sniffled and scrunched the glasses up his nose, continuing alongside you at a pace that was rather aimless.

“I didn’t realize there was a science behind sashaying.”

“Now you know,” you declared.

Wonwoo’s  upper lip quirked slightly, and a small grin appeared on his face, which was starting to dapple with colour.

“I don’t sashay, do I?”

At that, you laughed, “no, you amble.”

“Yeah, I’m an ambler… which basically means I’m an unmotivated, pointless person who will probably go nowhere in life.”

For a moment, you stopped walking, and you merely furrowed your brow at him while your forehead creased with thought. Wonwoo stopped as well. He raked back his fluttering, windswept hair and smirked, flashing his teeth. The behaviour was uncharacteristically snide and a bit of a dig at your bluntness, but he couldn’t help it.

“Don’t remember, huh?”

“No… but it sounds familiar.”

“You told me that, the day I met you—that people who walk slowly are unmotivated and pointless. Their life is a waste, basically.”

He noticed your eyes shift up toward the right, as though you were pulling the memory forward from the intricate files of your brain. And then you started to smile, and it made Wonwoo smile, too.

“Oh, I do believe I said that.” You started walking again, and he followed. “Ha! Wow, you’re right. I said that. I’m so funny. I mean, I was right. You only walk slow when you have nowhere to be.”

“I did have somewhere to be. I was going to meet you.”

“Well, then you just didn’t care.” He felt your elbow press shallowly into his rib. “See what I mean? Unmotivated and pointless. And, honestly, I would have taken your apathy as more of an insult if it wasn’t for the fact that you seem to treat most things like that.”

“So, I’m just supposed to accept that you’re calling me a loser? How do people normally react when you say things like that?”

“Things like what? They’re just my observations about the world. You are a person in this world. I was making an observation about you. Albeit, it came across strongly. But I don’t know. No one ever cared about being gentle or sugar-coating with me. Gives you tough skin, y’know? Metaphorically, of course! I always moisturize.”

 Wonwoo scoffed, smiling at your nonchalance. “The way you word things is honestly fascinating.”

“Psh. How do you even remember that?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem that hard to remember. It was a pretty memorable, somewhat awful experience, to be fair.”

“Awful?” You retaliated in unprecedented disbelief, pushing into his arm until he allowed his tall frame to stumble. “Try again.”

“Interesting?” Wonwoo substituted, his heart thumping. 

Your eyes were narrowed at him, glimmering with a sharpness that made his fingers clench into anxious fists.

“… That’s a little better.”

He exhaled a soft breath of relief.

As you began nearing the full circle, Wonwoo realized his head had eased from its horrible aching and the chills dampening down his neck were gone. Everything didn’t feel as awful compared to before. He was still tired, and his energy was sputtering in tiny, dying sparks, but at least his desire to crawl under the earth and degrade to his bare bones had subsided into something less morose.

“I heard you were having a get together next week,” Wonwoo decided to ask, rounding the last bend in the track.

“Oh, the dinner party?”

“Yeah. Seokmin’s helping you plan it, right?”

“He is. Which I appreciate. My mom is usually the one in charge of everything, and she loathes it. But, I mean, when we try to help her, she just ends up fretting even more—says we’re basically getting in the way and ruining it. I don’t know. She’s such a snappy perfectionist. Seokmin can have fun dealing with that.”

Wonwoo almost made a thoughtless comment in response to your story—he’s probably had eons of practice with you—though the pieces connected just in time and his mouth sealed shut.

“Your dad can’t help either?” He questioned instead.

“Ha! No way. My dad helping is a recipe for fucking disaster if I’ve ever seen it. He’s painfully bad at decorating, can hardly be trusted to cook or invite anyone from the guest list. The most my mom allows him to do is set the table.” You then scoffed, shooting a pebble forward with the tip of your shoe. “I swear, he knows exactly how to push my mom’s buttons. The faster he does it, the quicker she kicks him out and he’s absolved of all chores. What a cheat, huh?”

“Hm, yeah… is Mingyu going?”

“Of course.” You smiled. “He always goes.”

At that point, you had circled back to the bleachers. Adjusting the bag strewn over your shoulder, you heaved out a longing sigh.

“Well, that’s four-hundred meters in the books.”

“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?”

You cackled, “not even close. I think I was right to avoid it.”

—MAY 3RD.

Wonwoo slid his pharmacy badge through the time-machine until he heard the beep. After an eight-hour shift, he was hungry and tired, but Wonwoo also knew the second that he got home, his urge to eat and desire to sleep would be gone. Instead, he would spend his midnight staring up at the ceiling, thinking. About anything and everything, and nothing at all. When the first cracks of dawn light would spill in from under his curtain, then he would close his eyes.

It was all very typical.

He stood outside the store, phone in hand, waiting for Vernon to pick him up because Wonwoo hadn’t felt like walking home despite the softness of the nighttime wind and the alabaster moon’s shining ambiance. The mirage was pretty and he enjoyed it, but his feet were too sore to inch him another step. Luckily, Vernon didn’t take long.

Luckily, he was the only one of Wonwoo’s few friends with a sleep schedule just as horridly fucked up as his. It was eleven at night, but on a weekday? The dead, empty street testified for him.

“Heyy, Glasses,” Vernon sang in his throaty voice as Wonwoo climbed into the passenger seat, “you look like a prostitute standin’ there, waitin’ for me to come get your ass. But a sophisticated one.”

The interior didn’t smell heavily of weed, he noted. Thank fucking god, Vernon had finally paid someone to dry clean it. Either that, or he took the initiative into his own hands.

“I highly doubt you have ever seen a prostitute in your entire life. And the fact you think they’d be standing outside a pharmacy at one of the quietest parts on this block attests to that.”

“God, I hate when you get all technical n’ shit. Such a stiff.”

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, well. You’re always tired. N’ for the record, I have seen a prostitute, outside Room 319. It was a week before Christmas; she had this huge coat on, walkin’ up to people in her pink heels and this crazy eyeshadow that made her eyes pop. I bet she’s a nice girl.”

“Mhm. I bet she was.”

“Oh, you’re a cunt, yeah? You don’t believe me.”

“Does it matter?”

“I’ll take you one day. Room 319’s got a table with your name on it. They’ve got this one shot, the Stabilizer— it’ll put you down like a fuckin’ sick dog but it gets you the best drunk of your life. Maybe we’ll even run into Pink Heels lady. She’s our Halley’s Comet.”

“Halley’s Comet only comes once every seventy-five years. “

“You know what the fuck I meant.”

“Not interested.”

Vernon blinked at him for a moment in the dull light, and then he sighed, forfeiting. He placed the tip of the key in the ignition, but he quickly removed it as though he remembered something.

“Wait, I’ve gotta ask—how’s it going with Her?”

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo reached for the seatbelt and pulled it slowly across his chest, debating how intelligent of an idea it would be to entertain Vernon’s curiosity. But he could also understand the allure. You were like this enigmatic myth that people craved to know about, even if it frightened them.

Wonwoo’s head collapsed back against the seat.

“It’s going well.”

Vernon spat out a boisterous laugh, a hand slapping down on his knee. “Jesus Christ. You’re so dry, man. That’s it?”

“I mean, it’s true. We’ve started the book. Or, she has.”

“Okay, and?” Vernon attempted to engage him further.

“And, what?”

“What’s she like, obviously? Is she actually a fuckin’ psychopath? Is she normal? Can she walk on her hands? I dunno!”

Wonwoo rubbed underneath his glasses. He didn’t really want to talk about you when you weren’t there. It felt like a Bloody Mary situation, where you’d magically conjure in the backseat to sinch your cold hands around his neck and wrangle him limp and lifeless. But then there were Vernon’s shimmeringly prying eyes that just wouldn’t stop burning Wonwoo no matter how hard he bit his tongue.

“I have nothing to say. She’s cool.”

“Oh my fuckin’ God.” Vernon slacked back into his seat, clutching at his steering wheel. “You just don’t wanna talk about it… oh! Shit. I just remembered. She’s having a dinner party tonight, isn’t she? In Hill Crest. Or as I like to call it, Rich People Neighbourhood.”

“Yeah, that’s where her parents live… how do you know that?”

“Shit!” Vernon immediately shuffled up in his seat and delivered a hard smack into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We should drive down and check it out! Right fuckin’ now!” He was lit up with excitement, even though Wonwoo considered it a terrible idea.

“No. Absolutely not. And answer my question.”

“Was sittin’ behind Seokmin at Solar Pop, he talks really loud, happened to overhear some things—doesn’t matter. I think we should go! C’mon, allow some spontaneity into your life! Why not?”

“What the fuck do you mean, why? It’s a family party. With some close friends, which—in case you haven’t noticed—neither of us are. You can’t fucking crash a family dinner party. Who does that? Not to mention the fact that it's eleven at night. They're probably washing up. Sending people home. By the time we get there, it's lights out."

“Aren’t you her friend?”

“No. I’m just someone who’s doing her a favour.”

“Favours are from friends.”

“We’re. Not. Friends.”

“Okay—fuck, Glasses. Fine. We won’t crash the stupid dinner party. But don’t you wanna go for a drive or something? I’m tellin’ you, the houses are insane. Last time I went down there, it was for a big fuckin’ party some dude at your university threw. I think I ran this by you already, when I talked about tryin’ to chat up Her. I stopped by with my old friend—y’know, Dots, the guy that died from the overdose and everything. That party was crazy. It was in a mansion.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo had just finished massaging the throbs at his warm temples, “we are not going to Hill Crest.”

His friend swung his head in disapproval, making a tsking sound with his teeth. “Such a fuckin’ stiff.” He started the car. “It’s the fact I know you have jack shit to do tonight, or tomorrow.”

“I’m not gonna do some stalker drive-by on her house.”

“You don’t wanna do Room 319. You don’t wanna judge a bunch of richies sittin’ up in their ivory towers. I mean, it’s not like we’re eggin’ them or spray painting fuckin’ curse words on their eight-door garages. What do you wanna do?”

Wonwoo rolled down the window and leaned his face toward the moonlight, to which he could feel the wind brush up against his skin in feathery strokes, as though it were caressing him. He knew that Vernon meant in a general sense rather than in the heat of the moment. But in a general sense, Wonwoo would rather not be anywhere at all. He would rather do nothing, or even exist.

“Can you just take me home? Please?”

Vernon exhaled a defeated gust of breath and began to angle his tires away from the curb, the pharmacy lights pulled behind them.

“Yeah, ‘course. Mr. Boring.”

—01:49

Wonwoo hadn’t been able to fall asleep since Vernon dropped him off a couple hours ago. He’d anticipated that. Usually, Wonwoo wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t toss or turn, or pace circles around his bedroom, or count down from one-hundred, because even if he did, none of it would work. His mind would still be wide awake.

Hence Wonwoo’s decision to grab his phone. Staring at a lurid screen definitely wasn’t going to help, though he wasn’t trying to sleep, anyway. That conversation with Vernon was repeating in his head like a chattering bird, pushing him, pushing him, pushing him to find your Instagram and dig into your pictures because now Wonwoo was thinking of your dinner party and how vehemently you seemed to hate it. He saw that you had posted something quite recently, around the same time Wonwoo had left the pharmacy.

For a moment, his thumb hovered over the post.

He didn’t want to press it because he didn’t care.

Or, maybe he did.

There were multiple pictures in the set, and Wonwoo flicked through all of them. Some were of food, close-ups of your jewelry—you even included a picture with Seokmin. But then Wonwoo had settled on the last photo and something in his stomach convulsed.

He recognized the dress like a flash of light—the sapphire one with the glimmering detail that you had modelled for him at the expensive boutique in the mall. Of course, that arm hanging cheekily low around your hip belonged to your boyfriend, Mingyu. He had a champagne glass pressed to his lips, fitted in his black suit with his hair neatly combed and styled into place. The smugness in his face was stifling. Wonwoo rolled onto his stomach, his eyes refusing to drift from the picture for even an instant. He just kept staring.

Staring and thinking. Staring and thinking.

One minute spent staring at your smile.

The next minute at the low placement of Mingyu’s hand.

Another minute staring at your sparkling dress.

The next minute at Mingyu’s brutally cocky expression.

He would switch back and forth.

But Wonwoo didn’t really care. He was just bored.

And alone with his thoughts.

—END OF PART PART ONE.

NOTE! while i truly cherish & adore all comments, pls refrain from remarks such as "pls post part x" "i need part x" "when are you posting part x" while i do understand the sentiment, i find these comments very dismissive & kinda disrespectful! i don't prefer to post series fics and so i don't receive these often, but pls note that if you comment this i will delete the comment!

the fic itself is completely done, so all i have to do is get the parts ready for posting. however, bc this is the first part, i don't have a set posting schedule just yet. i think it will depend on roughly how long those who read the fic take to finish it! but i will be sure to make a post about it or include the schedule in part two once i figure it out!

again, thank u so much your ur patience :3

much luv!! 💕

[scottishstoner]

Thoughts on Anne With an E S3E2 (SPOILERS, obviously)

When Anne was embarrassed in front of Gilbert at the train station, big aww

Marilla being a worried af mother

COLE!!!!!! BBY PLS LET THERE BE MORE OF HIM THIS SEASON OK

THE REUNION SCENE WAS SO SWEET I CAN’T

That entire scene with Ms Stacey and Matthew, Matthew realising how much like Anne she is, was hilarious 

Those kids dropped off at the orphanage by their asshole father broke my fucking heart 

Anne’s rant in the place she use to go to write :(( Cole’s speech!! the hug!! SO PURE 

The woman at the orphanage was a cunt let me just say, FUCK HER 

Anne facing her old bully at the orphanage, and not being rude back, simply saying “I’m sorry you’re still here” showed how caring Anne is, even to a bitch like her, I loved that - Anne saw past her facade now 

Elijah :(( He was so happy to see his mother and then even happy to see Sebastian, but suddenly he has a baby sister he had no clue about and he suddenly felt left out and unwanted

When he got drunk and was being a dick tho, URGH...SEBASTIAN TALKING TO ELIJAH ABOUT HOW HE FEELS!!!! Then Elijah turning round saying all those horrible things and then asking Sebastian when he’s gonna fucking kill Gilbert, made me so angry ngl. I know he’s drunk and mad but jfc. Then he fucking steals Gilberts dads stuff!! ASSHOLE. I felt sorry for him for a minute but then....he done THAT. Really? I get his mindset but it’s still fucked. 

Sebastian’s entire talk with Elijah was so raw and emotional

Gilbert and that woman, she’s hilarious and is a great character but her and Gilbert?? *Simon Cowell voice* it’s a no from me - Gilbert only done that bc of Anne being all distant and “I DON’T NEED YOU!!” on the train :(

I actually laughed out loud at Morilla being happy to see Rachel, to get her mind off of Anne was the only reason lmao 

Rachel’s obsession with gender norms is just ridiculous at this point lol, like I know it was the time they lived but fuck sake Rachel, Ms Stacey being in the stable doing work isn’t the end of the world can you relax you hated her last season lol. Love how she’s gonna try and set her up with a man, that should be interesting hahahha

Ms Stacey “Catch a man? Is it like fishing? Because I do so enjoy fishing” LMFAO AN ICON 

oh also Matthew and Ms Stacey fixing the pritning press. we stan

MS STACEYS LAUGH AT RACHEL WHEN COMPARING HER LOVE LIFE TO CROPS, DON’T @ ME THAT WAS SO FUCKING FUNNY

Poor Marilla tho, Rachel saying all that stuff made me feel like Morilla felt bad as she’s a “spinster” (not for the first time bc of Rachel!!)

ANNE’S PRAYER!! 😭😭 DON’T TOUCH ME 

Gilbert being all happy about that girl. urgh. annoying. coz uhhh ANNE AND GILBERT DUH isn’t she too old for him anyway? :/ 

although I’m ngl if Cole was not canon gay I would be shipping him and Anne bc their scenes are so beautiful but ANYWAY

Also poor Mary :(( her son just came back then stole stuff from their friend...that scene where she’s talking to Sebastian in bed was very sad

Morilla being racist URGHHH I DON’T HAVE TIMEEEEEEEE FOR THIS SHIT 

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” “BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” 😭😭 FUCK OFF 

Matthews fucking face 

I can just see he’s thinking like “wtf Marilla?! Chill the article was really good” 

Marilla is only doing this to keep Anne close (ironically all she’s doing is pushing her away by doing this) and to stop her from investigating her family any further, but she knows how upset Anne is and how badly she wants answers!! So that hurts, I get where she’s coming from but DAMN MARILLA

Anne at the end was just really sad. I’M SAD. I HATE THIS SHOW

[greg-montgomery]

aaron hotchner x reader fic recs <3

i've been wanting to do this for a long time in case someone is looking for some hotch recs and doesn't know where to start!!

i'll start with my favorite series:

Seeing Him by @arsonhotchner is one of my favorite series ever. there is just so much longing and i love all the tension and some of the lines in this story are stuck in my brain forever <3

Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity by @maybege ahhhh <333 i love when fics start with the reader thinking that hotch doesn't like them. there's one bed and protective hotch and just all the good stuff...

Life Changes by @wilbur-rabbit !!! falling in love with aaron...this series has all my favorite tropes and so much protective hotch...

Yes, Mr. President by @doctorstethoscope okay so i have just started reading this so i haven't even been able to reblog it with my comments yet but i couldn't not include it because it's SO GOOD? these two are soulmates. (nsfw)

To Have and To Hold by @ssahotchswife comfort series <3333 getting married with aaron when you're drunk and then continuing a fake marriage <333333333333 (nsfw)

Irresistible by @fatherhotchner oh goddddd...i don't even know what to say about this one. so hot and the writing is sooooo good. the parts from aaron's pov make me go feral <333 (nsfw)

Breaking Up Slowly by @hotchs-bitch if you want to experience some real fucking pain read this <333 the angst is so well written i felt like i was actually going through a breakup.

As it Seems by @ladylibby !! as it seems my beloved <333 it's so SWEET!!! aaron falls in love so hard in this and his thoughts about the reader always make me melt and i just ahhhh i love it.

Come Back Home by @hotched tolerate it by taylor swift makes me think of this fic :( it hurts a lot it's such a favorite.

Lifelong by @arsonhotchner it will break your heart but it will glue it back together <33 unrequited love hurts me like nothing else so this series is so close to my heart.

Enough For Now by @cconstant-ccraving this is only two parts but omfg. i love it so much. hotch is really mean to the reader but then something happens. i think about this every day.

and now for one shots:

Little Things by @shyhotch it's so sweet and cute and fluffy and it's what aaron deserves!!! that's exactly the life he should be living and i always get butterflies in my stomach when i think about this fic.

Everything Worthy by @shyhotch aaron in this..............pls...how can one man be this hot and this sweet at the same time. it's about having your first time with hotch and omg it's just perfect. (nsfw)

An awful lot like goodbye by @kryptonitejelly hurts SO GOOD!! i loved loved loved it. (nsfw)

baby by @needinghotch this is so fucking cute i can't!! hotch accidentally calls you baby in front of the team aaahhhhhhhhhh

Spider-Man Lunchbox by @hotched the life he DESERVES. bringing him lunch at work with little jack <333

Meet the Hotchners by @ssahotchswife I LOVE THIS FIC. the way aaron acts in this is so dreamy...and it's going undercover as a couple trope ahhh <33 (nsfw)

More by @arsonhotchner i can't even begin to explain how hot this is. like aaron's words make me go insane. (nsfw)

anytime by @heliotropehotch this just hits different when you're constantly worried if you're good enough at your job. i'd give anything to have hotch comfort me about it like this.

Book Club by @ssahotchswife this is just soooo fluffy and cute and i want to read and talk about books with aaron so bad.

Big Dick Energy by @maybege this is soooo hotttt <3333 god i wish that were me. (nsfw)

new beginnings by @gxtitobxby the softest thing 🥺 if this was my life i'd never complain about anything ever again.

i'll probably make a p2 of this post bc i know i'll remember fics that i love and that i forgot to include here!! <33

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issue 33

[sees rewind cover] time to be emo

swerve giving us a nice lil recap of the wild events of slaughterhouse thus far

and then the roll call page...I love how the last one is ‘rewind?!?’

OUGHGHGGHGHGH REWIND TINYYYYYYYYYYYY

I adore that nautica has a list of in-jokes to check off 

ohhhh man I forgot that alt-lost light rewind doesn't really know skids?? bc the alt lost light never picked him up....

POOR REWIND he wakes up all elder scrolls style and then immediately autobot megatron is just There without explanation lmao this poor lil guy

love the casual gender stuff honestly

nightbeat: ayyyy rewind!! sup? what horrific slaughter happened here? spill the tea! 

hvakjdfbskdf poor rewind is going thru it jesus

nautica and riptide hvbhkjasdsfasdfn ‘are jokes not funny where you come from?’ immmmm

nautica is so cute I love her

ohhhhh I love the panel of the two lost lights going off in separate directions with the title right below 

‘I remember it well. kind of’ that's a really funny line actually hbvkdjfnasdfl

I really like how on the alt lost light, rodimus’s risky stunt with the sparkeater actually kills him - I mean I'm glad that didn't happen in the main story but that's such a cool jarring discrepancy 

ok but its inherently VERY funny that the djd like, murdered the entire lost light, but later in the story the lost lighters are obviously still around and not dead...that's so fucking funny, the djd were probably like ????????????????? what the fuck didn't we kill these guys?????? but also they were tripping so they cant be sure

isn't it brainstorm who called the djd on the alt lost light??? oof 

LOVE the continuity of the alt lost light being the place that the djd went at the end of the scavengers 2 parter wayyyy back in the beginning of s1

more horrific slaughter, as one would expect from an arc called ‘slaughterhouse’ 

jeeeesus I forgot how completely fucked up all the shit was for poor rewind 2. christ 

also the like, thematic irony of alt-chromedome refusing to erase rewind from his memory and choosing to die horribly instead....SCREAMS I cant handle it

ITS SO HORRIBLE I'm so sad. poor rewind

‘silly string’ I love riptide

nautica is so smart I lov her 

oooh skids going off on megatron is really good. I find the whole ‘cons are super anti-organic/alien life’ angle interesting, bc it like, Makes Sense that a race of robot aliens who live for millions of years wouldn't consider shorter-lived organic life to be on the same level as them, but its also like, not morally right, so the autobots are correct w/the whole ‘freedom is the right of all sentient beings’ thing...its LAYERED

rewind: ‘I'm tiny’

me, crying: yeah...

honestly I really really love the quantum duplication plot in this arc. its like, peak sci fi nonsense but it also like, Makes Sense, and is presented in a very understandable manner...plus its like, super entertaining and fun, so I just love it

love how they're perusing brainstorms lab and just stumble across a dead body. classic

aaaand the plot thickens, with the reveal that brainstorm is a decepticon????? whoaaaa

I love that twist too oh man. I cannot WAIT for the time travel arc yessss

oof nautica being in denial about brainstorm being a con :( 

I find it kinda funny that getaway is IMMEDIATELY like, punching walls and going full that-one-wack-storm-trooper-from-that-star-wars-movie abt brainstorm being a con lmao, like what's even ur beef dude

when nightbeat is all like, wait there's a Type™ for decepticon double agents? and megatron says ‘hm. have you never been approached?’ bvhjaskdfbaksfd

mannn tho, I love all the character stuff this issue...I love the panels of megatron where he looks mad and crushes brainstorms mask, bc like, he’s gotta be thinking abt the fact that the djd, his personal squad of bloodthirsty attack dogs, were the ones responsible for all of this, as well as overlords presence, and brainstorm secretly being a con....

ok rewind and megatrons interactions are fantastic

like, rewind IS the nice one, but the definition of ‘nice’ is probably a little different than it used to be due to Big Ole War 

how are they propelling themselves in space????

NOOOOOOO I'm so fucking sad, rewind 2 is literally like ‘I'm fine with being deleted from existence bc my husband and everything I knew is gone’ aughhhh

and then megatron lies and tells him that he and chromedome, on the og lost light, are ‘inseparable’ 😭😭😭 I mean I guess that's not a lie if you count cd rewatching rewinds goodbye video on loop...AUGHHH

‘let’s not drag out the goodbyes’ but rewind, what about one of the story’s themes, ‘how to say goodbye and mean it’? 

and we cut off right there for maximum suspense...

omg I love swerve like, fistbumping cyclonus in the chest, and cyclonus is just like ?

skids,,,,,maybe surprising chromedome with his not-so-dead alternate-version husband isn't the best idea...like, this isn't exactly a zero-explanation-necessary kinda situation...

I adore rewinds massive shoulder pads tbh

oh god. GODDDDD. the panels of rewind and chromedome sitting next to each other, not saying anything, and just slowly moving closer to each other while looking out at the stars....literally these gay robots invented romance, thank you very much

I'm so fucking tender guhhhhhhh

like,,,,the fact that both of them separately watched the other die horribly and could do nothing to stop it, and now they're reunited here, and they don't even need to say anything...AUGH.....

OUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I'm sorry I can’t. SO tender

and MANNNN I'm so so glad that rewind is back. I don't always love when characters don't stay dead but I'm completely happy w/it here for multiple reasons, like the fact that I really like rewind and chromedome’s story after this arc - like, I LOVE that they addressed the fact that rewind 2 is different from OG rewind, despite being fundamentally the same person, so he and cd cant just immediately get back together and pretend everything's fine, but also there's really only an 18 month (?i think) disparity between the 2 rewinds which is nothing compared to literal millions of years, soooo

ALSO I literally never considered this until this reread but it would've been kind of an L for rewind to die and stay dead considering that rewind and cd were The First transformers gay couple, and that's a really big deal! and I don't really consider it bury your gays bc like, rewind doesn't stay dead that long and also there are soooo many other gays, but STILL 

plus rewind and cd ended up having a lot of story left to get thru, which is awesome

also I just love rewind so I'm glad he’s back :) 

ok the fact that the suspense over brainstorm being a con still isn't resolved bc not everyone knows....spectacular tbh

don't knock the power of love, nightbeat! 

the briefcaseeeeeee

ok but I really don't remember jros explanation as to why rewind 2 and the briefcase didn't get deleted hvbhjsdkhfk I gotta go look that up again

OHHHHHHHHHH I FORGOT THE EPILOGUE IS THIS. OHHHHH MANNNNNN THIS IS ONE OF MY FAV PARTS 

BRAINSTORMMMMMMMMM ILYYYYYYYYY

I fucking love this scene bc this is basically the culmination of brainstorm being Completely Ominous for the entire story thus far, like, it really hit me this readthru that brainstorm was so totally sinister for like most of his screentime up until this arc...and this scene is the pinnacle, I love how everything brainstorm says is overlaid with so much tension for the reader bc of what we know now about him

like brainstorm saying ‘yes - here’s to fixing things’ is so fucking sinister even though out of context that sentence is just normal

and when atomizer basically voices what the entire audience is thinking as brainstorm opens the briefcase - ‘brainstorm, you can’t do that.’ bc yeah, what the hell, he’s opening THE briefcase, Oh Shit

AND THEN THE FINAL SHOT....brainstorm front and center looking SCARY AS HELL.... ‘I can do whatever the hell I like.’....everyone suddenly collapsed around him...the fantastic shadowy lighting...the ominously open briefcase...the clear segue Directly into the next high-concept arc....[chefs kiss] ART

seriously I love this issue so much. SO many good things. such good character stuff, really great interactions, some fantastic plot development, super creative sci-fi fun times...all around just an extremely solid and enjoyable issue, 10 outta 10

and MAN OH MAN I cannot wait to get into the elegant chaos arc, it fucking SLAPS, that arc and remain in light have always been my favs, I'm so excited to revisit it 

AND ruth bought the physical comic TPB for like issues 34-38 or something and I'm so so glad I can read that instead of braving the many split-up double page spreads on the online comic 

so yeah, cant wait!

[campingwiththecharmings]

dlfkdlkg;lgk so glad you posted this here because now i can read it again and flail over all my favorite parts, eheheeee 🤭🤭🤭

Poe knows he's in too deep with you. He's fallen harder than he ever has. He can't stop looking at you because you're all he can see, all he can ever see these days. <- uggggh please, i do love me some smitten!poe. what a sweet, precious man he is 😭

He reckons he could probably make it as far as the lift before he has you pinned against the wall, your leg held up over his hip, fingers gripping your thigh as you tremble for him. <- yes pleaseeeeee

Such a good girl for me. <- asl;dksl;dfdkfl;gk shit, there goes my praise kink

"I need you," he whispers against your ear. "I need you, now." <- feeling this on a spiritual level 🫠🫠🫠🫠

"Can I fuck you now?" <- *incoherent babbling*

Well if it was going to be that way, two could play that game. He was going to drag this out now. Fuck you slowly, deeply, like he has all the time in the world. <- YES PLS WHERE CAN I SIGN UP FOR THIS SERVICE

"Good girl, taking me so well," he praises, his voice low against your ear, trying to stop his own breath from heaving, lest you know you could tip him over the edge with one well placed word. "Letting me have you here, where anyone can see us." <- GODDDDD, I NEED HIM SO BAD, FML *quiet sobbing*

"I am very lucky," he nods, wishing he could form better words to explain just how lucky he feels. <- *more quiet sobbing* SWEET, PRECIOUS MANNNNN

He's about as un-sorry as he can get, his mind already filled with how many more times he can get you to cum before the party is over. How much can you take before it's too much? How many times can he make you whimper? How many times can he make you soak his lap? <- pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeee, have mercyyyyyy

yeah okay, gonna admit that i somehow forgot how good this was. fuck. thank you as always for sharing, loved this 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

Enraptured (Poe POV)

Poe Dameron X Fem!Reader

Rating : E / 18+

Word count : 2600 (ish)

Warnings : PIV, fingering, semi-public sex, tiny bit of needy!Poe, sprinkles of feral!Poe, reader wears a dress, lack of self confidence, praise kink, cock warming, fluff, brief mentions of F/oral receiving, a tad of possessiveness in a soft way

Summary: Poe litterally can't keep his hands off you during a party (This is Clandestine... but from Poe's POV ;) )

A/N : It's not necessary to have read Clandestine to enjoy this. It's simply the same story from another (slightly more feral) point of view.

He can't stop his foot from bouncing impatiently under the table, trying anything to distract himself from the way you look, bathed in flickering multicolour lights, your dress accentuating every part of you that he loves.

He has so many regrets about agreeing to come tonight. He hates these types of parties as it is, full of stuck-up politicians, only out for their own gain. But this one, this is so much worse because of you. He can't concentrate on anything, and now to top it off he can't even leave the table because, well, in short, everyone would see exactly what you do to him.

He wants to look elsewhere, he wants to distract himself, but he can't. All he can do is stare at you, imagining the way you would look bent over the table, your dress hiked up high, the plush of your ass against his hips as he presses himself deep inside you, making you scream his name.

Damn Jess for helping you pick that dress. He really must remember to thank her the next time he sees her.

"Stop that," you scold him, for probably the thousandth time tonight.

"Stop what?" He grins at you, licking his lips as his eyes flicker up and down your body for absolutely the thousandth time. He really can't help himself anymore.

"Looking at me," you hiss in response, adjusting your dress.

He wishes you didn't fidget the way you do, like his gaze makes you uncomfortable. You don't see how truly beautiful you are — more than anyone, anything, he's ever seen. Your smile, your laugh, your kindness, your good heart, the way you never take any of his bullshit, the way you make his heart beat just as wildly as flying does. Poe knows he's in too deep with you. He's fallen harder than he ever has. He can't stop looking at you because you're all he can see, all he can ever see these days.

But you, beautiful, sexy, sweet, funny, you can't always accept that. And so the fidget only cements that he wants to show you just how much he wants you, right now.

"I'm admiring," he clarifies, refusing to move his gaze, determined to make you see what he sees.

"Well, admire something else," you answer, refusing to look at him.

Poe almost scoffs to himself. Admire something else? Not fucking likely with his cock impatiently throbbing with need.

"I can't," he leans in close to you, his voice a low hiss. He's genuinely surprised you haven't realised why yet, that it hasn't even been a thought to cross your mind. "You have no idea how much I can't."

He has a fleeting thought about grabbing your hand and showing you exactly what you do to him, but honestly, if you touched him now, he'd probably cum in his pants and ruin all the fun he plans to have with you later.

"Poe."

It's only half a warning. He can see it in your eyes — the flicker of desire. He's an expert at reading you, or at least he likes to think he is, and so far he hasn't been wrong. Maybe he can convince you to leave early. One of you could fake an illness, make your excuses, and stumble back to your room. He reckons he could probably make it as far as the lift before he has you pinned against the wall, your leg held up over his hip, fingers gripping your thigh as you tremble for him.

Kriff, he needed to slow down before he blows his load without so much as a brush of your flesh against his.

Taking a breath to steady himself, his eyes flicker over you once more, reading every micro expression. Yeah, you are starting to want this just as much as he needs it. Bedroom, lift, hell even getting to the door out of here is going to be too much trouble. He isn't making it that far.

"Come sit with me. At least let me hold you," he whispers softly, slipping his hand into yours. Your fingers grip his, warm and soft, suspicion in your eyes. But when he tugs, you follow, allowing him to guide you down onto his lap.

Such a good girl for me.

Your gasp as you sit makes his cock twitch, just the soft friction of your movement enough to start shredding whatever little patience he has left.

"I need you," he whispers against your ear. "I need you, now." He brushes his nose up the column of your neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of you, wishing he had time, and enough restraint, to climb under the table and taste you before he cums, but he doesn't.

"Poe, we are in public!"

Maybe you are right. Maybe it's time to stop before he gets too far but fuck, he's too far gone. The delicious little wriggle you do on his lap does absolutely nothing to help.

"I can't wait," he groans, his hips rutting against you of their own accord, desperate for any sort of friction. "Please baby, it's been like this all night. Please. I need to be inside you."

He's begging now and he doesn't care. All he can think about is how desperately he needs to feel you soaking his cock, how desperately he wants to show you the effect you have on him, how desperately he wants you to believe you're worthy of it.

Even in the dim lighting, he catches the little smirk at the corner of your mouth. Perhaps you're just a little proud that you can reduce him to this. You have no true idea what you could reduce him to if you wanted to. If you asked he'd get down on his knees and beg you for just a glance in his direction. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for you.

"I'll be good to you," he promises, catching the hem of your dress and dragging it up, splaying his hands against your soft thighs, inching them up higher. "You know how good I can be to you."

You shiver at the touch of his hands and he wonders if your mind fills with memories like his does — back to all the nights you've spent together, your head tipped back on sweat soaked sheets as he worships at the altar of your body.

"If anyone sees…" your voice trails off with a sigh as he presses his lips against your neck, fighting to keep his hands still while he gives you time to consider your position.

"They won't." He's confident in that. If there's one thing he is, it's observant. He knows everyone is too caught up in their own night to worry about the two of you tucked away in a dark corner. The table just about covers your lap, where your dress is hiked up, his hands drifting closer to your hot core. The music is loud enough that nobody will hear you.

They won't see, but honestly, Poe couldn't give a damn if they do. Let them look, let them watch, let them see you are his.

He moves his mouth down your neck, slowly, invitingly, pausing to suck against your pulse point, marking you as his own, his hands pushing your thighs apart. Your pliancy to his actions only fuels his desire for you. He's proud that you allow this, that you trust him to do this. He's absolutely going to make it worth your while. Well, he's at least going to try and last long enough to make it worth your while.

His fingers finally slip between your thighs and it's like his lungs have suddenly collapsed, all the air rushing out suddenly.

You aren't wearing panties. His fingers brush against bare wet, no not just wet, soaked, flesh.

His plan was to gently tease you, make you admit how much you're enjoying this, how much you want this, but somehow his entire vocabulary is erased by the shock.

"Fuck," is all he manages to punch out as he drags his fingers up over your clit, relishing the way your hips jerk in response. He lets out a low whine against your neck as he ruts into your ass, desperate for release.

He swears he almost cums at the gasp you let out when he slips a finger into you. You're so hot. He has to pause for a moment, calming himself as you take a breath of your own, before he finally draws his finger up and over your clit, and then back down, sinking two fingers into you.

"Shouldn't have let you leave the room," he grumbles as you squirm, each jolt of your hips only drawing his attention to his painfully hard cock.

Why did he decide to listen to you about coming to this party? Why did he decide he could wait? Of all the questionable decisions Poe has made in his life, he's putting the one of agreeing to leave the room before burying himself inside you, at least twice, right at the top. Well, at least for now.

He curls his fingers slowly against your walls, his thumb barely stroking your clit with feather light touches, keeping you just tiptoeing the edge. After all you've put him through tonight, you deserve a little payback.

When your wriggling increases and your chest starts to heave with the effort of biting down your moans of pleasure, he licks a hot stripe up your neck, enjoying the way your breath catches and your body jerks.

"Can I fuck you now?"

He waits with bated breath to see how far you'll let him take this.

He'd never push you further than you wanted, never make you do something you're uncomfortable with. If you say no now then he'll wait, as much as it might drive him to the point of absolute madness. At this point, he might just cum in his pants from looking at you anyway.

"Yes," you breathe out, and then you roll your hips back against him. Poe curses loudly, unceremoniously removing his fingers from you and scrambling to undo his pants, every last bit of patience blasted to pieces. Later he'll apologise about the rush, be embarrassed about it, but right now, he has to have you.

His hands grip your hips, probably a little harder than necessary if he was honest, as you take a breath and sink down onto his cock. Poe's eyes roll back and he has to bite down on your shoulder to muffle the moan of pleasure as your walls flutter hot and tight around him.

He realises too late that`s a mistake, and right as his teeth sink into your flesh, your pussy clenches around him. His hips jolt upwards of their own accord, pressing him deeper into you and listening to your choked moan as he fights not to cum then and there.

"Shit baby, don't do that," he warns, taking a trembling breath. "Not unless you want this over really qui-nghh!"

Of course, you do it again. Of course, he should have expected it. But he didn't, and it takes every last bit of self restraint he has not to pin you down over the table and fuck you so hard you'll still feel it tomorrow.

"Stop," he warns, gritting his teeth, trying to think of anything but the searing heat engulfing his dick. "Don't wanna rush this."

You clench again and he growls a frustrated warning. He wants you to just sit still for a damn minute while he catches his breath before this ends too quickly for both of you. But you seem to have no intentions of letting him do that.

Well if it was going to be that way, two could play that game. He was going to drag this out now. Fuck you slowly, deeply, like he has all the time in the world. Poe's stubbornness was the only thing that could outweigh his desperate desire.

He grinds his hips upwards, pressing deep inside you, pulling you down against him as he does, ensuring you feel all of him. Your whole body reacts, and he can't stop the smirk forming on his lips.

There we go baby, take it all for me.

He adjusts just slightly with each grind of his hips until he finds that one spot that makes you whimper. And then he presses against it, again, and again, and again.

Oh, how he relishes in the shivers of your body, the gasps escaping your lips, the beads of sweat rolling down your neck, the clench of your pussy as he holds you still against his lap, forcing you to accept the pleasure, even though he knows he's holding you on the edge of bliss for longer than you would like.

"Good girl, taking me so well," he praises, his voice low against your ear, trying to stop his own breath from heaving, lest you know you could tip him over the edge with one well placed word. "Letting me have you here, where anyone can see us."

The bite of your nails digging into his arms only spurns him on, making his cock throb inside you. He wonders if the marks will still be there tomorrow, something he can admire, something that marks him as yours.

"Driving me crazy in this dress. Lookin' like the hottest fucking thing. Fuck baby, you're so good to me, letting me do this." He knows he's rambling now, but his mouth, as it so often does, is going before his thoughts are connecting. All he can think about is how good you feel, your body pressed against him, anchored by his arms around your waist, your pussy gripping his aching cock as you take all he's willing to give you.

You're so close, he can feel it. Your body is stiff, your nails digging in painfully now, your head leant back against his shoulder, chest heaving, pussy fluttering, whimpering with each slow torturous grind of his hips.

His own climax creeps up far quicker than he's expecting and suddenly he desperately needs to let go. Scrambling to pull your dress up out of the way he presses his fingers against your clit, drawing quick tight circles as you gasp.

He needs you to fall first. He needs to feel what he does to you.

"Cum for me. Cum now," he demands.

Your back arches, your breath catching as you let go of his arms to grip the table, your pussy clenching and fluttering as your climax hits. It's too much and Poe finally lets himself go, burying his moan of satisfaction into your neck, his fingers moving to grip your thighs as you writhe on his lap. He continues to roll his hips slowly, milking every last bit of your climax, savouring each little shiver and whimper until you collapse back against him, boneless.

Even though everything seems hazy around the edges in the post orgasmic bliss, he notices the way your head turns just slightly, checking if anyone has noticed what has transpired.

"Told you nobody would see," he smiles, nuzzling your neck, enjoying the closeness of your body.

"You're lucky," you turn your head to kiss him and his heart jumps. How could there have ever been a time when you thought he wouldn't want you? How could there have been a time you didn't realise he spent every night, cock in hand, thinking about you. How could you not realise he was hopelessly, utterly in love with you?

"I am very lucky," he nods, wishing he could form better words to explain just how lucky he feels. But you're sitting there looking so prettily dishevelled, sweat still drying on your skin, your nail marks in his arms, and he can't think of anything but how much he wants to drag those noises from you again.

"Thanks for helping me take care of that problem." He grins, his hands moving to brush his fingers against the inside of your thighs, slowly inching upwards to where he's still buried deep inside you. "I'll repay the favour later tonight…" he pauses, wondering if you can go again already. "Or now?"

You let out the prettiest noise as his hands creep higher, placing a solitary kiss on your neck. Poe decided that means you need a minute, but he has no intentions of making it an easy minute.

He bites down a groan as his fingers are met with slick wetness, almost halfway down your thighs. Judging by how wet you are, and a small shift of his legs confirms his suspicions as his pants stick to his own skin, there's no way he's moving any time soon anyway.

"I'm sorry baby, but it seems you might have made quite the mess. You're soaked everywhere."

He's about as un-sorry as he can get, his mind already filled with how many more times he can get you to cum before the party is over. How much can you take before it's too much? How many times can he make you whimper? How many times can he make you soak his lap?

You could be stuck here for hours yet, right where you are. The thought makes his cock twitch.

His arms wrap tight around your waist, ensuring you aren't going anywhere anytime soon. He feels you shiver in anticipation as his lips ghost the shell of your ear, a wicked grin forming on his lips.

"I guess you'll just have to sit right there until the party's over."

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

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed please reblog and let me know your thoughts! Remember interactions keep writers writing!

[cultofthepigeon]

Venom Reading Order Part 10.

Dark Reign continues and thus my struggle to put 50 fucking events in order does as well. I am a martyr.

The end of our best boy Norman Osborn and it looks like we may actually get some Venom soon!!!

Part 10: I’ve Literally Forgotten What This Reading Order Was About at This Point I Literally Forgot it For a Few Weeks to Fuck Off and Go Read All of Daken’s Shit

Amazing Spider-man Extra #2 (July, 2008): Eddie Brock really needs to find a balance in shit to believe in 

New Ways to Live #1 (September, 2009) Still going strong on the symbiote as a drug metaphor which is...sure something I guess. But going into the rest of this with an open mind I’m excited to see what Eddie Brock is going to do with no brain tumor making him make dumb decisions

New Ways to Live #2 (October, 2009) Eddie standing up for someone with a drug problem is so genuinely nice and oh he got caught up in his own moralizing again and she got kidnapped jfc

New Ways to Live #3 (December, 2009) “Starting tomorrow :)” god I love Eddie Brock so fucking much 

Dark Avengers #9 (September, 2009) Mac and Symb really are going through it . I think the combination of Mac’s drugs, Symby drugs, Symby’s untreated craziness from past drugs, the booze, and also probably syphilis, are finally starting to get to them

Dark Avengers #10 (October, 2009) McVenom and their stupid little sky scooter are fcuking killign me please get them some fuckign therapy

Dark Avengers #11 (November, 2009) My girl Victoria gets her TIME to SHINE and i LOVE HER oh yeah I think McVenom is in a panel

Dark Avengers #12 (December, 2009) Victoria and Norman make another great comedy duo and if McVenom could be in this for more than a page I think the three would legit make a great fucking team

New Avengers #56 (August, 2009) McVenom is allegedly in the background of this one

New Avengers #57 (September, 2009) McVenom cameo. I hope everyone readin this for Venom has like, another character in here that they’re invested in cause this stuff is sorta arc important so I HAVE to include it.

New Avengers #58 (August, 2009) McVenom in the bg yet again. Jessica Jones is added to a list of Marvel heroes I find annoying and stupid but at least she isn’t like a literal fascist which is a high bar to reach in these comics.

New Avengers #59 (September, 2009) McVenom says a few words. Victoria is Perfection yet again and I’ve decided that Taskmaster is an alright sorta dude for a villain

New Avengers #60 (October, 2009) GODDDDD GET DUNKED ON NORMAN

Dark Reign: The List (September, 2009)

Dark Wolverine #81 (December, 2009) McVenom eating pancakes in one panel that’s honestly great. Character studies for Karla and Daken which is honestly great.

Siege: The Cabal #1 (December, 2009) McVenom for one panel and just....woof a LOT going on in an intense way

Siege #1 (January, 2010) McVenom small cameo. Norman Osborn is perhaps not the guy who should be in power perhaps maybe

Siege: The Initiative #32 (January, 2010) McVenom Cameo. A fun look at the ground battle and also remember that army training camp for indentured super-powered teens? Yeah this is where they ended up lol. Bonus why I like Taskmaster for a villain.

Siege #2 (February 2010) McVenom cameo. Listen I love Norman Osborn but the last page of this is fucking GREAT and had me jumping out of bed and hollering like a god damn baboon

Dark Wolverine #82 (January, 2010) McVenom mini scene and i ....i think they and moonstone fucked so......damn Karla that’s like half the team now

Dark Wolverine #83 (February, 2010) No McVenom but listen..........Daken....

Dark Wolverine #84 (March, 2010)  B R U H

Siege #3 (March, 2010) I’m....actually kinda sad to see all this going down?? I have become????? Attached???? To these assholes????????

Dark Avengers #14 (February, 2010) If you don’t like or respect Victoria Hand do not talk to me do not @ me do not even gaze in my direction she is the single greatest thing to come out of this whole 4 years of bullshit

Dark Avengers #15  (March, 2010) Bullseye this is why I’m ok with Daken sexually harassing you on the daily you piece of shit

Siege: Spider-man #1 (April, 2010) Oh wait hold on is that symb? Man I haven’t seen them in I think literal years at this point. Oh wait they’re still crazy oh boy. Also Mac’s Bare Naked Ass.

New Avengers #63 (March, 2010) McVenom cameo and hey wait I think a named character actually died cool

Embedded #3 (March, 2010) You get to see what happened aft McVenom hit that plane! And....Spider-man and Ms. marvel just sort of didn’t bother to follow up on it.......I just realized....

Siege #4 (April, 2010) In which I feel bad for Victoria and Bob and even Osborn, the Registration act is gone which is good, but I can’t help but feel the message is less “super heroes being controlled by the government is bad” and more “it’s ok for super heroes to be controlled by the government as long as its the RIGHT government :)”

Dark Avengers #16 (May, 2010) Alright so Noman’s in prison, which sucks but like.....come on. Poor sentry is dead. Daken and Victoria are free thank god. Moonstone, Bullseye, and McVenom are all in custody but who the heck knows where they’re going next. This entire It’s Always Sunny version of the Avenges is going down and I’m kinda sad about it. But hopefully we’re done with all this military/political/apocalypse shit and we can get back to some good ol fashion street level fun

Amazing Spider-man #647 (October, 2010)  Harry Osborn is simultaneously getting his character assassinated and being a fucking G O D all at once. Truly the a fuckign Osborn. McVenom and also Flash’s fucking Halloween costume which is then immediately less charming when i see the McCain sticker jesus christ

Amazing Spider-Man #648 (November, 2010) And so ends McVenom....and we get an intro to Hobgoblin and a look into Flash’s life rn....oh boy......i can already tell this is gonna be a fucking rollercoaster

Amazing Spider-Man #649 (November, 2010) honestly just gonna follow this intro real quick cause OH SHIT OH HIT WHAT OH SHIT this bitch got a FLAMING SWORD????? THIS BITCH IS AGENT VENOMS ARCH???? OH FUCK YEAH

Amazing Spider-man #654 (February, 2011) And so the new era dawns. What Should I call this Venom? Bootlicker Venom? Enhanced Interrogation Venom? Flenom? Vlash? To Be Continued....

<<<PREVIOUS   NEXT>>>

[magicofthepen]

Gallifrey Relisten: A Blind Eye

The end of Series 1! (I will admit I had to stop myself from immediately jumping into Lies because that’s when things really get going for me.) Some thoughts:

Mentions of/spoilers for: Neverland, Zagreus, Spirit, Insurgency, Enemy Lines, the Time War audios (but in a vague way).

Romana announces her name and title and then immediately follows that up with “I want no record of my being here” lol.

This episode is the closest we get to “everyone has to dress up fancy for an event” and it’s a shame we don’t get more of this! I would love more off-world and/or dress up episodes that are less......dire probably isn’t the right word because there’s some heavy things going on in this episode...maybe frantic? There is definitely a difference between the degree of tension in A Blind Eye and the degree of tension in the off-world episodes in Time War, for instance. (Also A Blind Eye has more banter.) I’m pretty sure it’s just A Blind Eye and Spirit that capture this sense of “we’re going to do something different for an episode” and I like it! (I feel like this is part of my ongoing push for a post-Enemy Lines, pre-Time War series of misc. CIA missions and shenanigans. Please someone just shove more side adventures into gaps in the timeline.)

The banter! The banter. (“You have your business face on. / You’re a transtemporal crook Arkadian, meeting you could never be a pleasure.”) 1. Arkadian is a supremely entertaining villain, and 2. he’s a tremendously good villain opposite Romana specifically, purely for snark and banter reasons.

I was never a big fan of the Sissy Pollard portrayal — the character’s personality feels too....exaggerated? Over the top? And not in an effective or interesting way.

Romana’s defense of Charley is actually quite sweet, given that they weren’t super friendly in Neverland/Zagreus.

Romana chastises Leela for careless talk, but uhhh if you wanted to keep things subtle and not reveal anything, maybe don’t have Leela suddenly grab Sissy?

“Madam, the Alps are in the other direction.” “Are they? Damn.” / “Be careful, you’ll break it!” “I’ll break you in a minute.” Truly, maximum levels of scathing Romana snark in this episode. 

I have never seen anyone mention this, so I always assumed I’m not hearing it right, but....when the original!timeline train is about to crash into them....does Romana tell Narvin to fuck off?

Andred has a whole scene with no other Time Lord witnesses in which he could have told Leela the truth and yet.

“I am a Guard Commander of Gallifrey” apparently I never paid enough attention to what he actually said here because I think that was the first time I noticed that Andred gave his Chancellery Guard title, not his CIA title.

“Arkadian! You’ve met with that crook!?” Shoutout to Narvin for some A+ false indignation here.

I’m not sure there was a way to write a parallel between between real world Naziism and Leela’s fictional past without having it come off a bit as oversimplifying/cheapening the horrors of Nazi Germany. (But I’m white and raised Christian, so I’m also really not the person to be speaking in depth about the portrayal of Nazis in this episode.)

Does Arkadian know about Andred? I assume that he would just because he generally knows most things, but hmm it adds another layer.

Narvin is genuinely surprised when Romana gives in and agrees to leave lol.

Ms. Joy — it’s funny because we the listeners know that the one random character must be there for a reason, so it feels like the only reason the characters don’t know she’s suspicious is that they don’t know they’re in an audio drama episode and so she must be important to the plot.

Did Narvin really intend for Romana to go with “Torvald”? “At least he’s have been exposed?” Way to throw your President under the bus sir (although possibly he assumed that Torvald wouldn’t actually assassinate the President?)

“See, it is always a monster.” Wait, I take it back, Leela knows she’s in a Doctor Who (adjacent) episode.

“The only name in town where there’s temporal naughtiness to be done” — the Arkadian = Brax crack(?) theory is the most “I can’t unhear this” thing that’s happened to me since Narvin/Torvald. What is it with y’all and Series 1, I’m losing it. 

...does Andred have a plan when he lowkey kidnaps Romana or is he just panicking? He is quite genuinely pleading with Romana to go along with him into the TARDIS and sounds genuinely desperate. But then he seems to regain control and starts more tactically trying to persuade Romana to work along side him without giving her any real answers. Although really, he must know that he’s very close to discovery — maybe he wants to resolve the past!Torvald situation first? Or maybe he’s not thinking that far ahead?

“I have no paws.” Awww K9.

“I think you’re a bad President. I think you’ve willfully sacrificed Gallifreyan influence upon the altar of your own increasingly cranky liberal agenda.” 1. “increasingly cranky liberal agenda” is such a specific insult wow, 2. I can’t tell how much of this is Andred still trying to be Torvald and how much he actually means this? The politics of this incarnation of Andred were always a bit fuzzy to me, even in series 2.

Also. Any conversation between Romana and Andred has a whole weird vibe on relisten when you know about the uhhh future murdering that’s going to happen.

I do love a Dramatic Reveal, and this one is incredibly dramatic.

....does the train crash? Does the train not crash? I’ve always been a bit confused about what happens in that moment — I assume Romana doesn’t actually plan on the train hitting the TARDIS, and we hear the TARDIS dematerialize so I think the train is fine? But it’s a weirdly ambiguous sound/end of scene.

“I can tell you are lying. It’s when your lips move.” Okay Leela snarking at Arkadian is also very good.

It is genuinely so interesting how connected this plot is to Neverland/Zagreus — if I had to pick one “you should listen to this audio before Gallifrey” I'd go for the Apocalypse Element because of the enormous ripples it casts in terms of Romana’s characterization (and also it’s more stand alone), but I imagine this episode would be particularly confusing without Neverland/Zagreus? (Would be curious to hear people’s experiences.)

“I never lie!” Romana, that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told. 

The narration of what happened to Andred by Andred and Romana is um. It’s a little bit obviously an info dump for the listener, but I’m not sure it’s the best way for Leela to find out? I mean, hearing the context and explanation probably was a better idea than just “oh btw I’m Andred”.....possibly this felt weird to me because of the acting? It’s very emotionally detached, very “so this is what happened” — Andred manages some emotion afterwards when he’s pleading with Leela but uh. He could have sounded more apologetic here.

Leela. Leela. “You have watched me suffer and worn my enemy’s clothes?” / “The man that I loved is dead.” Goddddd I want to give her a hug so much ughhhhh. Leela just goes through so many awful things throughout....all of Gallifrey actually, and she still remains such a good person with such a genuinely caring heart......give her a break please.

“I think the only person who’d actually benefit from a temporal war would be a...dealer in arms? A trader in secrets? A fixer and a fiddler. A dishonest broker with no scruples and no shame.” / “An interesting theory Madam. Prove it.” I just really like the delivery of this bit. Although: I realize there were several things going on at this point, but really, they just let Arkadian walk away at the end?

And thus ends Series 1. It has some highs and lows but it honestly ranks near the bottom on my constantly-in-flux list of favorite-to-least favorite Gallifrey series. (Weapon of Choice is probably the only episode I actively look forward to relistening to?) I said in my Weapon of Choice post that Series 1 was a nice “palate cleanser” after Apocalypse Element and the Charley arc through Zagreus, and that was true for the first time listening, but I think some of those same attributes mean I’m kinda meh about relistening to it. It just doesn’t hold my interest quite as much as many of the other series. (Series 2 though....👀)

EDIT: I realized I forgot to tell my personal story of my first time listening to the Andred reveal, and I wanted to have some record of that, even if I don’t quite remember the specifics of my reaction. In general, my first listen of Gallifrey was shaped by knowing a lot of major spoilers, which is what happens when you spent a lot of time lurking on Tumblr blogs in advance of listening to the series. (It actually led to a lot of super fascinating experiences of “well I know X happens, but I don’t know how or why” and being really curious to find out how X played out.)

So I knew something about Andred and Torvald going in, and I think I should have known that it was simply Torvald = Andred, but somehow I got it in my head that oh no, no it’s weirder and more complicated than that. But of course there are a lot of hints throughout series 1 that Torvald is Andred, so the first listen was this cycle of me going “I think maybe Torvald is just Andred? Nah, it’s going to be more convoluted than that. But no really, it makes sense that Torvald is Andred...” etc. etc. So it was a weird experience of knowing pretty early on that Torvald might be Andred, but still not being quite sure until the end of series one. The other bit of this is that I can’t remember at what point I knew that Andred died (and how) — I think I may have known he died before I listening to Gallifrey (or at the very least I knew that he was written out in some way or another earlier on), so that may have also confused me further re: the series one question of: what actually happened to Andred? All around, an odd experience of “I was spoiled...but somehow I still wasn’t sure what was going on” and I wasn’t surprised per se but it was still a reveal. 

Next Episode Reaction: Lies

Previous Episode Reaction: The Inquiry

[verdigrisprowl]

Jan 20 Bevel’s Movie Stream - Star Trek: Discovery Ep. 5 & 6

Prowl was about ready to give up on the series, but then the thoroughly dislikable people being documented in this series became about 1% more likable, so he’s giving it another week.

Bevel 7:30 pm *the usual set up, a few bedraggled couches and a table of snacks, nothing fancy but it'll do* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:32 pm *Soundwave was already out and about on errands today, so instead of bridging he'll just swing round and fly right up before unfolding and skidding to a halt at his couch. Hooray for buildings still under construction!* Ratchet 7:32 pm Thriller! *pops in and immediately starts dancing* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:33 pm *And then gracefully takes his seat like he didn't just risk crashing into the damn thing for the tiniest of inefficient thrills.* [[Bevel, Ratchet.]] Bevel 7:33 pm *grins* Ratchet 7:33 pm Evening. Bevel 7:34 pm I found more of the Starfleet stuff! FakeProwl 7:34 pm *arrives just in time to miss this act of reckless grace* Ratchet 7:34 pm Heya, Prowl! FakeProwl 7:34 pm Evening. Bevel 7:35 pm *small wave to Prowl* FakeProwl 7:36 pm *hesitates, then nods. would be rude not to acknowledge the host.* Bevel 7:36 pm *internal yay* Ratchet 7:37 pm *hovers a few moments to see where Prowl will sit* FakeProwl 7:39 pm *with soundwave, as usual* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:39 pm *Nods to Prowl.* FakeProwl 7:39 pm *nods back. hello.* Ratchet 7:40 pm *ah well. he'll sit with Bevel then* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:40 pm [[You do know he doesn't have the capacity to bite.]] *Taps his visor at Ratchet.* Bevel 7:41 pm *giggles* Ratchet 7:41 pm Cute. But I'm all right over here. Tarantulas 7:42 pm *stepping thru a portal, tarantulas almost says "false" to sw's claim, but stops himself just in time* Bevel 7:42 pm ((last song and then i'll start ItsyBitsySpyers 7:42 pm *BOI* Tarantulas 7:42 pm *he'll just stick with a snicker* FakeProwl 7:43 pm *had to fight the urge to say "i would know if he was." you're surrounded by reprobates, soundwave.* Tarantulas 7:43 pm *at least sw is the only telepath in here tho, be glad for that* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:44 pm *Primus below. How is he supposed to keep personal secrets with you lot around.* Ratchet 7:44 pm *it's fine, Ratchet is blissfully unaware* Ratchet 7:46 pm *let's keep it that way, shall we? the last thing he needs is _another_ reason to.... nnnnot lust after Soundwave. that one* *look he just doesn't need to know about any aspect of Soundwave that's attractive. cool? cool.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:47 pm *Mmhm. Sure.* [[Ah! We return to the Starfleet timeline. Good.]] Tarantulas 7:47 pm *also thanks for the amenities bevel but tarantulas brought his own seat, he's currently busy slinging it from the ceiling* Bevel 7:48 pm *enjoy, there's plenty of ceiling to hang from* Tarantulas 7:49 pm *he's set up right behind and nearly on top of prowl and soundwave, hello there* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:50 pm *Soundwave raises a feeler to offer a greeting tap and/or a hold if Tarantulas wants thought contact.* Tarantulas 7:51 pm *paw-bump the feeler* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:51 pm [[And where do they plan to GET the other... tardigrades? That they found one was a fortunate accident.]] FakeProwl 7:51 pm ((SDLFIJLJ WHY)) Tarantulas 7:52 pm If I were younger and more naive, I'd say they should clone it. Bevel 7:52 pm ((oh snap, warnings, i forgot warnings FakeProwl 7:53 pm Hm. Finally. Someone who recognizes the possibility that blaming her for the war might NOT be justified. Bevel 7:53 pm ((mention of rape, torture, violence, blood, all that goes with the TV-MA warning FakeProwl 7:54 pm ((and things straight to the eyeball in closeup)) Bevel 7:54 pm ((yes i'm soooooooo sorry FakeProwl 7:54 pm ((im ok ill live)) Bevel 7:54 pm ((i legit forgot he did that, probably to protect my own dang self because augh ItsyBitsySpyers 7:56 pm *Stretch arm across couch and settle in. He is ready to find out what's going on with the second-in-command Klingon. What is her name... L'Rell? Yes. What is she doing while the Voq Klingon is away?* FakeProwl 7:56 pm *... Would that arm be across the couch in Prowl's direction?* Bevel 7:58 pm Aw, no. I hope they find out what is wrong with the tardigrade. Ratchet 7:59 pm [[ saru's ganglia squick me something fierce goddddd. why they gotta do that. ]] FakeProwl 7:59 pm *... Is Saru going to try to eliminate Michael. Please don't. He'd like them to get along.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:00 pm *And yes it is.* FakeProwl 8:02 pm *WELL then. Sits up straight. That's a bit much for mixed company.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:03 pm *Well. He's... sort of glad that part is over. Now that he's out of the war, he tends to avoid thinking about all the times similar actions were taken during its run. And thinks about other times. ... Never mind, there it is again.* *Tiny glance. Too much, he supposes. Pulls his arm back onto his lap.* Tarantulas 8:05 pm S-Stuart. Hyeh. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:06 pm [[Hm. The little creature reminds him of Zori.]] Tarantulas 8:07 pm *chinhands happily* Tarantulas 8:08 pm *agrees, this is definitely Fucking Cool* Bevel 8:08 pm *giggles* FakeProwl 8:09 pm *... no one in this show is likable.* Bevel 8:09 pm *hopes they find a workable solution* FakeProwl 8:09 pm *no one is likable and no one likes each other.* Bevel 8:09 pm ((fun fact, Klingons have two of everything ItsyBitsySpyers 8:10 pm ((*throws bricks*)) FakeProwl 8:11 pm *it even takes the joy out of the science.* Tarantulas 8:11 pm *science IS joy, shh* Bevel 8:13 pm 😔 FakeProwl 8:13 pm *not when every single person performing it is insufferable* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:14 pm *ALARM BLIP* Bevel 8:14 pm Hey! It was just a bug. It only did what it was told 😔 ItsyBitsySpyers 8:14 pm [[Will it be all right?]] Bevel 8:14 pm He said Lorca almost killed him. Maybe Stuart is ok then? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:15 pm *Has finished deciding that he does not like Lorca at all.* [[He hopes it is.]] Bevel 8:15 pm Ha. Tarantulas 8:16 pm *pings prowl a set of data that, if calculated, will predict if stuart died, and if not, how badly injured he'll be - all prowl need do is add his own numbers and calculate* Ratchet 8:16 pm I don't think the civilian is the spy. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:17 pm *Another alarm blip, quieter.* Tarantulas 8:17 pm You can't simply rehydrate the tardigrade, pft. See? Bevel 8:17 pm Good doctor trying to protect it. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:18 pm *They've almost killed a creature capable of calculations like those required for a space bridge. How displeasing.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:19 pm [[Why don't you believe the civilian is the spy, if he may ask?]] FakeProwl 8:20 pm *... what, is this a simulation? based on what data?* Tarantulas 8:20 pm *guesstimates* *he has a lot of zori's data* *well, not a LOT but some* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:20 pm *More than most.* FakeProwl 8:21 pm *meh. plugs in a couple of numbers before he gets bored of it.* Ratchet 8:21 pm Seven months. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:22 pm [[What of it?]] Ratchet 8:22 pm The Captain thought it was a long time for someone to survive captivity. Tarantulas 8:22 pm *ur supposed to reassure sw, prowl, tarantulas was being strangely nice* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:23 pm [[The L'rell Klingon... favored him. She would not allow something she considers a preferred toy to perish.]] Tarantulas 8:24 pm Oh dear. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:24 pm [[Just as she did not want to let him leave.]] Ratchet 8:24 pm I continue to be suspicious. Bevel 8:25 pm ...oh no. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:25 pm *Scoots forward a little. Is that--?* Tarantulas 8:25 pm *snickers along with stamets' laughter* FakeProwl 8:29 pm *oh thank god, finally SOMEONE is getting along with each other.* Bevel 8:29 pm *hopes this works* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:30 pm [[...Good.]] FakeProwl 8:30 pm ((fire the tardigrade cannon)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:30 pm ((LOL)) Tarantulas 8:30 pm Why did they - awh no. Ratchet 8:31 pm [[ oh no they're cute ]] FakeProwl 8:31 pm ((it's about damn time)) Bevel 8:31 pm ((dear doctor <3 FakeProwl 8:31 pm *oh look! two more people who like each other! FINALLY.* Tarantulas 8:31 pm (( fuckin cute ItsyBitsySpyers 8:32 pm [[...Is that - that is not normal for human mirrors. Is it?]] Ratchet 8:32 pm [[ why........ why did it end like that ]] Tarantulas 8:32 pm (( wait what happened at the end i missed it Ratchet 8:32 pm [[ i missed what happened but something was weird and now i;m concerned ]] ItsyBitsySpyers 8:32 pm ((he walked away. his reflection stayed in the mirror a little while before smiling and leaving)) Bevel 8:33 pm ((ok, warnings for... Vulcan mind melding to the extreme and that's the only thing I remember from this episode but keep in mind past warnings just in case ItsyBitsySpyers 8:34 pm *Lovely angular architecture on a hot desert-y planet. How wonderful, their planet.* Ratchet 8:34 pm [[ anyway i'm just saying, it's real convenient that there was one spy in that room and now someone from that room has accompanied captain lorca back to the ship with the new propulsion system ]] Bevel 8:35 pm Mirror do not act like that. Ever. They are just glass. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:36 pm *Back on a ship?*

[[Then that does not bode well.]] Ratchet 8:38 pm Hmm. Bevel 8:40 pm That was Michael's dad, right? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:40 pm [[The one who was not making a martyr of themselves.]] Bevel 8:40 pm Yeah. Tarantulas 8:40 pm Father? I assumed he was adoptive or something of the sort. FakeProwl 8:41 pm Well, we know he survived. Bevel 8:42 pm Yeah, Michael said foster parents. They are still parents. ...scuttlebutt FakeProwl 8:42 pm I knew a mech named Scuttlebutt. *he's wrong. the mech's name was Shuttlebay.* Bevel 8:42 pm *omg* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:43 pm [[...One hopes he kept his aft away from boats.]] *Oh. He knows this feeling.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:46 pm @P: [[...Not unlike this when they died.]] *Tiny glance to see how he's doing with all this mental melding talk.* FakeProwl 8:46 pm @S «... Through the spark bond?» FakeProwl 8:48 pm *it's between people who get along with each other, not forced by a puppetmaster upon an unwilling puppet, and no mind-control is involved. he's fine.* Bevel 8:49 pm *Bevel would be glad if she knew* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:49 pm @P: [[Correct. Together with telepathy, in some cases.]] *Not the twins. And, good. Looks like no emergency avatar deactivations.* [[Ravage was - the worst. The others perished quicker.]] FakeProwl 8:50 pm *huh. the scientist has become more tolerable.* Bevel 8:50 pm *mimics the explosion sound* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:51 pm *Nods to Bevel. Approves.* Bevel 8:51 pm *grins at Soundwave* Tarantulas 8:52 pm *tarantulas makes a mental note to poke soundwave about how his telepathy works bc of this katra mess. he's not quite believing the science of it* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:52 pm *That'll be an interesting conversation.* Bevel 8:54 pm Why is genetic manipulation so bad in this universe? FakeProwl 8:55 pm Haven't they made allusions to some sort of war with genetically-manipulated humans? Or a rebellion or something? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:55 pm @P: [[...Your alternate signed off on Ravage's interrogation. He has always wondered if she knew what was happening.]] *Another small look. He's searching for - something. Confirmation? Denial? Who would be able to calculate the probability better than an alternate?* FakeProwl 8:58 pm *he doesn't pick up the implied question.* @S «... I see.» *but he does feel like he's supposed to say something.* «... I'm sorry. To hear that.» ItsyBitsySpyers 8:59 pm *Waits a moment to see if he will say anything else. But, that'll do for now. Apologies are better than nothing.* @P: [[Thank you.]]

*And broadcast more widely:* [[They have. There was a... where are his files on this. One moment.]] Bevel 9:00 pm Have they? *might have missed some things, or they might be in episodes she hasn't actually seen* Tarantulas 9:01 pm *tara's gonna conduct an experiment as they watch - down comes a thread to touch sw's shoulder* @SW: [[Push me a thought if you can hear this.]] Tarantulas 9:02 pm (( OH DAMN FakeProwl 9:03 pm *... all right, okay. NOW it's getting uncomfortable. what with the aggressive insistence that he let her into his mind.* *but it's over quickly.* Bevel 9:04 pm *oh wow a dad worse than hers, have all her sympathies, Michael* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:06 pm [[In other pieces. And Saru mentioned it.]]

[[The humans attempted genetic manipulation and upgrading a couple of hundred years before this time period.]] *Gesture to screen.* [[The humans produced used their new bodies and minds to seize power in many countries across the world. They were the cause of multiple extreme wars and eventually lost.]]

[[Some were finally captured and tried as war criminals. They disappeared before they could serve their sentences.]] [[...And it is satisfying to see his abilities used for good. For once.]] *Soundwave is intrigued by the thread - and what he heard through it. He winds the end around a finger and looks at it.* @T: [[Confirmed.]] Bevel 9:07 pm Oh! Then yeah, it really is. Stamets is being really helpful. Even with the mirror being weird. Bevel 9:09 pm *cheers Michael on* FakeProwl 9:10 pm Emotions are not Vulcan. But passive-aggression is. Tarantulas 9:10 pm *curious quirk of his visor. hmm* @SW [[Humor me - just a moment.]] *and the thread is withdrawn* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:10 pm *Finds it interesting that he acts different from the others yet chose - HUFF, Prowl, that was lovely - the "superior" partially Vulcan child over the fully human child.* *And that he did not know Spock well enough to predict Spock's actions.* *Lets the thread go and watches its slow retreat, curious.* Bevel 9:13 pm I really like Michael. Bevel 9:14 pm *somehow not surprised by this turn of events* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:15 pm *...Suspicious.* FakeProwl 9:15 pm He's quite pleased to leave her there, isn't he. Bevel 9:15 pm He just wants to keep his ship. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:16 pm *Oh good. It's not just him.* [[It seems so.]] FakeProwl 9:16 pm Selfish. Tarantulas 9:16 pm This message has been removed. FakeProwl 9:16 pm *all the same, he wants to know how he cheated his psych evals.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:20 pm *Soundwave responds every time a thread still attached inside the generation point touches him. Not so much any held in a paw.* Bevel 9:20 pm ((i'm so sorry ((did not mean to do that, i click and highlight things i'm reading and did it by accident Tarantulas 9:21 pm (( oops lol ItsyBitsySpyers 9:21 pm *And cheating on tests seems to be a common problem in Starfleet commanders. Hmm.* *Can't decide if he approves or not.* Bevel 9:21 pm ((*buries face in hands* Tarantulas 9:21 pm (( puff did u happen to log my comment or should i rewrite jic? FakeProwl 9:22 pm ((i did not, on rabbit i don't log it til the end)) Tarantulas 9:22 pm (( o7 ...actually nvm, we all know what happened, tarantulas sent down different threads etc Bevel 9:23 pm ((all the threads Tarantulas 9:24 pm *curiouser and curiouser, sw. tarantulas notes the organic interference, then eventually pulls all the threads up and disposes of them* FakeProwl 9:24 pm *... bevel are you trying to get prowl's attention* Bevel 9:25 pm *...you can't prove anything* FakeProwl 9:25 pm *you're playing The Titanic Song* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:25 pm [[...This is a rearrangment of the Titanic music.]] *Pause.* [[He likes it better than the original.]] Bevel 9:25 pm Yeah, same. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:25 pm @T: (txt): Experiment successful? Bevel 9:25 pm *did it work?* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:26 pm [[It is not as wistful, but it sounds more - celebratory. That feels like a better ending.]] FakeProwl 9:27 pm The end of the Titanic wasn't celebratory. Bevel 9:27 pm The ahistorical ending? Tarantulas 9:27 pm @SW: ::Every experiment is successful if you come into it with an open mind.:: ItsyBitsySpyers 9:28 pm [[No, no. Celebrating her memories of when she was content with the Jack human.]] *Tilt. Tilt the other way.* [[Or believed she was. He still does not think it was a good relationship.]] FakeProwl 9:29 pm Oh, it was absolutely not. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:29 pm @T: (txt): New viewpoint heard, considered, appreciated.

*Hmm. Does Shockwave think like that?* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:30 pm [[Then this song following it was a good choice. Well done, Bevel.]] Bevel 9:30 pm *grins* Tarantulas 9:31 pm *shockwave would be a shitty scientist if he didn't, in tarantulas's opinion, therefore he must* FakeProwl 9:31 pm His death was the best thing that could have possibly happened to her. It allowed her to leave with the memory of the brief freedom she thinks she experienced and opportunity for liberation that that experience provided her, while saving her from the eventual and inevitable controlling, manipulative, and abusive behavior he would have strangled her with. Tarantulas 9:34 pm *hhhm. briefly tarantulas wonders if that's what prowl thinks of him in turn* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:35 pm [[...Like the timing he suggested with the Council. A similar concept.]] FakeProwl 9:36 pm ... Still on that? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:37 pm [[Not on that discussion specifically. He understood what you were going for.]] *No need to fret all over again.* [[But it is a thing he has often thought about over the years. Among other problems of timing.]] Bevel 9:37 pm Council? FakeProwl 9:38 pm *he reacted extremely strongly in the negative for someone who supposedly understood what he was going for* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:38 pm [[It just reminded him of that. Removing a controlling force and then disposing of the one that would turn corrupt.]] *Small shrug.* [[He thinks in terms he understands.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 9:39 pm *Perhaps, but he did demonstrate that he got it once he stopped focusing on the example itself.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:41 pm [[He also wonders what would have happened if he himself took certain data to the Council instead of bringing it to Megatron, back when he had that moment of doubt. And whether he should have spilled certain secrets to save his life or died to keep them quiet.]] [[They're just moments that gnaw at him and give him frames for processing other contexts.]] Bevel 9:43 pm *didn't get an exact answer but she's read enough history to follow where Soundwave was coming from now* It is important to think about the things you did and think about how you could have done better so you can make better decisions, in the future, right? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:44 pm *Soundwave leans to one side to get a better look at her.*

[[Now where did you get a lesson like that...?]] Bevel 9:45 pm *looks away from Soundwave and at the ceiling for a moment* From talking to people. FakeProwl 9:46 pm *is people* Bevel 9:46 pm *indeed* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:46 pm [[He's a telepath, Bevel.]] Bevel 9:46 pm 😐 You are a polite one. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:47 pm [[True.]] *Leans back. Like he's gonna poke at her thoughts too much in front of Prowl.* [[But he IS curious, still.]] Tarantulas 9:48 pm *visor quirk, what the heck is this chattering about* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:48 pm *Some suggest asking when it comes to things you want to know. He's a big voice for that.* Bevel 9:51 pm I... *her armor and paint start to change subtly to match the couch she's sitting on, but she controls the urge and settles back smoothly into the frame she's been wearing all night* I have been thinking. About stuff. Important stuff. Not council important! But important to me. Tarantulas 9:51 pm *tarantulas is too stubborn to ask about things he'd rather pretend to know or to figure out himself, if you're referring to him, sw* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:55 pm [[Go on. Such as?]] *He was.* Bevel 9:55 pm Not now. *she has to talk to someone else first, else word get around somehow, she only trusts like one and a half of the bots still here* Tarantulas 9:57 pm *wait what the heck was that, bevel. weren't YOU the one who was saying mirrors don't behave like that? strange, when tarantulas just saw you behaving in a way wholly unlike a typical mech. no way was that a trick of the light* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:57 pm [[As you wish.]] Bevel 9:57 pm *grateful smile at Soundwave* Tarantulas 9:59 pm *tara's gonna keep that to himself for now. he's got enough to chew on from this evening as it is* Bevel 10:01 pm *gonna just.... go back to picking music clueless about what's going on with Tara* Tarantulas 10:06 pm ...Oh! Bevel 10:06 pm ? Tarantulas 10:08 pm Do forgive me for forgetting for so long. I owe each party in this room three cephalopod acquaintanceships, don't I? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:08 pm *SNAP ALERT AWAY FROM MUSIC congrats that was the impossible* [[Yes. You do. Does this mean...?]] Bevel 10:08 pm Yes! *sits up* Tarantulas 10:10 pm What this means is that I don't yet have the specimens, but I can acquire them, say... before we meet here next? FakeProwl 10:10 pm *turns slightly. go on, he's listening.* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:11 pm [[All of them?]] Tarantulas 10:13 pm Of course. *a bit affronted* Bevel 10:13 pm You have some time. It will be a little bit before I can get everyone here again. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:13 pm *No harm meant. He's just - quietly excited.* Tarantulas 10:15 pm If meeting here is the problem, we could all meet elsewhere. That is to say, you'll all be coming to my lab anyhow. FakeProwl 10:16 pm ((IS THAT FUCKING SAX FLAMETHROWING)) Tarantulas 10:17 pm (( oh my god FakeProwl 10:17 pm ((MAD MAX: POSTMODERN JUKEBOX)) I'll be able to come unless some emergency comes up that requires my attention. ((so that's why he's by the open window)) ItsyBitsySpyers 10:18 pm [[He will make the emergency wait for his attention to exist.]] Bevel 10:18 pm *giggles* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:19 pm [[Which is impossible. But that is how much he looks forward to this. If it wasn't yet clear.]] FakeProwl 10:19 pm Unfortunately, emergencies that require a police captain's attention frequently don't care what other people think. Even when cephalopods are involved. If I can't come, don't delay it on my behalf. Soundwave can record the event for me to watch later. Tarantulas 10:20 pm Nono, you /must/ come, really. Bevel 10:21 pm Yeah, we planned this with you, Prowl. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:21 pm [[Perhaps he can bribe all of Iacon into behaving for a single day...]] *That is a joke. Please do not arrest him for bribery.* FakeProwl 10:21 pm It's all right. I'm not planning to touch them, so it doesn't make a difference if I see them in person or via video. Bevel 10:21 pm That would be a lot of bribes. Tarantulas 10:22 pm You're coming. *stated definitively* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:22 pm [[Never underestimate his abilities, Bevel.]] FakeProwl 10:22 pm *honestly Prowl's pretty neutral on the whole thing. The only reason he asked to come was so that he could request another couple of creatures for Soundwave to see.* Bevel 10:22 pm Never. *laughs* FakeProwl 10:22 pm *but if Tarantulas seems determined that it won't happen until Prowl CAN come...* ... Very well. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:22 pm [[...They won't be exposed to the Noisemaze, correct?]] Bevel 10:23 pm Noisemaze? Tarantulas 10:24 pm Ah, no, of course not. They'll be directly bridged in. FakeProwl 10:24 pm *... is that alright to mention in front of Bevel? PROWL wouldn't have mentioned it in front of Bevel* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:24 pm *Prowl wouldn't be the one getting his aft beaten to within an inch of his life if Bevel went to the lab and was lured out there and hurt somehow.* *Soundwave would really like not to anger Ratchet like that. Tarantulas already tried to convince her to be a Science once.* Tarantulas 10:26 pm *he plans on convincing her to be a Science somehow through the cephaloparty as well, but sw need not know that* FakeProwl 10:26 pm ((*judges song intensely for changing the pronouns*)) ((make them lesbians you cowards.)) Tarantulas 10:26 pm (( make it GAAAAY Bevel 10:27 pm ((*same, hadn't heard this one yet* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:27 pm *Tarantulas better hope Soundwave doesn't find out* FakeProwl 10:27 pm ((the music video was about gay men. you can make the song about lesbians. it's okay.)) Bevel 10:27 pm ((just for this i'm gonna play a cover of rude after this that I know is gay af Tarantulas 10:28 pm *is ignoring bevel's question ftr* Bevel 10:28 pm *is ignored boo* *will just assume it's a maze. with noises* FakeProwl 10:30 pm ((a hedge maze and from the hedges comes the wild dooting of kazoos)) Tarantulas 10:30 pm (( a kazzorchestra Bevel 10:30 pm ((and now for something not post modern ItsyBitsySpyers 10:32 pm ((soundwave volunteers to hunt down the wild kazoo)) Tarantulas 10:35 pm *claw tap to mandibles* ...I haven't thought of what to do with them once we've wrapped things up, though. FakeProwl 10:35 pm ... Take them home, I'd assume. Bevel 10:35 pm Let them go? Tarantulas 10:35 pm *funny look as if that hadn't occurred to him* Well, maybe. Though they might not be safe to return. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:36 pm [[Why wouldn't they?]] Tarantulas 10:37 pm I'm trying to think of the logistics, hold on. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:37 pm *Growing vaguely alarmed. He does not want them to be made into a Science.* FakeProwl 10:37 pm Are you concerned they're going to share the awesome things they've learned about Cybertronian technology with their octopus militaries? Tarantulas 10:38 pm *SNORT* No, not in the least. FakeProwl 10:38 pm Then I don't see what the problem with taking them home is. Tarantulas 10:38 pm One does not simply take a cephalopod home, Prowl. FakeProwl 10:39 pm Why not? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:39 pm *Has a worse thought than Science.*

[[-No eating them.-]] Tarantulas 10:40 pm Hyah, nono, I'm not going to eat them. I'm not partial to seafood. Tarantulas 10:41 pm The matter of putting them back - much less taking them back - is that I can't just reverse the process, that's all. (( I LOVE THIS ONE FakeProwl 10:42 pm Why not? If anything, it should be EASIER to return them than to pick them up. Picking them up involves effort to figure out where they are so you can get them. Taking them back involves only taking them directly back to the very spot you took them from. Tarantulas 10:43 pm This message has been removed. I mean, I could do that I suppose, it'd just be a mess, and not worth the time. FakeProwl 10:44 pm So open the bridge horizontally, one inch over the ocean, and drop them in. Tarantulas 10:44 pm No - but - hyah. *starts laughing* Bevel 10:45 pm ((gd self stop clicking things ((*puts mouse in corner* FakeProwl 10:45 pm ((for the chat record, could we get a re-statement of the now-deleted quote)) Tarantulas 10:46 pm (( something something "unless someone has tech i don't have, i can't just open a hole in the ocean and stick them back in" Bevel 10:46 pm ((yes plz i'm so sorry there needs to be a way to undo that omfg ItsyBitsySpyers 10:48 pm [[Could you not build a container to hold all the water coming in as you replace the creature, then bridge all that water back over the ocean?]] FakeProwl 10:53 pm ... What's wrong with the bridge one inch over the ocean? *all he got was a no and a laugh.* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:59 pm [[Oh, yes. From what he understands, not all life in the Earth's ocean can sustain itself at the same level because of the pressure, lighting, and fuel available to them at different depths. If some of these creatures live lower down, we may well be condemning them to death by dropping them in at the top.]]

*...What? Anglerfish and their horrible fangy deep sea brethren with their own biolights fascinated him just as much.*

*At least you know he values -some- organic life forms, Prowl.* Tarantulas 11:00 pm *finishes laughing with a huff* I just adjusted my capture plans. I'll be able to put them back. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:01 pm [[Are you sure? How?]] FakeProwl 11:01 pm So put them in a container that maintains their needed pressure, put it on a cable, and lower it through the bridge. And have it open when it reaches the proper depth. Tarantulas 11:03 pm I don't remember the species, but the ocean is rather deep, which means that'd entail more effort than I'm willing to put in for a small party like this. But it's alright, the solution is similar. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:03 pm *Excuse you. Every single one of those beings is worth all that effort. Not that he'll say as much out loud. In front of Bevel, anyway.* *He's still listening though.* Tarantulas 11:05 pm I'll prepare pressure-contained tanks, fill them with the appropriate environment, hook them up to my portal one at a time, target the creatures so they navigate into the chambers when the portal's opened, and voila. Simply do the reverse for release. (( IT'S MY JAM Bevel 11:06 pm *is listening to make sure all the cool critters will be safe* Tarantulas 11:06 pm (( *sings along* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:06 pm *Soundwave taps his fingers against his leg.* [[That sounds... reasonable.]] Bevel 11:07 pm ((This song is so damn good Tarantulas 11:07 pm (( also the music vid A+ ItsyBitsySpyers 11:07 pm *He was about to start researching what it would take to keep them on Cybertron. So, y'know. This is better.* Tarantulas 11:07 pm *no more additions to your collections, sw* Bevel 11:08 pm ((So good, ladies supporting ladies ItsyBitsySpyers 11:08 pm *One plant is hardly a collection!* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:10 pm *...And he never brought the human into the habitat that was built for them, so there.* Tarantulas 11:10 pm *keeping humans is amusing, sw should try it sometime* FakeProwl 11:11 pm *NO* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:11 pm *IN HIS DEFENSE, THEY WEREN'T ENTIRELY AGAINST IT* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:12 pm *He's definitely never mentioning the idea to turn them into a cassette though. That'll just. Stay out of an entire timeline's worth of hearing range of Prowl.* Tarantulas 11:13 pm *divert it in tarantulas's direction, he'll never speak a word* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:13 pm *It was a more desperate time. Don't you judge him.* Bevel 11:13 pm *the brief mention of a plant reminds the mun that Bevel needs to identify the plant she traded for that one movie night* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:14 pm [[...He will bring some patterns for them. Buzzsaw can make them.]] Tarantulas 11:14 pm Patterns for - ? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:14 pm [[The cephalopods capable of changing their colors.]] [[Something for them to exercise their minds on.]] Bevel 11:15 pm Can I help? Tarantulas 11:15 pm Oh, oh, yes, I see. Mind you, I'm not certain how much of their mind is exercised by their color changing. Bevel 11:15 pm *she's gonna be having a hard enough time resisting the urge to shift and see if they'll change colors to match* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:17 pm [[Yes, Bevel. He would like that.]]

[[And neither is he. If nothing else, it will be something they do not have in the ocean. It is all he can think of they might li... jars. Jars and - fish. He will procure fish.]] [[Ravage should be able to gather some of that.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 11:19 pm *Maybe a couple of crabs? Or clams dug out of the sand? Some of them might have preferences...* Bevel 11:20 pm Awesome. FakeProwl 11:20 pm ... Do they like jars? *that seems like an odd thing for them to like* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:22 pm [[He thinks so. He has seen captive ones open them to get what it is inside. There are some that carry large seed shells with them as well.]] Tarantulas 11:23 pm Hyeheh, it's true. I'll leave you in charge of their entertainment and mental stimulation, then, Soundwave. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:24 pm *Soundwave plays back a small fanfare. He is legitimately happy to be assigned this role.* Bevel 11:25 pm *grins, this is gonna be the coolest trip* Tarantulas 11:26 pm *tarantulas hopes so. maybe he can trick you into revealing some of your tricks too, bevel* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:26 pm *Agreed. Whole-sparkedly.*

*...Not on the revealing tricks bit, but he can't hear that hope.* Bevel 11:27 pm *is gonna try to be good but she never found a shapeshifting teacher* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:27 pm *Unable to quite contain himself, he allows himself to send Prowl a gif of falling foil confetti and an accompanying excitement tag. And a restraint tag. Just so Prowl understands he's not going to burst out and suddenly start yelling or whatever it is other people do.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:28 pm *He then sends Bevel a task: acquire the largest pair of co-co-nut shells she can find and make a replacement out of sturdier supplies.* *There is a promise of payment attached.* Bevel 11:29 pm *can definitely do this! excited ping back* Tarantulas 11:30 pm *is sliding out of his sling/hammock and casually disattaching it* FakeProwl 11:31 pm *... ping ping ping.* Bevel 11:33 pm ((cro has request, i play that instead ItsyBitsySpyers 11:33 pm *And one of intense affection.*

*Ah. Are we leaving? Tarantulas is leaving. He should take the hint.* [[He should be on his way shortly. There is something he must do tomorrow.]] FakeProwl 11:33 pm Oh? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:33 pm ((the mun says as she promptly forgets what she was going to have him do...)) Bevel 11:33 pm ((whoops Aw, ok. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:34 pm ((OH YEAH i remember now)) [[Yes. He ordered a special item. Its creator informed him earlier today that it is ready.]] [[Among our other trades, per usual.]] FakeProwl 11:35 pm Ah. So you need to be in to pick up the delivery. Bevel 11:35 pm Can you say what you ordered or is it a secret? Tarantulas 11:36 pm Can you say who you ordered it from? That might be more informative. FakeProwl 11:36 pm *asks absolutely no questions about it, which may be informative all by itself.* Bevel 11:37 pm ((not at all ic Tarantulas 11:37 pm (( lmao ItsyBitsySpyers 11:37 pm [[He does.]]

[[Ah. Rumble and Frenzy have been asking for Arcade to replicate a new game console.]] *Not technically the item he meant, but also something he has to pick up personally. It's a surprise for them. And it'll stop them asking why Prowl isn't asking. He hopes.* Tarantulas 11:38 pm *doesn't 100% believe sw but doesn't feel like poking* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:38 pm *He can call in and check if he wants. It's true.* Bevel 11:39 pm *isn't observant enough to wonder why Prowl isn't asking, besides Prowl might already know since he's a, uh, friend* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:39 pm *FUNNY YOU SHOULD THINK THAT...* FakeProwl 11:39 pm *... now not sure if that's actually what it is, or if that's the cover story for the others* Bevel 11:39 pm I bet they will really like that. *100% believes him* Tarantulas 11:41 pm Certainly. *stretching* I must be on my way as well. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:41 pm [[Oh yes. Something about being a... what is it called. Switch? In any case, it's supposed to be important.]] Tarantulas 11:41 pm (( is that a double entendre (( it is isnt it Bevel 11:42 pm I do not know much about Earth games. *Bevel no* FakeProwl 11:42 pm *... okay now it's definitely the handcuffs.* *mystery solved* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:42 pm *Soundwave rises, enormously pleased with himself for that one, and nods to them all in turn.* [[Goodnight, all.]] Tarantulas 11:42 pm (( i cant fuckin believe you cro FakeProwl 11:42 pm Evening. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:43 pm ((u better believe it)) Tarantulas 11:43 pm Until next time. I'll be making preparations, hyeh. FakeProwl 11:43 pm ... Let me know if you're going to need help playtesting the new machine. *so very, very cool and casual* Bevel 11:44 pm ((*physically resists having Bevel query about that remark because tired ItsyBitsySpyers 11:44 pm *With any luck, so will he.*

[[Thank you. He'd like to make sure it doesn't have problems with locking up.]] Tarantulas 11:44 pm *since when has prowl been into gaming, tarantulas wonders* FakeProwl 11:44 pm (("what, do you think i don't play video games?" says prowl, who probably doesn't know how to hold a controller right-side up)) Bevel 11:44 pm ((Prowl, expect Bevel to ask you about how playtesting went later. FakeProwl 11:45 pm ((GOOD)) Tarantulas 11:45 pm *is off home now, au revoir* Bevel 11:45 pm *waves* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:47 pm *Follows suit by heading to the edge of the open wall, jumping off, and zipping on home in alt mode. There's some energy to work off after that last little innuendo-laced exchange.* FakeProwl 11:47 pm *SOUNDWAVE THIS IS A CITY* *WHAT ARE YOU DOING FLYING BETWEEN BUILDINGS* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:48 pm *WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO, ARREST HIM?* FakeProwl 11:48 pm *HE COULD CALL HIS ALTERNATE* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:48 pm *-HE WOULDN'T DARE.- BEVEL DON'T LET HIM DO IT, DISTRACT HIM* *SOUNDWAVE WILL PAY YOU* Bevel 11:49 pm *this universe's Prowl does not look forward to that call because she'll have to send someone to follow up on it* *don't do that to Chase, he's barely an adult, Prowl* FakeProwl 11:50 pm *would having an uncomfortable rescue bot awkwardly asking questions be enough to discourage soundwave from RECKLESSLY ENDANGERING HIMSELF AND THE NEARBY ARCHITECTURE again* Bevel 11:51 pm *Bevel used Distraction! It's... not very effective. Especially since she's trying to think of how to complete the task Soundwave gave her* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:51 pm *Who's recklessly endangering anything? Is this not common where Prowl's from? Why the Pit do they have balconies on their apartments then? Is this why he's getting odd looks all the time?* FakeProwl 11:52 pm *you're supposed to go UP in the SKY and be OVER the buildings* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:54 pm *That's for work. And most every other time. Today he wants to feel his wings.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:58 pm *But anyway, he's gone. He'll attend future meetings a lot less recklessly.* FakeProwl 11:59 pm *HE'D BETTER* Yesterday Bevel 11:59 pm *awkwardly waves to Prowl, who she assumes is probably not staying long since everyone else left* FakeProwl 12:00 am *now that he's done gaping in outrage at soundwave's departure? no, probably not.* *farewell, he is gone.* Bevel 12:01 am *oh good no stilted attempts at conversation, she'll get to cleaning up now*

[tfw-no-tennis]

continuted hxh thotz

we watched more so i continue my ramblings 

so we finished the trick tower stuff and started on the stuff on the island where theyre all hunting each other....wow finally some hunting in hunter x hunter 

can i just say....fuck hisoka i hate that guyyyy oh my goddddd hes the worst. i just feel incandescent rage whenever hes on screen vhbjdshfjhbsd smarmy horny clown bitch. looooord. he invokes a similar emotion to part 1 dio tbh....like i lose my domestication when i see both those bitches 

oh god that part where hisoka had just spent like hours de-hornifying himself or w/e and he looks all crusty and dehydrated and then he spots that old guy who looks kinda ghibli and he just goes AFTER ghibli man....like hisoka literally had one of those wack ass super detailed faces and just started screaming and running at that guy...like man i wouldve died instantly on the spot. jesus 

gon remains best best perfect baby boy. every time he does something so cute and pure that my heart starts palpating, i get even more nervous for the shit hes gonna go thru someday 

gon and killua are literally soooo precious theyre just two lil boys!!! two lads!!! lad boys! augh i love how much theyre vibing all the time...like on the boat to the island when theyre like refusing to tell each other who their target is and then they both start laughing and then show each other....so precious

honestly im really enjoying how they dont really have a rivalry (yet?) - theyre not like ‘yes we are friends but we’re also COMPETING! so we cant be That nice to each other bc that wouldnt be fair! or w/e you know that typical shounen stuff. i only enjoy that sometimes and im glad its not a thing rn, and if it does become like that later i probs wont mind bc i feel like itd be done well 

so ruth and i caught on to the fact that that weird guy with the pins stuck all over himself was illuminati or w/e his name is (illumi? illumini? i forget already) but HOLY FUCK we both thought he was wearing a mask....god i wish that were the case, that face transformation shit was the WORST. sir why can you do that 

also when hisoka just watched this and was like ‘i always like seeing you do that’ or whatever god gross nasty i hate them

my take on the little we’ve seen of hisoka and illumitations relationship: theyre like the catty mean girls-types but Super Fucking Weird. idk if theyre gay togther (probably) but theyd be the epitome of a ‘is this allowed? [gestures at All That]’ couple. i had more thoughts on them but i forgt 

i find it funny that they havent shown killua like at all during this island hunting thing hvbhsdhfbjdk he probably has like 10 randos badges already. i feel like he would give gon a badge or 2 if gon needed them but that doesnt seem to be the case 

when hisoka spotted leorio and kurapika and went after them i was like [guy yelling NOOOOOOOOOOO meme] freal 

thank goodness kurapika could recognize that they would Fucking Die trying to fight hisoka, and bargained w/him instead. also seeing the flashback of leorio trying to fight hisoka was so funny. my man WHAT! were you thinking 

this is probably the stage that tonpa is getting out on and can i just say thank god i hate that guy. good riddance 

that sniper lady looked cool and im bummed illuminty took her out offscreen :( i also thought the black guy with the beehive stick thing was gonna do more but guess not

i find it funny that so many characters have these loud character designs but end up not having a lot of screentime...i feel like ive been conditioned by one piece to see an eye-catching character and mentally prepare to see a wholeass backstory lol

also. illunikn is clearly a huge freak which is probably why hisoka is willing to work w/him, but his design is weirdly cute sometimes (when hes not doing absolutely freaky shit, which....admittedly isnt often)

like the part where he transforms into his True Cat Man Form and then, without changing expression, digs a giant hole with his bare hands (with the body language of a feral person) and then gets into it to nap.....like.....bro. 

also ik illiminini is killuas brother (i think brother?) and wow that family has some strong Cat genes 

i find it interesting that hisoka has been working with illiimini this whole time, hisoka strikes me as a solo type of guy who would be all like ‘teamwork is beneath me’ and only have minions (a la dio, espec p1 dio) but he seems to have a fairly even relationship w/illuimian which is wild. i rlly wonder if thatll last or if hisoka is gonna like, murder/abandon ilubimi later bc he ‘gets in hisokas way’ or st 

i like that kurapika and leorio teamed up....married

i generally really like how the relationships between the main characters are handled, its sweet how theyre just like....generally nice to each other and stuff lol 

also oh my god i forgot that last time i hadnt seen the end of trick tower i need to talk abt that 

KILLUA MY BOY OH MY GOD....ive been waiting for this ngl. ily smug murderous catboy

i love so much how killua casually kills this ~*~scary guy~*~ and everyones like :0 but gon is just like yep thats killua! hes from a family of assassins! like the way he says it so casually and kinda cheery aw i love him. he doesnt even care that killua can murder people in 2 seconds flat, he thinks killua is AWESOME 

and oh my god i love how hard killua is trying like, all the time. he is trying his HARDEST to be AS COOL AS POSSIBLE for gon and thats adorable. its working too gon clearly thinks killua is SUPER cool 

the eternally hilarious part where kurapika asked what killuas secret tactic are re: ripping that guys heart out, and killua is just like ‘uh i just ripped it out. yknow...as one does..’ and kurapika is like wow im glad this murder catboy is on our side.. 

the psychology stuff in the trick tower was interesting as hell (catch me brushing off my psych minor like, oh yeah i know abt this stuff lol)...i like the stuff abt leorio getting discouraged/disgruntled when the majority ended up being against him a lot bc thats true!! thats how it works!! it leads to learned helplessness and stuff like that...also that animation of kurapika and leorio playing cards to explain the tough candle choice was sooo cute 

i really loved the solution to the final majority rule things....ingeniously following the rules while still managing to circumvent them in ways...love it

also gon is so perfect have i mentioned that already

im so curious whos gonna pass the hunter exam, i legit have no idea and i would find it so funny if gon becomes a hunter in the first goddamn arc hjhbdfhsdjbgk as ruth said, itd kinda be like luffy becoming pirate king in like chapter 70

i mean tbf if i had to guess id say gon passes, simply bc i cant see the story taking the time to have him do the hunter exam again in a year. also his motivation is to become a hunter in order to see what its all about bc of his dad - not JUST to become a hunter 

gons fishing rod is so cute. perfect item for a perfect boy 

his training was adorable. hes a smart lad! formidable baby 

the blooderflies were so cool and OH MY GOD how could i forget the part where gon had two blooderflies with little leashes on and had the leashes tied to one of his fingers....OOOUGHHHHGBSJFHSJBFUHEJKSDD bro my heart literally palpated like it does when my cat does something rlly cute, gon is seriously That cute and pure and good

every time hisoka is anywhere near gon i just wanna call the FBI on that clowns ass oh y god. pls leave ladboy alone....

anyways i love the main characters (HISOKA DONT INTERACT) and i cant wait to see what happens next. i might have more thoughts but coherency is not one of my strengths so bye