#I made this post more than one year ago and just realised it never left my drafts

[latalpavolante]

Mick somehow convinced his older grandson to come to the public pool with Hannah and him. The only reason Jacob gave in was probably to stop his family from constantly bugging him with how he should leave the house more, how he can’t just sit in his room all the time, how he needs to meet up with some people of his age and so on and so on.

Just that there were no other teens at the pool, and Jacob was actually relieved about it. The last thing he wanted his classmates to see was him hanging around with his hippie grandpa and his crazy little sister in his free time.

Still at first Jacob didn’t want to actually go swimming, so there just was some awkard silence, before Mick decided to seize the opportunity to give Jacob some life lessons (which were mostly about how he should take things easy and not worry that much about everything and especially not about his dad’s rants). Jacob loves his grandpa, and feels way more at ease with him than with his dad, and actually feels quite grateful for his support, but still the whole situation was rather embarrassing.

After this conversation, they finally decided to join Hannah in the pool, but while she and Mick were enjoying themselves and had fun chatting with some other visitors, Jacob felt increasingly uncomfortable. He headed to the bathrooms and cried under the shower, and wasn’t able to fully figure out why. He didn’t want Mick and Hannah to notice he wasn’t doing well, so he sneaked over to the desolate basketball court and did some throws, just to distract himself.

But then something unexpected happened.

[seriiousgiirl]

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒜 𝒮𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. James is just needy and frustrated.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 3 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Ok, I didn't expect to get so much positive feedback on this story, let alone people reading it. Thanks for the reposts, and the likes, it's really heartwarming. I hope this new chapter lives up to your expectations!

➜ ┊: chapter 2/?.

Yeah, I’m fine,

Just, you know, work and everything.

James' words echoed in your mind far longer than you'd expected, long after you left the school and returned home. It was such a simple explanation, too simple, almost rehearsed. You replayed the conversation over and over, dissecting every syllable. Was that really the whole truth? Or were you just looking too much into it? You usually worried about your students, not their parents, but there was something about Mr. Sunderland that was different. 

The way his voice had that edge to it, tired yet restrained, lingered with you.

You tried to brush it off as you kicked off your shoes and hung up your coat, settling into your familiar routine, but it wasn’t easy. Mr. Sunderland had always caught your eye—not in the usual way parents did when they showed up to school events, eager to check off a duty. There was something about him, a fragility hidden beneath his exterior that you couldn't quite ignore. You couldn't stop yourself from wondering, Is he okay?

He wasn’t just Laura’s dad to you; he was an enigma of sorts, a man who seemed out of place among the chatter of parents and the laughter of children. The first time you really noticed it was years ago, at a school event. You could still remember it clearly, as if it had just happened. The room was filled with the vibrant energy of kids running around, voices overlapping, and parents chatting with one another, but James stood on the outskirts, a shadow of a man amidst the lightness. His posture had been tense, like he was holding himself together by sheer will, his eyes distant and guarded, scanning the room as if he didn’t belong.

You had watched him, then—just a little too long—and something about the way he looked made you wonder if he was more lost than he let on. There was a weight in his eyes, a haunted look that never quite went away, no matter how much he smiled for Laura or spoke politely to the other parents. It had unsettled you, this quiet suffering that no one else seemed to notice, or even care to notice.

As you moved about your apartment, grabbing a glass of water and flipping through papers, your mind kept circling back to that same thought. Normally, you were good at compartmentalising—work was work, home was home. But James blurred those lines for you, even when you didn't want him to. There was something about him, something that tugged at your heart in a way that made it hard to let go once you started worrying.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You had no reason to be this concerned. 

After all, you barely knew him beyond your interactions about Laura. And yet, here you were, standing in your kitchen, your mind consumed with thoughts of a man you’d only spoken to a handful of times. It was absurd, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that you had been noticing him for a while. Maybe it was his quietness, or the way he seemed to drift away in crowded rooms, but something about him had planted itself in your mind and refused to leave.

You were a teacher, not a therapist, and you had no business prying into his life. But that didn’t stop you from caring. You knew that if you hadn’t spoken to him at that first event, if you hadn’t seen that lost, almost broken look in his eyes, you might have been able to brush it off. But you had seen it, and now it was impossible to unsee. 

Maybe that was why his tiredness today had stuck with you. The dark circles under his eyes, the way he seemed to force a smile—it all felt too familiar, too much like someone who was holding themselves together by a thread. You sighed, staring into the dim light of your living room, feeling the weight of something you couldn't name.

Maybe it was because you saw a little of yourself in him, in that quiet sadness that never quite left his face.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t going away. And as much as you tried to tell yourself it was just concern for a parent of your student, deep down, you knew it ran deeper than that.

As you ate dinner, you recalled the school event vividly, the day you first gathered the courage to talk to him. The air was filled with laughter and chatter, and you were moving through it all with practised ease, making sure everyone felt comfortable and included. That’s when you saw him.

He had been standing there, watching Laura play with the other children. There was a sadness about him, something fragile and haunting in the way he observed everything without really engaging. You had felt a strange pull toward him, an instinct to reach out, to offer something, even if it was just a gesture of kindness.

You had hesitated at first, unsure if you should approach him. But something in his isolation spurred you forward. Gathering your courage, you had picked up two plates of the chocolate cake from the refreshments table, a favourite among the kids, and made your way toward him. As you walked up, he didn’t even notice your presence at first, so absorbed in his thoughts that he seemed to be a thousand miles away.

When you finally held up the plate under his nose, he jolted, startled by your sudden appearance. His wide eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, he looked at you as though you were a ghost, someone he hadn’t expected to see or speak to. It had almost made you retreat, thinking you had made a mistake, but you had offered him a warm smile instead, hoping to ease the tension.

“The cake is really good,” you had said softly, holding it out to him. “You should try it.”

He had blinked, then smiled politely, a small, hesitant curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Thank you.” He accepted the plate from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest second before he pulled away, creating an awkward silence between you two.

You both stood there, watching Laura run around with the other children, her laughter floating in the air. You had wondered what to say next, unsure if you should even be speaking to him at all. But then his voice broke the silence, soft and gentle, yet with a strained quality that made it sound as if every word was carefully measured.

“You… you are young for a teacher,” he had said, his voice as uncertain as his expression. There was a pause, a flicker of discomfort in his gaze before he looked away, as if unsure whether the comment had crossed a line.

You chuckled softly, relieved that the silence had finally broken. “Yeah, I guess I found my calling pretty quickly,” you replied, taking a small bite of your own slice of cake. You had gotten used to that comment—it was something parents and even some older teachers had mentioned when you first started at the school. But somehow, coming from James, it felt different. There was something in the way he had said it, almost like he was impressed, or maybe curious, but cautious, too. 

He nodded slightly, staring down at the cake in his hands before taking a hesitant bite. For a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t sure how to react, but then his face softened, and he looked at you again. “This… this is really good,” he said, almost as if the taste had surprised him.

You smiled, glad that the small gesture had helped him relax a bit. “It’s the kids’ favourite,” you told him, motioning to the crowd of children still running around, their laughter filling the air. “I bake and we serve it at every event. If it’s not on the menu, the parents complain.”

James chuckled, a low sound that barely made it past his lips, but you noticed how it brightened his face, even if only for a second. It was a small victory, seeing that shift in his expression. “I can see why,” he muttered, taking another bite as if savouring the moment.

You watched Laura playing with the other children and decided to continue the conversation, not wanting the moment to fade into awkward silence again. “Laura’s doing really well in class, by the way. She’s a joy to have. Always so curious, always ready with questions.”

James's expression softened at the mention of Laura. His eyes followed her, his gaze warm despite the distance he seemed to keep from the joyful atmosphere around him. “She loves school,” he said, his voice almost reverent, as if Laura was his anchor in a storm he couldn’t quite escape from. “It’s… amazing, really. The way she’s grown since I’ve—well, since she’s been here.”

You nodded, remembering how Laura had come into the class that first year—bright, confident, and eager to learn. “She’s a natural learner, always asking for more books, more activities. Sometimes I think she’d rather stay in class all day if she could,” you said with a laugh.

James smiled, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. You noticed the faint lines of weariness etched into his features, and it stirred a quiet concern in you, one you couldn’t quite explain. Every time he spoke of Laura, it was like he was holding onto her with both hands, like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

“She talks about you a lot,” James said after a moment, his voice quiet again. “Says you make learning fun.”

That comment had warmed you more than you expected. “She’s sweet,” you replied, smiling at the thought of Laura mentioning you at home. “I just try to make sure the kids feel like they can explore the world in their own way. Laura seems to have a natural curiosity about everything.”

James nodded, but he seemed distant again, as if his thoughts were drifting somewhere far away. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped slightly, the way his eyes seemed to darken as the conversation went on. You hadn’t meant to pry, but his sadness was palpable. And in that moment, you had found yourself wanting to say more, to offer some kind of reassurance. But before you could, James spoke again.

“I’m glad she’s in good hands,” he said softly, his gaze still fixed on Laura as she ran across the playground. 

You remembered the weight of your words that day, how you hesitated before finally gathering the courage to ask him something that had been bothering you for a while. The conversation had been light up until that point, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story, something beneath the surface of James’s distant demeanour and Laura’s bubbly personality. 

You didn’t want to pry—especially not during a casual school event—but the question had been lingering in your mind since the start of the year. Laura’s information sheet had been so bare, so lacking in detail, compared to what most parents submitted. No emergency contacts beyond James. No mention of other family. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your place to ask, but as her teacher, you felt like you should at least know a little more.

So, as you stood next to him, the quiet stretching between you after your exchange about Laura’s love for school, you finally spoke up, your voice hesitant. “I, um… I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…” You paused, swallowing the nervousness that had crept into your throat. “On Laura’s information sheet, you didn’t fill in much. I didn’t want to pry or anything, but I was just wondering—well, if there’s anything we should know? Just to be prepared, you know, in case of an emergency.”

James’s face shifted at your words, and for a second, you thought you might have overstepped. His jaw tightened, and he looked down at the ground, his expression hard to read. You immediately regretted asking, feeling heat rush to your cheeks as the silence between you deepened.

“I didn’t mean to—” you began quickly, your words tumbling out as you tried to backtrack. “I just wanted to make sure we had everything we need for Laura. I’m sorry if that was too forward, I just—”

James shook his head, and to your surprise, he let out a soft chuckle, his lips curling into a faint smile. “No, it’s okay,” he said, his voice a little lighter now, though there was still something guarded in his tone. He glanced at Laura again, watching her as she played, before continuing. “It’s just that… I adopted Laura a few months ago. So I don’t have a lot of information about her past.”

The words hit you like a gentle but unexpected wave, washing over your initial embarrassment and replacing it with a deep sense of sympathy. “Oh,” you whispered, your cheeks flushing deeper as you realised the weight of his admission. “I—I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

James shook his head again, cutting off your apology with a reassuring smile. “Really, it’s fine,” he said, a softness in his eyes that made you relax a little. “I know it’s probably a little strange, but… I didn’t want to put too much on those forms. We’re still figuring things out—so, I would appreciate your secrecy on this matter.”

“Of course,” you nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and understanding settle in your chest. “That makes sense,” you replied, your voice softer now. There was a brief pause, an almost peaceful silence between you, and for the first time that day, you didn’t feel awkward standing beside him. You felt something quiet but real.

He glanced at you then, a flicker of something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something unsaid. For a moment, you thought he might open up further, let you in just a little more. But instead, he nodded, offering you a tight smile that didn’t quite mask the exhaustion behind his eyes.

“Thanks for the cake,” he murmured, the word heavy with meaning, but it felt like a conversation he wasn’t ready to continue. “You can now add me to the list of your fans,” he tried to joke. And that was how it ended that day. A polite smile, a brief exchange, and a shared piece of chocolate cake. 

But it had been the start of something—an awareness, perhaps—that had lodged itself in your mind since.

‧───────────────

It was the end of the school day, and you stood at the doorway of the classroom, waving goodbye to your students as they rushed out, eager to meet their parents. The air was filled with the excited chatter of children, their laughter carrying through the schoolyard as they bounded toward the gates, already discussing what they would do once they got home—playing, watching cartoons, or just relaxing after a long day. 

You smiled, watching them, a familiar warmth settling in your chest. These moments, seeing the kids so happy and carefree, were some of your favourites. But as the crowd of parents thinned and the rush of students began to dwindle, your eyes fell on one child still waiting, standing a little apart from the rest.

Laura.

She was fidgeting with the sleeve of her pink shirt, her eyes darting around as she glanced at the gate, waiting for someone who hadn’t yet arrived. You felt a small pang in your chest, noticing how her usually bright demeanour was tinged with a quiet sort of patience. 

She wasn’t upset, not yet, but you could tell she was starting to wonder where he was.

You walked over to her, your steps soft against the pavement. Kneeling down next to her, you offered her a gentle smile, hoping to ease the unease you sensed in her small frame. “Hey, Laura,” you said quietly, “Don’t worry, your dad will be here soon. I’ll wait with you until he comes, okay? So you don’t have to worry.”

Laura looked up at you, her wide eyes filled with an innocence that tugged at your heartstrings. She nodded, though her fingers still played nervously with her sleeve. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice small but trusting.

You sat down on the bench next to her, offering her a comforting presence. The schoolyard was almost empty now, save for a few stragglers who were still being picked up. You glanced toward the gate, hoping to see James approaching, but there was no sign of him yet.

The two of you sat in a peaceful silence for a moment, and you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of protectiveness toward the little girl beside you. You had always cared for your students, of course, but with Laura… it felt different. There was something about her that drew you in, something about her quiet resilience and the way she tried so hard to be brave.

You glanced at her again, noticing how she was now staring at the ground, still fiddling with her sleeve. “You know,” you said gently, trying to distract her, “you were amazing in class today. I think you’re going to be a star at our next reading session.”

Laura looked up at you, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “Really?”

“Really,” you nodded, your tone full of warmth. “You’ve come so far, Laura. You should be proud of yourself.”

Her smile widened just a little, and you felt a sense of relief wash over you. At least for now, she seemed more at ease, even if only for a moment. Still, your gaze flickered back to the gate, and you silently hoped James would arrive soon. You knew how much Laura looked up to him, how much she counted on him, and you didn’t want her to start worrying that he wouldn’t come.

Even so, you would wait with her for as long as it took.

As the minutes passed, Laura’s hands fidgeted more restlessly with her sleeve, her small brow furrowing with an expression far too serious for her age. She glanced up at you and then back at the ground, her lips pressing together as if she was holding something in. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked gently, leaning a bit closer to her.

Laura hesitated, biting her lip before she spoke. “I... I’m not sure,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just... James has been really tired lately. He doesn’t smile anymore—well, even less than usual. And sometimes...” Her voice trailed off, her fingers gripping her sleeve tightly.

You could sense the worry radiating from her, and it tugged at your heart. You leaned in a little closer, your voice soft and reassuring. “Sometimes what, Laura?”

She hesitated again, her eyes flicking up to yours before darting away. She seemed on the verge of saying something more, something important, but just as the words were about to spill out, the sound of hurried footsteps caught both of your attention.

James.

He rushed through the gate, his face flushed and his breath coming in heavy pants. His tie was slightly askew, his khaki jacket over his broad shoulders, and you could tell from the sheen of sweat on his brow that he had run all the way from wherever he had been. His gaze immediately locked onto Laura, and the relief in his eyes was palpable.

“Laura... I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice breathless but filled with concern. He bent down to her level, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Work ran later than I expected, but I’m here now.”

Laura’s face brightened instantly at the sight of him. Whatever worries she had moments ago seemed to melt away as she launched herself into his arms. “It’s okay, James. I knew you’d come. Y/n kept me company.”

James held her tightly for a moment, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath, seemingly trying to steady himself. Then he stood up, his gaze shifting to you. There was an apology in his expression, a look of regret for being late. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” he said, still catching his breath. “I rushed over as fast as I could.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “No need to apologise. We’re just glad you made it.”

For a moment, as James straightened his posture, you could see the fatigue lingering in his eyes—deeper than just physical tiredness. It was the kind of weariness that came from something more, something that ran deeper than a late night or a long day at work.

You smiled politely, already anticipating that James would soon make his usual excuses to leave as soon as possible and head home with Laura. But to your surprise, he lingered for a moment longer, his gaze shifting from Laura to you, a look of contemplation on his face. There was something different about him today—something new.

“Miss...” he began, but before he could finish, you couldn’t help but giggle, waving him off playfully. “Oh gosh— It makes me feel so formal and old, how many times have I insisted you call me by my name?” You teased lightly, hoping to break the ice that often felt a little too thick between you two.

James’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in his deep-set eyes. “I suppose it’s hard to shake old habits,” he replied, a half-smile playing on his lips as if he were sharing an inside joke with himself. You watched as he took a moment to consider his words, his brow furrowing slightly as he grappled with the shift in the dynamic between you. 

“But... Y/n,” he finally said, his voice almost hesitant, as if he were testing the waters. 

The way he spoke your name was slow and deliberate, as if each syllable was a treasure he was unearthing. The warmth of his voice wrapped around you, and the moment felt electric. The air thickened with an intimacy you hadn’t expected, leaving you momentarily breathless. 

You felt your heart skip a beat as a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks, your breath hitching slightly in your throat. Suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink, and the innocent and fleeting conversations you typically shared transformed into something more profound, more intimate. 

“Y/n,” he repeated, this time almost to himself, as if he were savouring the taste of it. 

The sound of your name rolling off his tongue sent a flutter through you, igniting a mixture of excitement and shyness that caught you off guard. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something new and uncharted, and the thrill of it both exhilarated and terrified you.

“I—uh, right... well, it’s nice to be called by my name, that’s all,” you stammered, attempting to regain your composure. The heat of embarrassment crept up your neck, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest, a drumbeat that seemed to echo in the stillness between you.

James chuckled softly, the sound warm and inviting, breaking the momentary tension. “I’ll make an effort to remember,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice struck a chord deep within you. You could sense the vulnerability in his words, a hint that perhaps he was allowing himself to be more open, more human.

The moment lingered, stretching into a comfortable silence as you both absorbed what had just transpired. You could sense a connection crackling in the air, a magnetic pull that made your skin tingle and your heart flutter. Laura, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around her, stood between you, still clutching her father’s hand, her wide eyes darting back and forth between the two of you, momentarily aback by the interactions.

“James, can we go home now?” Laura chirped, her voice cutting through the quiet. “I want to play with my dolls!”

James jolted, as if he was coming out of a trance and looked down at her, his expression softening as he nodded. “Of course, sweetie. Let’s go home.” But then he turned back to you, an earnestness in his gaze. “I appreciate you looking out for her.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and your heart swelled with a mix of pride and gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Sunderland. It’s a joy,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face. You were grateful for the opportunity to teach such a bright and spirited child, but it felt like more than just a job. 

It was a chance to make a difference, even in small ways.

As the three of you stood there, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow around you, you felt a sense of connection deepening—a bond that was slowly beginning to form amidst the complexities of life. But just as quickly as it had come, the moment slipped away as Laura tugged at her father’s hand, eager to be on her way.

“Come on, James!” she urged, her excitement palpable. “Let’s go!”

With a final shared smile, James turned to leave, his hand wrapped securely around Laura’s. But, just as James was about to turn and leave, he hesitated for a moment, glancing back at you with a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “Oh, and… it’s only fair that you can call me James,” he added in a rushed voice, as if the words were tumbling out before he could stop them.

The casualness of the remark hung in the air, but the weight of it landed heavily on your chest. You stood there, momentarily shocked, your mind racing to comprehend what he had just said. The simple invitation felt monumental. You could see the apprehension in his expression, as if he were dreading your reaction, almost afraid of the implications his words might hold.

He turned back to Laura, who was practically bouncing on her toes with excitement, and as he walked away, you felt a strange mix of exhilaration and longing. The distance between you began to stretch, but in that moment, all you could focus on was the sudden intimacy in that one little request. 

“James,” you whispered, the name rolling off your tongue for the first time, almost shyly. 

But he was already walking away, his back to you, and the sound of his gentle voice echoed in your ears. You could almost see the tension in his shoulders as he hurried to catch up with Laura, leaving you standing there in the golden glow of the setting sun. For a fleeting moment, you wished he could hear you, that your voice could reach him just a little further. But the name lingered in your mind, and you knew this was more than just a name. 

As they disappeared from sight, you found yourself smiling, a warm flutter igniting within you. You could hardly believe that you had spoken his name, and yet it felt right. James. 

Just James.

‧───────────────

A couple of days had passed since that moment, and you found yourself standing outside the school as the last of the children filtered out, giggling and chattering excitedly about their plans for the evening. The air was warm, filled with the sweet scent of the last remnant of the flowers, yet your thoughts were completely consumed by James.

As he approached, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. His blue-gray eyes had a captivating quality that seemed to pull you in, as if they held secrets and stories you longed to uncover. They were gentle and soft, yet haunted, a hint of sadness always lurking just beneath the surface. You had come to notice this subtle dichotomy in him—the warmth of his smile contrasted with the weight he carried in his gaze.

Since your last interaction, James had consistently arrived at school on time, much to your surprise. He had also begun to linger after school, initiating unusual and trivial conversations. And each time he approached, you felt the world around you fade, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of shared moments and unspoken words. 

“Hey, you,” he greeted, a genuine smile lighting up his face as he stepped closer. The way he said it made you feel like you were the only person in the universe, and it took every ounce of your professionalism not to melt under his gaze. “How was your day?”

“Pretty standard,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just the usual chaos with the kids. You know how it is.” You chuckled lightly, but inside, your heart raced, fighting the blooming flush on your cheeks. 

His smile widened, revealing a glimpse of warmth that made your stomach flip. “They can be a handful, can’t they?” He leaned slightly against the brick wall, his body language relaxed yet intent, as if he was genuinely interested in your thoughts.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” you said, your voice tinged with sincerity. “They bring so much joy, even when they’re a bit much to handle.” 

James nodded, his expression contemplative, and for a moment, you felt an intimacy forming between you. It was strange, this connection, as if you were bound by an invisible thread that pulled you closer together, even as you knew the rules that separated you.

“Laura seems to really enjoy her time in class,” you mentioned, hoping to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

He chuckled softly, but there was an edge of vulnerability in his tone. “She does. I think she’s found her place here.” 

You glanced down, fidgeting with your hands, trying to quell the flutter of anticipation that filled the air. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s important for her to feel comfortable.” 

James’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve made a difference for her,” he said, sincerity lacing his words. “I can’t thank you enough for that.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a wave of warmth through you, igniting a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “I’m just doing my job, really,” you replied, though the way he looked at you made you feel anything but ordinary.

“I don’t think you realise how special you are,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

For a heartbeat, you felt suspended in time, caught in the gravity of his words. But then reality hit you, a reminder of the boundaries that loomed between you. He was a parent, and you were a teacher. 

Yet, as he lingered there, the air thick with unspoken possibilities, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the rules could bend a little in this moment. The thought both exhilarated and terrified you. You took a breath, willing yourself to maintain your composure, yet secretly wishing that this conversation could stretch into the endless horizon of what-ifs that danced in your mind.

As the silence settled between you, James straightened up, a look of determination crossing his features that made your heart sink slightly. His expression turned serious, the warmth that had lingered just moments ago fading into something more guarded. With a deep sigh, he seemed to gather himself before speaking, the weight of his words evident in the way he shifted his stance.

“Um, could I have your number?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that caught you off guard. 

You stilled, your breath hitching in your throat. The unexpected request sent a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks, and for a moment, you felt entirely unmoored, caught in a tide of surprise and delight. Was he really asking for your number? The notion was thrilling yet terrifying, sending your mind racing with possibilities.

James must have noticed the startled look on your face because, almost immediately, his demeanour shifted again. Realising how his words might be interpreted, he quickly added, “I mean, it’s just in case I need your help—like you offered before, with Laura or school stuff.” 

The clarification hung between you, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and a slight tinge of disappointment. Part of you had dared to hope that this moment was more than just professional courtesy, but as the reality settled in, you pushed that thought aside, telling yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“Of course! That makes total sense,” you managed to reply, your voice slightly breathless. “I’d be more than happy to help with anything you need.” 

With a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through you, you fumbled for your phone, your fingers trembling slightly as you unlocked it. This felt surreal—exchanging numbers with James, standing so close to him, the air thick with unsaid words and lingering glances. You dared to meet his gaze again, and for a brief moment, you lost yourself in the depths of his blue-grey eyes, which seemed to flicker with both anxiety and something deeper.

As you typed in your number, a playful thought crossed your mind, and you decided to break the tension. “Just so you know,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile, “I’m not available for cake emergencies or anything.” 

James chuckled softly, the sound bringing warmth back into the cool air that surrounded you. “Noted. I’ll keep my cake emergencies to a minimum, then.” 

The lightness of the moment felt almost intoxicating, and as you handed your phone back to him, your fingers brushed against his skin. The contact sent a jolt through you, a spark of electricity that made your heart race anew. It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt charged with an intimacy that caught you both off guard.

In that brief moment of contact, you instinctively placed your hand over his arm, a reassuring gesture meant to bridge the gap between you. The warmth of his skin was intoxicating, and you felt him flinch ever so slightly under your touch, as if your hand had ignited something deep within him. 

His eyes widened for a split second, the guarded look momentarily replaced by surprise. “Thanks,” he said, his tone sincere as he accepted your phone, but there was a subtle shift in his expression, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability that made your heart flutter. 

“I really appreciate it,” he continued, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a heartbeat, it felt as if the world around you had vanished, leaving just the two of you standing in the schoolyard, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. With a final glance, James stepped back, his expression a mix of gratitude and apprehension. “I should get going,” he said, his voice a little softer now, almost hesitant. “Thanks again for everything.”

‧───────────────

James sat on the edge of his bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp illuminating the worn pages of his journal. His hand hovered over the paper, as if hesitating to commit his thoughts to words. Outside, the October air had settled into a biting chill, the kind that always stirred uneasy memories. The crisp wind rattled against the windows, and James found himself drawn back to dark times, moments when the world had felt as cold and unforgiving as the night closing in around him now.

He pressed the pen down, scratching out his thoughts with deliberate care, almost as if the act of writing might exorcise the ghosts of his past.

Date: [XX/10/1993]

The air is changing. That sharp bite... it reminds me of those days, the ones I wish I could forget. That hollow feeling creeping in, like the cold. I keep trying to push it away, keep myself in the present. Focus on what matters.

He paused, tapping the pen against the paper, as though searching for the next words. His thoughts inevitably drifted, not to the past he so desperately wanted to escape, but to something—or rather, someone—new.

But lately... lately, there’s been a kind of warmth. Like I’ve found the sun again. It's dangerous, though. I know it is. It has to be about Laura. She's the reason I’m here. She's my only focus. But when I see her... when I see Y/n...

He paused again, his jaw tightening as he tried to push down the surge of feelings rising up in his chest. Y/n, your warmth, your presence—it was getting harder to ignore, harder to suppress the way his heart sped up when their conversations lingered just a little longer than they should.

I try to keep the conversation about Laura. I need to keep it about her. She’s Y/n's student, my daughter, and that’s all there is to it. That’s how it should be. It’s enough, it has to be. But I catch myself wanting more. And that scares the hell out of me. But I can’t help it. I find myself lingering after our conversations, craving the moments we talk about anything else—about the weather, about life, about her smile. God, her smile...

His hand trembled slightly as he wrote, the words spilling out onto the page with a sense of urgency, like he was afraid of admitting them even to himself.

There’s something about her. I see it in her smile, in the way she talks to Laura, the way she looks at me sometimes. She’s young, full of life and warmth, and I... I’m not that. I haven’t been that in a long time. She deserves better. Deserves more than someone who can’t escape his past—a murderer.

James exhaled shakily, running a hand through his ashe blonde hair. The darkness of the room felt oppressive now, mirroring the darkness in his thoughts.

I should stop. I need to stop. I can’t let myself think this way. Not about her. Not when she’s...

He trailed off, his hand going still as he stared at the half-finished sentence, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the air. The journal felt like a confessional, a place where he could let out the thoughts he would never say aloud. 

And yet, it offered no relief. No absolution.

She’s kind. She’s patient. She’s pretty. She’s good. Too good for me. I need to remember that. I have to stop before I ruin everything. I shouldn't want her. I shouldn't feel this way. But God, the way she looks at me, the way she smiles... it makes me weak. Makes me want things I have no right to want. 

Makes me feel things I've tried to bury deep inside.

But even as he wrote the words, a part of him resisted, fighting the notion of letting go of that warmth, of her. With a sigh, James closed the journal, his chest tightening with the familiar ache of guilt. He set it aside, staring at the ceiling, haunted by both his memories and the new feelings he couldn’t quite bring himself to fully acknowledge. 

Sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight—not with your name still lingering in the corners of his mind.

As James lay there, staring at the ceiling, the image of your face flickered in his mind, your warm smile and kind eyes filling his thoughts. The more he tried to push you away, the more you seemed to consume him, your presence a constant ache in his chest. He shifted restlessly, the sheets tangling around his legs as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His body grew hot, his skin prickling with a need he couldn't ignore.

James closed his eyes, his breath coming faster as he pictured the gentle curves of your body that he longed to explore, straddling him, your hips rolling against his as you rode him. He could almost feel the heat of your core, the way your walls would clench around him as he thrust deep inside you. A moan escaped his lips, low and needy, as his hand drifted down to his growing arousal. He stroked himself through his pyjama bottoms, the friction of the fabric only adding to his growing desperation.

‘I'm sorry, Mary,’ he thought, even as he pushed his pants down, freeing his aching cock. ‘I'm so sorry. But I need this. I need to feel something, anything, besides this endless grief.’

James wrapped his hand around his shaft, the touch sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He imagined it was Y/n's hand, your slender fingers wrapped around him, guiding him to ecstasy. 

"Fuck," he groaned, his hand moving faster, the sound of his skin slapping against his arousal echoing in the silent room. He knew it was wrong, knew he should stop, but the need consuming him was too strong to resist. In his mind, you were on top of him, your hips grinding against his, your breasts bouncing as you rode him with wild abandon. He would grab your hips, pulling you down harder, burying himself deep inside your warmth.

"Oh god, Y/n!" he cried out, his body tensing as he neared his peak. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" The words tumbled from his lips, a desperate plea for forgiveness as much as a prayer of ecstasy.

As he stroked himself faster, harder, the guilt began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of urgency. His hips bucked into his hand, his breathing ragged as he chased his release. With a final, strangled cry, James came, his seed spurting across his stomach and chest. The pleasure crashed over him in waves, washing away the pain and sorrow, if only for a moment.

In the aftermath, as his chest heaved with laboured breaths, James felt a twinge of shame. As the haze of pleasure faded, the reality of what he had done crashed down upon him. Tears welled in his eyes, and he curled in on himself, his shame overwhelming him once again.

"I'm a monster," he whispered, his voice broken.

James lay there, paralyzed by his own shame and revulsion. The sticky warmth of his seed coating his skin served as a stark reminder of his weakness, of the depth of his depravity. He couldn't escape the images of Y/n that haunted his mind, the memories of their interactions intertwining with the twisted fantasies he had just indulged in.

With a trembling hand, he reached for the box of tissues on his nightstand, cleaning himself up as quickly as possible—as if he was cleaning a crime scene. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the world that had led him to this point, but he knew it was futile. There was no one to blame but himself, no one to shoulder the burden of his sins.

As he lay there, listening to the distant sounds of the city beyond his window, James felt a sudden urge to purge himself of the poison that consumed him. He needed to cleanse his soul, to rid himself of the taint of his desire.

With a determined grimace, he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He turned the faucet on full blast, the cold water spraying him in the face like a baptismal rebirth. He scrubbed his skin raw, watching his cum as the water swirl down the drain, carrying away the evidence of his transgressions.

James stood there, a broken shell of a man, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. He wanted to scrub himself clean, to remove every trace of her from his being, but he knew it was futile. For the first time, he had crossed that line, had given in to the darkest recesses of his mind. And it had felt...good. 

"I'm sorry, Mary," he whispered, his voice raw and hollow. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how to stop this."

But even as the words left his lips, he knew they were empty. He didn't want to stop, didn't want to deny himself the fleeting moments of ecstasy that Y/n brought him. He was a monster, a depraved creature.

After his shower, James sat on the edge of his bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long, twisted shadows across the room, his journal open once again in his lap. His hand hovered over the page, trembling, knowing exactly what he needed to write but dreading it. 

His hand stilled. How had it come to this? He had never expected to feel this pull, this temptation toward someone, toward you. He had tried so hard to be good, to keep things professional, but you had stirred something deep inside him—something he couldn’t control.

Y/n.

Your namelay there on the page, staring back at him like a secret he could no longer hide. 

I’ve already tried to relieve myself with thoughts of her… it’s not new. I’ve always been weak to her. The way she smiles, the way she speaks, her kindness. It’s all too much. I’m too weak. But this time…

James exhaled, his chest tightening. This time had been different. This time, he had given in completely, no longer just a fleeting thought or stolen glance. For the first time, he had let you take over his mind entirely, and the release had been overwhelming. It had been the first time in years—since Mary—that he’d allowed himself to finish with someone else in his thoughts.

For the first time, it wasn’t Mary I thought of when I—

He stopped, unable to bring himself to put it into words. But the truth lingered, pressing down on him. For the first time, it had been you.

His grip on the pen tightened, the shame gnawing at him. He had crossed a line—one he never thought he would cross again. But the worst part? The part that made his skin crawl?

It felt good.

For the first time, I let myself think of someone else, and it felt...good. 

His breath hitched, a wave of guilt washing over him, followed by something darker. He closed the journal with a sudden snap, his chest heaving, his heart pounding in his ears. Tossing it onto the bedside table, James leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push away the thoughts of you that flooded his mind.

I should stop. I need to stop.

But he couldn’t. He was trapped, caught between the past he couldn’t escape and the future he shouldn’t want.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, though this time, it was barely more than a breath. He wasn’t sure if the apology was meant for Mary or for himself.

He closed his eyes, Mary’s name on his lips, but as his mind drifted, it wasn’t her face he saw.

It was yours.

[vasiktomis]

Loophole (Zayne x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Zayne has an Evol flare-up while you’re visiting Snowcrest. You’re a good friend, so you help him out.

It doesn't mean anything if you don't move, right?

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~6800. Tags/Warnings: Female Pronouns and Anatomy for Reader, Reader is MC, Caretaking, Friends to Lovers, Inappropriate Doctor/Patient Relationship, Childhood Friends, Bickering, Cock Warming, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Photography, Unsafe Sex, Porn with Feelings, Switching. Post-chapter 4 spoilers. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“Let’s get you inside.”

The cold weather poses something of a threat to Zayne, you've realised.

He'd never admit such a thing, of course, but if he hadn't wanted you to make such an observation, he shouldn't have made it his responsibility to impose such an unexpectedly strong presence in your life.

A year ago, you barely knew him. To say he kept you at arms' length was an understatement, but with everything that's occurred in recent months — with such a void left in your life from the loss of Caleb and Grandma — and the ugly mysteries eclipsing once-happy memories — your doctor, of all people, is the one dedicating almost every minute of his time outside of work to trying to fill that void. It's not like he talks your ear off — he's Zayne, after all — but he makes a noticeable effort to make himself accessible to you whenever he can.

He's been a good friend to you at the sacrifice of his own comfort.

In the seven months that have passed since the explosion, you've had more exposure to Zayne than you've had any of your other friends. He rarely strays from his quiet stoicism, but it's far easier to read him. These days, you can't believe you once thought him intimidating. The softer aspects of his personality aren't offered willingly, but accidentally. A slip of the tongue here, a too-long stare at a community cat there, a smile he doesn't think you notice. He masks his requests for you to visit him in his overtime hours as nagging reminders for you to water the plants. He never asks you to bring him dinner, but there's always an extra seat pulled up at his desk when you arrive with it unannounced.

You’re sure he likes it well enough; getting to know you after all these years. You’re just not sold on how fond he is of you knowing him.

It shows stark on his typically taciturn features. Streetlamp light bounces off fluffy snow at all angles in the little village laneway, illuminating the man with an almost healthy glow as he walks stiffly beside you, right hand clutched against his side and his left doing all it can to keep from crushing the bones in yours.

“I’m fine.” He insists while you lead him up to the cabin, grimacing at a sudden chill of wind passing over the porch. There's a certain tone he uses when he's putting on the bedside manner. As a patient, you'd be soothed. As a friend, your patience wanes. He's not fine.

”I’ll get a fire going.” You mutter, ushering him inside. He tries amidst obvious pain to be gentlemanly, waiting for you to enter first, but a scowl on your part has him conceding defeat and ambling through the door. “Get in the shower. Can you turn it on by yourself?”

There’s no more warm light from the street in here. Dr. Noah likely would have fallen asleep hours ago, shortly after you’d left for dinner. Still, even in the dark, you can sense the irritation in him.

“You act like I’m frozen solid.” He retorts on his way to the bathroom, knowing better than to stick around despite the attempt to uphold his pride.

”Get your butt in the shower before I throw you in there myself.”

The warmer months gave you no initial reason to suspect anything, but as the weather worsened and temperatures dropped, Zayne began to feel more on-edge. You’d bore witness to his attacks in the past, but he was no more willing to share his condition with you beyond the odd occasion of being unable to switch it off after a battle. You knew what it looked like when his Evol was acting up. It almost caused a fight, the first time you asked about it. Then, when it became clear you weren’t simply going to leave him to his own devices whenever he was displaying the signs, Zayne steadily, reluctantly, began to let you assist. He couldn’t stand it — he still can’t, you’re sure — not playing caretaker for once, but the two of you found a rhythm; keeping an eye on his temperature, steering clear of fluctuations, little remedies that help him bounce back quicker when his Evol gets the better of him. It became second nature to you, like carrying an Epipen for a loved one at risk of anaphylaxis.

You won’t lie, though. It pisses you off. He’s a constant nag when it comes to your health regarding your heart condition, but there was no allowable mention of his  condition when he brought you to Dr. Noah. Not that your opinion counts for anything, apparently, but what idiot cashes out his annual leave for an extended stay in a tundra when he's so prone to such reactions?

It had shocked you even more when your friend declared he’d be staying back for the foreseeable future, conducting research for the old man on a solo expedition on Mt. Eternal. Your friend — the one who'd taken it upon himself to be a stand-in for your lost family — alone, in the worst possible place he could be in his condition.

It was unthinkable.

Four weeks was your breaking point after you’d returned home without him.

Sure, he responded to your texts within seconds. Reception wasn’t good enough for calls, but he made sure to give you no logical reason to worry about him. It didn’t help. Once your dreams started to take the shape of him disappearing into the mountains, you cut your losses and decided to visit for the weekend.

Just as well, considering he’d been massaging his wrist in your periphery for the entirety of your first day. Still, he'd insisted on showing you around Snowcrest, spending as much time away from Dr. Noah's cabin as possible. You knew his tells. He was bordering on a flare-up and hiding it from you. Had he mentioned it and agreed to stay in tonight, you might not of had to drag him home with frost seeping out of his clothes and a foul mood. Instead, he chose to be proud about it.

Idiot.

God knows what could have happened to him if he hadn't come down from the mountain to spend the weekend with you.

He’d never let you get away with such stupidity, and it’s hard not to hold it against him. You came here out of worry in the first place, and the visit isn’t doing a thing to set your mind at ease.

You tend to rekindling the dimming embers in the fireplace, content to mind your business once you hear the shower turn on. At least he’s doing what he’s told.

The living room heats up steadily. New flames settle into a longer-lived glow. You get yourself changed into more suitable bed wear; a commandeered hoodie from your doctor’s medical school era, large enough to reach halfway to your knees. The frayed cuffs have since lost their elasticity and there are a few choice stains, and most condemning, the drawstrings have been chewed to tassels — but god, if it isn’t comfy. Time stretches on, and while the worry gnaws at the back of your mind, you leave Zayne to his privacy. So long as you don’t hear a thump, you’re content to imagine he’s probably just in there being mad at himself over not being the sensible one for once.

Zayne keeps himself locked away for the better part of an hour, in the end. Even Pie pads out into the living room to investigate what you’re doing up alone in the middle of the night before a scritch sends the fox on its way back to bed.

You’ve slid most of the way off the couch by the time the man emerges from his room in fresh pajamas. With your back to the rug, you watch him approach stiffly, slowing to a halt upside-down. He’s still rubbing at that wrist, you note.

“You’re still up.” He mutters, brow knitted in discomfort.

There’s frost on his neck. His lips are blue. It wasn’t even this bad when you were outside. A pit forms in your stomach.

Then, his wake hits you. Cold air, chilling you to the bone, and you sit up in a flash.  

“Zayne—“

He silences you with a little hand motion, stepping around you to seat himself as close as he can to the fireplace.

“You’re half-frozen.” You continue when he offers you nothing else. Crawling onto the couch beside him, you reach up to tug at the collar of his sweater, trying to inspect the severity of the attack. “God, you should have said  something.”

“I thought you were asleep.” He replies quietly. “I’ve seen — how much it takes to wake you-“

Zayne flinches from your touch when your fingertip skims his neck. The most aggressive warning to stay back that he can risk without waking his mentor. You ignore him, of course. You always do. Sitting close, you press yourself to his side on the couch, guiding his right arm between your thighs. Your fingers lace between his from both sides, covering as much surface area as possible as you use your body to fend off the cold.

A moment is all it takes to see some of the tension in his face disappear. He breathes through the pain, eyes closed, and you shift your gaze to the fireplace to give him his privacy with it.

”You’re in so much trouble when this passes.”

A short, sharp chuckle slips through Zayne’s teeth. He nods once. “I know.”

You sit together like this for a long while, letting him sap the heat from your body to combat the flare-up. If not for the fire, you’d be shivering. It takes time, but eventually Zayne’s breathing evens out. His face relaxes, bit by bit. His half-frozen arm feels just a little cold to the touch.

Neither of you part. Not just yet. There’s too much left unsaid, and Zayne takes far too much solace in quiet to make the first move.

You let your temple drop to his shoulder. “Snow village dates are nice, but most girls would say yes to ‘Go Fish’  and hot cocoa if it means their date makes it through the night.”

After a second, Zayne rests his head against yours.

He inhales.

He pauses.

Then…

“I wanted you to have a nice time. I didn’t think it through.”

…God, he’s such a sweet man. It’s not wonder he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

There’s such a sense of finality to the way he says it. You suppose it’s not necessarily a wrong way to think of it, but it’s not his fault. Sure, it’s your last night together for what may amount to months, and he was stupid enough to think he could get away with poking the bear, but you’d rather have him come home alive and well. Not a victim to his own Evol.

It doesn’t sit right with you to let it end like this. The moment he’s recovered, he’s going to insist you both go to sleep. You’ll take the guest bed, and he’ll take the pull-out trundle, and he’ll remain there, soundless with his back to you. In the morning, you’ll say your goodbyes, and that will be that. The next time you see him will probably be for a check-up, and he’ll spend the entirety of the ECG acting like you’re mere acquaintances again.

No, you’re not losing momentum.

You’re not sure if it’s warmth in general, or if it’s a reaction specific to you — through trust, or the Aether core — there’s just no telling. Zayne keeps his cards too close to his chest for you to ever be sure, but you do know for certain that you hold the quickest remedy. If it’s just warmth, he never lets anyone but you get close enough to supply it. If it’s trust, likewise. The Aether core? You’re the only one.

“What are you—“

Zayne stiffens when you climb into his lap. He winces in discontentment; at such an intimidate proximity, at the physical danger he still poses, at the feeling of your thighs astride his. He doesn’t look pleased in the slightest, but still, his knees shift together, offering you a more comfortable perch on which to explain yourself.

You can feel the cold still radiating from him, fighting his body to keep from regulating its own temperature. It’s unpleasant, the way the chill claws at you, reaching across the expanse of your front. The joints in your hands already ache just from holding his arm to your chest. It’s imaginable, what it must be like to host such an Evol. What it must be like to have your own flesh freeze from the inside-out on a whim.

“Not done keeping you warm.” You answer simply, making a conscious effort to keep your teeth from chattering for his sake. He’s exercising enormous restraint not flinging you off of him already. You shouldn’t push your luck by sending him into any more of a panic.

“It’s not safe for you to be this close.” Zayne protests.

“Then I’m making you safe.”

This time, a growl escapes him. Pain cuts his patience with your impudence short. “You’re going to get yourself hurt—“

Zayne’s words die in his throat when you drape yourself over him, chest to chest, arms languidly curling over his shoulders. He goes completely silent.

“Aren’t you always telling me you can control it, anyway?” You muse, relaxing into him, moulding yourself to his body. The white frost that blooms beneath his skin begins to fade from his throat, unable to contend with the warmth of your breath. “If you didn’t want me doing this you shouldn’t have shown me how well it works.”

“That was after the aid of a hot shower.” Zayne argues. His logic might apply for that aborted attempt at an early-morning hike, but it falls flat tonight. “I was trying to warm up after the shower.”

Yeah, look how well that turned out. He’s as bad at lying as you are.

“So you’re saying I ought to have—“

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“If it’s not helping, Zayne, tell me.”

“…It’s helping.” He mutters.

You declare your victory with a hum, tucking your face into the collar of his sweater.

Even his scent is cold, somehow.

Beneath you, Zayne shifts, conceding defeat. You feel his lips ghost the side of your head. Considering — then retreating from a kiss — opting instead to rest his chin on you. His affected arm remains wedged between you, while his free hand comes to rest on your waist.

Minutes pass. Zayne’s breathing steadies to a resting rhythm. Eventually, the ice retreats into his flesh, disappearing with only a lingering chill. It shifts, marking the man’s return to normal, but he doesn’t announce anything. Instead, he tugs his arm out, only to wrap around you, surrendering to the moment.

“Do you have plans, while I’m away?” He asks.

“Tara’s been looking at the blank spots on my calendar, so I’ve probably got things on without knowing, yet.”

“Blank spots.”

”Yeah. Some of us have those.”

”Sounds like you don’t know what to do with yourself without me.”

“Please. I won’t have to worry about you bullying me. Maybe, y’know, I’ll do just fine without you.”

A chuckle escapes him. Tentatively, he toys with the fabric of your hoodie. “You’re not going to wash this at all, are you.”

Heat climbs up your neck at the suggestion. Of all the night clothes you had to bring, why did it have to be something you’d stolen from him?

You’re no coward. You rise to challenge. “Can’t miss you when it feels like I’ve got you with me.”

“I know  you’ll miss me,” Zayne retorts, and wow, he’s really  angling for a comeback after having you subject him to being taken care of, “But that’s no excuse for poor hygiene.”

“Poor hygiene—!”

You lean back to glower at the man, only to find him smirking up at you.

“I’ve half a mind to expect to find you asleep on the platform when the train pulls in, simply because you were too excited to wait at home for me to drop by.”

Your ears are positively scalding. You feel yourself shrinking, suddenly not so confident taking up as much space in the room. How does he have you so well figured out? Are you really that much of an open book? Compared to him, sure, but you’d hoped you carried a little more mystery about you than sitting on a station platform for a quasi-boyfriend-without-benefits  like a dog.

Even if that is  the case — does he really have to rub it in your face?

He can’t get away with this.

Speaking plainly, Zayne’s warmed up plenty. There’s no real reason for either of you to remain this close, and yet — despite lauding himself as the rational half of this friendship, his arms almost keep you from moving any further away.

His expression doesn’t falter with your silence, remaining ever-undisturbed. It unnerves you. His smiles never last more than a second, and you can count on one hand the amount of times he’s looked you in the eye with a pleasant face on. He’s on a power trip. If you don’t cut him down right this second he’ll go nuclear. He’ll leave you hanging with a ‘goodnight’  and a kiss on the forehead and you’ll both never speak of tonight again.

This is it. This is the last straw. Tonight, you leave him  hanging. 

“You want me to miss you so fucking bad, huh?” You accuse him, tapping a finger to your chin as you pretend to wonder. His eyebrow ticks. “Is that what you’re into? Man, you medical staff are all so power hungry.”

Zayne looks thoughtful for a moment. A thumb idly traces back and forth along your skin, barely tucked beneath your hoodie. It’s such a cautious touch. You wish  he wasn’t just all talk. “Perhaps you’re easier to deal with when one considers you might actually like getting bossed around.”

There’s no hiding the erection that sits wedged between you. There’s no ignoring the heat that pools in your core every time it strains against your cunt, blocked only by his sweatpants and your underwear.

There’s no way he can’t feel your heart beat throbbing against him.

And yet — he pretends not to be taking part in any of it.

You think about it for a moment.

Then, you roll your hips forward, slowly, gently. Your nerves spark as your clit finds the pressure it needs against the underside of his cock.

It takes everything in your power to keep from doing it again.

A tiny shiver makes its way out of Zayne. Frustration, perhaps. You angle a knowing little smile at him, and his throat bobs. He knows he’s been caught.

Checkmate.

“Doctor Zayne, are you getting off on this?” You ask, and his face flushes scarlet. His eyes widen, caught off-guard by you finally crossing the threshold.

”I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He answers lamely, pointedly avoiding looking down.

“You are!”

“Not so loud. It’s n-… it’s nothing.” He insists in a hushed voice, shooting a look over your shoulder before he’s satisfied that the coast is clear of anyone who might be privy to what the two of you are doing. “Just a biological reaction to stimuli.”

“Which stimuli?” You ask, feigning curiosity. “The cuddling, or this?”

To stress your point, you do it again, biting back the swell of enjoyment at the way his lips part of their own accord. A little hum spills forth, and his own hips chase the motion, just for a second, before he halts.

“Please.” Zayne murmurs, moving to hold you still. Inching you back onto his thighs, condemning himself to reveal two little damp patches. One where the grey fleece of his sweatpants pulls most taut. The other a little lower, where you’ve been rubbing your cunt along his clothed shaft.

“You need to learn when you’ve teased enough.”

What — fall back? Now? When all your nerves are alight?

Your tongue wets your lips as you take in the sight of him. Well on his way to wrecked, but not quite there. His expression remains otherwise impassive, but his pupils are far too blown to help him maintain the facade.

“You’re one to talk. Can’t hack it when it’s not you in charge?” You challenge him. “You’re not usually one to shy away from uncharted territory.”

You can’t help but reach out, itching to touch him. Fingertips smooth along his length, feather-light from the bottom up. His cock twitches when you reach the tip, begging for more.

“Ah—“ Long fingers snatch at your wrist, holding you fast. “Try no man’s land.”

“It’s nothing.” You assure him. “You said it yourself.”

Nothing. No different to how he so often strays into treating you, with all his dates and touches. Nothing, midday naps and linking your pinky-fingers as you walk together. Nothing, like the spare clothes you both reserve a drawer for.

“Just warming you up. That’s all.”

Zayne’s chest expands. His gaze fixes on your fingertips curling insistently at his waistband despite his grip keeping you at bay. “That’s all.”

Disbelief? Determination? Disappointment? You’re not familiar enough with how each of these sound in his throat to properly identify it, but Zayne’s grip on your wrist releases nonetheless. He opts to help you make more comfortable work of his track pants, pushing them down just a little to allow you easier access. There’s no presence of approval at how greedy you are about it, pawing and snatching at your prize while he tries to remain nonchalant.

You do try to give him the dignity of privacy by not looking down when he settles and you finally wrap both hands around his cock. He’s already indignant as it is, and the rumble that vibrates deep in his chest as your fingers close around him isn’t helping.

Oh — maybe just a little tease.

“Hey.” You chide, grinning. His eyes crack open, just enough to narrow at you. “Don’t make it weird. I’m a professional.”

It earns you a scoff. Zayne’s fingers, settled on your thighs, give a retaliatory squeeze, thumbs pressing just hard enough into your adductors to skirt on discomfort. He watches you tense at the feeling, and sensing an opportunity to shift the attention back off himself, decides to squeeze harder.

You finally flinch with an “Ow!”, and the man smiles to himself. Mission accomplished. He lets go.

”You’re the professional? How many surgeries have you performed?”

”How many have you  performed?”

”…A lot, genius.”

“Didn’t you tell me that some of your worst patients are doctors themselves?”

“Your point being?”

There’s no point — at least not in arguing with him. He’s only trying to distract you. You shift over him, and his attitude dissolves. He leans back, maintaining as much distance as he can — or perhaps to watch, as you tug your underwear to the side — line yourself up — and sink down onto his cock.

Zayne’s chest expands, but he makes no noise. His eyes close. His lips part. A minor crease forms between his eyebrows. It might as well be a sob. You’d use such a reaction against him if you weren’t more concerned with suppressing your own, lest he catch you out. Your cunt burns from the sudden, full intrusion, and his diverted attention gives you the moment you need to grow accustomed to it.

Once you’ve gotten over the initial shock of the feeling, you brush any intrusive thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter if he’s one of your oldest and closest friends. It doesn’t matter if he’s your doctor. You were already squarely planted in conflict-of-interest territory the moment he took you on as a patient.

You try to ignore your own desire. Your body catches up with your actions quickly, igniting touch-starved nerves that you’ve long-fantasised him satisfying. Heat builds inside you at a nervous system realising you’re finally giving it what it wants, and it only screams for more. Of course you’ve wanted Zayne. You adore him, but he’s not the kind of man who could balance a friendship with benefits; if anything, he finds a way to be the inverse of such a thing. He gives you everything in the way of a relationship except sex, and with him steering so clear of crossing that boundary with you, you have to tread carefully.

As much as you want to, this is delicate.

“My point is: zip it and let me take care of you.” You manage.

Besides, its not like you’re actually having sex with him. He’s continually pushing the boundaries of platonic with all his touches and hugs anyway. It’s not like he has a leg to stand on if he wants to protest what sitting on his cock might mean for your relationship. Hell, this isn’t even the first time he’s been hard when you’ve had his hips pinned down with your own.

If anything, you’re doing the guy a favour by taking the responsibility off him to go this far.

Zayne doesn’t bounce back as quickly as you do. His eyes remain scrunched shut, his core engaged beneath your palms as you brace your weight to settle into a more comfortable position in his lap. He looks worried. Apprehensive.

“Doctor Zayne?” Concern begins to creep in, just a little. “Okay, you can say something now.”

“Please,” He grits between his teeth, and relief floods your body as some semblance of calm returns to his expression, “Don’t call me that — like this.”

“Like what? I’m just warming you up, remember?” You offer a smile when he opens one eye, mood shifting to quizzical.

“You’re so immature. And for the record, this constitutes malpractice. You’re a terrible doctor.”

”Trust the process.”

”Fine. What’s the course of treatment?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but chuckle at such quiet outrage. It’s getting easier to read him. Relaxing against his front, you ignore a little gasp on his part to loop your arms around his neck again. Dishonest pretences be damned, this really is doing the trick. “All you need to do is stay still.”

Zayne weighs up his options for only a moment before giving in. His arms slip around your waist. His chin hooks over your shoulder, just barely nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s breathing in your scent, and the following exhale into your skin has you stifling a shiver.

Then, there’s a flex within you.

“Hey!” You choke, “I said stay still back there!”

“Quiet down. It was only a reflex.” Zayne defends, a little too cavalier to fly under the radar. “Besides, I’m not the one squirming.”

“I’m just getting comfortable. Your hips are pointy.”

Zayne’s hips slot up into yours, and the feel of him nudging just a little deeper has your eyes stinging. You fail to stifle a little squeak, and you’re shushed for it immediately.

“Just getting comfortable.” Zayne’s words lick at your ear, and the sound of him sends shivers through you, pooling between your legs, pleading with you to satisfy the ever-nagging want to start riding him. “You’re like a vice.”

He has to know how much of an effect he has on you. There’s no way he doesn’t.

You don’t respond to his attitude — however, the condemning, responding, constricting  of your insides around his cock surely doesn’t go unnoticed, and with a hollow breath, he lifts you, just a little, enough to draw back and push back in. He’s slow about it; infuriatingly so, almost like if he inches in and out at enough of creeping pace you’ll either not bother to be strict with him, or you’ll simply abandon your own rules in favour of crossing the boundary he’s silently begging you to cross for him.

No. He’s not getting the upper hand here. Not when he gets to pretend all his little actions are forgettable. Platonic. Accidental. Misunderstood. There’s only so many times a guy can subtly grind on someone during a spooning session and claim ignorance when called out about it.

You lock your feet beneath his knees, and sink down onto him, hard. Pleasure blooms. Your cunt aches for more. A sharp breath escapes Zayne, threatening to blossom into an appreciative groan that would only serve to tempt you without your hand clapping over his mouth and a ‘shh!’.

“You can keep still, or this stops.” You announce in a whisper, and he watches you defiantly from behind your hand.

Zayne’s gaze eventually breaks away from yours. Conceding. For now, at least. You lower your hand from his mouth, and relax, reaching across the cushion to pluck your phone from the couch and check your messages.

Already, he’s bothered by your lack of undivided attention.

“You’re on your phone.”  He huffs.

“I’m not rewarding your behaviour.” You reply simply.

“You’re not implying that behaving differently would warrant a reward, are you?”

That’s for him to figure out.

You shift your weight maybe just a little more than you need to, indulging in the feeling of his cock shift with you, within you, pressing insistently against that one spot that almost has your constitution coming apart at the seams. Zayne trembles momentarily beneath you, swallowing hard. He’s keeping his cool well enough, but as you settle into the new angle, no longer moving, his frustration makes itself known with another twitch inside you.

If he keeps doing that, you’re not sure you can hold out.

“You really  think this is helping?” He asks, voice tight.

“You don’t believe me?” You pout, tapping your home screen and opening your camera app. “Fine, let the expert see for himself.”

Switching to selfie cam, you watch as the man glances at his image on the screen for half a second, before tearing his gaze away. Not a shocker, you reason. He’s probably never seen himself with a hair out of place. Flushed cheeks and dilated pupils? You might as well have shown him a traffic collision.

“Aw, come on. Look how much colour’s come back to your face.”

Zayne musters the courage to look up, but not at the phone. His eyes narrow at you. Accusatory. “I’m not interested in giving you blackmail material.”

“What? Get real. There’s nothing incriminating going on. Especially not when you angle it like this.” You switch on a filter and lean down into the man. “See?”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and his head tilts to get a better look at whatever scheme you’re cooking up. On the screen, both your flushed faces smooth out, blushing perfectly. Cat ears and whiskers. Cheek to cheek. Just another one of your countless selfies with completely platonic friends.

You take the shot. The shutter clicks.

“Cute.” Zayne mutters drily.

“You think so?”

“Only how much fun you seem to be having of it.”

Your brow knits. “Oh yeah? All right, stick in the mud, you take over.”

He gives too much away at that response. His long fingers immediately slip over your hips. He’s readying to flip you onto your back before he notices you’re holding the phone out to him. Then, knowing he’s shown his hand, he has no choice but to recover his pride.

Much to your chagrin, Zayne plucks the phone from your hand, aborting whatever miraculous step he’d been about to take. A corner of his mouth ticks, minutely. He angles your phone away from you, tapping and swiping. His own phone buzzes. Then, he casts the device at the other end of the couch, out of your reach. “I think it’s getting a bit late for screens.” He murmurs. Fingers smooth up and over the swell of your hips. His long arms uncoil from your waist, releasing you as he leans back. Leaving you with a lonesome chill.  “And you ought to be going to bed.”

Is that…rejection? Has he just been humouring you up until this point?

You tilt your head. “I’m sorry. Is this not okay?”

“This is fine.”

He looks at the fireplace. Stoic as ever.

“Then what?” You frown.

He doesn’t respond.

Your throat runs dry. Dread creeps up through your heart.

“Hey. Talk to me.” You urge, smoothing your fingers along his jaw, and he leans into your palm.

Seconds pass. Zayne finally regards you again. There’s an acknowledging incline of his head — almost a polite bow. A pre-emptive apology for what he’s about to say. 

“What happens after this?” He asks. “Do we part ways at the train station in the morning and the next time we see each other, it’ll be as doctor and patient?”

Oh.

“Is that what we are to you?” You ask, not entirely sure if you want to know.

He dodges the question the best way he knows how: with rationality. “I feel that if that scenario is what you want, we should say goodnight. My understanding of our relationship won’t change, I promise you, but if this goes further, at least one of us is going to feel differently. It would be better if there were no misunderstandings between us.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something dreadful and lovely all the same, anxiety and anticipation at the prospect of a tipping point, at least before saying goodbye. Trust Zayne, of course, to turn to smoke and mirrors when it comes to a confession of feelings, but you’ve known him long enough to see how far out of his comfort zone all of this is.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” You ask, aborting an attempt on his part to avert his gaze with a finger beneath his chin.

His expression remains inexplicable. Then, there’s that little tilt of his head. The quirk of an eyebrow. “Your assumption is correct.”

The apprehension that’s been building in the back of your mind disperses the moment he says it. Your resolve all but disappears.  “My understanding,” You begin, reaching up to cup your hand over the other side of his face, “is that I’ve wanted you ever since I walked into that restaurant last year.”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. His mouth finds yours in a heartbeat. Previously unsure hands pull you against him, locking you in his embrace. He’s so awfully gentle about it all despite your combined strength. Such a gentleman. It comes as no surprise that he shudders at the intrusion of your tongue past his lips — what does surprise you is how quickly he catches up to your pace. Inviting you in. Slipping an arm lower to brace your weight, and you feel yourself being pulled up off of his cock, just until only the head remains at your entrance. 

The loss of him has you incensed. He keeps you from sinking back down, and your protesting whines are suffocated with another kiss. All he’s left you with to express yourself is your hands, and you seize the opportunity, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, just slightly at the roots.

He breaks away with a little noise. Not pained, but shocked. Another one of his spots, you reason, and he’s just as displeased that you’ve found it. 

“You don’t know when to quit.” Zayne pants. His fringe dusts your forehead. “What — what were we saying about bad behaviour going unrewarded?”

You’re too mindless right now to play any games. There’s no more thrill of the build that you can handle. Not after this long. 

You break, instantly. 

“Please —“ You whimper, almost trembling in his grip, trying in vain to take him back in again. “Zayne, I need it — please—“

Zayne relents right away. He gives you what you want, lowering you, burying himself in you to the hilt. Then he lifts you again, building into a steady rhythm.

”You’re so — you’re so frustrating.” He manages between kisses. “Should’ve told me this is all it takes for you to do as you’re told.”

More. You need more. Heavenly as it is, it’s not enough, just having him in you. You push back, and Zayne takes the hint. He’s said his piece. He lets you take the lead again without a fight, admiring the view as you roll onto the balls of your feet, gripping the back of the couch to keep yourself stable. The new angle feels deeper, each stroke rolling drifting sharply over your nerves as he brushes that spot inside you. It takes a moment for Zayne to kick into gear, brain short-circuiting as he watches you squat on his cock, taking what you need from him. Then, he leaves you to support your own weight. Fingers wrench at the front of your hoodie, yanking it up to your sternum, and his tongue sweeps a nipple. In the time it takes for you to react, his other hand has snaked between you, between your legs. His thumb rolls over your clit just as he latches onto your nipple and sucks. The keen barely escapes your lips before Zayne’s hand claps over your mouth, continuing his assault. 

It goes from too little to too much. It creeps up on you so fast, so suddenly, and there’s nothing you can do but ride through it. A muffled hum is all the warning you can give him. Your pace staggers as the burn in your thighs catches up to you, but Zayne only goes faster, rubbing merciless little circles into your nerves. His hips roll up into you, compensating as best he can for your loss of control. Finally, the band snaps, and you sob against his hand, spasming around him, tears pricking at your eyes with the intensity of it all. You go positively boneless, and Zayne breaks away just enough to let you collapse into his chest as he carries you through it, breaths quickening as the lingering spasms of your orgasm invoke his own. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ He barely stammers, releasing you only to coil his arms around your torso again, readying to pull out.

“Not going anywhere.” You promise, clinging to him. Your fingers comb through his hair, tugging again, and a whimper dies in Zayne’s throat. He buries his face into the crook of your neck. His hips roll up into you once, twice, thrice more, and then he goes still. Buried in you to the hilt as he tips into oblivion.

He’s so subtle about it that you barely even realise he’s coming. Maybe it’s the effort not to wake Dr. Noah. Maybe it’s like this every time. Having him hold you with such desperate reverence while he does his best not to judder in stark contrast to to the feeling of him pulsing within you, you reason you’d like to find out. He hides his face from you throughout, only pulling his forehead from your clavicle when the aftershocks have come and gone.

Zayne looks lovelier than ever like this — coming out of a blissful haze, gazing up at you with cautious adoration. His focus flickers between your eyes and your lips. His chest expands and collapses like he’s like a 5-miler, but his breaths are smooth.

Even now, he’s trying to maintain a cool composure.

“Forgive me.” He mutters, not quite meeting your eye.

Your head tilts. Chasing him. “Huh? Why?”

“I exercised poor judgement. That was rotten of me. I should have known better, given I’ve never prescribed birth control to you.”

“You really think I’d come to you for birth control?” You snort.

Zayne’s brow creases. An incredulous look totally undermined by how positively wrecked he looks right now. “I am  your physician. Or has your other doctor friend decided to become real after all?”

Your fingers comb through his hair again. Despite a pleasant sigh on his part at the sensation, his expression remains steeled.

“Hey.” You finally manage to capture his gaze, only for any tells to evaporate. “Could you tell me something?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Are you more jealous that I might have had sex with someone who wasn’t you, or that I might have gone to another doctor?”

Zayne considers his answer for a long moment. His head tilts in that particular way it does when he has to make a decision, eyeing you expectantly. Punishment for daring to push him out of his comfort zone.

He presses a hand to your forehead. 

A thoughtful hum escapes him.

“Curious. Your temperature’s dropping. On second thought, you should stay another day so I can observe you.”

“You’re avoiding the question!”

“Here. I’ll keep you warm. You can install those camera filters on my phone to pass the time.”

[gyuswhore]

How to Win Hearts for Dummies (the answer is lattes and banana bread)

Idol!mingyu x makeup-artist!reader

genre: fluff, angst, one sided pining

warnings: slow burn, swearing, shitty bosses, some descriptions of anxiety and breakdowns, one sided pining, reader has issues opening up (lmk if there's anything else)

13.4k words (im sorry)

plot: This apprenticeship was taking a toll on your self control in the worst possible way. Walking in 8 months ago, a resignation from your corporate job and a dream in your pocket, you made an oath to stay focused on the goal at hand and to enjoy what you did for a living for once; makeup. Except, your still stuck as an apprentice with a mentor that has no inclination for your growth.

And you’re a little bit in love with your client.

masterlist

(A/N): repost bc Tumblr wouldn’t show it in the tags!!! Thank you for clicking on this clonking my pants as I hit post ! I started working on this at the beginning of exam season and I’m posting it the night before my last exam 🥲 what a full circle moment. Also pls excuse any inconsistencies or grammatical errors, my beta reader, unlike me, actually cares ab her grades and is in the beginning of exam season and therefore will not be able to read through this monstrosity for a while lmao. Enjoy hehe

Edit: I’ve just realised how many mistakes and grammatical errors I’ve made throughout the fic, serves me right for proofreading at 3 AM after a stats exam. I’ll try to fix them all asap!!! 

The camera goes off again with a distinct click. And again. And again. And again.

The camera had gone off innumerable times since Mingyu walked out in another themed ensemble, and you were there, watching, through all of it.

You watched as he kept switching positions, rotating his body and his head. Morphing his features into more variations of dazed and serious than you thought could ever exist.

Standing there, at the portable table behind the main setup, attempting to clean a lip brush that would be needed soon when the inevitable call for-

“Makeup over here! We’re taking 5”

You note your sluggish pace as you snap out of your daze and scrubbing harder with the removal cloth. Snapping your head down, hoping nobody noticed your incessant heart eyes, you realize you were in trouble now.

‘Y/n, you’ve been cleaning that brush since I left 10 minutes ago!’ The senior makeup artist snapped.

You finish up the brush in hand and quickly hand her what she needs, not before rummaging for the tiny pot of lip product you absent-mindedly packed away.

‘Sorry, really sorry’ you choke out before she leaves in her badly concealed irritated expression. You see her make a beeline for a waiting Mingyu, who adorably squats for the woman so she has better access.

This apprenticeship was taking a toll on your self control in the worst possible way. Walking in 8 months ago, a resignation from your corporate job and a dream in your pocket, you made an oath to stay focused on the goal at hand and to enjoy what you did for a living for once; makeup. Except, your still stuck as an apprentice with a mentor that has no inclination for your growth.

And you’re a little bit in love with your client.

It's not that you were overage (your mother begs to differ), but considering you were on your second big girl job and still no sign of a potential lover, the prospect was starting to weigh on your head. The first rattling experience was when one of your closest friends announced her engagement, your thoughts still stuck in a 19 year old you considered she was too young. She was not, in fact, 19, or too young, but a perfectly acceptable age to consider marriage with someone she loved, you had soon realized. You were never one for the dating scene, but you were always one to don your Dr. Love labcoat whenever an emotionally bruised friend would come seeking help. You were good at advice, but awfully bad at applying it yourself.

Coming into this job, surrounded by a plethora of beautiful people, your heart would be of stone if it weren’t to waver.

The gong of unattainability had struck the second you laid eyes on Mingyu, laughing at something Hoshi had shown him on the phone. There he was, hair and makeup-less, looking like he had just rolled out of bed (which he had), and beautiful as ever. Beginning this new chapter with a bang, only problem was that it turned into an 8 month shoot out. Having encountered a number of gorgeous people, you’d learned to appreciate their genetic lottery pull and move on. But never had a single look left you as breathless and unbeared as that one, fateful look at Mingyu. One of the team members was busy assuring you not to worry too much about the pandemonium in the dressing room, that everyone would handle it and you were only asked to observe and help with smaller things as instructed; for now. You weren’t listening too hard though.

You were now adjusted to the chaos that comeback season and 13 men plus staff in a microscopic dressing room brought about. But you will never forget how in the midst of your first rain of hell, Mingyu had asked you to pass his phone.

‘Please?’ He had said, and you slammed your hand with a force of a woman infatuated on the table behind you and (literally) breathed out the first thing you had ever said to him.

‘Here’

He smiled and gave you a quick ‘thanks’.

There was no coming back after he flashed you those irresistible canines, and to this day, you wonder what nation you saved in a previous life to be able to have him know your name, hear it roll off his tongue in his pretty voice as he asks you to fix his smudged eyeliner.

You sigh defeatedly before your mentor slash irritated makeup artist shoves her load back in your hands and instructs you to come inside to pack up. It’s become routine for you now, as you begin to pack up the bigger palettes and tools, handing a ready-to-go-home Junhui the pack of makeup wipes he asked for, zipping up bags and closing tubs of outfits. It's an organized chaos but one everybody has grown to work around.

Mingyu is done before you, as he removes his jewelry and begins to shrug off his jacket. You scramble to find the clothes he came in and his coat, pointedly ignoring the familiar scent of wood. He thanks you and shucks off the remainder of his clothing, he might be used to stripping in front of professional staff, but you look away regardless for your own sanity.

Helping the last stylists hang the final jacket, you grab your bag and get ready to leave in your own car. Mingyu has left, not before throwing a “you did well, thank you!” over his shoulder at the remaining people in the room and leaving for the honking car outside.

***

Your mashing bananas in a bowl at 12 AM when you start thinking. Impulsive baking sessions had become a norm since you started working with Seventeen, needing to keep yourself occupied to stop spiraling. Mingyu was a recurring topic (surprise surprise), but one that quickly faded when you begin to think about what the future holds for you. You start mashing the banana harder. You consider the idea that you can’t complain, being in a position some of the most well seasoned pros had difficulty reaching. Being a single young woman and being allowed so close to some of the most unattainable men was seen as near impossible. You’d like to think it was your skill that got you here but can never seem to fully rule out a processing error.

It’s hard, being stuck in the same place. Your apprenticeship should have ended 2 months ago, but even if it had, you’d still be doing the same thing. The senior artist trusts no-one but a select few to work on the boys for photoshoots, events, music videos. People like you are left to sanitize sponges and clean the fallout.

You crack an egg on the counter and it splits open entirely, falling on the floor, yolk and all. Your inability to grow stays within the idea that you can’t really do your artistry like you want.

And how you never learn to crack your eggs on the bowl.

***

Showing up on the Going Seventeen set, you rush to the dressing room way earlier than you should. Being completely honest, you’re really only rushing because you want to maneuvere yourself to do Mingyu’s makeup before somebody else snags him. This was one of the very few engagements where you were occasionally allowed to take charge on makeup. Not that it was required for the show much at all; intensity and occasion wise. Your rare (possible) moment to (maybe) come into Mingyu’s organic notice was an opportunity never to be dropped by you.

You help setting up everything on the counters as the boys begin to (loudly) file in the rooms. You see Mingyu walk in and move to ask him to sit down once he’s done discarding his coat. He was first in line and you ‘happened’ to be the first one ready to begin working.

‘Is the eye makeup heavy? I just got a sty removed and I don’t know if I should be putting anything on at all.’ He asks as he sits down and you ready your damp sponge.

‘Not really, just smoothing things out. It should be fine.’ you say as you begin to press the compact on his cheek.

Your not really sure why, because you’ve never been able to muster anything above brief replies when in contact with him, but something in you pushes you to keep talking.

‘I’m surprised they even asked for us, they rarely ever do’ you continue, heart pounding so hard you’re afraid he might hear it.

He breathes out a laugh ‘Yeah. They even started advertising the show on youtube and subway stations and stuff, I didn’t know until I saw someone talk about it online’

You smile at his response ‘Well, all of you work so hard, it's about time they pull this to a high scale production’

‘It's never really work if your having fun, we try to be ourselves on here’ He replies, still smiling slightly.

You’re damn near close to collapsing on the floor at this point. This is the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. You opt to smile in response as you start to concentrate on his eyebrows. The rest of his face is done far too soon as you zone out and do what you do best.

‘All done’ you announce as you pull away from his lips, trying not to have yoour gaze linger.

“Y/n! Can you start on Vernon if you're done?’, another artist calls from behind.

‘Yeah, he can come up!’ you reply as Mingyu (regretfully) walks towards hair.

Just because you sew your mouth shut with Mingyu doesn’t mean it applies for the rest of them, you’re quite friendly with all of them and Vernon does well to remind you as he sits down and quips a ‘hey bestieee’ in an elongated greeting.

You audibly laugh ‘That’s another word I’ll be hearing for the next month’

‘Regretfully so’ He feigns sympathy.

‘Be quiet and look up’ you say with a fond smile before you get started on him.

***

You sit on the floor in front of your television, trail mix on the coffee table as the movie plays as background noise for your thoughts - again.

There’s a smile on your face, but you dont notice as you think about the small talk you made with Mingyu today, wondering if it could become a regular occurrence if you learned to keep your heart and mind in check.  

You were never one to stand up and take effort to do what was right for you, which is why you were talked into choosing Business Administration by your friend in highschool, who you never speak to now because she decided to ditch you for another group who were more inclined to shuttle themselves to liver failure by partying every last weekend in your entire college career. You were talked into applying to corporate jobs by your counsellors as you started looking for make-up courses, needing to abandon your dream for the second time when you landed a decent entry level desk job. It took years before you decided to choose yourself for once and made the big leap after multiple courses you had took on the side. Life was starting to look bright after getting hired here, but you’re not sure if you overrode a high or if you went back to your old zipped mouth state after you settled in. Never sure if you expected too much or if things really were as stagnant as they felt.

***

Overmanifestation can be a thing. You're not really sure how it works but you’re reaping what you’ve sowed right about now.

You’re currently standing in an offside corridor in a hotel lobby, clad in a pretty white floral dress, and a nervous, fidgety Mingyu standing in front of you.

'I know I'm asking you to do something difficult and I know it seems pointless because I'm not doing anything wrong either that you have to lie about it'

This was supposed to be a staycation with your friends for you to relax and get your mind off things. Your ticket to relaxation has become a nightmare.

'And I understand I'm being super unreasonable but I'm really trying to keep it on the down-low as we get to know each other'

You were waiting with your friends on the couches positively stuffing your faces with the complimentary chocolate bowl placed on the coffee table as a couple other friends checked you guys into your rooms. You were laughing and talking with your group, carefree and ready to have a week of well deserved rest.

That was the plan anyway. Until you see someone across the lobby, also in line at check in. He had an unmistakable toothy smile,and was hand in hand with a concealed brunette.

Your smile abruptly falls in disbelief as you feel your world halt around you.

The same hands come up to brush the hair out of the woman's face to place a kiss on her temple, smiling wide.

The nauseating feeling of ice going down your spine is becoming more and more apparent. You attempt to swallow the lump in your throat but it's like trying to swallow a brick. You lick your lips and attempt to look away but your eyes keep feeding on the picture you painted yourself in your worst nightmares. Realizing you're on the brink of possible hyperventilation, your friend drops her head and asks you if you're okay. You look up at her, not knowing what to say as you realize that nodding furiously will convince her.

Mingyu has a girlfriend.

Of course he would. What were you thinking? This man is one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, why on earth would he be single? You’re unhinged, you decide, for thinking you may have a chance, when the woman turns around and you see her in full. She’s gorgeous.

A part of you still wants to believe that you're officially past the point of sanity and that you've begun to see Mingyu in every tall man. The universe, however, is cruel. He pushes his head up and in your general direction, and locks eyes with you in unmistakable recognition.

He stops smiling.

So here you are listening to Mingyu asking you to keep this a secret from the company, to forget the woman waiting for him in the lobby.

You can only nod in slight motions as he goes on his rant to justify his oath to secrecy, managing a tight lipped smile as you miraculously find your voice, hoarse as it may be.

'Don't worry about it, I understand' - ouch - 'it's none of my business anyway. I'll keep my lips sealed, I promise'

'Thank you, thank you, thank you I appreciate it so much, you don't even know. I'll repay you soon I promise'

'No, please, it's not-'

'No, Y/n I will. You're being really good to me right now and I'm so grateful. I'm sorry for putting you through this while you're off from work and with friends. It's worth to me that your listening and understanding'

You're tired. You want nothing but for him to stop talking. So you smile again and shake your head.

'I'm sure your friends are waiting, I won't keep you. I'll see you soon though!'

And with that he leaves. Back to the lobby where you see him take the woman by hand once again. You watch again as they walk to the elevators, stepping in and disappearing when the doors close. You watch the floor number rise.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

You walk back to your laughing friends before you can see where they got off.

***

Retiring to your shared hotel room with Chaeyoung, you fall back first into the crisp sheets and mattress.

'Why're you so depressed dude, did Mingyu say something to you?' She asks, a slight line forming between her brows.

'I'm fine, I've been up since 5 today it's just fatigue hitting me right now' you reassure, like always. 'I might not go to dinner with you guys, might end up with my face in the soup at some point'

Chaeyoung hums. ‘Take the night off so you can gear up for the rest of the week. I'm letting you off for now but I expect full attendance for eveything else we do', finishing with a mocking stern look.

'Yes ma'am' you feign salute from the bed, mimicking her stern tone.

You've known Chaeyoung for quite a while now, meeting her in your last year of uni. Trusting her as you do, you were never fully able to fess up about your feelings for Mingyu. Fear of judgment wasn't the problem, but more so the strange feeling of shame that overcomes you when you think about talking about it with other people. It's quite beyond you, why you act this way. You loved your friends and you knew they would support you with everything, they'd proved it when you'd made one of the most difficult decisions of your life while leaving your job. But the idea of having the audacity to love someone who could never do the same seemed like a feat of embarrassment.

Who are you, y/n? Who are you to have foolish dreams of a girl in love? With someone clearly fit for all things greater than you?

Maybe this was a good thing, you thought, the weird feeling in your stomach returning. Maybe this was the universe telling you to give up and move on, a kind of rejection that keeps your dignity. This was nothing but a reality check, a sign from whatever wants best for you, to bring your attention back to what brought you to Mingyu in the first place.

***

You didn’t see Mingyu for the rest of the trip, which you were grateful for not knowing how you’d react if you had to see him so soon after, that.

Back massaged and head clearer than it had been for weeks, you feel more in control of your feelings and thoughts regarding your life. You hope the conversation with Mingyu was the last stressful thing you’d encounter for a while.

It’s almost comeback season, you realise as you see the new concept photos while scrolling on your couch at home. This meant insanely early mornings for weeks on end, but you had to push through for your own sake. You’d come out of multiple comebacks needing a brace for a month but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Never realising the true meaning of learning through experience, you were enlightened as you entered this new, very hands on field. The concept looked interesting, hoping the scraps of makeup you’d be allowed to do would be fun for you.

That ended up being true when you were, for the first time, asked to do Hoshi’s full makeup for their first comeback broadcast.

Your stumped silence was short lived as you hastily oblige and get the chair ready for him. You’d looked at the demo sheets and face charts too much for someone who wasn’t actually going to be asked to do much, but you see it pay off as you finish his eyes and get started on the rest of his face. It was easy for you to zone out as Soonyoung had passed out not even 5 minutes in, having someone hold his face as you worked.

You felt your chest swell with an indesipherable feeling as you watched him get up with your mastery on his face; pride, was it? You were getting emotional for no reason. Your attention, however, is moved sharply when you hear someone tell Mingyu it was his turn, finding him plopped on your chair staring straight into nothingness as he’d just been rudely awoken from his nap. He doesn’t realise it’s you for a solid minute as he tried to remember his own name.

‘Oh, hello’ he says, sort of confused. ‘Sorry, just give me minute’, he mumbles as he rubs his eyes.

He stretches back onto his seat signalling he’s ready for you to get started. You trying not to feel too much in your stomach as you begin.

You’re powdering his forehead when he says “I know I already said this but I really appreciate what you’re doing”

You know he’s talking about the conversation at the hotel, you were hoping you could avoid it.

“I told you not to worry about it, honest.” You reply, and somehow manage to choke out “It makes me happy that you’re happy”

You can see him trying to fight a smile, “Thank you for saying that”.

You wanted to stab someone. But you opt for gently brushing a base colour across his eyes.

“Do any of us know her, by any chance?” You ask cautiously.

“I dont think so. We met through mutual friends at a Christmas dinner, we didn’t start talking till she had to bring me a bunch of papers I’d left at my mom’s that day.” his face depicts someone reminiscing a fond memory.

It was cute, how it seemed like fate was trying to bring them together. It would've been cuter if you weren’t in a one sided pining with one of the two lovers.

“Well, I hope it works out for the both of you”

No you don’t.

“I hope so too”

You don’t hope that at all.

You felt guilty, feeling all of this. Hated that this was your first response to him wanting to be happy. Never would you have imagined stooping this low, hoping his happiness doesn’t work out for your sake. You’d like to owe it this being your first real infatuation, but you can’t help but wonder if this was really what you thought.

You decided to focus on the good news for today, that you’re finally allowed to do your actual job. You can only hope this wasn’t a temporary advancement, allowing time to tell.

Things remained the same the following day, much to your absolute elation. You were done doing 4 people’s makeup and was just winding down to take a break, quite satisfied with yourself. You observed as the rest of the boys got their hair done and run around, half in their outfits. You stifle a snort as you watch Jeonghan hide Minghao’s socks in his pockets as the boy tried to find them to put his shoes on, the former continuing to sip on his coffee seemingly unaware.

“Y/n, have you seen my socks? The green ones with the leaves on it?” Hao inevitable asks you.

You’re forced to feign confusion when Jeonghan pokes his head behind him signalling you to keep up the charade. He continues to look and you’re just about to have mercy on the poor boy before a to-go cup of coffee is shoved in front of your face.

You look up at the person and it’s Mingyu extending his arm at you expectantly.

“Oh, I didn’t order anything” you start, thinking you’re clearing up a confusion.

“I know you didn’t, got one for you anyway.”

There’s a record screech in your brain as you absorb his words.

“Think of it as me trying to repay the favour”

Oh. I see.

You’re a little embarrassed thinking he’d get one for you in that way, not when he had someone waiting on him. You accept the cup and mumble a thank you as he unexpectedly plants himself on the couch next to you.

“I saw you drinking lattes a lot of the times, so I just got you that. Hope that’s okay”.

Your silent for a moment before replying “Yes!” a little bit too loudly, eyes widening a little realisng your lack of volume control.

He knows your coffee order.

“Yes,” you say again in a normal tone and a slight laugh to cover up your inability to read the room, “They’re my favourite actually”

Kim Mingyu knows you like latte’s. This wasn’t good for your delusional brain.

Your conversation is cut short when the boys are called for roll call before they can prepare for the actual stage. You watch him get up and leave to file into the overstuffed elevators, not before he throws you the most adorable wave you’ve ever seen. You can’t hold back your smile as you wave back and look down at the drink he got you before taking a sip.

***

As it turns out, you did makeup for the rest of their comeback season, and Mingyu, without fail, got you an iced latte every single day before leaving to go on stage.

You tried to get him to stop, but he was rooted in his position and you didn’t have it in you to say no to his pleading eyes. It was a re-charge for you, when you’d seen him break into a happy smile, prominent canines that you’d grown to adore. He’d done more than enough to ‘repay’ you for swearing to secrecy, and you felt like you too, should  should repay him the balance.

So here you were, making banana bread in your kitchen again, careful to remember to crack your eggs on the rim of your mixing bowl instead of slamming them on the counter. You’re stirring the flour in when a classified devious thought occurs to you.

These past two weeks were pivotal for both you and Mingyu, daily coffee’s meant daily conversations, which meant getting to know one another more. You’d exchanged phone numbers in the midst of all of this, to which ensued the agenda of staying up till midnight talking to each other about the meaning of life.

Setting down the whisk, you pick up your phone and sent the text before you chickened out.

[You]: I have a surprise for you.

[You]: You wanna come over? It’s better enjoyed fresh lol

[Mingyu]: Ma’am? 👁👁

[Mingyu]: That sounds a whole lot like a booty call

[You]: *attachment*

[Mingyu]: IS THAT CAKE??

[Mingyu]: omw 😮‍💨

You send the location and set your phone down, a jittery feeling going through your entire body. There’s a spring in your step as you slide the loaf into the oven and set a timer. You turn around your kitchen island and register the pigsty that is your apartment. The girls were over the night before and you had done nothing to enlighten the aftermath, pillows strewn across the entire living room and snack wrappers in places you’re not sure how they landed.

By the time you’re done and spritzed the place with some of your nicer perfumes, your taking the loaf out of the oven and on a rack to cool.

Ever the punctual man, you hear the doorbell ring just as your taking your oven mitts off.

Hoping you’ve done enough to your apartment to save yourself from embarrassment, you collect yourself and open the door for him through your ringcam. He’s barely through when your rushing towards your doorway.

“Hi!”

“Hey,” he grunts as he tries to slip off his shoes.

“‘aight, where’s my cake?” he demands once he’s done giving you a quick hug.

You roll your eyes and usher him to the kitchen, “First of all, appreciate how excited you are to see me, and second, its banana bread not cake, sorry to burst your bubble”

He responds to your grumbling with an “Oh come on, you can't put freshly baked goods on the agenda and expect me to pay particular attention to anything else”.

He has his trademarked grin and cheesy stare out on display like its nobody’s business, you want to slap it off of him in the most loving way possible, but you settle with a tiny “shut up”.

“I brought warm coffee this time, thought it’d go better” He sets the to-go carrier on the kitchen counter, following you to where you were attempting to slice the still hot banana bread on a tray.

“Oh, that was a good idea” you say.

“Where’re your plates and forks?” he asks, pulling out the drawers and cabinets you signal to.

It all felt too domestic for your weak heart to handle. Not to say it didn’t warm you to the core how comfortable he felt in your space, you did, more than you’d care to admit. But he needed to tone it down before you required an organ transplant.

You were seated on the floor, butts parked on floor cushions, backs against the couch. The coffee table held all of your goods while you both argued on which movie to watch.

“I can’t believe you haven’t watched any of the Harry Potter movies! No, we’re watching philosopher’s stone, I don’t care!” You shout in disbelief, already typing it into the search bar on the TV.

“Philly-philo- bro I can’t even pronounce it why would I watch that?!” He yells back, snatching the remote from you.

You’re both a giggling, screaming mess on the floor as you keep trying to steal the remote from each other, not stopping until one of you bumps into the table and you almost spill hot coffee all over yourselves.

You decide to call a truce and pick another movie entirely.

Just as you’re pressing play, Mingyu takes a bite of the still (surprisingly) warm banana bread and you watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“This is so good” He says, his faced furrowed as he goes in for another bite. “Did you lace this with something, why is this so good?”

You’re biting back a snarky remark but you let it rip anyway; “It’s cuz these pretty hands made it”

You splay your hands out in front of your face, like your showing him your rings, fingers wiggling and a cheeky smile on your face.

He looks unimpressed as he scoffs. He swallows before saying: “At least you didn’t call the secret ingredient love or something”

“Excuse you, I’m pretty sure I heard you say that in some Gose episode” You remark.

He turns to you, all smug: “So your saying you watch Gose? Like, regularly?”

You immediately turn away from his taunting smirk, “Sometimes, if it shows up on my home page”

You take a sip of your latte before he asks you another sweat producing question.

“Oh, but you pay attention to me the most don’t you? Don’t you?”

He’s poking fun at you, you know that. But a paranoid part of you can’t help but think he’s onto you and your feelings.

So you say something maybe a little bit below the belt.

“You sure have a knack for seeking validation from the world when you have a partner already giving that to you”

The words tumble out of your mouth before you know it. In your defence, you're doing this for a greater cause, but it's still a relief when you see him comically gasp, hand to his diaphragm.

“Just because your alone in life, doesn’t mean you need to be salty about other people receiving actual love” He spits back.

Your sputtering trying to think of a response. Deserved.

He grabs a slice of the bread and shoves into your mouth to shut you up once and for all. You’re left chewing the mouthful and staring at him in shock.

He giggles and takes a sip of coffee, satisfied with himself. When he sets it down he opens his mouth to speak. Closes it again, like he re-evaluating, and finally decides to say something. He’s serious now.

“Ji Eun and I, decided it wasn’t gonna work out between us”.

Oh.

“Oh.”

He blows a raspberry and lets out a meek laugh.

“Yeah, oh. It’s whatever, it wasn’t meant to work out. Better sooner than later.”

You’re trying to find the words to reply or comfort him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask him, being careful to not lace your voice with pity, but more neutral and open. “You don’t have to, obviously, but it might be better to talk about what’s bothering you”

He pauses for a moment before starting.

“She wasn’t sitting very well with the idea that she had to share me. Like at all. She wouldn’t say it but she’d get mildly infuriated when I’d blow the fans a kiss or something, or interacted with the staff too much. I was getting home quite late certain days during comeback season and I’d find her outside the dorm at like 11 PM. It was embarrassing when all of the other members would see her there, obviously upset and basically yelling at me for, for - for literally just doing my job.I guess all the smaller things just started piling and she couldn’t take it. I tried so hard to make sure she felt wanted and secure in the relationship but nothing felt like it was ever enough. She was evasive or confrontational all at the wrong times and it came to a point- its a horrible thought to have in a relationship - but I was terrified she’d do something rash and I’d wake up to my face on articles for some reason - again”

You recollected the past couple years when Mingyu was thrown around in the media for a new accusation seemingly everyday. You weren’t involved with anything regarding the industry back then, but you’d heard enough news to be aware of what was happening.

Your heart swelled with sadness as you heard him talk, he sounded like he was trying- trying hard to be good enough. All for a person who seemed to have their priorities set somewhere else.

“She was amazing; kind and happy and confident. She treated my parents with respect, she was best friends with my sister. I know we only lasted like 3 months but at some point I really considered that she could be the one. But then the problems started and I realized she was only becoming an added factor to stress and anxiety for me more than anything else.

“I liked her because she was so family oriented, and I thought that was what would fit me because I’m like that too. But, I guess I’m just a different kind of oriented? I don’t know. I have a job that’s both interpersonal and unpredictable. There’s days where I don’t wanna get up and do work but I still love it nonetheless. I guess she just expected me to have a predictable, stable 9 to 5. Home in time for dinner, not requiring interaction with too many people; basically everything I can’t be.”

He’s silent for a moment.

You start talking after a couple beats.

“I really hope you aren’t taking this like it’s your fault. She made a choice to put up with your work, knowing how it would be for the both you. You tried your best but she made you feel like your best wasn’t good enough. I dunno about you, but that sounds like a really problematic conclusion. If she truly cared for you and what you love, she would never have been this unsupportive or not understanding”.

He’s listening to you, his expression is blank but you can tell he’s absorbing your words.

“I’d like to think I had realized that. But being completely honest, I’m not really sure when my thoughts go back to me thinking I’m the problem all the time.”

He manages a smile, a wide one, as he looks up to make eye contact with you; “But I know it’ll take me some time to really start believing that it’s not entirely my fault. We just weren’t compatible, and that’s fine. We left on good terms, and I’m happy about that.”

You smile with him as he finishes, but your a little confused when he starts sliding closer and down the cushions.

He sets his head on your shoulder.

You may have shortcircuited right then and there.

“Is this okay?” he asks you quietly, attention finally diverted to the half played movie.

You realise he asked you a question and you have to answer.

“Yeah, this is fine” You breathe out, somehow, by the graces of God himself.

No, you weren’t fine at all. You felt like the universe had flipped a faulty switch, mixed up the scripts, lost the plot, something. But as you get used to the weight of Mingyu’s head on your shoulder, you pray it won’t come back to haunt you in another chapter.

***

Your routine became inverted in the sense that, what you once had to plan out so intricately, is unfolding with no effort from you at all.

You find that Mingyu waits for you to be done with somebody else so you can do his makeup, instead of sitting on another free chair. He’d come to you specifically to touch up his makeup instead of going to an artist he saw closer to him. He never forgot to get you a coffee whenever it was that he saw you.

Mingyu hadn’t slept over that night, instead leaving in his car despite the 1 AM drizzle and your insistence for him to stay until the pour recedes.

Maybe it was better for you that he hadn’t stayed that night. Something about how you grew so close ‘organically’ made you feel like this wasn’t all in your head, that he’s choosing to be your friend.

You’re handing him his clothes as he begins to change, using the excuse to whisper to him;

“I was gonna try a new brownie recipe tonight, if you’re free you can come over?”

“I think I have somewhere to be after this but I’m free after, How’s 6?”

So there you are, back in your kitchen folding chocolate chunks into your brownie batter while waiting for Mingyu to get here.

Your phone dings from the island and you check to see a message from Mingyu sending you what looked like a grocery list; pasta, oregano, garlic…

[Mingyu]: Tell me what you don’t have from this

[Mingyu]: I’m at the store rn hurry up

You send him a list of what you don’t have, realising he intended to have dinner with you too.

[Mingyu]: k thanks

[Mingyu]: be there in like an hour

There’s a warm feeling that’s swelling in your chest, that makes you wanna punch a wall because your so happy. You choose self control, mostly because this apartment is on a lease but also you’d probably break your knuckles trying to punch anything harder than a foam mat.

By the time Mingyu’s here, the brownies are in the oven and you’re almost done with the icing. He unpacks the groceries (and the warm lattes) he bought while you finish up, confirming that he was trying a new pasta recipe tonight. Setting the brownies and coffee down on your usual coffee table, you decide wait a couple hours before starting on making dinner, instead choosing to hear him ramble about an idol he met at an award show.

“So, we start talking before we’re ready to go up- you weren’t there you were working on wonwoo’s makeup- and he starts complimenting me and so obviously I start complimenting him back”

He’s waving his arms around, and setting positions with coasters on the table trying to explain the setting.

“He asks me if I have a sister and I’m like… yes? Which I should’ve realised where this was going because he then” - he pauses to take a deep breath - “this absolute asshat decides it’d be funny to ask me for her number because apparently ‘if you’re this hot, I’m sure any sibling you have is too’ BRO, WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU SAY THAT - how are laughing at this?!”

You calm yourself down for a second to clarify, “NO! It’s just hilarious how he thought that was okay to say”

You’re still still giggling in shock when Mingyu calms down, now also laughing incredulously.

“But actually though, please tell me you smacked him” you manage.

“I would have,” he grumbles “I got called to fix my hair cuz I ruined it or something”.

“Oh well, now you know who to avoid next time,” you say as you guide a bite of brownie into his mouth, “Forget about it now, eat sugar, it’ll help”

He chews a bit before swallowing, all while you’re watching him with an endeared smile on your face.

“Y’know, I really thought you didn’t like me when you first joined the team”

You pause mid sip of your coffee, brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“You never really talked me, did you? You were friendly with the rest of them but it just seemed like you never wanted to enter a room if you saw me there”

You’re looking at him in utter shock, this man was mistaking your avoidant (yet also pushy) teenage crush behaviour for dislike.

He’s looking at you expectantly, a little pout on his face.

“I never disliked you, why would you think that? I promise everything was a coincidence, it was nothing like that”

“Don’t get so defensive, kinda obvious you like me now if not before” He laughs at your panicked expression.

He meant platonic like.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like that though, I’ve been told I have a pretty serious resting bitch face, it’s gotten me in trouble before” she smile sheepishly.

“It’s fine, you made up for it with that first banana bread” He says before taking another bite of brownie, “Could use more chocolate chunks”

You snort before pushing him with a sock clad foot, “Appreciate me even giving them to you” 

You fall back to the adjacent sofa.

It’s quiet for a moment. But you feel like something’s shifted in the air.

You watch as he brings his hand to the same foot, holding onto your ankles. He’s caressing the exposed skin with his fingers, moving them back and forth. His eyes are glued to yours, looking like he’s in a trance. You’re not sure how to register this new change in mood, suddenly feeling like you need to turn the aircon on during the bleak Seoul winter. Just as you're hoping you don’t start sweating, you feel his vice grip on your ankle pull your leg over with a sharp tug. You scream as you lose support of the sofa and fall back.

You sit up in shock to find him leaning with his elbows on the floor, cackling like madman.

“Mingyu, what the fuck?”

“You-” He stops to laugh again, “You should’ve seen your face, PLEASE, it was hilarious”.

You huff before getting up shoving his shoulder with your foot again, “You’ve been playing guest a little too long, maybe it’s time you get started on that pasta”

“Will I be blessed enough to be receiving her highness’s help?” He asks.

He looks like a dream, clad in his T-shirt because he claims he doesn’t get cold. Hands behind him on the floor to give him support as he stares up at you, smiling wide. He’s looking at you with eyes full of stars and glitter.

You muster up the courage to give him a nasty glare, to which he huffs at and gets up, “Such a meanie”.

It’s hard to conceal your smile as his back his turned, sachaying towards the kitchen. You want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

Your washing veggies in the sink when you turn around catch sight of his back as he stood at the kitchen island, sorting the rest of the ingredients. You get the same overwhelming feeling in your chest again, assuming you’re deluding yourself into thinking this is what life could be like with him. In less than 3 seconds, you’ve conjured a timeline of domestic routines, to wind down with him like this every evening.

You’re still lost in thought, still incessantly staring when he turns around and catches you in the act. He does the rude thing and snaps his fingers in front of your face to pull you out of your thoughts, “You okay?”

“Yeah” You say trying to gloss it over while busying yourself trying to find your cutting board.

“Are you sure? Do you wanna sit down at the island and watch me instead. You don’t have to help -”

“Pick a knife, and shut up dingus, it’s fine”

Once your both done eating and cleaning up, Mingyu hugs you goodbye, not before asking if you’d be free for lunch next week before he got busy the following month. You quickly agree, setting a date and time, bidding your (reluctant) farewells.

***

Once back in your apartment you realize how you can’t clean up to distract yourself because Mingyu took it upon himself to clear the space with you before he left. You sigh loudly and retire into your bedroom where you don’t have to think about how empty your living room is.

Changing into your pajamas and putting a headband on, you don’t even feel like turning your music on to do your night routine. You double cleanse, tone, serum, acid and moisturise your face with added purposefulness, taking note of the crevices of your nose and the neglected bottom of your chin. Taking extra time to make sure all of the foam is out of your skin before drying your face with a tissue.

You look at your fed skin in the mirror, and feel a weird surge of tears well in your eyes. Before they can fall you slam your bathroom cabinet to busy yourself to find your melatonin gummies, shoving them in your mouth before switching off the bathroom light and retiring to your bedroom.

Slipping the headband off and sliding into bed, you’re still chewing your gummies to a paste in your mouth. Trying not to notice how heavy you’re breathing you try to find your white noise machine, the one you found advertised for infants, and turn it on before grabbing your book to read for a few extra minutes.

Your staring at the pages like you found them to be blank. You’re phone dings next to you, signalling a notification.

Picking it up you find your mental health app sending you a daily reminder.

You’re allowed to feel your emotions.

***

Winter had run its course as you find yourself in April. You never really liked the cold, having been more sensitive to a gust of wind than the average joe, you were better suited to sitting with an aircon instead of being unable to move in the middle of Korea’s January cold rush. But alas, the cherries are blossoming and your fingers have defrosted.

That isn’t what’s on your mind right now though, as you’re standing in a Sephora, arms crossed and shoulders tense. You loved shopping for makeup, but you mostly chose to do it online unless you really had to otherwise. Parking yourself in the perfume section with the scents mixing together a cocktail of nosehair doom, you really wish you’d worn a face mask. Not to mention the migraine inducing coloured lights and mainstream pop playing in the background (you swear they’ve been playing Side to Side by Ariana Grande on loop since you got here).

These were all, however, peripheral observations for you, as you stare in absolute pneumonic shock at the number written on the price tag of the perfume you’re looking at.

Now, Mingyu is a man of class, high maintenance if you will. You’re well aware he likes to spoil himself, because he has a bank account to back it up.

Your bank account is definitely full and secure, but not enough for you to justify dropping what seems like half of its contents to something only one of the five senses can experience.

Mingyu mentioned in passing how he wanted this perfume a while ago, and knowing that he hadn’t ordered it for himself just yet, you decide to be the amazing friend that you are and surprise him for his birthday.

You may be regretting that right now, but you tentatively pick up the blue, crystalline bottle and spritz a bit on a paper strip before taking a whiff. It smelled good, that’s for sure, and it suited him too. So when the saleslady came to offer assistance, after you excused the last three, you decide you’re going to do this for him.

“Yes, could I have this in the box please?”

Walking back to your car you feel a bount of jitter run through you,

Oh, he’s gonna freak out when he sees this.

He did, in fact, freak when he saw it, and his reaction made you want to give him all of the good things in the world if you could see him like this all the time.

He’s smiling ear to ear and speaking in that high pitched voice that he gets when he’s excited. He’s thanking you over and over again, smoothing the box over in his hands repeatedly, looking at the ‘from: y/n :p’ with hearts in his eyes.

“I’m gonna save this for the rest of my life” he says, with determination and a goofy grin.

You snort at the declaration, “Sure, bud”

“I’m serious. What, you wanna bet?” he replies, taking a sip of his, latte, which you proudly credit yourself for swerving him over from Americano’s.

He insisted on going out to eat at this fancy French place a day before his actual birthday as he’d be busy on the day of, but it was risky for him to be seen eating out alone with a young woman at such a fancy place. You settled for a nicer traditional Korean restaurant, that allowed you to book a room away from possible prying eyes and one that you were both comfortable with. You decided to wait till you were back in the car with your post dinner coffee’s to give him his present.

“I’m giving you 3 months before that bottle’s dry to the dregs” You affirmed, “You smell like you empty half a bottle of something off your dresser everyday anyways”

You said it as an insult, but jokes on you because you loved the way he smelled.

“Fine, I’m gonna use this so carefully I’m not replacing it for at least a year”

“A year? What happened to the rest of your life?” you refute.

“I have you for that, don’t I”

What the fuckity fuck.

He’d turned to you, leaning on the headrest, that signature cheesy look; like he was in love or something. Voice dropping a couple octaves as he said it, laced with something defined and strong - enough for it to feel like the weight of an elephant had dropped on your chest.

You gather yourself after looking at him for a couple seconds, jaw unhinged and forgotten on the floor of his car. You chose to grab your cardigan that was neatly folded on the dash, and astral project it to his face across the seat. He’s laughing so hard there’s tears glistening in the corner of his eyes. He falls forward and you see strands of his hair fall to his face, he’d been growing them out.

“Shut up” you grumble in your seat, annoyed at how easy it was for him to send your heart through and beyond your chest.

He’s still giggling like a school girl, and you cave and give him a hint of a smile.

“There it iiiis” He announces, grabbing your face and smushing your cheeks together.

For a moment, he stops to look at you like this, like he’s contemplating. For one, brain rattling, organ exploding, microsecond, you think he might even kiss you.

Instead, he headbutts you slightly rubbing his head swiftly before letting go.

“I might need to wash my hands, I think I got your makeup on me” He mumbles, looking at his hands like a child with mud soaked palms.

“Serves you right, you buffoon,” You remark as you pull out your trusty travel pack of makeup wipes.

Yanking one out of the tab, you pull his hand over and try to wipe the remnants of foundation off, starting from the heel up to each individual finger. It’s silent as you concentrate on getting it all off both hands, he was wearing black tonight and knowing him he’d rub his hand over his pants and get beige foundation all over. You knew because you’d seen him do it one too many times.

“All done” you quip, looking up and catching his stare. He’s smooth to slowly look away and retract his open hands from your lap about 5 seconds after it became noticeable.

You busy yourself by attempting to stash away the wipes to throw out later, closing the pack of wipes and shoving them back into your bag.

He’s watching you do all of this, his stare is burning holes into the side of your head. He’s desperate to say something, but you’re not sure if you want to hear.

“Let’s go back to my place. We’ll stick a candle into a sheet brownie and call it your birthday cake. Oh, we can pick up ice cream too!”, You say, costuming your voice to sound unaffected by his vibe.

And so you did stick a candle in the fresh batch of brownies you both made at 11PM, two hours before his actual birthday. Sitting across from each other on the counter, Mingyu has his eyes closed shut, hands clasped, wearing a ridiculously coloured ‘BIRTHDAY BOY’ headband you found somewhere deep in your drawers.

“You’re gonna get wax on the brownies and they're gonna be inedible, hurry up” You groan, after everytime it seems like he’s done, he clenches his eyes shut again as he remembers another thing he has to wish for.

You’re not actually annoyed, he looks the cutest he’s ever looked, but you would appreciate non waxed brownies.

When he’s finally done, he blows out the singular candle and you clap lightly, “yay!”

You’re pulling out the candle and grabbing forks, dumping a couple scoops of ice cream on before you two start eating straight out of the pan.

Its a collection of groans as you both collapse on your couch, regretting eating all that so soon after dinner. He changed out of his dinner outfit to a T-shirt and pajama pants, he’d started keeping a set of clothes in his car when it started to become routine for him to spend regular  evenings after work at your place.

You’re in your own unicorn pajama’s, slumped over on the arm rest slightly. You feel Mingyu scooch over to put his head in your lap, claiming he was “closing his eyes for a minute”.

You knew how lightning fast he passes out, so not even 5 minutes later you start to hear his light snores. As much as you want to wake him up to move him to the bed, you know he can’t stay the night. His birthday meant he had to be with the boys, and needing to head out early tomorrow.

So you give him 10 more minutes, fingers tracing the shape of his features, in his soft hair massaging his head with your nails slightly. He had a little pout on his face as he slept. Things had been hectic for him lately, having a comeback later in the month and the plethora of music and variety shows to follow.

Mingyu had been writing lyrics on the kitchen island one day, sputtering random words as you quipped in rhymes of your own without context, stirring the pot of soup on the hob at the same time.  

One particular rhyme you spew out catches him off guard and he barks out a laugh at the ridiculous combination.

“I should put you on song credits for this”

“What do you think my producer name could be?”

He thinks for a second, “Banana bread sounds stupid, um, how’s brownie?”

“Cute, and serious enough” you agree, “I’ll be expecting to see my name on that album, sir”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you turn your attention back to the sleeping man curled up in your lap. You wonder if you could fall asleep on the couch too, keep him here with you for the night. Be a little selfish. It’d be nice, making waffles for breakfast when morning comes. But he needed to be at the dorm in the morning, the boys knew where he was but managers that’d come pouring in at 7 AM sharp, did not. And it was best kept that way. The last thing Mingyu wanted, you knew, was people getting the wrong idea. The thought stung a little bit, but you knew not to mix your hopes with what reality was giving you.

So you gather the courage to slowly reign him back from dreamland.

***

Your sitting with Mingyu and Seungkwan on the couches outside the dressing rooms, a little bit before they have to go to perform. You were done with your agenda and was waiting for them to start filing out before beginning to pack up.

“No, because why does he get to eat all the good stuff right out the oven and we don’t, that’s not fair” Seungkwan complained loudy to you, a mildly offended look on his face.

“Stop being such a complain bot, you’re never happy if I have nice things” Mingyu retorts, increasingly nasty looks being exchanged for an argument about freshly baked goods.

“Oh, I’m the hater?! Let me jog your memory, who was the one sulking and shoving me around when Y/n wouldn’t let you-”

Mingyu had jumped up and pulled Seungkwan into a headlock, his poor Americano half flying across the hall as he yells out in disarray.

“YAH!” cued with more noises of struggle and muffled threats.

You chose to embrace the violence by sitting in your seat and laughing as Vernon recorded their antics from the doorway inside eventually circing them for his supposed cinematic effect, catered for the inevitable weverse post that was to come.

Cut to them apologizing and cleaning up the mess of coffee and disregard.

You decide to be nice and attempt to make peace by reassuring Seungkwan, “Come over after you’re done promoting this week, I’ll make up for all the bread and cookies you missed out on”

“If you've finished with your escort duties Y/n, could you please come in and do your day job?”

The voice came from the doorway of the dressing room, your senior makeup artist standing there with her usual mildly inconvenienced expression. It took you a minute to fully understand what she meant by that sentence, your body completely still.

“Offended? What, like I’m wrong?”

You were no stranger to insulting behaviour in work places, but they’d always been revolving around your actual job description. People who didn’t like you knew they had to be smart on how they treated you regardles.

This was different. This felt like you were projected back in time to your solemn middle school days to mean girls taunting you about your spongebob socks, except multiply that by about a thousand.

You feel your stomach begin to churn as that nauseous feeling of shame began to settle itself into your veins.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting there but when she slightly raises her voice; “Are you getting up or not?” your hands actively begin to tremble the slightest amount.

You’re making moves to get up by puting your coffee cup down, not knowing what to do except follow commands.

Your interrupted by a voice from behind; “She’s coming in, give us a minute”

Mingyu’s standing there, his expression stoic as Seungkwan and Vernon looked as stunned as you felt. You don’t register it in the moment, but the people in the hall, venue staff and those for other artists have also silenced, watching the scene unfold.

Her lips are in a tight line, her expression remaining irritated as she steps back inside the room.

You realise you need to do something to diffuse the escalated situation. Letting out a breathy laugh, you get up and tell them that you’ll be going inside, trying to keep your expression pleasant and unaffected, not waiting before turning around to spare them the burden of a response. People get yelled at everyday, and this is no different. You aren’t gonna be the one to make a scene out of a regular occurrence.

You know what's coming when you get inside, she’s waiting as she pulls you aside.

“Your behavior has been quite concerning recently, let me remind you of your place here and what you were hired to do. You've been dilly dallying with people who aren't even your friends, and its quite funny that you’d think they are. It's time to wake up from wasting your time making heart eyes at men who are way out of your league. I won't tolerate any more nonsense from you, and trust I won’t be this nice or forgiving the next time this happens”

You choose to nod your head.

“That’s another thing, use your own words. Don’t think other people are gonna be there all the time to speak for you” She spits out, her professional front slowly eroding the more she spoke.

“Yes, ma’am” You say, hoarse voice.

“Louder, next time”, she stalks out as majority of the people in the room also begin to leave for the filming downstairs.

You’re left standing awkwardly in front of the racks of clothes, trying to digest what just happened to you. Looking around the room, you try to figure out what your supposed to do.

Clothes on the couches, eyeshadow brushes on the floor. There’s a torn sponge resting underneath one of the chairs, a couple styrofoam boxes left on the tables from lunch.

There’s so much for you to do, you arent sure how you thought you had time to sit down and chat. But you’re not sure where to begin either. The room is a mess of smells and colours even without the buzzing noise of people getting ready. Tears begin to form as you try to navigate what you’re supposed to do, realising you can’t possibly find a starting point for any of this mess. Before you have time to think of anything else, a hand is holding onto your wrist, small and soft.

It’s Yoona, another one of the makeup artists.

“Y/n, I think it’s best if you go home, it’s been tiring.”

“But-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle her. Just trust me. Go home you’ll feel alot better”

She notices you hesitate for a second, and goes in to give you a hug.

It felt nice, to be hugged by a friend. For some reason, it didn’t feel like she was pitying you, her expression and aura reassuring you that you didn’t have to stand here alone.

“Whatever happened today shouldn't have happened, but you don’t need to think about that right now. Go home and do nice things for yourself, we’ll figure it out later. You have my number, give me a text once you get home. We can go out later if you want, when I get off work, to get your mind off things”

You’re not sure how you’re holding back the waterpark that has become of your tearducts as you hear those words from an unsuspecting friend, you nod with a smile. You feel a little more calm.

You can’t tell if you care enough to consider the consequences of your senior finding out how you’re doubling or nothing on your already posed humiliation. But the only thing you can think of right now is your bed and the ceiling you’d stare burn holes into.

So you, for the first time in a while, chose to choose yourself by picking up your satchel and leaving the chaos behind you as you walk to your car.

***

Just because you were brave where it mattered most doesn’t mean you weren’t allowed to cry.

You had come home, shot Yoona a brief text, and promptly began to sob the absolute Nile into your sheets.

You had never cried like this before, loud wracked sobs coming from a place in your chest you had locked away during a time you couldn’t even remember. You’re breathing after every choked cry is a sputtered intake of life, only to spit it back out as you let out another sob of what sounds like agony. There’s nothing in your head, nothing but the words that were spoken to you as echoes of your own mind. Hypocritical of you to hate them when the same words circled in your head like a mantra every cursed, unfortunate day. She had done you a favour, by spitting out the truth you’d stewed, chewed and kept in your mouth ever since you got here. This was a you problem, to believe that you were capable of things beyond your bracket. You were told by the universe, screamed at by the world, that this was never meant for you, and you chose to ignore it. You chose to be stubborn. You brought this misery upon yourself.

Once you’ve disposed your body weight of tears and snot and burden, you’re left to stare at your innocent sheets now stained with mascara and your sorrows. You crawl into your covers and rest your muscles for a few seconds, head empty. You aren’t sure when you drift off, but you're glad that you do.

You don’t dream for once.

***

You wake up feeling like you drank a gallon of water and went to sleep. Your eyes, nose and throat feel like they’ve been over watered yet dry at the same time. You don’t realise what’s really arising pangs of irritancy in your brain once you figure out the consistent sound is a door bell. You’re doorbell, of the house that you live in.

You’re slow to push yourself up, realising your slept in your day clothes. It’s dark out but you're not sure what time it is, and quite frankly, you can’t say you care enough to check. You need to silence your doorbell first, which can only be done by silencing whatever hell sent individual was playing drums on the button outside.

It’s a record screech in your brain as you peer through your peephole and realise who the aforementioned hell sent individual was.

Mingyu was outside your door.

You don’t realise you look like you crawled out of a sewer till it’s too late and you’ve already opened the door through muscle memory. Mingyu was always welcome in your space.

He was in casual clothes, his hair pushed back from the guessed hands that ran through it, but he was still in stage his stage makeup.  

“Oh, were you sleeping?” He asks, eyes a little wide, expression cautious.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go then, you weren’t answering your phone for anyone and you told Yoona you were home but you weren’t opening the door, i was worried. Sorry I ringed it so much I probably should’ve assumed-”

He stops to look at you, and it’s like realizes something before he finally says; “Just wanted to make sure you were okay, I’ll see you around. I’ll leave you alone”

“Wait,” you croak out, licking your lips, conscious of your morning voice, “Can you stay? Please? If you can.”

He stops to look at you, expression changing from sheepish to defensive.

“No! I mean, yes. Yes. I’ll stay. I’ll stay for as long as you want”

You let him in as he slips off his shoes and you lead him to the living room. His presence in the familiar place seems like it last happened eras ago, when he was only here maybe a week prior.  

“You know where everything is, I’ll be back gimme like 5 minutes”

You’re scared to look at yourself in your bathroom mirror, so you don’t, and choose to scrub your face looking down at your sink. You change into a sweatshirt and trouser loungewear set, deciding to save your dignity a little bit further as you brush your hair and clip it back with a claw clip.

You take a breath before entering the living room again.

He’s sitting on the floor in your usual place, two steaming mugs on the coffee table, the tabs hanging out of the cup. He made you tea.

You sit down next to him, not really prepared for what you should be saying.

“How long has she been speaking to you like that?” He asks you quietly.

“She was always kinda itchy and uptight and stuff but, it was never like this” You say.

“Regardless, whatever that was, it was, wrong, uncalled for, all of those things” He says, sputtering a little bit.

He stops and sighs. It’s silect for a minute before he turns in his seat to face you, grabbing your folded legs and pulling you to face him too.

“Yoona heard everything she said to you after you went in, she heard it all. And she knows about some other stuff too. If you think, even for a second, that I’m not your friend, I might actually think there’s something wrong with you.

“If everything we’ve been through this past, almost a year, doesn’t amount to us at least being friends then I don’t know what it means to have one at all. You’re the first person in a while I’ve been able to be this open with. You know me better than most people, you’ve seen me at my worst and at my best. I’ve let you read me all you want, because I know I can be an open book if it’s you. I trust you more than I can trust myself sometimes, and I really wish you would trust me too.”

You’re watching him as he says all of this, you look up to make eye contact a couple times, and he’s looking at you everytime you lift your head.

“I do trust you. Probably more than anyone else. It’s myself I don’t trust. It’s hard for me to open up, I’m scared I’m gonna say something that’ll scare you away. And, I just thought maybe she was right today, that I need to realise that it can’t be that way between us, I have a job to do”

“What can’t be between us?”

“I like you, Mingyu. Like, I’m basically in love with you and have been since I fucking met you. I couldn’t believe that you could possibly be friends with someone like me, a confused, all over the place airhead who can’t tell right from left sometimes, forget you ever liking me. All that happened is that we became friends and I thought that this was as far as fate was gonna push us. All today told me was that … that was an overextension too. It was a wake up call that I can’t have everything in life. Things were going too well for us and I was letting myself think it could stay that way forever. I’m sorry for being this way, I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable and out of place. This is the last thing you’d want to hear from a friend and I’m sorry I’m putting you in this situation right now and that you had to go through that today-”

You don’t finish what your saying because you're interrupted. Interrupted by arms pulling you forward and into Mingyu in front of you.

Your both sitting in your living room at 3 AM, on the floor in front of your sofa like you both have so many times. Except now, Mingyu is holding you in his arms, and kissing you so delicately it hurts.

It’s warm, like getting into bed after a long day, the scent of home and security engulfing you as you begin to forget about the qualms of life.

He’s moving his lips slowly, with care and a feeling so overflowing you can’t describe.

He lets go slowly and rests his forehead against yours, his arms are around you tight, legs wrapped around your entire body so you can't escape - physically or mentally.

“You dumbass” You hear him say.

“I love you,Y/n. More than anything. And I need you to know that you don’t have to hide. If you think your thoughts are a burden then I want to carry it for you. I want you to realise you’re not alone. I want you to stop pushing me away. Everytime I want to do something nice for you, you try to push the effort to something else, everytime I try to take care of you, you have this look that makes me think you feel guilty for taking up my time or something. Everytime I think you’re about to ask me to stay the night, you remind me I have priorities and I should go, even though I know you want me to stay with you. I want you to stop caring so much for how other people feel and realise you can demand the same from the universe too. You deserve love and to be treated with care. You need to let people do that for you, love.”

Your looking at him now, your turn to have stars in your eyes.

He loves you.

And you feel it. You feel it in his words, in his eyes, in the kisses he’s leaving on your face, in his arms that are wrapped around you, ready to shield you from the world.

You don’t say anything as you fall into his chest, head on shoulder, relaxed body in the cage he’s made for you. You close your eyes as the tears are burning down your face. Except, this time they’re because your relieved.

You both got up from the uncomfortable floor and moved to your bed, still tangled within each other as you clarified everything else.

You found out that majority of the people who heard it were very upset at the situation, but didn’t know how to approach or confront her.

Seungkwan almost bust a blood vessel after he had digested what had happened, disbelief and threats on his tongue as he refused to get touched up by her during filming, apparently making a point to walk to somebody else. Seungcheol was thinking of trying to bring up the problem to management, considering how Mingyu too was distracted all the way home.

“The rest of them have gotten quite protective of you too, I think. It’s not like I shut up about you”

Apparently the only reason you were asked to start taking charge on makeup was because some of the other senior artists pressured your mentor to stop restricting you. It made you feel a little more secure that it wasn’t just you that felt pushed down.

She didn’t like that you were doing so well, considering it meant she was wrong about you and your abilities. It hurt her ego a little bit that people stopped preferring her to do their makeup or their touchups, how they wouldn’t interact with her the same way.

“Alot coming from a middle aged, married woman, attention seeking like a child” Mingyu added, scoffing with a sour face as he nuzzled into the crown of your head.

“The boys really like you by the way, they’ve been rooting for us since forever” He says, and your heart swells unimaginably so; you felt loved, so so loved.

You scooch up to plant a kiss on the underside of his chin and then one on his lips.

“That makes me happy”

“I’m happy that you’re happy. You deserve to be happy, everyday” He smooches you on the face again. “Oh, and don’t worry about that stinky face I’ll take care of her”

You laugh at the determination in his voice, but you wanted to clarify something.

“Please, let me handle her myself. I’ll ask for help if she’s stubborn but I wanna try by myself first”

“That was hot”

You push his chest away as you bark out a laugh at the random comment, hiding you face, by turning the other way.

He battles that by pull you back into his chest and continuing his atics

“What I can’t call my girlfriend hot. You’re hot. Your the sexiest motherfucker I’ve ever seen” smooch “You’re beautiful” and again  “amazing” and again “gorgeous spectacular-”

You don’t fall asleep until the sun has well made its way up the sky, taking the executive decision to sleep in till way past lunch and maybe even take a nap afterwards.

You don’t care how it goes, because your happy just being with him.

***

You met with Yoona a couple days later at a cafe.

“Seungcheol asked us if we were facing the same kind of behaviour from her too. And everyone told him she was stuck up and rude and stuff. He said he wanted to bring it up to management but it didn’t really concern him directly so they wouldn’t listen. He told us to do so ourselves and we thought about it, but we’re gonna need to tell them about that too”

You nod your head as you listen to her speak, it was making sense.

“I dont mind going up to management at all and talking about it. I get that the rest of the stuff is a little too tame to be considered, which sucks because she shouldn’t be talking to us like that at all”

“Mhm, and I was thinking we could vouch for you on how she was restraining you for almost a year. Basically not letting you do your job. That’d be a another thing for them to think about”

“Yeah. Let’s do it asap, how’s this Monday?”

“Perfect, I’ll add everyone to a group chat and let them know”

And go up to management you did, who were surprisingly understanding. Apparently having received multiple reports and even videos of the most recent incident to act as proof. It was working out for all of you, and it proved to stay that way as they responded with a promise to shift her to a different department.

You had gone home that day feeling fulfilled and relieved. Mingyu, a man with spectacular timing had also proceeded to send you a text as a distraction,

[Mingyu]: Kwan wants to come over

[Mingyu]: something about croissants

[Mingyu]: Should he text you ab it?

[You]: yeah ofc

[You]: I’ll order the butter

[You]: you tell him to text me lol

Two nights ago felt like it happened last year with all the unimaginable advances deciding to happen within the past 48 hours. Right now you were more excited for the company you were about to recieve, more concerned with making sure you made the best batch of croissants Seungkwan ever did see.

***

You were in the car with Mingyu outside the company building, waiting until the clock struck 9 to go inside.

Today was the last day you’d think about this, being called up for a face to face meeting with the staff member, so she could formally apologise. The team had planned a dinner tonight, to celebrate the end of her ‘wicked reign’ as Yoona described it.

You were finding friends everywhere, ones that were always there, pulling through for each other as you yourself navigated a new direction of thinking for yourself. You were learning to walk past your anxiety ridden desire to draw lines with everyone, as you took the first step with the dinner tonight. It would be fun for you, and a bond you’d begin to build.

You learned that you weren’t delusional anymore, and that Mingyu did love you the same. It had only been a week or so, but one of the happiest weeks of your life, despite everything. He was teaching you more lessons than he thought he was.

Mingyu squeezes your hand from the driver’s side as it was past 9, “Let’s go?”

“Lets go”

***

Mingyu’s way too enthusiastic as soon as he wakes up, indulging you in a morning (afternoon) makeout session, claiming he doesn’t care for you morning breath.

“Well I do!” you exclaim, pushing him off with a giggle “About your morning breath, stinky”

He clutches his chest in dramatic offense, “How could you? I thought you loved me”

You respond my projecting a cushion to his face.

“Do you want pancakes or eggs for breakfast?” You ask, legs hanging over the bed.

Mingyu looks up, a wicked glint in his eye, and you immediately know he’s going to say something of no help.

“I want you for breakfast” He says, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you back in bed.

“MINGYU!”

Needless to say, all was well.

[misshoneyimhome]

But with three of us, honey, it's a sideshow I William Nylander & Matthew Knies - Part one

Summary; A quote by Hector Urquhart goes "One man's rubbish may be another's treasure" - however, what happens, when the first man realises that it wasn't rubbish after all?

Other notes: Hey there, babes! So, this idea sparked from the Woll x Knies threesome request, and I couldn't resist working more with the sweetest freshman 😉 Before we dive in, I want to give a quick shoutout to @couldawouldashoulda50 for being my co-pilot on this journey - Thanks for putting up with all my rambling 💓🙏🏼 Also, just a heads up, this will be posted in two (or maybe three) parts because it ended up being a bit longer than planned 🙃 So, without further delay, I hope you enjoy it!

Tropes & Warnings; William Nylander x Matthew Knies x reader, Friends to lovers; jealousy; 18+ smut; fingering, protected penetrative sex (p in v), mention of oral sex (f and m receiving);

Word count; 6K+

➼｡ﾟ

Your body felt numb, achy, and weak. Yet your mind was completely blissed out, soaring with ecstasy, and flooded with endorphins.

Breathing was difficult in the heavy air of the room, saturated with the scent of raw, passionate sex that hung in the air as the warmth between the two bodies flanking you enveloped you.

The memories of how you'd got here were hazy, yet there was no trace of regret. Your heart raced in your chest as tingles radiated through your core after the intense encounter. Yet, pure happiness surged through your veins, joy coursing through your bloodstream.

-

It was just before the season kicked off when you found yourself alone with William Nylander for the first time. During a night out in Toronto, the charming Swede caught your eye, and after a few minutes of exchanging glances, he finally made his way closer to you, effortlessly charming you with his dazzling blue eyes and cheeky smile.

You had moved to the city about a year ago, where your friendly and outgoing roommate had introduced you to some of her friends. Yet what she hadn't mentioned beforehand was that some of these friends happened to be players for the Toronto Maple Leafs.

You’d naturally tried to keep your cool and play the role of a casual friend whenever you were around the team and their social circles. And while you had gotten to know most of the guys on a friendly level, it never went beyond that.

That all changed on the night when you couldn't ignore the attraction you felt towards the Swedish hockey star. And when you shared a moment of connection amidst your mutual friends, you had a feeling that the night was going to be something special.

And you were right. William certainly made it a night to remember.

After a few more hours of chatting and occasional gentle touching, he edged in closer and whispered seductive words in your ear. His breath sent a shiver down your spine, and his words set off a tingling heat between your legs. There was simply no way you could resist him.

So, as soon as your roommate left with some random guy, quickly checking if you were okay to get home alone, you seized the opportunity to invite William back with you. To which he happily agreed.

Since both of you were mindful of the upcoming hockey schedule and the importance of staying in good shape, none of you had too much alcohol in the system, making you both aware of your actions.

And to say the sex was good would be an understatement. William took his time, starting with lots of kissing. His skilled mouth felt perfectly matched with yours, and as both of you became increasingly turned on and eager, he used his thick fingers to stimulate your core, stretching your entrance while circling your clit, ensuring you reached climax at least once.

Once you were wet and ready for him, he put on a condom and began slowly entering you in the missionary position. However, the tender, slow lovemaking didn't last long as the heat in your bedroom intensified. Both of you were too aroused to hold back, quickly transitioning to other positions.

First, you angled yourself on William's shoulder, allowing him to penetrate deeper and harder. Then, with both of your legs against his chest as he knelt back, he thrust into you vigorously.

At this point, your mind was already lost in a blissful haze as you gripped onto the pillowcase behind your head, and your muscles tightening around William's member. With each thrust, he stimulated your walls, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm.

And as he felt himself nearing climax as well, he released your legs, swiftly pulling out before using his strength to turn you onto your stomach. Lifting your buttocks slightly for better access, he entered you again, filling you up as he hit a different angle.

Your breaths were heavy, moans blending as his hips collided against your cheeks. Gripping the sheets beneath you, William's pounding drove you both over the edge into ecstasy, reaching climax simultaneously.

It had been uncomplicated yet deeply satisfying sex, far better than most first times with a new partner. It didn't feel rushed or impersonal; it was passionate and genuine, despite the absence of romance or deeper emotions. It was simply perfect. Your bodies had moved in sync, and both of you experienced profound pleasure.

However, after the wonderful one-night stand, William wanted to clarify that it was all it was to him – at least for now. While he knew he really liked you, he emphasised that this season he wouldn't have the time or energy to focus on dating. Instead, his priority would be his hockey career, so if the two of you were to continue anything, it would be limited to casual hook-ups and friendly get-togethers.

And, you didn't really have any objections. William was a good friend, someone you felt a connection with, and had shared interests with. Moreover, he was exceptionally attractive, and after just one encounter, feeling his body against yours, you couldn’t deny the temptation of doing it again. You’d slowly come to know him well, and despite the tiny hope of building something together, you also respected his desire to keep things non-romantic. So, you agreed on a casual friends-with-benefits arrangement whenever there was time for it.

And already following one of the first friendly matches before the start of the regular season, you shared your second night together. Which once again, was a night filled with multiple orgasms- and this time, you even got to experience William's oral skills, something you had never encountered in such an incredible way with anyone else before.

The creativity you both had with positions was simply fun and exciting. Yet while you alternated between being on top and taking the lead, William always remained the dominant character - except perhaps when you showcased your own oral talents.

In short, it was just a great causal relationship where you shared a profound connection. Both before and following the heated session, you shared laughter and smiles, before you made your way out of his condo. And to no one’s surprise, the two times then quickly turned into three times. And then four times over a few more weeks.

-

As the regular season gradually took shape, William's predictions about his limited free time outside the hockey rink proved accurate. Although you exchanged texts almost daily, sharing memes and Instagram posts, you reminded yourself that there was no deeper meaning to it. It was all just friendly banter and genuine laughter. Or well, perhaps there was a rather flirtatious sense of humour involved, as well as occasional sexual jokes and references.

And truth be told, you cherished the relationship you had with the Swede. Since he didn’t require much attention from your side, it gave you ample opportunity to get to know everyone else around the team better. So, you began spending more and more time with some of the girls, going out for brunches and having girls’ nights-in to watch the hockey matches, as well as frequenting the arena more often than before.

So, as weeks turned into months, you slowly grew closer to the other players. Whether it was dinners at the Marners’ or social gatherings with the team, you found yourself welcomed into the tightly knit circle. Something beyond what you had ever imagined your life would be like living in Toronto.

And among all the newly formed relationships, one stood out in particular. You weren’t entirely sure what sparked it, but as if out of nowhere, freshman Matthew Knies walked straight into your heart and stole it.

Perhaps it was the first time you were carrying too many iced coffees for the ladies and almost spilled them, if it hadn’t been for the young forward's help. Or maybe the connection began when he nearly ran you over near the training rink, his focus solely on navigating, oblivious to your presence.

But regardless, a connection quickly blossomed. What started as light laughter and sweet exchanges gradually evolved into coffee walks and exploring the hidden gems of the city, whenever he wanted to give the Tavares family some private time. As you knew what it was like to be new to the city, and since it wasn’t too long ago for you, you offered him company if he ever needed a break from hockey -to which he gladly accepted. And as you spent more and more hours together, you couldn’t help but feel something stirring within you.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but one thing was certain: it felt good.

Similarly, Matthew was slowly developing some kind of feelings for you as well. As he had recently ended things with his ex-girlfriend due to the distance, he found a void in his heart that needed filling. And your sweet laughter, quirky jokes, and endless storytelling about anything and everything filled that void for him.

At first, it didn’t feel romantic or anything of the sort, especially since he wasn’t seeking a relationship; you were just two good friends enjoying each other's company. And despite the little age gap, he felt like an equal. You helped him move into his new flat, shared your best easy cooking tips, while he introduced you to playing NHL on PlayStation and played a few tunes on his guitar for you. It was a simple yet profound friendship.

And as the hockey season then unfolded with its highs and lows, the emotional roller-coaster began to influence your friendships. If he ever needed a tight hug or wanted to call you while on the road just to talk about something other than hockey, you were there for him.

So, as days passed, your time gradually involved more chats with Matthew Knies, while your friendship with William Nylander softly faded into the background.

You never officially ended things with William; he was simply preoccupied with training, so your communication was limited to social media. Meanwhile, your conversations with Matthew grew deeper and more personal. Gradually, he learned more about your family, career aspirations, and the reasons for your move to Toronto, while he talked about the ups and downs of his recent relationship with his ex-girlfriend and how much he missed home.

It wasn’t until Auston Matthews brought up your and William's previous encounters that it dawned on Matthew what he had happened before he’d entered the picture. Though William had become one of his best friends on the team, he had never mentioned anything about having had a relationship with you. But after a training session, when it was just the two Arizona players left in the locker room, Auston brought it to Matthew's attention.

"He's alright with it, you know," the elder hockey star started. "About you and y/n."

Matthew was a little confused. Why would William have anything against who he was friends with?

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You know, because they had a thing going on – sleeping together and stuff like that," Auston explained, believing Matthew already knew, given his close friendships with both you and William.

"Oh... wait, what?" Matthew's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You didn't know?"

"Well, no... when did they..." Matthew's curiosity peaked.

"Oh, months ago, man... don’t worry about it, it was just before the season started, so..." Auston replied casually.

"Ah, cool... but," the younger teammate pondered whether to delve deeper. "Like, how many times? Did they go out or?"

"Just a few times, I think," Auston shrugged nonchalantly as he rose from his seat to pack his bag. "Hey, Willy's cool, and no, it’s not like they ever dated, so she's all free."

Yet, as Auston left the locker room, leaving Matthew to his own thoughts, he couldn't help but consider talking to William about it, just to be sure and not accidentally create tension with his good friend and one of the greatest players on the team.

And fortunately, the conversation with William went surprisingly smoothly.

"Of course, I don’t mind you hanging out with y/n," William simply chuckled. "I mean, sure, she's my friend and all, and yes, we slept together, but that's it, man."

"Alright, just wanted to make sure there's nothing more between you two," Matthew smiled back at his friend.

"Nah, she's amazing, I get why you want to be around her," William flashed a smile, his body language relaxed as he rested his hand on his hip, while he rubbed his beard with the other. "I mean, I just feel bad I haven't talked more with her myself, so I'm just happy she's got you, man."

Matthew felt a weight lift from his shoulders after his talk with William. While it wasn't entirely uncommon for players to have shared experiences with a girl or two occasionally, it had mostly been just for sex, and not across relationships, at least not to his knowledge.

However, what neither you nor Matthew knew was that William had been thinking a lot about your growing friendship. Initially, he found it sweet and nice that you were chatting with everyone on and around the team, giving him the space he'd said he needed to focus on his game.

But as you gradually stopped flirting with him, both in person and through messages, he started to feel the change sting a little. He knew he was the one who had said there couldn't be more between you than just sex, but when even that didn't happen, he felt as if you were slowly distancing yourself from him. And he was losing you both as a lover and a friend.

So, even though he acted cool and chill about the closeness between you and the freshman, he still couldn’t deny that it got to him. The connection he had shared with you felt almost unique, and he wasn’t ready to let it fade completely.

-

Months had passed since your first night with William, and life in Toronto was nothing short of amazing. You had a lovely group of friends, with most of your nights spent watching hockey matches alongside them, occasionally dining out with the team.

Everything seemed perfect, except for the fact that you still missed William deeply. Despite convincing yourself from the beginning that you never harboured any deeper feelings for him, you couldn’t deny the disappointment you felt when your relationship never progressed further or lasted. You simply couldn’t escape the significance of your connection with him and seeing him so often around the rink or when going out, made it clear that you needed to find a way to move on.

And fortunately, your relationship with Matthew helped ease the hurt you were feeling. He was an amazing guy, and to you it almost seemed crazy that his ex-girlfriend had let him go. He was sweet, caring, and surprisingly mature for his age. And you knew you were slowly developing feelings for him.

So, one Friday night, as you were out with some girlfriends not in the hockey group, you shared your troubles, hoping for advice from outsiders.

"If you want my opinion," Bethany spoke, holding her drink as you’d moved from dinner to cocktails. "What you need is closure. Tell this Will directly that you’re over him, cut him out, and then move on with that other guy, since you seem really into him."

You had tried to avoid giving too many details about who your relationships were with to your girlfriends, wary of any misunderstandings getting out to the media. Yet their input did have you thinking.

"I can’t just cut him out... I see him around all the time, he’s part of the group of friends, and..." you tried to explain. "I don’t know... I might still like him a little..." You finally admitted to yourself.

“Well, then I don’t see any other option,” Carol chimed in with a raised eyebrow. “You need to sleep with Matts. The best way to get over a guy is to sleep with another.”

The girls giggled and cheered at her remark, but despite trying to join in the mood, you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach. You weren’t entirely sure if this was truly the way to go. Making a move on Matthew meant there would most likely be no going back to William. But if you let the memories of William, knowing he didn’t feel the same for you, hold you back from developing things with Matthew, you knew you’d regret it too.

So, torn between your feelings for the two men, you ordered another Espresso Martini followed by a Cosmopolitan.

You weren’t exactly tipsy or drunk, but you had just the right amount of liquid courage to steel yourself. And as you parted ways with the girls and made your way to the subway station, you pulled out your phone to find the name of the person you felt a need for calling.

However, as you stood there, hesitating over the 'call' button with your finger, a wave of unease washed over you. And upon glancing to your right, you spotted a group of men staring in your direction.

Initially, you tried to ignore them, but as they slowly edged closer, adrenaline started to course through you. And suddenly, one of them made lewd remarks, prompting you to press the screen.

"You tried to reach William Nylander. Please leave a message after the tone. *beep*"

With a frustrated sigh, you muttered, "Shit..."

The train finally arrived, and you pondered your next move. Since the men appeared to be waiting for the same train, you stopped yourself from entering and watched to see if they did. Breathing a sigh of relief when they did, you remained on the platform and decided to wait for the next one. However, just before the doors closed, two of them stepped back onto the platform.

And this time panic surged within you, so you swiftly switched to plan B.

"Hey," Matthew's voice echoed through the phone, instantly comforting you.

"H-hey, Matts..." your voice quivered slightly, despite your efforts to stay composed. "I hope I'm not disturbing your evening..."

"No, I'm just chilling at home... y/n, are you alright?" His concern was evident in his voice.

"I... I just..." you stuttered, avoiding direct eye contact with the two men but catching them in the corner of your eye. "I'm just feeling a bit..."

"What's wrong?"

But before you could respond, one of the men started heckling you again. "Hey, sweetheart! Lost your way? Need a tour guide? I'll show you a real good time!"

You had to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

"What's going on, y/n?" Matthew's voice was firm. “Who was that?”

"There are... um, some guys, Matts," you whispered, struggling to hold back tears. "It's really uncomfortable, and I just needed to talk to someone..."

"Where are you?"

"I'm..." you paused, gathering your thoughts before informing him about your location.

"Just stay there and try to keep away from the guys... I'll come and get you," Matthew quickly declared.

And before you could even attempt to object, he was already on his way out the door. You had to take in a deep breath as you tried your best to move your feet, feeling anxious as the men didn’t seem to leave you alone. Yet, with a little force, you managed to slowly move from your spot, and wander the platform a little. And with Matthew still on the line, you then cautiously moved towards the exit, avoiding glances back at the unsettling men. However, as you rode the escalator, you inadvertently looked back and spotted them trailing behind you.

"Please tell me you're close..." you whispered urgently. It almost seemed like forever before you were able to escape the uncomfortable situation. Yet thankfully, as soon as you reached street level, you spotted Matthew rolling up in his car, prompting you to hurry towards him.

"Oh my God! Thank you!" you exclaimed breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck, almost throwing yourself at him. "Thank you..."

"Hey, y/n… it’s okay," Matthew's voice was soothing as you gently pulled away, your eyes tinged with tears of frustration. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright..."

You were at a loss for words. It almost felt like he had rescued you. Even though the danger wasn't anything extreme, it had felt that way in the moment, and you were incredibly grateful that he had taken the initiative to come and pick you up without you even having to ask.

"I am... now," you breathed out, attempting to muster a smile.

"Good," Matthew returned the smile as he prepared to resume driving. "Let me take you home then."

It was a smooth ride filled with light giggles and laughter, and you probably thanked him about a thousand times before you reached your apartment building. However, as you were about to exit the car, you hesitated for a moment. Pressing your lips together, you pondered whether to speak your thoughts, yet with a light blush of embarrassment rising to your cheek, you pushed yourself to let the words slip out.

"Matts..." you softly began, your eyes meeting his in the dimmed lights. "Y/rm/n isn’t home, and… I sort of don’t feel like being alone tonight... after what happened..."

Your eyes briefly glanced down at your fingers before returning to meet his gaze. Yet, Matthew just offered you a soft smile.

"Hey, y/n, if you want me to stay with you, I can stay… It's no problem."

It didn’t take much convincing, given that Matthew only wanted you to feel safe. So, as you made your way to your flat and settled onto the sofa, you again couldn’t help but express your gratitude.

"You don’t have to keep thanking me y/n," he chuckled as you offered him something to drink, sitting next to him.

"I know... I’m sorry, it’s just so sweet of you," you flashed him a smile. “I just feel like I owe you something.”

Pausing for a brief moment, Matthew put down his glass and leaned slightly towards you, pressing his lips together before speaking. "Y/n... you owe me nothing - honestly, I’d do anything for you..." he let out a soft breath, his eyes meeting yours in a tender gaze. "I mean... that’s what friends are for, right..." The last part came out softer, and perhaps a little hesitant as he didn’t truly want to have phrased it like that.

Yet, his words hung in the air for a moment as you savoured the moment of the two of you together, alone in the apartment as your roommate was out.

"Right," you smiled. "That's what friends are for," you repeated softly.

Another moment of silence lingered as the two of you just sat there, sharing eye contact. Matthew’s arm draped over the back of the sofa, your body slightly turned towards him, and your knee lightly touching his.

Matthew felt his heart pounding in his chest, his palms a little sweaty. He was a little unsure of your signals, however, as you maintained your focused gaze on him, he suddenly felt a rush of confidence and without much thought, he decided to slowly lean in to close the gap between you.

It was just for a brief moment, yet the quick kiss Matthew shared with you caused your lips to tingle.

"Shit... I’m so sorry," he muttered softly as he quickly pulled away.

But you didn’t want him to feel apologetic. In fact, you had had the same inclination, but lacked the confidence to act on it. "No... Matts, it’s okay," you replied, your tone just above a whisper.

"Really?"

And without any verbal confirmation, you simply just slowly leaned in and connected your lips once more. However, this time, they stayed connected for a little longer.

Gently feeling his smooth mouth on yours, your hand rested on his cheek while his found your hip, and almost in slow motion, your lips moved against each other as you shared your breaths. Then very delicately, both of you parted your lips and carefully let your tongues meet in a sensual dance.

It was a soft and gentle kiss, nothing sloppy or rushed. Then slowly pulling apart, you both let out a breath.

"Just to be sure..." Matthew spoke gently. "You’re not just doing this because of what happened tonight, are you?"

Softly, you shook your head, reassuring him that you’d been thinking the same. And with that understanding, you both aimed for another deep kiss. This one hungrier, and slowly growing more intense as you let your hands gently explore each other, pulling each other close.

With every passing moment, it grew deeper and deeper, sending warmth within you that you hadn't felt since your first night with William. However, as you moved to sit in Matthew’s lap, thoughts of William slowly faded, and you didn't even notice your phone buzzing on the coffee table.

As morning light seeped in through the curtains and you slowly awakened from your slumber, a gentle smile graced your lips as you felt Matthew’s arm enveloping your body. Despite him being clad in sweats, you could feel the warmth of his muscular, bare chest against your back.

You lay there for a moment, listening to the comforting rhythm of his breathing, not quite snoring yet emitting odd noises. And you couldn’t help but relish in the memories of last night.

Nothing overtly sexual had happened between you. Instead, you had spent the evening on the sofa, sharing deep kisses and simply enjoying the connection between you. Although you felt a certain level of attraction towards the younger hockey player, you didn’t want to rush into anything. For once, you wanted to take things slow.

And Matthew seemed to be on the same page as you, despite the evident arousal indicated by the hardness in his sweats. Yet, he remained respectful, and when you both realised how late it was, you decided to retire to bed.

Initially, Matthew had merely intended to ensure you fell asleep, tucking you into your oversized t-shirt and beneath the covers. However, as he lay on the bed beside you, admiring your beauty as you drifted off, he too succumbed to a wave of fatigue and ended up falling asleep with his arm around you.

And upon waking up to find you smiling at him, he had no regrets. “Morning,” his husky voice greeted, his eyes still slowly opening.

“Morning,” you replied sweetly. “Did you sleep alright?” you asked, noticing how his rather large frame occupied a significant space of your 1.5-person sized bed.

"Actually, I did," he chuckled, his voice rough and endearing.

There was a tender moment lingering between the two of you as your eyes met. However, the soft moment was suddenly interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

"What the..." you muttered under your breath, slightly baffled as to who would ring your doorbell early on a Saturday morning.

Yet as you made your way to the hallway and swung the door open, you were met with none other than your Swedish friend.

"Willy..." you breathed out, slightly shocked that he had shown up at your door.

"Good! You’re alive," he spoke perhaps a little too sharply, while his eyes were filled with concern.

"What do you mean?"

"I tried calling you yesterday, after you tried to call me," he explained, his tone softening a tad as he locked eyes with you. "But you didn't answer, so I gave it another shot and texted you... but then you didn't text me back or anything, so I started freaking out a little... I mean... I just wanted to make sure you were alright - so I came here before heading to the morning skate."

You let out a sigh as you listened to his words, a small wave of guilt washing over you to how concerned he’d been. "Shit... Willy, I'm really sorry... I was out with some girls, and then there were these guys making me really uncomfortable," you blurted out suddenly, feeling the need to explain.

"Shit what, hold on... what guys? Y/n are you alright?" he asked, a hint of panic creeping into his voice, feeling the guilt for not answering when you needed help.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine... everything sorted itself out," you reassured him, trying to keep calm. But before you could elaborate, Matthew emerged from your bedroom, throwing on his t-shirt from the night before.

And William's gaze immediately landed on him walking into the hallway. "Kniesy?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"Hey Willy," Matthew replied softly, moving slightly behind you as he greeted his teammate.

"What are you... Did you sleep here..." William started to speak, but his words trailed off as he looked between you and his teammate. "I mean, that’s none of my business..." William shook his head as he processed the situation.

"Willy, no, Matt just stayed here after giving me a lift home," you explained, feeling another twinge of guilt for some reason. You weren't entirely sure why you cared so much about what William thought had happened, yet you sensed it had something to do with your still lingering feelings for him.

"Right, fair enough..." William tried to play it cool, yet he couldn't ignore the flicker of jealousy igniting within him. Though there was a fleeting temptation to punch his mate and teammate, he knew he had no grounds to be jealous. You weren't his to claim, and Matthew had only acted out of concern. So, rubbing his eyebrow with his thumb as he collected his thoughts, he spoke again. "Well, uh, guess I'll catch you at practice then,” he nodded towards the younger player.

-

Nothing particularly dramatic went down at morning practice, but there was a bit of tension brewing between the Swede and the lad from Arizona that didn't escape notice.

Despite William making an effort to appear calm and collected about the events of the previous night, he couldn't quite shake the irritation he felt towards himself. He knew he had feelings for you, probably since the first time you spent several nights together, getting intimate in various ways. And as he was aware that he hadn't pursued anything further, he couldn't help but feel some regret now that he saw you moving on with someone else. And not just anyone else – his teammate and close friend.

His frustration was even clear during training, when he couldn't score the way he wanted to, so he knew it was getting to him more than it should. "Fuuuuuck," he muttered to himself after another failed attempt.

Meanwhile, Matthew was unsure how to act around his friend. Part of him wanted to explain himself, to tell William that he had feelings for you, and he didn't feel guilty about it. But the truth was, he did feel guilty. He knew you'd been with William first, and that William hadn't exactly ended things with you – it just sorts of fizzled out. So, he understood that there were still lingering feelings or something between you.

"Alright, that's it for today! See you all later for the game!" Coach Keefe announced, signalling the end of the morning training session.

The locker room was buzzing with anticipation for tonight's match. However, as the boys left one by one, leaving William as the last to finish up, Matthew, sitting just two stalls away, saw an opportunity to address whatever was going on.

"Hey," he approached gently, despite knowing William wasn't in the best mood after practice.

"What's up?"

"I, um... we're good, right?" the younger forward asked. "Like, you and me, we're good..."

William had a feeling of what Matthew was referring to, so as cool as he was, he just shrugged. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good, alright,” Matthew nodded.

“I mean, thanks, for… you know being there for y/n,” William then added with a gentle smile, trying his best to hide his complicated feelings still stirring within him.

“Of course, I mean when she called and said she wasn’t alright, it was the only thing I wanted to do…”

William nodded. “Right… yeah, that’s good…”

There was a brief moment of silence as the two boys just sat there and gently nodded in agreement.

“Willy, just to be sure… there’s nothing going on between you two, anymore, right?” Matthew stepped carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… let’s say, I want to make a move on her, ask her out, you know- you’ll be okay with it?”

Pouting his lips William pondered for a moment. Of course, he wouldn’t be okay with it. He still had feelings for you and if Matthew made a move on you, it would probably complicate things even further.

“Well, have you asked her out? I mean, is there like something official going on?”

“Uhm… no but, I guess I might want to… and I wouldn’t want you to be mad if you know she wants it too…”

“Ah… yeah alright…” William thought for a moment. The angel on his shoulder knew he could be the good guy here, admitting his wrongs, yet the devil on the other shoulder told him to play the game, and not give up. “But I mean if there’s nothing official between you… then I can still…. You know, take a shot.”

It was as if small competition was slowly forming. Something neither of the boys truly wanted, yet it started to seem inevitable.

“You want to take a shot?”

“Well, yeah maybe… I mean, I still like her.”

“Yeah, but you also said you didn’t want to date her – you dumped her, remember?”

“I didn’t dump her… I just… I wasn’t ready, alright… I am now, and I mean it’s not like anything has happened between you – it’s just a crush you can get over.”

Though Matthew knew that William had slept with you, and he hadn’t, he still knew that there was something between you and him.  “Well, something’s happened – we made out.”

“You kissed?” William froze a little. “When?”

“Last night… a lot actually…” It was his best card to play, but he knew it held significance.

William pondered again. So, he hadn’t just picked you up and driven you home. You’d invited him inside and made out before you let him sleep in your bed. Something William hadn’t done, as whenever the two of you had had sex, you hadn’t spent the night together.

“Hmm…” Was all he managed to reply, as he gazed into the thin air.

“I’m sorry Willy…. But I like her, and I really think she likes me too… so, maybe it’s best if you just… admit you blew your chance and step aside.”

Matthew felt bold as he spoke the words. He was confident that he had the upper hand, and that William was the fool who’d let you go too soon. Yet, there was one thing he hadn’t considered.

“You know…” William spoke softly, turning his eyes to Matthew. “Last night… before she called you… she called me first…” he let the word hang in the air for a few seconds before speaking again. “So, maybe I haven’t lost her completely… and I don’t think I can step aside… not without trying…”

The air felt heavy as Matthew realised that you might also still harbour feelings for William as well. It almost felt like a knife to the heart as he thought he’d have to fight one of his best friends to win you over, yet he couldn’t let it go. Not at this point. He’d fallen for you, and there was no escaping his feelings.

Meanwhile, William struggled with his own thoughts. Should he really back off and let Matthew go for it with you? Or should he try one last time, knowing that at least he tried to fight for you, and not just give you up that easily? And though he for a moment considered stepping aside, he just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t in his nature to give up. And given the fact that no other woman had ever made him feel the way you had, he wasn’t ready to let you go.

[cantwritethetword]

(2024) TickleTober Day 1: Harvest - Going against the Grain

Fic Descript - Bruce agrees to help out on the Kent farm and, after an off-handed comment from Clark, he decides to see how ticklish superman actually is.

~A/N  - Welcome to ticklecrowber2024!!!! (forgive the corny title hehehehehe)

We're starting off this month with a super cute superbat fic requested by an anon. While writing it I'm realising this is gonna be a pre-relationship romantic fic, so hopefully that floats your boat.

Like I mentioned on a post ages ago, I'm not aiming to write full fics for all the prompts this year to hopefully avoid burnout so I'm going into this aiming for a few hundred words - we'll see how that goes.

Hope you like it!

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

One of the (few) things Bruce hated about being in love with someone was the way it made him do things.

And not in a suggestive or psychological way, literally he felt compelled to gain some sort of relationship 'brownie points' to subtly prove his worth as a potential partner.

Which was how he had ended up here, about to knock on the door of Clark's farm home.

When superman mentioned needing to do some hard labour around the fields up in Kansas, Bruce found himself offering to help before he could even blink. It wasn't until Clark enthusiastically accepted that the batman fully realised what he had gotten himself into.

Mixing their work and personal lives? At Clark's house no less? Doing something that probably was effortless for Clark, but would be a significant physical strain for Bruce? What was he thinking?! He'll look like a fool...

But, as much as his brain loved to insist on how much of a bad idea this was, Bruce had resisted the temptation to cancel.

And so, he now found himself raising his fist and tapping the wooden door-frame.

"Bruce!" Clark grinned, opening the door fully.

The man was dressed so stereotypically farm-y, Bruce thought to himself. Brown leather boots half-covered by a pair of old denim jeans, topped with a plain white tee and - god he looked good in that red flannel...

"-are you... did you want to come in?" Clark chuckled.

Shit, had Clark invited him in already? Was he that distracted by the superhero in front of him that he fully disregarded any input other than the sight- wait it's happening again-

"Yes!" Bruce blurted out, interrupting his own thoughts. "Sorry, yes. Thanks."

Ugh love made him a mess.

As Clark narrated and explained his way through his humble abode, Bruce couldn't help but get stuck in his own head - again. He barely registered that they had left the house and were now walking through the wheat fields. He knew Clark was giving some really important information as to what exactly they needed to do and where they would need to do it, but it was almost as if his brain was more focused on the sound of Clark's voice than what it was actually saying.

Until Clark giggled.

Like a gunshot, Bruce locked onto the sound with unbridled curiosity. What had caused it? Would it happen again? Whatever it was clearly didn't phase Clark, as he was back to talking about whatever farmyard jargon that was interrupted earlier.

A few more moments passed, and Bruce had never been more focused on Clark's surroundings. What could possibly have made superman laugh like that? And how common of an occurrence was it if Clark didn't even acknowledged it?

Thankfully, it happened again - with Bruce watching the whole thing.

As Clark walked, a few stray spikes of wheat brushed against his bare lower forearms (where he had rolled up the aforementioned flannel). His hand twitched reflexively, and he once again let out a soft giggle at the sensation.

And, once again. Bruce's mouth moved before his brain could catch up.

"What was that?"

Clark half-turned his torso to face Bruce. "Oh, it just tickles."

Bruce flushed at the casualness of Clark's response.

"It's actually one of my favourite parts of walking through here..." Clark continued with a genuine smile. "Something so small being so intense, makes me feel soft.... alive... human..."

Only Clark could make getting tickled by a plant sound so endearing, it was almost enough to make Bruce forget the huge tidbit of Clark lore that had just been revealed to him.

Superman's ticklish??

He didn't have much time to feel the full shock of that information, as Clark was already several paces ahead of him. Bruce half-skipped to catch up, and as he did, something in his mind convinced him to snap off a piece of wheat from beside him.

As they continued their walk towards the edge of the field where they were about to begin work, and Clark continued yapping, Bruce ran his fingers over the wheat piece in his hand. Was he seriously about to try to tickle superman? Would Clark be alright with it? Would he find it weird and repulsive and never speak to Bruce again cause how could he possibly think that was a normal thing to-

stop - Bruce interrupted himself.

no overthinking

Bruce took a breath, slightly sped up his footsteps to bring himself right behind Clark, and ran the wheat stalk along the side of Clark's neck.

Clark folded with a shriek and a giggle, his smile never fading as he gave Bruce a quizzical look.

That smile was all the invitation Batman needed.

With a smirk, Bruce tackled Clark into the wheat next to them and climbed on top of his chest before frantically twiddling the wheat stem against any potentially ticklish bare skin he could find. Clark's neck, ears, collarbones - even the small patch on his tummy that was exposed from his shirt riding up as they fell - nothing was safe.

And Clark's laughter was like birdsong - it was the most free, happy, genuine giggling Bruce had ever heard. So much so, the billionaire opted to snatch another piece of wheat to use in his free hand against Clark's forearms - which were currently doing fuck-all to fight against the tickly attacks (aside from clinging to and breaking some nearby wheat stems, but Bruce theorised that was mostly for Clark to resist fighting back... cute).

After a sufficient tickling, Bruce paused - mentally checking for any signs of annoyance on Clark's face and letting the man calm down for a few moments.

"Why'd you stop?" Clark asked breathily without missing a beat, and now looking slightly disappointed.

Once again caught aback by Clark's openness, Bruce stuttered and floundered for an answer. "I... I was just... I wanted to... make sure... you..."

Clark laughed. "No need to panic, it was just a question."

Bruce chuckled, still a little embarrassed.

"You always worry so much." Superman smiled, poking Bruce's neck with one of the wheat stalks he had snatched during the tickle-attack to emphasise his point.

Bruce squeaked (though he would later insist this wasn't true), his face flushing a deep red.

"Oh?" Clark grinned menacingly, rolling himself and Bruce over to flip their positions with clearly little-to-no effort. "The dark, scary batman is ticklish too?"

oh god

And, after being thoroughly tickled, Bruce spent the entire time they worked on the farm trying to convince himself the look on his own face before Clark tickled him definitely wasn't nervous excitement, and that he definitely wouldn't give anything do it all again.

Definitely not.

[flowerandblood]

ONE YEAR OF FLOWER&BLOOD

✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙✨🎉🌙

Exactly one year ago I posted my first chapter of the My Best Friend series. Nowadays I think it's something awful and I don't even try to edit it because I'd have to write everything from scratch, but I've left it for people who feel attached to the story. I remember getting about six likes and one comment on the first day and that huuuuge interest made me eager to create chapter 2 and then all the others.

I remember the excitement with which I waited and then replied to comments, not believing that people were actually waiting for the next chapter. At the time I was literally not following anyone, which was good because I wasn't comparing myself to anyone.

Eventually I felt I was ready to try writing other series and a few were successful enough that I decided to stay here permanently and create because it made me happy. Up to that point, everyone had been very kind to me and I started following more and more blogs, wanting to feel part of the fandom, to make friends with everyone. Now I know that was the biggest mistake I made.

Seeing things that didn't interest me, fanfic's whose way of writing couldn't draw me in, I felt frustrated, while at the same time fearing that if I stopped following someone, that person would see it as an affront. At the same time, The Impossible Choice, my biggest project until The Fall from the Heavens (which I'm currently editing and re-editing, while inserting on AO3), began to be written.

Just when I thought I had reached the pinnacle of my abilities (which wasn't true), I also started to clash with anonymous hate messages, probably the worst of which were those vilifying me and my husband, and those regarding my one-shot with Micheal Gavey. I know now that taking it personally and getting involved was my big mistake, and the fandom was shaken by drama that got out of hand.

I was a few steps away from deleting my blog at the time, but my husband talked me out of the idea (thankfully, as my stories aren't saved anywhere else − I'm only now moving them to AO3).

That's when I first realised that some people here I don't even like, and they probably don't like me. I wondered, why are we following each other then? Why are we pretending to have any courtesy? It was only later that I realised that to be considered someone's friend, you have to reblog their work and preferably agree with them even when they write hurtful things.

Since I've depleted my circle of those I follow to about 20 people, since I've blocked dozens of people and tags, there's been blissful silence (with the exceptions of when I write about behaviour in the fandom that I find toxic and someone accuses me of causing drama, but I'm used to it now). I've also never written happier than I do now.

Ideas come to me on their own, I don't feel uptight about what other big people will think of me, whether they reblog it, approve of it or not. I don't give a shit and life is beautiful! Although I can be emotionally unstable, I'm only 70 people short of crossing the next milestone of 3,000 followers, and that's BIG for me. It amuses me that I keep getting messages that someone is going to block me or stop following me, and you guys keep coming. It's gratifying.

I'm going to keep writing for you guys, and I'm sure during season two you'll also see my posts describing my impressions after the episodes in which I hope to involve my husband. I'll also keep you updated here on how I'm doing with my book I'm creating in my private life.

Apreciation

@ewanmitchellcrumbs

Ange. I know that sometimes I'm fucked up, but I want you to know that you've made this place so much more bearable for me that I can't imagine it without you. What I appreciate most about you is that you can talk and discuss, that you always try to understand the other side, that you are empathetic, warm and kind. I feel that, like friends in everyday life, we can also tell each other about things we disagree about, and there are not many people like that here.

On top of that, you are very talented and your stories are always a pleasure to read, even when they are short, you are able to build the plot and atmosphere perfectly, something I have always admired. Thank you for every kind word and understanding.

I still remember your first message to me via ask, referring to the fact that I didn't want to write a pairing with a mermaid because someone else was writing about it at the same time. My heart melted then, it was so nice!

@targaryenrealnessdarling

Liz, Queen of Angst! Your calmness and composure puts me in awe. You're disgustingly talented when it comes to writing and you have a super-sweet personality. When you started following me I began to squirm with delight, and when you started reblogging my stuff? My goodness!!!

@persephonerinyes

You've been engaging and reblogging my stories for as long as I can remember. Always involved, your thoughts make me smile. Thank you for being with me for so long!

@zenka96

You've been here with me since the dawn of time. You know that I love you. Your support from the very beginning really makes me feel like I have a friend here.

@huramuna

I am so proud of you! I remember your asks when I wrote Glass Cuts Deepest, your illustrations for me and your uncertainty about whether you should start writing yourself. I'm so happy for you and that you are so successful! You deserved it.

@black-dread & @aegonx

You are my favourite gif makers. Your work always leaves me in awe, you are amazing! I know how much work you put into it and somehow you make even the worst lit scenes look wonderful!

@summerposie; @0eessirk8; @melsunshine; @immyowndefender; @bellaisasleep; @kckt88; @thedamewithabook; @happinessinthebeing; @queenofshinigamis; @travelingmypassion; @mefools; @fan-goddess; @toodlesxcuddles; @ammo23; @troublesomesnitch; @mariahossain; @out-of-life; @apothe-roses; @heavenhatesme; @whitearemydarkestnight; @liv-cole; @blackswxnn; @echos-muses; @watercolorskyy; @at-a-rax-ia; @tssf-imagines; @snh96; @hiatuswhore; @exitpursuedbyavulcan; @darylandbethfanforever9; @the-dendrophile-bookdragon; @opheliaas-stuff @zaldritzosrose

Your comments and reblogs make me want to keep writing. You make me laugh, you comfort me and you support me. I know I'm definitely forgetting someone, but I want you to know that I love everyone who comments on my stories and there is nothing better for me than responding to your reactions and questions! I have known some of you for so many months that I truly consider you my good friends!

lottie-blue-star; aveatquevale-; aemondtargaryenwifey marvelescvpe; alphard-hydraes-blog; herejusttostan; li0nn3stuff; alexandrawho; vilmakamunen; angelinap09; theloveablestargirl; rose-blue-19; xxxkat3xxx; flosaureum; mandiiblanche; librawh0re; jasminecosmic99; ivvypg; rojocarnation; killmanduh; tokkiiidoll; wolfdressedinlace; angelofvivianne; nina2697; starwarsgirlsimmer1; katsucker; ipostwhtifeel; aemondsdelight; ilswemoon; tigrigri; pasta-rask; roselibrary; lystargs; gemini-mama; nikstrange; tempo-rary-fix; coffeeobsessedtrencher; gwuinivyre; dreamerbythewayx; diiickbrainn; mothmankit

And everyone else I missed and whose icons I would recognize from afar. I know that you have been with me for many months, often in silence or communicating anonymously. Your silent support and presence is something wonderful for me, knowing that you have been with me for so long and read all my posts!

Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!!

[ryuichirou]

TWST cursing and dirty jokes hcs

Anonymous asked:

Do you have any headcanons for the twst boys and how often they curse? Who curses the most? Who has the dirtiest mouth? Who says the worst things? Who sounds unnatural when they swear?

On the same subject, who likes dirty jokes? Who thinks they’re immature? Who knows the dirtiest most vulgar things and says them on the regular (think Miu Iruma levels of vulgarity)? Who sounds like an inexperienced virgin whenever they crack dirty jokes or says vulgar things?

Anonymous asked:

Do you have head-canons for the Twst boys cursing?

The first ask was sent quite a while ago, and the second one is today; what a good timing, because I already wanted to post this today! Thank you for your request, Anons.

This ask got me super excited. Funny thing is, I don’t really like overusing curse words for some of the characters because it feels like they wouldn’t use it… But I guess a lot of them ended up using it one way or another huh.

When it comes to Mui Iruma levels of vulgarity though, they still have a lot to learn…

Riddle – not only he doesn’t swear, he is also the type of person to say things that could have a different meaning without realising it. Like, he would say the word “come” in a perfectly normal way, and some of the boys from his dorm (Ace) would snicker… or when he said the word “sextant”, and Ace made him repeat it like 5 times by asking seemingly genuine innocent questions about the thing. Riddle absolutely hates when Ace does it, he thinks it’s beyond immature, and frankly, not a lot of things make him as mad as being caught in these “swearing” traps. He also absolutely hates dirty jokes. Riddle has never said the word “fuck” in his life, and he is very proud of it! (only heard it for the first time like 2 or 3 years ago…) I think Riddle genuinely thinks that if someone curses, it’s a sign of their low intelligence.

Ace – he curses all the time. He tries not to do it in front of some senpais (the more strict ones, like Vil or Riddle), but not all of them – he swears in front of Trey, Cater, Jamil and Floyd without holding back at all. But he is also the type that could swear even in front of a professor if he is too pissed off… He definitely got into trouble at least a couple of times for saying “FUCK” out-loud during class. Speaking of class, he likes to think that he has some, and that he isn’t an immature boy laughing at stupid dirty jokes, but he’s delusional about himself: he is an immature boy laughing at stupid dirty jokes. Sometimes he comes up with a roundabout way to call someone a virgin masturbator to tease them (mostly Deuce), but there are times when he just does the “yo mama” thing. Not as often as he used to do when he was a middleschooler though. He also called Riddle a cunt once... but “bitch” is his favourite word.

Deuce – he used to curse a lot; he would say a 10-word sentence, and at least 5 words of the sentence would be some variation of “fuck”. Delinquent baby Deuce called people twats left and right. But now he is extremely ashamed of it, and does his best not to do it… it’s kind of difficult for him because it’s been less than a year + a lot of the swear words used to be his “buffer words” that he would just stick in his speech while he was thinking of some other word, and now he has to think properly and choose his words before speaking… it’s very obvious when he’s trying to come up with another phrasing in his head because he gets silent for a couple of moments lol Still, he can’t actively think about these things all the time, so he says “fuck” every now and then, and then gets instantly embarrassed. Ace makes fun of him for that. As for the dirty jokes, he can’t help but laugh at them sometimes, but he doesn’t say anything himself, not anymore.

Trey – he prefers not to curse, it’s just not his style, plus it isn’t very pleasant to the ear overall. But it’s not like he is 100% innocent either, sometime he would mutter “fuck” quietly to himself if he is frustrated or surprised, but he tries not to do it in front of others. It would ruin the image they have of him… or make him 100 times more attractive somehow, and Trey wouldn’t really want that either! So sometimes he uses some silly phrases instead of cursing, like “fudge brownies”... He doesn’t like dirty jokes, but if they’re funny, he’ll chuckle. Very sneakily though.

Cater – he curses sometimes, but it doesn’t sound like something “heavy” when it comes from him. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t overdo it and says it casually, like “holy shit” or “I’m fucking excited”. Funny enough, he tries to change these words into “frick” or “holy cow” when he’s around freshmen. Yes he knows that both of them curse, but he’s trying to set an example here, right? He loves dirty jokes though! But then again, he would say them in a very sneaky way not to ruin his cute and cool senpai image.

Leona – he curses more than Falena does, and he started to do it exactly to spite Falena. His brother is very proper with his way of speaking, and whenever Leona says something a prince shouldn’t, Falena always looked bothered and disappointed – this is why he got this habit. He doesn’t swear all the time, but whenever he does, it sounds surprisingly fitting and natural. He doesn’t like dirty jokes though; I guess deep inside he is a prince after all.

Ruggie – he knows a lot of curse words, and some of them are very rare, creative and frankly scary sounding, but he doesn’t swear very often – he is very good at controlling himself. He knows that you can seriously affect the way others see you in professional setting if you go around cursing left and right. Still, Ruggie does say “fuck” and “shit” sometimes. And he loves dirty jokes! He doesn’t make those jokes himself, but he would laugh at one if he hears it.

Jack – he doesn’t swear at all, but if he is deeply, extremely angry, then after all the “GRRRRR”s you miiiight hear one “fuck”. But this is such a rare occasion that it’s going to sound weird coming from him. He also doesn’t like it when the word “bitch” is used as a curse word because now he can’t use it normally without having other freshmen giggle… He also hates dirty jokes :( party pooper.

Azul – he doesn’t normally curse, in general, he would prefer not to curse at all, but sometimes, when he speaks you could almost hear him starting to say something bad, and then quickly change it into something else. Azul got one nasty tongue, but it’s mostly hidden… mostly. The Tweels know that Azul could say curse words that would make a lot of people blush (not them though). Azul doesn’t limit himself when he’s talking to them + sometimes mutters to himself angrily. He also picked up some of the words and phrases from Idia. But when it comes to dirty jokes, Azul absolutely hates them and thinks they are the lowest form of comedy. When did you become a comedy expert, Azul?

Jade – sometimes he looks like he is just waiting for the right moment to drop the F-bomb when people around him expect it the least, but he knows that once he does it, this mystique and this tension will be lost forever. It won’t feel like a big deal anymore. So he doesn’t do it… yet. He is waiting for the perfect moment to drop his first F-bomb! <3 He is also a liar though, this isn’t his first F-bomb at all. When it comes to dirty jokes, Jade, surprisingly, loves them when someone else is the target. But he has very high standards for those and wants them to be as nasty as possible! He won’t say it, of course, but he’s always hoping the joking person will go there.

Floyd – oh he curses no problem. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it – this is just the way he speaks. His parents and teachers tried to combat Floyd’s cursing habits, but no one’s ever succeeded at anything… he cursed in front of Crowley once, and Crowley couldn’t even scold him.  Everyone is powerless against Floyd’s “fuck”… He does like dirty jokes every now and then, but they are hit or miss with him. Sometimes he laughs hysterically at the most raunchy immature things ever, but sometimes he just looks disappointed and says “nah that’s just nasty”. He loves teasing Riddle with dirty jokes though… he always reacts in a fun way.

Kalim – he doesn’t swear! He just doesn’t feel the need to. When he was little, he asked Jamil what a “fuck” was… and then there was a moment when he was very confused about pussies and cocks. What an animal farm! The truth is, people don’t really swear around Kalim, so cursing is still sounds very unnatural to him. He doesn’t judge though! But he doesn’t like dirty jokes… they kind of make him uncomfortable? He likes silly toilet humour sometimes though, which is ??? Why, Kalim? As long as it isn’t too gross, I guess…

Jamil – he is the reason why Kalim asked about the meaning behind the “fuck”, and he got in so much trouble for that that he never said anything even remotely dirty around Kalim after that point. He didn’t know Kalim was listening, okay! He was just talking to himself! But yeah, Jamil curses from time to time, but also all the time in his head. He has a never-ending broadcast of repeating “what the actual fuck?” in his head at all times. He’s a bit similar to Azul in a way that you don’t want to know what he thinks… He doesn’t like dirty jokes, but he isn’t a saint – sometimes he would snicker if the joke is witty enough.

Vil – he curses extremely rarely, and he would prefer not to swear at all, but at the same time he thinks that words are just words and there is no need to be precious about it. Still he thinks that swearing at inappropriate place and time is absolutely unacceptable and shows one's disregard to people around them and their lack of self-control, tact and common sense. He lectures poor Epel a lot because Epel has no business bringing his potty mouth to his dorm. I think there are three situations in which Vil could potentially curse: out of intense frustration (super rare), in a sexual setting (who says “penis” when they fuck?) and on film if the script requires it. The latter would be such a jumpscare for everyone who knows him irl… and for his fanbase as well. He doesn’t like dirty jokes 95% of the time, but when the starts align… and if the joke is, once again, witty and not very in-your-face…

Rook – he doesn’t curse at all, but it’s not because he doesn’t like “bad words”. He finds them very poetic, and he probably experimented with them in some of his private poems, but when it comes to his manner of speech, it just doesn’t sound right. Maybe it’s because he never hears those words from the stage when he watches an opera? It’s not like his parents or anyone else prohibited him from swearing at any point in his life. I think if someone hears him say a dirty word, they would be even more shocked than hearing one from Vil. When it comes to dirty jokes Rook actually loves them, because he thinks they express a lot about a person making them. I guess he views them in a very anthropological, culturological and linguistical kind of way. Please don’t ask him what the fuck that even means, he will answer…

Epel – he knows a lot of scary words… some of which are native to the area he grew up in. Being his grandma's little copy, when Epel curses, it’s very powerful and kind of shocking. He can't really swear anymore because Vil WILL wash his mouth with soap, but sometimes he gets carried away. He is similar to Deuce in a way that he gets those “fuck- oh, I mean- geez-“ moments. He loves dirty jokes though, maybe even more than Ace does, and when he doesn’t have to pretend to be a cutie, he says some nasty stuff. Especially when he gets carried away… he loves being provocative and shocking with his jokes, but people around him usually think that he is trying too hard to be edgy sometimes lol

Idia – he swears, and it's not really a big deal to him. People who act all insulted when you use a no-no word are funny to him, especially when they are super self-righteous about it. He thinks that censorship is stupid, and keeping kids away from curse words is also stupid. No one really swears back at his home though, so it's the Internet that made Idia start cursing. He knows a lot of words that people rarely use, but they’re used on certain /boards/… you know, typical Idia behavior. He doesn’t like dirty jokes though: poop jokes are stupid and gross, dick jokes are too dick-obsessed, sex jokes are too overrated. He is yet to hear a funny one. Do better.

Ortho – he used to have a filter in his "head", just so he doesn't start repeating everything he saw on the Internet. So he used to have a no swear rule technically! And he hated it because he always wanted to say the same words Idia said, and it was very difficult for him to find a roundabout way to do it. But now he doesn’t have this filter anymore and he can curse however he wants! The first time he said the word “fuck” felt like magic. Idia (or anyone else) still can’t get used to Ortho cursing though, it sounds so wrong and weird, so Ortho doesn’t do it too much. Also, ironically, he is the one to tell Idia not to use certain words sometimes because he’s being too mean……. Also, Ortho likes dirty jokes because he feels like this is what cool kids are into, and he is a cool kid! But Idia’s disregard towards them still influences him; so he never says anything himself…

Lilia – he is horrible. I think it’s safe to say that he has the biggest library of curse words in his head, some of which went out of style ages ago, but Lilia still uses them from time to time. Well, these days he tries to be more cute, so sometimes he use cuter versions of his favourite swear words; so technically he would also say stuff like “fudge brownies” lol He sounds like a grandpa when he swears, either a sailor grandpa or a cute grumpy grandpa. He is holding back a lot though, no one would survive Lilia’s verbal attack when he’s serious. He loves dirty jokes though! They make him feel young~ Sometimes he goes “boo you’re no fun” because no one else in Diasmonia really likes this type of humour.

Silver – he doesn’t curse. Somehow, being around Lilia or his classmates didn't affect him at all. He knows what these words mean, and it's not like he is avoiding them on purpose, but they just don't stick to him. I guess he is just too pure for this world. He doesn’t  really care about dirty jokes, but when they’re said at someone else’s expense, he would ask not to harass that person. What a knight.

Sebek – he doesn’t curse, and he is extremely righteous about it! Similarly to Riddle, he thinks that people who curse are just swines with low intelligence and no self-control! Lilia is an exception, of course! I think Sebek would actually overload and faint if someone forced him to say a bad word. He curses in other ways, actually, and he thinks that phrases that he chooses are much classier. Like the words “buffoon”… or “swine” of course. Oh, and he absolutely loathes dirty jokes. Like, he would get visibly angry when he hears them.

Malleus – one day when he was younger he felt a little rebellious and dropped a no-no word on Lilia. He still remembers Lilia’s shocked face, it was priceless. Still, Malleus never curses; those words just aren’t in his vocabulary, despite the fact that Lilia is pretty comfortable swearing in front of him. Maybe the time has come for him to shock Lilia again…which word should he choose? Also yeah, no surprises here, he doesn’t like dirty jokes at all. Whenever he hears them, he feels like a teenage sister sitting at her 7 y.o. brother’s birthday while he is telling poop jokes to his friends of the same age. Out of place, awkward, a little grossed out. Sexual jokes are a bit better, but it has to be an extremely classy one said by someone he really really really likes, or he just won’t get it and get mad instead.

[wisteria-beach]

Time after time | R.C

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: When your boyfriend ditches you on the night of senior prom you end up running into the last person you would ever expect to see, Rafe Cameron, your best friends older brother who you haven't seen since he left for college three years ago…

Originally posted: 06/05/2023

Series Masterlist | Part two

_________

The sidewalk was cold, hard and uncomfortable to sit on but you barely felt it, too consumed by the swirl of unrelenting emotions threatening to overtake you. It was supposed to be the best - the most magical night of your life but instead it had been one long disaster.

Salty tears stung your eyes and made your phone screen blurry as you read the text response from your mom “sorry sweetie, I had to cover someone’s shift, can you get a ride home with Sarah?”

You swallowed and the action felt like glass in your throat “sure” you text back “see you later” as you thought about the fact that Sarah had already left, speeding off in Topper's shiny jeep with a smile brighter than the stars. 

She was happy, her prom had been perfect. Her date had shown up, bought her a corsage, danced with her all night long, all things that you couldn’t say had happened to you. And though you’d tried to have fun dancing with your friends the night had been ruined before it even began with your boyfriend's words swirling through your brain “Listen I just have better things to do than going to a stupid high school prom okay? I'll make it up to you.” 

That was what you got for dating a college guy… ”stupid high school prom” but it hadn’t felt stupid to you, you’d been dreaming of this day for what felt like your whole life. You had a binder full of dress ideas before you’d even finished middle school and dreams in your head about the perfect night with the perfect date. Josh had seemed like that guy, tall, a little older, handsome and sweet (only when he wanted something, your mind supplied in hindsight) but he’d ditched you after promising he’d be there and he hadn’t even bothered to tell you until the day of. 

A burst of anger swept through you knocking the air from your lungs and you swiped the tears from your cheeks as you unblocked your phone, pulling up his contact and hitting “block”. He’d known what this night meant to you and if he wanted to put a stupid frat party over you then you were done. 

You felt a strange mixture of sadness and relief as you saw his contact flash away, the delete button pressed. You realised that he’d never really been the dream boyfriend you’d wished that he was, that you were better off without him but it didn’t take the hurt away…the knowledge that you’d never get a do over for this night.

You stood up from the sidewalk, unhooking your heels and tying the straps around your wrist - if you were going to walk home you might as well do it semi comfortably. The concrete was cold under your toes and goosebumps flecked your arms with the breeze, it was an unseasonably cold day in the outer banks and you felt like it was just yet another slight the universe was throwing at you that you had to walk home, freezing in your dress. The perfectly miserable end to the perfectly miserable night. 

The walk was long but the streets were empty, everyone locked away neatly in their houses sleeping happily or basking in the afterglow of post prom parties. It seemed like you really were the only one left and the darkness seemed extra vast for it, the orange street lamps luminance making everything look a shade more eerie. But then you heard the roar of an engine and you crossed your arms over your chest protectively, pointedly not looking its way, hoping it would pass you by quickly. 

But the vehicle didn’t speed ahead, it slowed down and eventually you were forced to turn to the side to see that the bike had stopped beside you and the driver turned your way, removing his helmet. 

Your heart sped up and skipped a beat, was this day really so terrible that on top of everything else you were about to get kidnapped too? You were completely and utterly alone on the dark side street and you wondered if running would make any difference to your fate but then the helmet was off and your eyes went wide, mouth gasping as you realised who it was. 

“Rafe Cameron?” you asked, he looked different, more muscular, older, sexier your mind supplied. Though you weren’t sure why that shocked you. After all it had been almost three years since he’d gone off to college and you’d last seen him. 

The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin, his own eyes widening and flicking up and down your frame appreciatively. Your cheeks heated up and you turned away from his striking eyes. 

“Y/N L/N? Is that you?” he asked the slight edge of disbelief in his voice “what are you doing here?”

Your eyebrow quirked up, amused at his question “well I live in the obx…it’s not unheard of for me to walk down the street you know, question is what are you doing here?”

You knew from Sarah that Rafe didn’t come home often, mostly only when he was obligated to like at holidays and even then his presence wasn’t guaranteed. 

He shrugged “would you believe it if I said that I was homesick?” 

“Not really.”

“Fair enough.”

There was silence for a beat and then you blurted out “you look good by the way, really good” your eyes went wide as you realised what you’d just said out loud “I-I just mean college suits you…you look healthy. ”

You cringed internally at your choice of words, healthy? Seriously? Exchange a few sentences with him and suddenly you were back to the stuttering, blushing sixteen year old fawning over her best friend's older brother and ‘heartbroken’ when he left for college. Even the memory of it made you cringe.

“Healthy?” Rafe repeated a teasing smirk pulling at his lips as he seemingly knew what you had really meant.

You swallowed quickly “yeah…”

He laughed, the mirth reaching his eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh a little bit too.

“Well you look hot .”

Your cheeks flamed and he grinned “ smoking hot…what happened to my little sister's annoying best friend?” 

You looked down at the tires of his bike trying not to let him see your smile “you left…she grew up…that’s how time works you know.”

“Really? Thanks for the lesson…hope she didn’t forget about me though…”

“Oh she didn’t think of you once” you said, flashing him a teasing smirk your conscience laughing at the blatant lie…he had crossed your mind more than a few times over the past 3 years…the fact you checked his long abandoned facebook every couple of months was proof of that, but it wasn’t something that he needed to know. 

He threw a hand over his heart “ahh still annoying I see but you wound me.”

“So you thought about me then?”

“Everyday and night, ace.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the long forgotten nickname from childhood (a relic of your slight obsession with the pet detective movies) and you looked down coyly “oh I believe you, bet you have a shrine to me in your dorm don’t you?”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek to stop his laugh and nodded seriously “with candles.”

You giggled “you’re an ass Rafe Cameron.”

“And you’re a dork Y/N L/N.”

There was another, more comfortable pause of silence until Rafe interrupted, repeating his question from earlier.

“So what are you doing here?”

You shrugged “walking home, my moms got the car.”

He frowned “it’s prom night though.”

“So?”

“Well shouldn’t you be off having fun at an after party, sucking face with your date or whatever people do after prom? I know it's been a while since I was in high school but I'm pretty sure people don’t just go home alone.” 

You sighed “I just…didn’t feel like it I guess.” 

He crossed his arms over his chest and your eyes instinctively followed the movement of his muscles flexing against his white t-shirt.

“I don’t buy it” he shook his head slowly “you are the same girl who would dress up in a disney princess dress and decorate the living room to watch prom movies all weekend, right?”

You pressed your hands to your face groaning “ oh my god …yes that was me but I would like to remind you that i'm not nine anymore, thank you very much. I can’t believe you remember that.”

He laughed “Are you kidding? Of course I do, you and Sarah monopolised the tv every weekend I could never watch monster truck racing.” 

“Oh the horror” you said sarcastically.

 “No but seriously what happened, why are you all alone?”

Your heart sped up a little “nothing” you lied but you couldn’t look him in the eye. 

“C’mon” he urged you “it’s me , you can tell me.”

You sighed and turned your head away acting like watching a sparrow hopping across a telephone wire was the most interesting thing to look at. 

“y/n…this is prom , it isn’t right that you’re just going home. Where’s Williams?” 

You turned to him with surprise, you didn’t realise he knew the name of your boyfriend, but you shrugged it off thinking that Sarah must have told him. 

“He didn’t come.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up “ what ? Your boyfriend didn’t come to prom how -”

You cut him off, wincing at the word boyfriend “ex actually.”

“Since when?”

You shrugged again, holding up your phone “since I blocked him about 20 minutes ago?”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up so far they practically reached his hairline and he leaned against his bike with a look of confusion and shock “listen ace, you’re gonna have to give me a little more, what happened?”

You deflated with a heavy sigh you didn’t want to hash it back out, you already felt stupid for feeling so upset in the first place over prom and you didn’t want Rafe to see that too.  “Why does it matter?” you asked dejectedly.

“Because” Rafe said, “if i'm gonna put him in the hospital anyway i'd like to at least be able to give an explanation to the cops.”

Before you could help yourself you were laughing, pressing a hand to your lips to stifle the giggles when you saw he was deadly serious, leaning against his bike with a look of fury and righteousness on your behalf. 

“You can’t beat him up Rafe.”

“Why not?”

“Assault is kind of illegal just in case you weren’t aware” you teased and he rolled his eyes. 

“I'd still do it for you.”

You smiled, looking down at your shoes as you said softly “I know.” 

Before you could register the movement he’d stepped closer and you felt the blood rush to your cheeks as you registered the enticing scent of his cologne and his fingertips briefly  brushed your skin as he reached out to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind your ears. 

“Ace” he said gently and you looked up momentarily stunned by just how blue the shade of his eyes were, like the ocean bathed in the glow of the moon “c’mon it's me, tell me what happened.”

Just like that your walls crumbled and before you could stop them the words were tumbling from your lips, tripping over one another as they rushed out “he ditched me…he promised that he’d come and then he text me 20 minutes before he was supposed to get here that he wasn’t coming, he didn’t wanna miss party of the year in his stupid frat or whatever and I guess I just feel so stupid for trusting him…for letting him ruin everything and…”

You had more to say but the words clogged in your throat, lips choking on them until all that came out was a sob as your eyes filled with hot tears and you didn’t have a second to feel mortified that you were crying in front of Rafe Cameron, Rafe Cameron who you’d loved since the moment you’d set eyes on him, because he reached out and folded you into his arms and you instinctively leaned into his embrace. 

He smelt like cedarwood and pine and the faint scent of the leather jacket that he'd worn earlier but most of all he smelt like home. Like fresh laundry and hugs that took your breath and your fears away. “It's okay” he murmured, stroking a large hand through your hair and you felt the pins keeping the style in place fall out the locks tumbling over your shoulders and making you feel surprisingly free and for a half a second you laughed wondering what mini you and mini Rafe would have made of the two of you actually getting on for once. 

“I'm sorry” you murmured, mortified by the tears, and if you were being honest a tiny bit of mascara, staining his white t-shirt but he just shook his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for ace.”

You groaned, hiding your face in the comfort of his chest. “I do, I'm being so pathetic…it’s just a stupid high school dance.” 

He pulled you away from his chest but kept the contact, his arms warm and firm on your shoulders as he made you look at him and the sincerity on his face. 

“You are not pathetic” he said and when you shook your head he gripped your shoulders harder “no listen to me you’re not, he’s the pathetic one because he could have been spending his night with a beautiful, smart, funny girl and instead he gave all that up.”

You tried your hardest not to blush, his words filling you with warmth but making you shy at the same time. “And if you won’t let me kick his ass will you at least compromise and let me run him over with my car?”

You snorted and then nodded slowly “okay but you have to call the ambulance afterwards.”

He grinned and reached out to shake your hand “deal.”

He bumped his shoulder against yours, his eyes sparkling against the darkness of the night “there’s that pretty smile.”

“Shut up” you mumbled, flushing, and he grinned harder. 

Suddenly he was pulling away and before you register what he was doing he’d grabbed his leather jacket from where it was slung around the handlebars and wrapped it carefully around your shoulders and you smiled at him grateful that he’d noticed you were cold. 

His jacket was soft and best of all it smelt like him and you couldn’t stop yourself from closing your eyes and enjoying that comforting smell if you’d tried. 

“Hey daydreamer” his shout pulled you from your reverie and you saw he’d kickstarted the engine on the bike “c’mon i'll give you a ride.”

Your eyes went wide and he smirked “on that ?”

“you scared?” he taunted lightly “what you don’t think you could handle a bike, ace?”

“Are you challenging me Rafe Cameron?”

He shrugged “maybe” and you grinned.

“Oh fuck it” you said as you swung a leg over the bike and he positioned your arms so that they were wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Don’t forget to hold on” he called out and then suddenly you were flying….

Or at least it felt like you were flying, you’d never been on a motorbike before and you quickly discovered that it was fun, the wind rushed around you like you were a speeding bullet and the trees shading the coast blurred into dark green shapes. It was thrilling and fast and you buried your face into Rafe’s back resisting the urge to whoop like you were on a rollercoaster. 

“You missed the turn in for my street!” you shouted after a while and you felt rather than heard his laughter. 

“I never said I was taking you home ace, the night is still young.”

And you thought that maybe this tragic, horrible, miserable night might not end as such a tragedy after all.

[madfantasy]

New 3 things that happened:

*I got my new ID, my id expired and to renew it I had to get photographed, and since I just opened my bank account a year ago it depends on it so already I was giving up on the idea to keep the account but by miracle a photographer agreed to picture us at home, and it turned to us cuz I wanted all my sibs to have theirs taken with me too and because I had to argue first time to get my ID forever, so i didn't have the energy to keep doing it for the rest of my sibs so now it was the chance. The day of the photographer coming I was shaking with fear and I thought I would never leave the bathroom gotten ill. I fear seeing people more than dyin so I don't know how I held it together, I literally don't remember how it went or how I did, but I recall my sibs looking the same as I felt but it was finally done. parents too taken their shoots and because one needed their passport renewed to renew their id, them alone costing 1k$ and the appointment was set 6 months ahead, we R now close to it anyway, and the thought of how we have to pay to exist some more costly made me think of my worthlessness and helplessness even more, making me ashamed of still living.

The thing that blinded me, me the first to be tested on lo

*my eye is better, I still see a dark spot looking in a certain direction, getting an eye mask surprisingly helped keeping my eyes less dry cuz they be the most when I wake up and I had the driest time before it got infected and swelled, and already I'm used to the spot and can ignore it..

*I'm still drawing, literally it's making me live love and laugh, I don't care about improving or drawing my best constantly, ai can get poisoned for all I care as it continues to dehumanise the whole point of art-- keeping humanity alive ( btw use glazing ❤️🖤)

I realised that I don't have any physical collection of my art & since I can't look at the screens forever just to browse, nd printing all my stuff isn't feasible, then I came across those mini albums Nd I got the idea to just print one sheet = 9 pics! They look good too for trashy quality, I love it 8' and yes, purple and silver is the 10% obsession to my 90% red and black pallets, thanks to remembering Freeza c'x

But as usual posting my drawings never cease to eat me alive with anxiety, but I think I'm slowly becoming indifferent to it, even if the thought of that no one actually sees my art but me, which is the main case cuz I am living in isolation and being drawing in secret till few recent years because of my conservative surroundings, I feel much calmer when I'm not seen and maybe it's self destructive in a way cuz to stay posting I need to be commissioned cuz net bill, but it became irrelevant cuz I accepted that i can't have the mental capacity to be a social media person or chase anything that I already knew I can't maintain, I had an art block for a year I almost believed that was it for my art drive and me cuz it my sanity— cuz burning out so bad. If my post has a description it was in my drafts for months cuz I plan for every piece I share, but if can't form words I allow myself to let it be captionless, I draw faster than I form words and that's why art is important to me on a personal level, it's my first way of express even if its indirect, the only bit of human Mani left to live in me to put through lines and paint splodges. Even if no one sees it, and to be honest with myself, have very weak chances of being seen on a level that benefits me financially, I'm on the other side of the world, never seen the sky beyond my schooling days, nonverbal irl and know that I can get taken advantage of easily in social manner because it either I don't get the social cues or can't say no..

I'm grateful that at least I got the chance to experience being in a loving nurturing fandom like Sev's that made me experience genuine human goodness and care I never thought possible, made me have some self worth, personality beyond a made for marriage caretaker, and allowed me to get art tools and clothing that I was never allowed or could afford, and many first time small life pleasures like perfumes, food and toys, even if I only recognise 5 or 10 of you dears now, by DP liking my posts- (I suck at remembering names sorry)

I'm also grateful to have a room after endless years of couch and house movings, I have a safe space to still be able to draw and be cool under an AC in this 50° weather..

I think realistically that's the best it can get having spent all my life trying to get anywhere but isolated, and nothing working. At least I'm indifferent and fine of being the caretaker of my disabled guardians and siblings, I need them as much as they need me, even if it caused me the same cycle of mental anguish and earth leavings hehe

Wish U all the ease and peace and yummy peas 🫶🏽

4 am, sleep deprived

[torreshalstead]

what if your eyes looked up and met mine (one last time)

Summary - She must be hallucinating, he couldn’t really be here could he?

But the stranger at the bar was so incredibly familiar; the wave in his hair, the slope of his shoulders, his jacket. She knew that jacket. It used to hang in their apartment.

When he turned around she realised it wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

Jay Halstead was here. In D.C.

Notes - This is set in a slightly different universe to the previous fix-it I posted but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🫶🏻 also this is my 30th Upstead story! Happy Reading! ❤️ AO3 Link

It didn’t quite feel like home yet but she had started to settle in.

Hailey had been in DC for 3 months, she had found an apartment that fitted her perfectly and was well within her budget so had managed to move out of the government funded accommodation a month ago and if she never saw a mattress that thin again it would be too soon. Apparently memory foam was not something they had ever heard of. She had fallen in love with the coffee from a little shop round the corner from her new place and had quickly become a regular who no longer needed to give her order when she entered. She had continued with her running and had swapped the Chicago Lakefront Trail for the Mall, the early morning sun hitting the white sand just right as she tallied up the miles although now she was running because she enjoyed it not to keep her mind busy. A small change in mindset now allowed her to find the joy in the activity and look forward to the times she was able to pull on her running shoes and head out the door. She had made an effort to get out and explore on her weekends rather than sitting inside by herself and had ticked off a couple of the museums already.

No, it didn’t feel like home yet, but she was happy.

She had lived in Chicago all her life but here no one knew who she was, she was just another agent on a case or just another customer in a shop. The name Hailey Upton didn’t have anything attached to it, no history with her father, no ties to a unit with a less than pristine reputation, no failed marriage. Here, Hailey could be whoever she wanted to be.

She had tried to be more approachable and friendly at work, taking up her coworkers on their offers for after work drinks or sitting with them in the cafeteria at lunch time. It was baby steps but it was working - she had even been added to a group chat that she still hadn’t muted which was an achievement within itself.

When Hailey went home each day to the apartment which was still sparsely decorated but was purely her own, she knew she had made the right decision leaving her old life behind. Sure the goodbye’s had been difficult, walking away from everything and everyone she knew for a new city had been a lot but she had never once regretted it. The age old saying that a change is as good as a rest seemed to be ringing true, at least for her.

Hailey was just tidying up her desk, the stacks of files were threatening to topple over if they didn’t get returned to the filing cabinets soon when she glanced a look at the clock on the far wall.

6:30pm

And she was the only person left in the open plan office space. If this was Intelligence they would all still be there, ignoring the want to go home, pushing the thought of a home cooked meal to the back of their heads when the takeout was ordered or the vending machine raided. Kim would be on the phone to the sitter apologising again that the case had run long and they wouldn’t be home as early as planned. Intelligence had taken over every aspect of their lives and it wasn’t until she started her new job and had the opportunity to see what a work life balance was supposed to be that she even realised it. It was like they had been wearing blinders for years and she had finally been given the opportunity to take them off and see everything that had been hidden.

She was still learning not to be the last one out the building every night, but it was a learning curve.

Hailey remembered she had agreed to meet some of her colleagues at a wine bar downtown tonight. It wouldn’t have been her first choice of venue but it was all part of her new mantra to say yes to things and to expand her social horizons so she had agreed to go. She probably should have remembered an hour ago and then she would have had enough time to go home and get changed into something more appropriate for the location but she had gotten distracted and now it would be cutting it a little close to the time they were supposed to meet as it was. Still, she pulled the hair tie out of her hair and shook out her loose waves, took off her blazer and draped it over the back of the chair and headed out the door. Small steps she thought as she made her way out of the building and down the street.

Maybe they’ll serve whiskey at this wine bar, she thought.

That had been wishful thinking but she had been greeted with a large glass of Pinot Noir when she had arrived and Sandra, the loud and bubbly brunette who worked two desks over from Hailey, had ordered some olives and nibbles for the table which was well received.

The wine was nice, the company was pleasant and even Hailey had to admit the bar had a nice atmosphere. It was busy, most of the high top tables were full and there were people standing around just enjoying the music that was echoing from a duo of string players in the corner who were playing softly. In Chicago it would have been the sort of place that Hailey would have walked past and never dreamt of going in, she may have even scoffed if someone had suggested it but as she accepted a second glass of wine from the waiter, she realised she was enjoying it.

Maybe she could be a new version of herself in this city, one that enjoys wine over whiskey she thought as she listened in to the conversation about two people that she had only met once and whether they may or may not be starting a relationship.

Hailey was just thinking she should probably call it a night, she had planned to run a few miles in the morning before her shift when someone sitting at the bar caught her eye. It was a familiar head of brown hair, the slope of the shoulders, ones she would never forget thanks to how many times she had run her hands over them, a brown jacket that used to hang by the door in an apartment she used to share.

Used to share with her husband.

Her ex-husband.

Who was still in South America and wouldn’t be in DC.

But as he turned his head slightly, and her eyes locked on his, she felt her stomach drop onto the beautiful roman tiled floor.

She ripped her eyes away from his and stared at her empty glass, the dregs of the maroon liquid doing nothing to still her mind from the realisation that Jay, her ex-husband Jay Halstead, was sitting in the bar with her.

Should she go over and speak to him?

Surely if he wanted to speak to her, he would have approached her.

But then maybe he wasn’t sure she wanted to speak to him.

Hell, she wasn’t sure herself.

Her mind was running a mile a minute, scenario after scenario pulling to the surface only to melt away and be replaced with another one before she had time to comprehend the first. A huge part of her wanted to run. To turn and exit the bar, return to the relative safety of her apartment and wash her mind of ever seeing him again.

But another part of her wanted to see him, to speak to him, to confront him. To find out why the hell he was in her new city, in the very bar she was enjoying drinks at and just staring at her from across the room.

There was an aching in her heart, a tightening with each beat that couldn’t believe he was almost within touching distance. That if she just walked across the room, at most 10 paces, she could reach out and touch him, feel his skin against hers for the first time in years. And she wanted that more than she had ever let herself believe. She had told herself, lied to herself that she was over him. That the longing she had felt for months after he had left had disappeared, fizzled out and if she ever did get the opportunity to see him again, she wouldn’t want to, she could be the stronger person and turn away. She knew, as she looked at him in that moment, that she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t turn away.

‘I’ll be right back,’ she whispered to Yvette, the older lady who reminded Hailey of Trudy who was sitting next to her. She nodded in acknowledgment before returning her attention to the conversation which had now shifted to a local musical festival they were all thinking of attending the following week.

Hailey slid off her stool and walked over to the bar. To Jay. It felt like she was walking through molasses on the coldest day of the year when the snow was 3 feet deep. Each step felt harder, heavier and longer than the last, like it was an optical illusion and she wasn’t getting any closer to her intended target. In both less time and more time than she hoped though, she was just a step behind him.

As if sensing her presence, he turned around.

‘You grew your beard out,’ she said quietly, her eyes roaming over the familiar but unfamiliar features.

‘You cut your hair,’ he said, his own eyes locked on her face.

‘It suits you,’ she said.

‘It suits you,’ he echoed.

They stayed staring at each other in silence, essays of unsaid words hanging between them, speeches that neither wanted to start but both wanted to speak.

It was Jay who broke the silence. ‘I understand if you want to say no, but can we talk?’

‘It’s loud in here,’ was all Hailey said, she still wasn’t fully able to comprehend the situation she had walked herself into.

‘Tomorrow?’ He suggested, his eyes wide in hope but his voice gentle without any pressure. He was leaving the ball firmly in her court.

She nodded before the brain cells that controlled her speech had time to wake up and realise what the ones controlling her movements had done.

‘Outside the Natural History?’ He offered, his shock at her acquiescence obvious. ‘We can walk, maybe grab a coffee?’

‘Okay,’ she said, not louder than a whisper but he heard her. ‘Before work, 7.’ She added flatly and he nodded in agreement.

‘7 it is,’ he smiled and Hailey had to battle every part of her that wanted to fall into his arms at the look of that smile, every part of her that wanted to ignore every moment of the last two years, every tear, every unanswered phone call, every angry thought and just feel his arms around her again.

She turned around and headed back towards the table with her colleagues on it, feeling like she was a character in a video game that someone had just made walk in this direction, her movements not her own. And then when she turned back towards the bar and saw the empty bar stool and untouched whiskey glass on the counter, she wondered if she had imagined the whole moment entirely.

Because why would Jay Halstead be in DC?

Why would he be in this bar?

Maybe the two glasses she had drunk had been stronger than she thought, because the chances were just too slight. It must have been a hallucination - it was the only explanation.

——————————————————————————

‘I didn’t think you’d show,’ Jay said as she approached where he was sitting on a bench outside the Museum. Considering it was now 7:45 and they had agreed to meet at 7, it was a fair assumption. With anyone else she would have been shocked they had waited that long, but not with Jay.

‘I wasn’t sure I would,’ she admitted, her shoulders raising in a small shrug. She stood awkwardly a couple of feet away from him, unsure if she should take a seat and still not certain she had made the right decision to show up this morning anyway.

‘I’m glad you did,’ Jay said, his voice thick with honesty and genuine thanks. ‘Shall we walk?’ He asked.

Hailey nodded and the pair fell into step with each other quietly walking up the mall. The early summer sun was reflecting off the sand and Hailey wished she had had the forethought to grab her sunglasses on the way out of her front door. She had been slightly frazzled this morning so they hadn’t even factored on her radar, she had been more concerned with what she should wear. What did one wear when meeting up with your ex-husband who you definitely still had some sort of mixed up feelings for and hadn’t seen in two years and had appeared out of the blue? It wasn’t exactly something she could google - she didn’t imagine many people had the same issue.

She had settled on her navy blue work slacks and a pale grey short sleeved shirt with pleats running down the front. It was relatively non descript but it was also completely new. It was part of her DC wardrobe and as such meant it had no memories of them or their relationship weaved into the stitches. It was clean.

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes before Hailey broached the topic that had kept her awake and staring at her ceiling for half the night.

‘Why are you here Jay?’ It wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t angry, it was simply matter of fact. A question she wanted to know the answer to.

‘Guess I should lead with that,’ he said. She could feel him looking at her, a glance of his eyes and a slight head movement every couple of seconds but she kept her focus straight ahead. It gave her the grounding she needed. ‘I went back to Chicago, to find you but you weren’t there.’

Of all the things she had expected to come out of his mouth, that wasn’t it. It shocked her to the point she came to a stand still, her eyes leaving their spot on the horizon she had been focused on to stare at him, her mouth a gasp. He smiled bashfully before continuing on their walk, Hailey a step behind him as it took her a moment to regain the ability to continue forward motion.

‘I went back and Trudy told me where you were. Took a little bit but she said you’d got a new job, she might have threatened me a little before telling me. So I got on a flight and came here.’ He spoke as if it was a foregone conclusion, like why else would he have done anything else. ‘I didn’t call because I didn’t want to impose on your new life.’ He added after a beat.

‘So you stalked me instead?’ Hailey quipped back.

‘You make it sound nefarious, but it wasn’t like that. I just thought if it was meant to be then I’d run into you, I went to a couple of bars close to where you worked and then I saw you.’

Hailey was trying to take in what he was saying but she was struggling to understand.

‘It was meant to be? Since when do you believe in fate?’

‘Since it led me to that bar and back to you.’

Hailey’s breath hitched in her throat, his words washing over her like a cold front.

‘What would you have done if you didn’t see me in a bar?’ She asked.

‘I hoped I would.’

‘And if you didn’t?’

‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,’ he admitted, his boots scruffing lightly against the sand as they continued their way south on the mall. The silence was thicker now after his reveal that he had come here to find her. Before that moment Hailey could have written it off as purely a coincidence, that it had been just one of those moments that you couldn’t explain when you ran into somebody from your past in a place you least expected to see them.

‘What did Trudy say?’ Hailey asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

‘Told me I needed to be sure of what I wanted before I saw you, that if I got on the plane to you it needed to be for good this time, I couldn’t leave again,’ he echoed the sergeant's words back to her. ‘And I am Hailey, I am sure.’

She swallowed and nodded her head - he might be sure but that didn’t mean she was. She didn’t know what she was.

‘So you’re back?’

‘I am,’ he agreed.

‘Did it work? Getting away?’

‘No,’ he answered without taking a breath, without a single hesitation impacting his gait. ‘It made me lose you.’

‘You lost me when you walked away,’ she said without bitterness. The bitterness had ebbed away after the first few months, it was hollowness now that took its place.

‘I know I did, and I have never regretted anything more,’ Jay said, his voice cracking slightly.

‘Why didn’t you come back?’ She asked, hating the brokenness that tinged her voice, the pain that was still evident in her words. ‘Why didn’t you fight for us?’ For me.

‘I was a coward,’ Jay said. She stole a glance to her left, to see the man who for years she had known better and more intimately than anyone else, have genuine pain etched across his face, even the newly grown in beard couldn’t disguise it - his eyes told her everything she needed to know. ‘Didn’t think you’d want me and before I had plucked up the courage, the strength to reach out to you and be honest and admit my mistake, you filed for divorce.’

‘You stopped fighting, I had to too.’

‘And I never blamed you for it, I understood. As much as it hurt, I understood Hailey. I still do.’

‘You signed them,’ she said, the question unasked but obvious.

‘Of course I did,’ he said surely. ‘You asked me to.’

His words were true enough, she had asked him to. When she had filed and knew that the papers had been sent to him she sent him a text, a singular line and asked him to sign them. She had assumed he had wanted to and he never responded. Her message sitting on read until she had stopped looking at their previous conversations and had hidden them from view.

‘But you came anyway.’

‘I tried to be happy without you, to move on, you clearly were so-’

‘I was a mess Jay,’ she interrupted him. She needed him to know the truth, she didn’t know why but that she knew for certain. She couldn’t have him believe that she had brushed him off and that his leaving hadn’t left a deep hole in her that she was still healing day after day.

‘You left Chicago.’

‘I did, I got a new job and came here and I like it, Jay. I really do.’

‘Are you happy?’

She took a moment to respond, to consider his words, the question he was asking. ‘I am.’

‘That’s all that matters,’ Jay said lightly. She wanted to look at him again, to see if his face matched the words that he was speaking but she couldn’t do it, she kept her focus down at the ground, watching as their feet walked in tandem.

‘Where will you go now?’ She asked, her mouth voicing a question she wished she didn’t care to hear the answer to. But she did.

‘That depends,’ Jay said.

‘On what?’ She asked, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

‘If I burnt every bridge with you or if there’s even a slight chance I can earn your trust back.’

The belt that had been tight around her chest since she had seen him last night constricted even further, the breath in her lungs vanishing and her heartbeat quickening in an attempt to make up for it.

‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing the spot on her ring finger that she still hadn’t got used to being empty.

‘That’s not a no,’ Jay spoke slowly, a voice she had often heard him use with children or people in pain on multiple cases. The voice he used when he didn’t want to spook them.

‘I need time Jay,’ she said breathlessly, the tightening not offering her any reprieve.

‘I’ll give you all the time you want, Hailey.’

‘I can’t be the only thing keeping you in DC,’ she said quickly. ‘You can’t stay here just for me.’

‘I’ve got an interview tomorrow. Training Academy with the feds. Thought it was time to try something new’

‘Good luck,’ she said and meant it. Jay had always excelled when training recruits, she had often imagined him taking up a position at the CPD academy when he decided field work wasn’t what he wanted anymore.

‘Can I let you know how it goes?’ He asked gently.

‘I’d like that,’ she felt the corners of her mouth upturn in a small smile. The first smile she had felt since spotting him on the bench and swallowed her pride to walk over to him.

‘And Hailey?’

‘Yes Jay.’

‘I truly am sorry.’

‘I know,’ she nodded. ‘I am too.’

‘Is it enough?’

‘It might be,’ she said. ‘I hope it is.’

‘Me too. Me too,’ he said and the silence fell over them again except this time it wasn’t as heavy or raw. It felt hopeful. Like the future she had once envisioned was coming back into focus again, a little changed, a little different but a possibility.

[blood-mocha-latte]

literally just realised someone else asked you that already 😅 so...fave webgott headcanons instead?

bestie i am happy to answer ANY ask of yours do not Fret. anything for u truly. now!! have some post-war webgott <3.

- they don’t end up with each other. at least in a conventional way: there’s no staying at the same house, or eating dinner together, or even being on the same coast.

- even when it’s been years, and there’s no reason to fear something happening, or either of them being caught, or they could do it, maybe, they could maybe make it, it doesn’t matter. because in their heads, maybe they can’t.

- webster still comes down to california, of course. liebgott tends to not find himself in the east, he says it’s too cold and it’s the same thought of not making it that keeps webster from complaining.

- they’ll spend maybe a week together, fighting and annoying and bothering each other.

- web leaves, doesn’t write to liebgott and liebgott doesn’t write to him. then one of them will call and have the same conversation about california and webster is buying a train ticket all over again.

- and so the cycle begins anew.

- liebgott is prone to anger. to fighting back. always has been, but after the war it seems to become drier, like a husk that he can’t peel away from his organs.

- and, well, websters father was prone to dry anger. he isn’t real good at fighting back against it.

- they clash against each other and into each other and with each other but it’s always dry anger, and on the offset that it’s more gentle than thought doesn’t matter because the anger comes right on back with the nightmares and lost thoughts of guilt and grieving and the whole cycle starts all over again.

- webster reads and re-reads and re-re-reads the hollow men by ts eliot. next to him in a too-small bed, liebgott puts a cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand and tells him that if the world is going to end, it sure as hell won’t be with a whimper.

- there’s a bell in the kitchen that webster thinks that liebgott might have stolen from a restaurant; he likes to ring it to make the other come out and make him breakfast.

- liebgott never does, so webster rings the bell to entertain himself and then sorts through the cupboards that he memorized years ago to find pans and mugs and plates.

- web may not be catholic anymore, but a cross isn’t a skin that can be shrugged off. it isn’t a coat or an idea, it’s as core to someone as the knowledge that lungs inflate when someone inhales. it’s believing with every atom in your body that something doesn’t exist, but still having a small part in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like a child asking are you sure?

- he carries around a bible, the only tab in it opens onto leviticus 18 22.

- the cover is dusty and hardly seems to have ever been opened. liebgott sees it only once, carefully packed into websters back with ts eliot and oscar wilde and doesn’t say a thing on it

- once, when webster came down in november, he opened it. read where the tab marked and closed the book again. he didn’t touch it, after that.

- webster was awake when he flipped through the bible. the next time he went down to california, he left it at home in a box under his bed.

- guilt is a funny thing, and he has a lot of it.

- over the book. over his own thoughts. over a war that ended a millennia ago that he missed out on, and doesn’t regret, but does look back on and wish. for what, he doesn’t know, but he’s always been an outsider, so he supposes it doesn’t matter.

- of course, it doesn’t matter. it never did, it never will, it never has.

- liebgott pretends that he forgets websters first name. won’t say it, ever, and webster can’t figure out why. it makes him angry, but not the angry that liebgott is, that his father was.

- a shakier kind of upset, that’s more grief than rage. all it seems to do is prove an argument he made inside his own head.

- webster always leaves the same way. in a huff. slams the door shut, liebgott won’t accompany him down to the train station. he won’t call him, either, and webster had given up on writing to him years ago.

- but maybe liebgott sits down and writes a letter, one day. maybe he writes, and it’s the first thing he’s ever written to web and the war ended twelve years ago and there’s a bell sitting in his kitchen, deathly quiet.

- and webster always tends to be predictable. he always has to get the last word in.

- the next visit down to california is much, much longer.

[circlejourneyart]

Maybe it'll turn out better this time: A love letter to all the joy and sorrow that this story has given me

(Art by @blogofyolo)

Here's the first of two tracks I had on Land of Fans and Music 5 Act 2, which came out two days ago! I'm dedicating this one to @utopianparadoxist, who wrote the post that made this track appear in my mind in such blinding clarity I couldn't stop making until it was done.

I also have some extended commentary about this one--it's more important to me than I give it credit for.

When I finished reading Homestuck, I was...disappointed. That disappointment morphed gradually into disgust as I watched schisms violently open in the fandom following the Epilogues and Homestuck^2, and in the process I felt like I'd lost something.

I kept thinking that maybe, if I just read the comic again, it would turn out different. Maybe it'd be the story I'd once loved and it would fill me with breathless wonder again. Maybe it'd be better.

But earlier this year, a post by uP crossed my dash after he'd disappeared from my periphery for well over a year. He was outlining his plans surrounding Pumpkin Path, a story he's writing that runs adjacent to the Epilogues and (eventually though not yet?) gives these characters the futures they've earned.

And I realised...the way I'd been thinking about it, that's not how it works, y'know? It's not the story that has changed: it's my heart, my relationship with it. And the best thing I could do was take what this once-beloved story gave me and make something new with it. And that's what many people have done in the wake of Homestuck's end: we've all gone off and made new stories, for which this long-beloved comic was an undeniable progenitor.

It reminded me of a certain recurring motif in the comic itself. Every time the universe resulted in a corrupt or barren session, the players...well, they rebooted it. They left the old universe behind, and started a new one, billions of years all over again just to see where it would go this time.

There was no use in searching for the story that used to be, because it was me that had changed.

You may as well leave that old universe behind and start a new one from scratch.

This is the idea that seeded the above track, and it caught me off guard, because it was the first Homestuck music I had made in more than two years--after I thought I'd sworn it off for good. And then, two days later, Maybe it'll turn out better this time was done. (Two days is, by the way, a very short time for a track to emerge.) It was a small, silly, wonderful little thing, a sapling in the ashes, that proved to me that things could change.

But beyond my track, the entirety of LOFAM5A2 feels especially so. It's a startling breath of fresh air that emerged from so much genuine joy and excitement. I'm happy I got to contribute even just a little work to it and I really, really hope that the fandom sees it for all that went into it. An UMSPAF manager once said that my music always sounds hopeful, but it was never intentional until this one. Thank you to everyone who's made good art that has inspired others in turn, you create life with your own hands.

[randomnameless]

Land 3 and 4 done!

Elves and furries!

Or the worst double standard with Alcina's tragick backstory while Gary eats scraps, and Reimann puts devoted Fodlan fans to shame with his bias against subhumans!

Elheim was...

Very green compared to Drakengard lol, however the interactions between the characters felt... stale.

I mean, compared to the constant back and forth + exposition from Virginia about how cities are different from Cornia, who is Gilbert, the people living in the desert and all, for the first part of the plot, we just follow Rosalinde, a dark elf, to meet her sister so she we can save her from the bad guys, and ask her where is the second magic mc Guffin ring.

Sure, we rescue some villages and characters along the way, but they aren't, imo, as integrated in their setting as the Drakengard ones. Still, we find former thieves/brigands/bandits Alain decided to spare in Cornia - and apparently they want to turn over a new leaf, so when their old gang wants to sell elf ladies (young and not so young) as slaves, they rebel and we deal with them.

I guess the difference in setting/atmosphere is due to Drakengard, well, being conquered by the bad guys, but it feels like they just conquered it and left it there, not really caring about it.

In Elheim, they're still around - it can be sort of explained by the fact that Drakengard was conquered 6 years ago (Cornia, Alain's home was done in 10 years and Bastorias was subjugated 8 years ago) when the conquest of Elheim is supposed to be more recent? - but I guess it plays/is due to the main boss of this area's agenda -

Unlike Cornia and the small villages here and there, or Drakengard and the large cities sprawled on mountainsides, here the cities are located kind of far from each other, with a lot of forests/green/lakes/small mountains around - it makes for long maps without a lot of stuff to seize, but at the same time, it means you have to check your stamina more frequently so it's different enough to be a regional difference compared to the previous setting.

The units are... something - all jokes aside, having units deal both magic and physical damage was a nightmare for my poor 0 res armors lol, but I reckon they can be kind of useful with the proper setup, too bad the "proper setup" was something I never found and actually, I like how the game still gives you "human classes" enemies too (from the evil empire, like a red loldier) so you're not only fighting against elves, but also against the same kind of enemies (albeit promoted) than you did before, and they use mixed teams like ones with elves and humans, to make you sure have to still rethink your strategies and can't send the same team you used in the former land and expect the same results.

The BGM though... is sort of there - a bit disappointing compared to Drakengard's but I got a newfound appreciation after hearing the final boss' theme The Witch's World, it's not the banger Heir of the Dragonlands was but the fantasy/dream TWW conveys made me realise what Elheim was all about (hell those titles have a meaning lol) :

Drakengard's final theme is all about Gilbert reclaiming his castle and being the true heir of his country, not by birthright but when push came to shove, he stood up and restored the country. Which is why Drakengard had some exposition and character drama centered on Gilbert, his family and helping him.

Elheim is, as sad as it is... all about Alcina's fantasy/dream, her downfall and a sense of tragedy, both because of what she used to be, and what she actually did for the sake of her dream.

Regarding Alcina, I'll try to keep the sodium levels to minimum but :

@megafan1993 I know your comment wasn't under an Unicorn Overlord post lol, but this is basically my feelings regarding Alcina, and the comparison with the boss of the following arc stings even more, all things considered.

Who is Alcina?

A witch who acted as the court witch/mage of Cornia (MC's land!) who has the "uses magic to not grow old too fast but will eventually" syndrome, and was around during the time of MC's grandpa, a dude named Gerard.

King Gerard knew how to use his sword very well - to the point of being called a sword saint! - and liked to use it "for the good of the people", but he was the kind of guy who didn't like doing King work, found his coronation a nice distraction and didn't like when his PM modified his bills/papers etc etc. Pissed with the life of a King, especially since he felt like he couldn't do what he wanted, he left the land, without warning anyone, to explore "Cornia" and see what her people needs, only taking Alcina with him : effectively ditching the country - but no worries, his father was still around !

Exploring the land, Gerard finds himself in an ambush/skirmish against Drakengard - the neighoubing nations with whom Cornia has had border issues/problems for centuries - and takes an arrow meant for Alcina, thus dies unceremonously.

Alcina returns to Cornia and people are starting rumours, like how she had been the king's "favourite" and how the situation sucks, because now Gerard left his kid daughter* (whom he never mentionned even once in all of his voiced lines) Ilenia (MC's mom) alone to assume the role of the ruler of Cornia**.

Now, Alcina was pretty much in luf with King Gerard, so much that when Ilenia faces a rebellion (aka the prologue) and asks for her help, Alcina accepts to help her, because Ilenia is King Gerard's daughter.

Then...

Ilenia is supposedly "dead", Cornia has fallen and the Gharnef-like Baltro tells her (or she deduces it herself?) that his magic doesn't turn people crazy, but use people as mediums to put foreign/other souls inside them and take control of the bodies. It's more like a channeling magic.

Seeing the possibility to be reunited with her Gerard-poo again, Alcina switches sides and joins with the evil Zenoiran Empire, but she has her own agenda you see?

Alain lived peacefully on a small island because Alcina, who knew where he was, never told anything to the evil Zenoiran Empire people. It's not out of the goodness of her heart, hell no. Alcina had an interest in keeping Alain alive... because she planned to use him/his body to channel Gerard's soul inside - with the added bonus that Alain is a pallet swap of his grandpa.

She knew Gerard would most likely despise her for using his grandson as a medium to bring him back (from the lines we got spoken by the guy, I doubt it, he never mentions his kid!children not even once, why would he suddenly care about his grandson?) but she just wanted to hear/see him one last time sad uwus

(which raises a fucking giant red flag, Alcina who knows this and knows Ilenia's body isn't around, would obviously have guessed she was too, used as a medium for a Zenoiran soul much like Renault and Hodrick! So, with that knowledge, she wouldn't have tried to find a way to save her? Especially since she came to her in her "direst time of need" in the first place! I guess seeing Gerard >>> saving his daughter, after all the man himself never gave a fuck about said daughter...)

I don't have the exact timeline, but Alcina then accepts to march on Elheim - which resisted the Empire because they elves protect their land with a magical forest, and only taught a select few humans they are friendly with and trust a lot how to cross it, but could never have guessed that Alcina would later turn on them! - and leads the evil empire there with a dude named Gary, the land is conquered and while Eltrinde, the current elf leader (the eng/european script comes up with a lot of "exclusive" elven words, in the script she's called a turenos (??) but the jp!audio just has her be a "miko", I guess mikos don't sound elvish enough to the western lolcalisers and of course they couldn't translate her title by the word "sibyl", aka her class name :/) surrendering to avoid casualties...

Nothing is heard about her, save for Rosalinde (Eltrinde's twin sister!) who worries about her, and we believe when we face her that she's also possessed like the other people we used to fight against (by, and it'll later be revealed, ancient Zenoiran souls channeled by Baltro's magic in those bodies) but no, Eltrinde was possessed by... Alcina herself!

"But why would she need an elven body? She already has hers!"

Apparently, given some clues here and there (Yana - Alcina's apprentice - rapport conversation with Rosalinde), we can surmise that Alcina wanted an elven body to get a longer lifespan without needing to use the dangerous "rejuvenation aka turning from a dried old fig to a stripper" spell.

Tl;Dr : Alcina wanted to have her romance/spend time with Gerard again, using Alain and Eltrinde's bodies as mediums, even if it means dooming the elven kingdom and the world in general -

And oh boy do we see the elves being doomed, because while the two other human countries had a suspicious "plague" going on, here Baltro - like our beloved Riev - drops any sort of subtelty behind his title as a necromancer, and revives elves he previously killed to fight the party, which enrages both Eltrinde and Rosalinde (a feat, because so far their plot mandated interactions where very lackluster, their reunion scene had no pathos or similarity to the Drakengard brothers or even Virginia reuniting with her long lost cousin!) and they swear to take him - and Alcina - down.

Ultimately, after Baltro rewarps away like the good dark mage he is, we fight Alcina - who saved both Alain and Eltrinde from Baltro and prevented a game over lol because she still wants their bodies for her uwu ritual - and both the map song (witch's world) + her various FB's and ultimately Yana asking her to rest in peace after she's killed participate in selling us the "tragic/doomed by love" vibe about Alcina, like, the tragedy is about her, this arc is about her, hell, the entire Elheim plot is about her.

I guess I already let some salt flow lol, but even if this isn't as hamfisted as Hresvelg Grey, I felt like this was a disappointment and a bit of a letdown compared to Drakengard's story.

Double-standard hour : I was loitering on redshit to find some stuff and I saw so many people trashtalk some dude called "Gailey" that I wanted to know what was his story and...

(FR-wise at least, "Gailey" is Gary lol.)

So, Gary was Unicorn Overlord's take on FE8's Carlyle, without the sympathy he had for Joshua.

Gary was very devoted to Queen Ilenia and part of her guard, when she "died" - pretty sure that if Alcina knew, she would never told him the truth - to him Cornia died, because there's no Cornia without Ilenia as its ruler.

So Gary accepts to work with Zenoira because his queen is dead, apparently he does this conquering stuff well enough to be distinguished during the Drakengard campaign, and is sent to Elheim with Alcina.

Alcina however is the main villain while Gary is a sidekick, and is relegated as such which pisses him - and he knows she is the one possessing Eltrinde! - but our party arrives, and he wants to take our head.

It doesn't work, apparently Galvius (the evil emperor who conquered everything and is the red emperor !) doesn't like it when his troops lose and Gary knows that if he returns to him, he'll be executed, but also can't remain in Elheim else the rebels will kill him and can't escape from that land due to the magic forest surrounding it (the one no one could cross save for elves and their trusted friends!).

To get rid of the magic forest, Gary thus decides to burn the "super magic tree" that gives power to the forest and fairies living inside who are also the source of power for the elves.

Alain's party finds Gary and kills him... or at least planned to do so, because he runs away after we rekt him and is actually killed by one of his soldiers (who wanted to bring his head to Galvius and explain that if the rebels got them, it's only because Gary was incompetent!). He has last words not to Alain, but to Jeigan Joseph and the other former members of Cornia's knights - they ask Gary why he betrayed and it's here that he tells them that he never betrayed Cornia, because Cornia died when Ilenia did, thus he had/felt no attachment/reason to fight for Alain.

He has the last word to Joseph though - who pulled a Finn when he escaped with kid!Alain while Ilenia fought (apparently to her death) to give him an opening - saying Joseph has no right to judge him, because when Ilenia was fighting for her life (and apparently died), Gary was by her side until the end (he was in her team) fighting for and with her, while Joseph ran away.

And we know - after Virginia's sidequest - that Joseph still feels guilty about having left Ilenia and escaped with Alain, wondering if their places couldn't have been reversed and if she should be the one alive, but he listened to her orders back then (something he doesn't reveal to Gary!).

In a nutshell, Gary had most likely unrequited feelings for his queen, did his best to save/protect her and fought with her, but when she died he felt like his world did and from that point dgaf about the world or what it was supposed to become.

Alcina... most likely had (unrequited ?) feelings for her king, felt like trash when he died and she couldn't save him, thus abandonned her job and while she did help his daughter at one time, in the end she was willing to see the world and her king's family burn to get another chance to live her love story with him.

They are pretty similar, but somehow treated differently when both did horrible stuff, however only Alcina gets the "tragedy sad uwus" framing when Gary dies unceremonously.

Yeah :/

Not find of that plot arc.

In their rapport conversations, the elves are more interesting than what their plot interaction led to believe and I liked the devs adding maybe like 70% of the elven npcs around being sort of assholish and quite biased because Alain'n'pals are "humans" and have a huge superiority complex regarding the rest of the continent (watermelon time for that one NPC who calls Bestrals "unclean" or "corrupted" like dude, what do you have against bunnies?).

-------

I heard Vanillaware rushed the ending of the game because they had a money problem or something, and well, Bastorias shows it lol.

We have maybe 5 plot quests - sidequests you are supposed to unlock way way later lol - and a cast of 3 characters who talk in turn, but don't really exchange or interact with the NPCs or the rest of the cast found there.

So yeah, I can see where the rush was lol

And yet, I still prefered the Bastorias arc -

First because while the maps are also as empty as the Elheim ones in cities and all, well I sort of prefer the "vast snowfields" vibe to the "large forests" one, even if I confess I really liked seeing/talking to the various people around - even if it was only for a sidequest (tfw a dude wants to sell Laguz slaves).

Second, because the BGM is both relaxing and yet foreboding/mysterious enough to keep you focused, even if I confess, I pressed + during some fights when wereowls were busy giving each other blue points lol

Oh, and werefoxes were... I won't judge people based on their kinks, but personnally, I was kind of weirded out by their sprites, like when I can crack jokes at F!Elven Fencers like "if they fall on their back they can't stand anymore like turtles if you flap them over", werefoxes are just... uh yeah. Not my cup of tea.

Plot-wise, Alain wants to get rid of Zenoira in this region too so it will diminish their forces (ludonarrative point : if you don't do Bastorias and go to the final map, Reimann pops us as a reinforcement unit with the feral plot characters you're supposed to meet in Bastorias, aka feral!Ramona and feral!Morad :( I guess Yunifi died alone, I hope she wasn't killed by her adoptive parents !) but everyone realises that there's some "illness" or stuff that makes some Bestral go mad/feral (does this remind you of something?) and while some pop up as yellow units who attack everything on sight, through the plot we later learn that it's not "illness" at all!

Much like the best Gharnef out there (sorry for your poll @crushednugget, but I believe science should have won!), Reimann - a former Cornian noble who was part of the band of traitors who sided against Ilenia in the prologue - uses his science + a magic rock to turn the animal people in feral versions of themselves to control them, and calls himself a genius while also revealing that this magic rock that those lowly subhumans only thought was a shiny rock that belonged to the lion (thus royal) tribe was actually the magic rock that makes people able to control the Bestrals (the subhumans).

We even have one rapport conversation from Joseph, that suggests that Reimann might have been involved in trafficking/enslaving/experimenting on subhumans before the game's events, as he was already trying to get his hands on Bestrals during Ilenia's reign!

Unlike Izuka though.... Reimann is betrayed by one of his "allies" - much like Gary! - who was... under his suit of armor... a bestral himself!

(Cucumber lolcalisation point : Eligor, when first met is talking to this place's Batta the Beast and at one point is pissed/haughty/upset and calls Batta a human - but in the jp!audio, I didn't hear any "ningen" mention at all. Eligor blows his cover in the us/eu script, but not in the jp version!)

Eligor is a rat bestral, and Bastorias has some sort of hierarchy/class system based on which kind of Bestral you are - cats are fishermen, owls are the "wise mayors", bears, foxes and wolves are fighters (but polar bears are selling weapons!) goats are innkeepers etc etc.

While it's upsetting that we never hear anything from the numerous NPCs around about the "rat tribe", given how Bastorias is presented we it's not that farfetched that rats were indeed seen as lesser or not as important/valuable as lion bestrals.

The Rat Tribe was captured by Baltro who used them for experiments to make them sturdier/stronger, everyone lost their mind save for Eligor who seems to be thankful to Baltro-sama to give him the means to reach his dream : become the King of Bastorias even if he is a member of the rat tribe.

As Morad (a lion!) tells him though, while his dream and ideals about making Bastorias a place for everyone to live with pride etc etc, he still tells Eligor that he resorted to stupid/ridiculous methods (aka mind controlling and sending hundred of bestrals to death fighting against each other and being a fucking member of Zenoira!) and would have prefered if they worked together, to which Eligor tells him that he dgaf, because even if it only lasted for the duration of the final battle, he finally got what he wanted being the King of Bastorias and commanding people thanks to the shiny magic rock.

No uwu sobest for Eligor unlike the gallons of tea we had to drink for Alcina though, maybe that's why i can appreciate this arc more lol

I think the nod to the reveal about Eligor being a rat and this arc wasn't the lolcalisation adding shit, but the sidequest with the... Rock Rats - former bandits Alain spared in Cornia lol - when you recruit/want to recruit the leader who's basically Robin Hood, he tells you that even if Alain started his quest with 5 people and thus isn't like the other evil Nobles (tm), you should always worry about someone who started from scratch and managed to become a leader, because they will cling to power and forget why they wanted it in the first place.

...That's basically Eligor's story, as told by another, metaphorical, rat!

Battle theme a Fleeting Dream is the general Bastorias overworld theme, with imo, the earlier feelign of something ominous being played/schemed and its climax - it's the same mystery/foreboding feeling we got in the overworld map, but with a feeling that "something is going on". A good catch for Eligor's plot and this arc in general, even if it was rushed.

Anyways after his death, more plot reveals - Morad the friendly (uhh) lion we met who acted as one of the main characters from this arc was actually a human changed in a lion with the power of the shiny magic rock, and the human girl, Yunifi, who was adopted by Ramona (owl mom) and Morad (lion dad) is very heavily implied to have been a lion princess herself, but turned in a human!

Nod to Fodlan discourse : upon finding Reimann's notes and researches about how to use the shiny magic rock to control bestrals - everyone in the cast agrees with Ramona's suggestion to burn those notes!

No "uwu censorship BaD" or "creature masquerading as a human is attempting to hide knowledge to keep humans ignorant!" -> those "researches" are basically some "how to perform mindcontrol and turn people against each other in 5 steps" lessons, so they are destroyed for the sake of everyone, the shiny magic rock will forever remain a shiny magic rock, and not a tool to control the minds of anyone else.

Gameplay wise :

The Bestrals have a gimmick where they are more powerful/get more mobility during nighttime, but some of their classes are more similar to the human ones than the elven ones.

I still have to use/play around the werefoxes and the werewolves, so far I only used the lion, the bear and the owl and while I know Yunifi has an unique class and can be built in a certain way to be completely broken...

I don't have enough medals to make more than 3 teams of 5 characters rofl - but I'll definitely try to play with some builds!

----

Oh and in general, I guess i forgot to mention in the "this was rushed" part, but while we can see the rush - I still am flabbergasted at some details the devs added like, hm, the fact that when you use a skill that summons rain in Bastorias - aka tundra land - you don't get rain but snow!

Or the completely random stuff I just noticed today (tfw after 50h you still notice and learn something knew), when you pick a squad captain, the sigil/banner for that squad in the "battle screen" is the one of the "captain" of that squad!

So yeah, even if they're fighting in Alain's Liberation army, some characters still retain their identity and banners - Gilbert's team has the Drakengard sigil, Eltrinde/Rosalinde has the Elheim one and... Travis has the Tricorns (his bandit/merc group!) one lol

*Given how Virginia is Alain's cousin and Ilenia's niece, it means Gerard must have had two kids, assuming primogeniture works, Virginia's parent, must have been younger than Ilenia which means Gerard basically left his two children and role/duties as a king behind him because he was upset that people were disappointed in him/kept on meddling with his duties as a king.

**Through various supports and lines popping up here and there, we learn that while some people loved Ilenia and thought she ruled wisely and justly, some other people were very critical of her, given how she became Queen young and wasn't as battle-hungry as her dad before her : Tl;Dr, dying like a moron after ditching his throne, Gerard abandoned his daughter who had to face the same adversities - if not more - than he did, but she pulled through. I'll have to check the audio when I'll reach that moment to see if there's hidden salt, but she has a line to Alain in the True Ending where she's basically all "I'm not going to miss my son's coronation" and, well, with the knowledge that Gerard was crap, I wonder if Ilenia resented him a bit lol

[inequilibrium]

was looking through some of my wips and i think i will regret abandoning this one the most.

it's a hanahaki endgame fengqing piece with one-sided mulian and one-sided fenglian.

towards the end of these past 3 years of writing fengqing, i started feeling very awful about my writing and it stopped bringing me joy. i kept thinking that my fic and characterisation aren't something the fandom appreciates, and while yes i know, preference is a right, it's fine, it's not personal and i don't blame anyone. eventually it wore on me more than i realised.

but i still really do like what i have of this piece.

so posting this here for now. maybe i'll actually finish it one day.

~~~

The taste of flowers should be familiar to Mu Qing at this point. After all, it's coated the inside of his mouth for the better part of a millennium by now; the velvety touch of petals on the roof of his mouth, the odd sweetness when they broke apart on his tongue, the sting of bitterness of the leaves, all pulled together, of course, by the metallic taste of his own blood hacked out of his throat and lungs. A concoction of anyone's wildest dreams, he thinks wryly.

This sickness ought to be prettier honestly; carrying a secret garden inside of you made out of spurned, unwanted, sometimes entirely unnoticed love paints such a tragically romantic image. Unfortunately, it's just disgusting most of the time. Mu Qing stares down at the mess of broken flowers and blood in the basin and scoffs. Love is such a foolish emotion sometimes. Especially when it tries to dig its roots into someone who will never look his way. 

The first time he felt the tickle of petals in his throat was when the crown prince himself picked him out of the crowd, as if he was different, as if he was special. The moment was like magic, a miracle from a god's touch. Except it lasted for just a breath, dissipating into the reality of continued drudgery and mockery, blatant suspicion and disdain from everyone around him. Especially that bear of a youth who trailed the crown prince's steps, who was never more than an arm's length away, who looked at Mu Qing like he was an interloper, an unworthy recipient of the crown prince's generosity, and treated him as such. 

The singular good point of Feng Xin is he, at least, never bullied Mu Qing. For all the rage and vitriol he threw at him — that they threw at each other —, the suspicion he carried, the resentment– he never bullied. Too good for such actions perhaps, too self-righteous; Mu Qing does not care to find out. Feng Xin is a boor – vulgar and crude, and Mu Qing does not care to spend too much of his thoughts or time on him.

Except Mu Qing was Xie Lian's personal attendant and Feng Xin was Xie Lian's bodyguard. Which meant they saw each other every day, meant they spent long stretches of time in each other's company, even if they argued and fought and quarreled for most of it. Xie Lian dealt with them the same way he would probably have dealt with a pair of unruly children, sending them to different corners of any room they happened to be in, giving them chores they would have to complete together, and most commonly, forcing them to play an idiom game that Mu Qing always always bested Feng Xin in. 

It should have felt humiliating, but Xie Lian always smiled so sincerely and sweetly, and Mu Qing would never admit this, but part of him had just wanted to keep that smile safe. 

When Mu Qing left them both, so many centuries ago, the ever present flowers had smelt like decay, their taste like ash coating all over his tongue. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe Xie Lian’s rage meant love spurned; it was at best only disappointment at an inadequate servant. But it had felt good to be the one who was focused on, the one who was the target of that depth of emotion.

If it made him a masochist, maybe he would take it. 

[thewadapan]

TFNation 2024 post-mortem

So I went to the Transformers convention again! If you're following me for non-Transformers reasons, then this blog post will be worthless to you, sorry. If you didn't go the convention, it will probably be worthless to you as well. And if you did go to the convention, then it might even be worthless to you, too! I'd strongly recommend just listening to the podcast Jo and I recorded looking back on the event; it's more fun. I really only write these things as a personal record of the weekend, so it doesn't just fade into memory, because TFNation is one of the most important times of the year for me.

In previous years, I've followed the convention by making an hourlong vlog, recapping the event start-to-finish from my POV, showing off all the toys wot I got. Last year the production of that video was such an albatross that I committed to never doing that again, which turned out to be a good thing, because I don't think I could talk breezily about TFN 2024 to a camera for a couple of hours.

It's not to say that I didn't have a good time at TFN, or even a great time. But where some people seem to have found this to be the best TFN yet, I was definitely struggling a bit at some points in the weekend. In previous years, I've spoken to close friends of mine at or after the event, and they've expressed feelings of having had an off year one way or another, and I guess this year it was my turn! Partly, this blog post is going to be me working out what exactly went wrong, so next year's convention can hopefully go a little smoother for me.

The problems really started weeks before the convention. I had big plans to put together a really special zine, something that would prick people's ears up, something that I thought would genuinely leave a lasting impact. I'm being cagey about it because I hope it might still happen next year. But I couldn't source the material that I needed. Not to worry, I thought, I'd left myself more than enough time that I could brute-force the problem, create the material by myself.

And then I had an unrelated personal crisis, and suddenly it was three weeks later and I had nothing, with maybe a month to go until the convention. And I still made a go of it! But it couldn't be done. Not with what I had. Every approach I tried turned out to have hidden pitfalls and it was all turning out dogshit. I admitted defeat to my collaborators, who I'd inadvertently strung along for most of a year, which was embarrassing and frustrating.

Meanwhile, another deadline had been creeping up: the Refined Robot Co. zine, compiled by my close friend Ben, to which I contribute every year, needed to go to the printers in a few weeks and I had nothing. I'd picked a robot to write about out of a hat a few months ago, hoping that a good angle would occur to me in the intervening time, but it just didn't. I came up with an angle for Kingdom Rattrap, but immediately realised I had far more to say about that toy than could be contained within the margins of a single page.

When I saw the cover for the zine featured Missing Link Optimus Prime, who otherwise didn't have a page in the zine, I asked Ben if I could switch my page to talk about that toy instead. He agreed. However, around this time, I realised that the Transformers: Mosaic archive I've been working on for the last two years would be ending almost exactly coinciding with the convention; with the queued posts almost exhausted, I had no choice but to sit down and blitz through the remainder of the work. I gathered up all the scripts and previews I'd found, and I worked out a format for the posts. I lettered, coloured, and in a couple of cases wrote unfinished material I'd found to bring those strips to a readable state of completion, if possible. I wrote a blogpost reflecting frankly on the difficulties of the project, which would go over like a wet fart when it finally went live.

I started having problems with my eyes. They weren't hurting, not exactly, but they seemed to be producing copious amounts of sleep: viscous strings of yellow gunk accumulating not in the corner of my eye, but around the back, in the eyelashes, everywhere. I got some eye drops which didn't help. I went to the optician and she gave me some different eye drops, which did help. There wasn't any infection or anything. It was obvious what had happened: I'd been staring intently at the screen for days, drawing and redrawing the same gradients over bitcrunched artwork.

By this point—look, honestly, I'm losing track of the timeline here, in which order I did what—I really, really needed to get the RRCo review done. Feeling like I needed to make something worth the wait, I'd given some serious thought to the exact kind of writing I wanted to submit this time around. I wanted something in the vein of my intended Kingdom Rattrap review, but much tighter. An old memory surfaced and I finally had a hook; I wrote the page over the course of a few hours across a couple of days, in the electric kind of fugue state that happens when you're writing something that fucking slaps. Ben really liked it.

The problem, then, was the art: I'm not an artist. I can colour a drawing fine, but I don't even consider myself a colourist. The only way I can draw anything remotely good is through hard work: studying a reference object intently, drawing, erasing, redrawing the same line over and over again until it approximates reality. I was glad that the format of the zine encourages traditional media, because it meant I could force myself not to use the computer for a couple of days. I told Ben I hoped to have the piece ready by the end of Thursday (my day off); it was Saturday by the time I was able to sheepishly slip my rough pencils over the counter—for the robot mode, not even the truck mode! I spent Sunday inking and colouring. I spent Monday drawing the entire truck. Finally, it was done.

(If you haven't already, check out the rest of the zine here!)

There were now less than two weeks to go until the convention. Every year, I like to have something to give out, to give to people I meet as a little souvenir or whatever. It gives me an excuse to talk to people, and has been my #1 life hack for not being socially paralysed at the convention. I still had the Wheelie: Spotlights comic I'd made a year or two back, but I'd finally given up on my shitty old EPSON inkjet printer, which meant I needed to use a local print shop instead, which meant I needed to learn how to set up a PDF with bleed (on a comic that we'd drawn with zero bleed). The cheapest, quickest print shop in town is a forty minute walk away; I can make the round trip maybe twice during opening hours. Originally, I'd designed Wheelie: Spotlights to have a greyscale print on the reverse side as a costcutting measure, but the print shop told me that if I wanted one side in colour, the reverse side would have to be charged as a colour side as well. I decided to redesign the entire page in glorious full colour to take advantage of this fact. I reworked the comic itself to add bleed where necessary. I had to send through the file maybe three times before I'd finally gotten it all in the exact format they wanted.

The thing about Wheelie: Spotlights is that all of my friends already got copies at previous conventions. I wanted to make something else for them, and decided to make an A5 collection of prose and comics. I coloured an old bit of Transformers Animated concept art and designed a cover around it, made layouts for everything, typeset all the stories, wrote brief afterwords, and reeled off an introduction for the collection as a whole. I realised I probably could finish the Rattrap review in time, and did so; four people read it before the zine went to print. The vibe I got from the prereaders was that it's probably the best piece of writing I've ever released—but they're all biased. I sent through the file in the format the printers told me they wanted, only for it to turn out that they wanted it in a slightly different format, but then they managed to print it anyway as a special favour. Honestly, the print shop kind of rules. But what I'm trying to say is that the whole thing was very stressful.

On the way back from one trip to the print shop, I noticed an unread message from an IRL friend. They'd sent through a PDF several days ago. It was a photo of a handwritten letter to me, basically calling me out for being a shit friend and ghosting them for weeks during an important transitory period in their life. I replied with a rambling explanation for my behaviour, and apologised, promising to make things right in a couple of weeks.

But it did upset me! I was very angry at myself. And what made it even worse was that it happened at the peak of my fervour, when I had far too much momentum to simply stop and have it all be for naught. I was also painfully conscious that I'd been basically ignoring my girlfriend for days, in the run-up to this convention where I'd practically be going radio-silent for a long weekend. It all turned out okay, I got the zine done with a couple of days spare, everything was fine. But I had been stressed. I had been staying up late to work on my fake fandom job, and getting up early to work my real bullshit job. And my train was at 06:57 in the morning.

Honestly, that part on its own would have been fine, I wouldn't have it any other way: I usually arrive around noon on Friday, and there's plenty of people around, so it means I get as much out of the day as possible. But I was already tired, and I wound up paying the price.

Friday

I met up with Jalaguy and Daniel right away. Coming from the States, Daniel had brought us each a copy of the abortive Final Faction comic, which never came out in the UK. Meanwhile, I had an old LEGO book and a Transformers PlayStation 2 demo to give to Jalaguy; as always, we were rooming together this year, which made everything a breeze. I quickly gave out a bunch of zines to people. Ben arrived; he was staying at the Moxy, the other hotel in the NEC, and the plan was for us to store the copies of the RRCo zine in mine and Jalaguy's room so he wouldn't have to cart them all back and forth himself all weekend. For some reason I got it in my head that the Moxy is outside the NEC, like the Premier Inn and the Ibis, so I led Jala and Daniel on a wild goose chase out to the train station before finally checking my phone to work out where to go next, and realising that we'd already passed it.

The Moxy is comically different to the Hilton: decked out in plush leather, neon signage, vinyl records. When we got there, the elevator wouldn't work for us; we needed a keycard to operate it. We sat in these luxurious leather swivel chairs that span around frictionlessly. Ben took us up to his room. He was bemused because it looks like a dungeon: dark mood lighting, metal lattice on one wall, everything is strapped to everything else. We split the zines amongst ourselves and carted them over.

Jo and Rabbit rocked up; partners of 9 years, this marked the first time Rabbit has been able to come over from the States, and it was the first time they'd met in person. I think we all decided to give them some space. Nonetheless, we did a quick handoff, because I'd bought Jo's Timelines Transmutate off her. I gave her a copy of the zine, and watched with dawning horror as she flipped to the Kingdom Rattrap review, shotgunned the whole thing, then promptly got up and left without a word.

This was probably the first thing that really threw me. I'd given out maybe a third of the copies already, and was planning to give out the rest, and now I was like... is it bad? Worse—is it upsetting? As it happened, I had completely misread the situation in my sleep-deprived state. Jo hadn't even finished reading the story, she'd just needed to go to a panel! But I didn't get the chance to ask her about it until after the convention, so until then, it preyed on my mind.

While people were taking a look at Transmutate, one of the pegs ended up getting snapped, which also kind of sucked. I had anticipated it would happen, because 2010s toys are fragile, and felt like it was worth it to be able to share in the joy of that figure with other people, instead of just whisking it off to the hotel room. Thankfully it was just a tab for weapon storage, which still works, it's just a bit looser without it. But it's one of those things where you just go—agh! Another stupid little stressor for the pile.

Anyway, although I vaguely dislike Transformers: Prime in terms of the fiction, the toys are all from the period of design that I know and like best, and these particular colourways elevate them so much. Beast Wars: Uprising is amongst my favourite Transformers fiction, and these are the most iconic characters from that universe, so I'm thrilled to finally have them both. God, do I need to get a Lio Convoy now?

I think a high point on Friday was the "pen con" that took place between auto_thots and sixty_cats. I'd seen auto_thots tweeting about it, so I went over with the one pen that I'd happened to bring, a bright orange LAMY fountain pen I'd had since I was a kid. I'd recently been starting to think about changing my signature, because the one I've had all my life is illegible and ugly, and I wanted something nice and distinctive—they gave me some encouragement that I was along the right lines. I've honestly never seen such cool pens, either—sparkly inks, beautiful and functional designs. It was nice to be excited about something that wasn't Transformers.

Speaking of which, there was a lot of love for G.I. Joe this year. In particular, SameAsItEverWoz was going around showing us this one stock photo of Snake Eyes from Rise of Cobra, with his stupid fucking skintight bodysuit and luscious kissable lips sculpted into his helmet. It was kind of like the chicken game, insofar as if your objective was not to look at Snake Eyes, then you were basically fucked. Erica had a notebook with her and people started drawing their own takes on the image. I did a T-posing Snake Eyes (see my reference picture below) in fountain pen. Clearly the whole thing quickly snowballed and people began submitting some genuinely high-effort entries, so later in the weekend I went back and rendered my Snake Eyes out in Sharpie with full muscle definition, chiaroscuro. By the end of the weekend, there were entries from James Roberts, Jack Lawrence, and Nick Roche, which is fucking nuts. I desperately want this to become a real zine.

Anyway, I've gotten ahead of myself. On Friday, I had a handoff arranged with a guy on Facebook for an Armada roleplay Star Saber to give to Jo. It turned out to be far, far smaller than I had imagined it being as a kid, more like a Star Dagger to an adult, but it had a really fun mechanism.

Just like last year, I didn't have a ticket for any of the Friday panels; there was nothing to justify the cost of admission and I usually prefer to hang out anyway. In the bar, the usual big table at the back was covered in toys, all belonging to Rachel; she was having a big collection purge, and had decided that it would all be free to a good home. I was extremely tempted by a Titans Return Hot Rod to put with my various Lost Light characters, but it was missing its guns, so I hesitated, thinking I'd find a cheap complete copy in the dealer hall. I got to try a Fall of Cybertron Ultra Magnus, on which I snapped a tab (see, it's very easily done); I actually really liked the toy, but this year I was planning to cut down on the number of redecos I was picking up. Historically, a lot of my toys have been redecos, often toy-only characters, so I have kind of a weird collection—but increasingly, I find myself wanting to get molds in the colors they were originally intended to wear. That Fall of Cybertron Optimus Prime has always been an iconic design in my eyes, and after handling the mold, I resolved that I'd pick one up if I saw it (alas, I didn't). Meanwhile, Jala had been toying with the idea of starting a Star Seekers collection, after winning a Titan Class Tidal Wave at the Transformers One pre-screening they attended; one of the toys on the table was Prime Thundertron, which they quickly decided he hated, but they seemed pretty set on getting Legacy Thundertron if they could.

Around this point was probably also the most time I spent with Cone, who I know from the TFWiki Discord; it definitely feels like he's been able to come out of his shell a bit more with each convention he attends, which is really nice.

Dinner was Zizzi's, which I don't always get along with; a friend's parents back in uni would often take us there, and I found that I never liked the pizzas, which is my first instinct for Italian food. This time I had some seafood pasta which was much better. Afterwards, we kept things very lowkey; I remember playing Lexicon in the bar with Ben, Daniel, and Jala, getting very tired, and making it back to the room not long after midnight.

Saturday

I'd banked on getting over seven hours sleep that night, but for some fucking reason, the hotel decided to test their fire alarm at 6:40 AM. I was genuinely baffled by this. Hotels exist for one purpose: as a place to sleep. By momentarily blaring the siren, waking me up at such an ungodly hour, the hotel had failed at its one job. I spent the next hour trying to fall back asleep before giving up; it was time to get ready for breakfast anyway. I put on my SPREEM shirt and the matching (read: clashing) garments I brought to go with it. Last year, I had a pair of thrifted three-quarter-length hot pink cargo pants several sizes too big for me, which I held up with a belt; they were constantly falling down and showing my pants, which wasn't great. This year, I was able to get some pink shorts, which were an upgrade in that they'd stay around my waist, but a downgrade in that you'd sometimes be able to see my balls if I sat down in just the wrong position. If you saw my balls this year: I'm sorry, or, you're welcome.

My usual strategy for TFN—because food at the NEC is invariably expensive—is to really load up on the buffet breakfast, snack through the day, and grab a meal with people in the evening. I duly wolfed down an English breakfast, some yoghurt, a croissant, a waffle, and a mini muffin. Unfortunately, the opening ceremony began before I was quite finished, so I ended up cradling a little muffin as I speedwalked across the hotel to the panel room. I couldn't see any easily-accessible seats, so I opted to just stand at the back. I wound up stood right in front of a fire alarm button, with this muffin in my hands, and the audience kept needing to clap for the guests and the announcements, which I couldn't do, because I was holding this stupid fucking muffin and trying not to move a muscle because I kept imagining myself setting off the fire alarm. (At the train station the previous day, I'd accidentally hit an "intercom for assistance" button at the train station with my bag; I heard someone asking me how they could help just as the train pulled in.)

Gherkin appeared and said "Hi Wada," and I said "Hi," back. I couldn't turn to one side without, I imagined, hitting the button. I ate just the top half of the muffin and tried to clap at the appropriate moments; my arms got covered in crumbs. I later saw a message from Gherkin in the group chat: "At the opening ceremony right now waiting for wads to recognise who I am". Aaaagh!

Toy Fu had posted some pictures of their table at the start of the day, and I spotted a Thrilling 30 Swerve & Flanker, which was practically the one thing I'd told myself I'd buy instantly if I saw it this year. Even better, I could just about make out a single-digit price tag; I'd resigned myself to just sort of paying whatever at this point. I fully expected it to have vanished by the time the dealer hall opened, but after we made our way up the monstrous queue, I walked in to find it still sitting on the table unnoticed. I guess the demand for that toy really isn't what it once was! Alas, I am a slave to my memes. I also spotted a GDO Wheelie on the table for next to nothing, and was sorely tempted to buy it just for the sake of having a spare—like, I already have one!—but I resisted, and instead I asked one of the volunteers if I could leave a copy of the Wheelie comic with the toy. He was charmed by the idea; hopefully whoever picked it up enjoyed it!

After that, though, I ended up being weirdly stuck. I found an Armada Knock Out sans missile for a couple of quid, which was perfect, because mine is missing his legs (I didn't lose them, I got him like that). I found a loose hand/foot/gun for Combiner Wars Skydive or Air Raid (they're identical), which was perfect because mine had come with Firefly's hand/foot/gun for some reason. But apart from that, everything seemed too expensive. Was I really going to spend £25 on an Armada Deluxe? Not likely. Except £25 is what all Deluxes cost these days. I don't buy them at that price, but like... it's reasonable, from that perspective! Here I was, at the one time a year where it's possible to find pretty much anything, and the best I could do was pick up some piddly little bits and pieces for toys I already owned.

The longer I walked around, the more I found myself reckoning with the very thing I was trying to work through in the Kingdom Rattrap review: namely, that my relationship to Transformers and to money is completely fucked. Everything seemed more expensive than it had been in previous years, except this made perfect sense, because everything has become more expensive, the econony or whatever is in the shitter. I used to like getting cheap Scouts for a fiver; now I already own most of the Scouts and what the fuck does a fiver buy you anyway? 1.25 meal deals? I'd ask for the price of unlabelled toys, and balk at the answers: "I'll think about it, thanks!" They were usually gone by the time I got back.

Another issue was that, this year, the dealer hall was more crammed than ever. They'd completely rearranged the stalls to give more room in the aisles, which did help, but not nearly enough to cope with the horde that descended upon the place on Saturday. It was too hot, and too loud, and far, far too busy. Many of the dealers were visibly struggling to keep up. Speaking as someone who works in a shop, I shudder to think of the stock loss, the figures manhandled and broken, the accessories lost—hell, maybe even the shit stolen, there have been thieves at TFNation in the past.

I remember at one point during the weekend, at one table, there was this big tub of toys, and while taking a look I absentmindedly put a figure to one side—and someone snapped at me, something like, "Excuse me this is my table!" Turned out it was a separate stall, someone selling handmade stuff. Presumably that person spent the whole weekend doing that, getting progressively more irritated at the careless nerds more interested in toys than in crafts, constantly encroaching on the tablespace. And dealers pay for their tables—right? I totally understand why that person was miffed. But also, personally, being snapped at like that... didn't love it! Actually felt quite bad about it! I felt like the environment put me in that position. For all of Saturday, I flatly did not enjoy going around trying to root through bins. Again, see my review: I felt like a rat.

Still, I had an ace up my sleeve, one that would let me escape the sweaty press of the dealer hall altogether: another pre-arranged purchase from someone on Facebook. After a panel on vintage retailer catalogues—the only panel I attended on Saturday—we eventually found a mutually convenient moment to meet up. His name's Lee, he was a gregarious lad maybe a little older than me. I gave him a full suite of zines by way of thanks.

When showing people what I'd bought from this guy, I'd find myself always doing the same bit, because it felt like the only way to even communicate this insane pickup. I would produce this Commemorative Series Red Alert reissue from my bag, and say, "Yeah, so I got this Red Alert. He's really nice! He was £40, and normally I wouldn't spend £40 on a toy like this. But the thing is..."

And then I'd pull another toy out. "He did come with this Inferno."

And then I'd go back into the bag. "And he also came with this Skids."

"And he also came with this Prowl."

"And he also came with this Jazz."

"And he also came with this Tracks." (Tracks was still safely encased in his backing tray!)

"Oh, and he also came with this entire Menasor."

Ben, the only person I know who has a deep connection with the Commemorative Series (or similar) reissues, gave me the best reaction. "HOW? HOW?" The story goes like this—not that it's much of a story. I was about to leave the house one day. I happened to go on Facebook. There was a post in a sales group, timestamped three minutes ago. Amongst others, he had the above Autobot Cars listed: £5 each or take the lot for £25; along with the Menasor: £15, because Wildrider's arm is broken off and the combiner feet were missing. There were no photos of the Autobots. I messaged the guy to ask if Menasor was still available. He was. I asked if he had photos of the Autobots; he did, they looked fantastic. I said I'd take the lot and PayPal'd him £40.

He explained to me that he'd listed the toys as cheaply as he felt he could, because he wanted them to go to people who wanted them, rather than just the people with the most money. I felt like his logic was wrong: someone who pays a lot of money for something can be guaranteed to want it at least a certain amount. Someone who snaps up something valuable for not very much could just be a grifter. Still, I think what he meant was: he wanted the toys to go to someone who wanted them who would not otherwise be able to afford them, which is exactly who I am. G1 stuff like that has always enthralled me, and I've always kind of assumed I would just never be able to own them. Since last TFN, I've built up a nice little collection of the Retro reissues, by picking them up on deep discount, but I've always assumed the Autobot Cars would just be forever beyond my grasp. And now, thanks to Lee, I have a whole little collection of them!

(Hopefully a lot of other people were also able to benefit from his generosity. I remember he'd listed the reissue Insecticons for... maybe a tenner? Powermaster Optimus Prime and Apex Bomber for £25, a beautiful G1 Sureshot for literally a fiver, Robots in Disguise 2001 Optimus Prime for £40. Absolutely mad stuff.)

These toys went basically straight back to my room; they had too many bits to lose, and I didn't know how any of them worked. After the convention, I was able to get Menasor's feet off eBay, but it's mad to think that I paid about the same for the rest of the combiner as I did for those feet alone! They now have pride of place on my burgeoning G1 shelf.

(Oh, and as you can imagine, this stroke of insane good luck certainly hasn't helped my attitude towards Transformers and money.)

As always, Ben continues to have the best taste when it comes to toys. His sealed Beast Machines Scavenger instantly made me resolve to get a copy of that toy for myself, as I've always liked the look of it. His true star finds though were an X-Dimension Adventure Team—commemorating the opening of his very own comic shop this year—and a Stormtrooper Rage, with its perplexing water squirter and stunning colour scheme. Jalaguy got their own Adventure Team the next day; it's so nice to see people getting into Armada stuff.

The food situation ended up being a bit fucked on Saturday. Some people wanted a light lunch and a big dinner, others the reverse. We ended up doing Nandos mid-afternoon—I had a small chicken burger—and then later we got a Subway. These two small meals weren't far off the cost of a typical main meal at Resort World, so I was quite happy with that, and might suggest something similar on future Saturdays; trying to squeeze in a sit-down meal before, during, or after Club Con is often a nightmare. But I definitely think not everyone got exactly what they wanted in terms of food that day.

Rushing back from Resort World with Ben, I heard someone yell: "Nice shirt!" So I automatically replied, "Thanks!" And then they said something like, "Why does it say SPERM on it?", and I realised they weren't there for the Transformers convention, they were just a bunch of neds loitering by the lake. So I proceeded to ignore them, and they jeered at us as we walked away. I don't usually wear the SPREEM shirt in public, partly because I like it and don't want to ruin it, and partly because it really does look like it says SPERM. As we stopped by my room to pick up my Club Con wristband, I was becoming a thundercloud. Here I was at the Transformers convention, the one weekend a year where I don't have to feel too weird about my interests, and it's like I'm back in fucking high school. I wondered if maybe it's time to retire the shirt altogether. The outfit never quite works for me.

Club Con

Ah, Club Con. This was definitely the low point for me of the whole weekend, which sucks, because usually it's a highlight. I think what I should say is this: it was mostly a me problem. Things had not been going well for me up to this point. I was very, very tired.

So, the cosplay contest was spectacular, as ever. People have such wonderfully creative and well-done costumes, everyone is so buzzed about it. My favourite was definitely the Cosmos with a shiny retrofuturistic UFO-like dress, absolute conceptual slam dunk that deservedly took top prize in the "humanized" category; the cosplayer in question, Mika, turns out to also be a phenomenally talented artist. But there were a lot of really thoughtful outfits this year. I was surprised when the Rosanna/Flip Sides cosplayer (swapping faction onstage!) turned out to be none other than our Umar—though of course, who else? And Erica's sk8r grl take on Flamewar was also brilliant.

I will say, it definitely felt like the dividing line between the "mech" and "humanized" categories was a little blurred—both had the same regularly-dressed-people in helmets—and as is often the case, while the winners were all extremely worthy entrants, I did feel like some people got robbed. Well okay I'll just say it: JLaw is definitely biased towards Lost Light, he always has been, and cosplays based on his comic always do well as a result. There was a stunning—I mean really phenomenal, huge cardboard shoulder pillars visible even from my worst-seat-in-the-house behind a tall guy at the back-left—Armada Megatron cosplayer, appropriately chosen for a convention with David Kaye in attendance, who didn't even place in the top three for the mech category. Outrage!

Last year, you might recall that one cosplayer inadvertently ended up trapped improvising lipsyncing and dancing onstage for three minutes because the AV team didn't fade out the backing track. And while that was spellbinding, clearly the convention organisers have overcorrected, as it felt like the cosplayers were being ushered on and off the stage very briskly. I definitely think some of them should have been allowed to chew the scenery a little more. Particularly, I should say, considering what was to follow later in the evening.

During the changeover, we got to see a preview of the next episode of The Basics—this one featuring the Star Seekers. Honestly, it instantly pilled me on the Star Seekers. They're so fucking cool slash dumb. The Matrix Test was brilliant, as always; McFeely has a real gift for dredging up the obscure and the esoteric. This year, the TFWiki gang split into two teams, hoping to at least give everyone else a chance: I was with Jo, Rabbit, Ben, and newcomer James, carrying forward the torch of the Crack Calibre Laser-Blazer Broadswords, while Gherkin, Viv, Jala, Daniel and Cone formed Feast or Famine (named after the newly-discovered Star Seeker character from the Chinese MMO).

As usual, I mostly served as a voice to say either "yeah that's right" or "I don't know about that" as other team members answered the questions. It's really high time I learned to trust my gut, though—there were two questions, "What connects the characters Scrounge, Crankcase, SOMETHING and Devastar?" and "Is Motomix a Transformer?" where I was completely correct, but second-guessed myself. James totally surprised me by really holding his own, getting a few questions which had the rest of us stumped or uncertain. It later transpired that we had in fact won the quiz, in spite of our effort to handicap ourselves; they never officially announced this result, we had to ask McFeely, who had to ask David. Assuming this wasn't deliberate, which I would understand... kinda weird not to announce that at any point!

I guess I'll take this moment to talk a little more about James, 'cause he was one of the people I met this year and got to hang out with for more than just a single conversation. He honestly just sort of appeared from nowhere with a clear objective of "I am going to become friends with these people", which I massively respect (had he turned out to be a cunt, I would not have respected it, but he wasn't, so!). I was reminded of myself doing something similar towards the start of uni, and at my first solo TFNation not long after that. He seemed cool and was very nice to all of us. I've since chatted with him a little online; apparently the only reason he picked our group out of the crowd was the OSKO Rampage I had sitting on the table. I'd brought that figure along as a conversation starter, so looks like it did its job!

Anyway, so the evening progressed. There was the charity auction, which went crazy, but is also kind of just half an hour of clapping while people with money bid for mildly interesting items. Someone correct me if I'm wrong—that custom Action Master Billy Stripes sold for like a grand, right? I say this only because I remember when the sealed Animated Swindle remarked by the late Derrick J. Wyatt himself went for £650, I thought, wow, that is such a measly sum by comparison.

Simon Furman and Andrew Wildman went up onstage to announce their new podcast. Apparently the first episode went up over a month ago? Well, they have a Patreon, etc, you know the deal. I'm not saying that I won't listen to it, I might at some point, but definitely as an announcement to that crowd of increasingly-younger-skewing fans it went over like a wet fart. I presumed this was the "Like a surprise? Close your eyes..." teaser on the schedule, because podcasts are something you listen to, meaning you can close your eyes. As it turned out, I was very mistaken.

Next up, there was the script reading. As with last year, it wasn't written by, well, a writer, so it kind of sucked, to put it nicely. I guess without mercilessly dissecting the thing for every single joke that fell flat, I'll try and explain what a convention script reading should be like, as someone who's seen a ton of them. You have a handful of huge voice actors with iconic roles in the room. Your story, whatever it is, is nothing more than a means to have them play off each other, cover their full dramatic range, and say as many catchphrases as you can in as short a space of time as possible. You want to avoid in-jokes which the actors themselves—who typically aren't as deep in the sauce as you—are unlikely to get. You want to minimise the role of the narrator or other side-characters. You want to avoid splitting the cast in-story, to allow all the characters to play off one another, while still contriving to avoid having a voice actor swap between multiple characters in the same scene. You want the actors to play the specific versions of characters they actually played, not different versions from other timelines or whatever. You want to give fuckin' David Kaye some actually good material to work with—more Beast Wars, less Armada, dig? You want to pace the jokes so they lead to direct punchlines, so the audience as a whole can laugh and clap before the story progresses, rather than burying punchlines in the middle of individual line-reads or back-and-forths. I'm not a comic writer, but as an audience member I can definitely tell when things aren't working, and I truly wonder why on Earth at a convention with people like Jim Sorenson, James Roberts and Simon Furman in attendance, you wouldn't allocate some portion of your budget to commissioning a good script. As it was—as some of my friends also put it—the moment the narrator said "End of Act 1!", my heart just sank: so is this two acts? Three? Reader, it was three, and none of them were any good.

Honestly, the big thing that had me baffled was that the entire script reading was predicated on the fact that Gregg Berger has, in the past, voiced Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. But the thing is, I always thought it was Peter Cullen who voiced Eeyore! I'd coincidentally had a conversation about that very fact with Daniel earlier in the weekend! Gherkin googled it as the script reading dragged on. Sure enough, it seems that Gregg Berger only filled in the role for a few video games and ancillary media, beginning in 1997. He does a wonderful Eeyore voice, don't get me wrong, but I don't get the impression it's his role, and to place such a focus on "Eeyore from Kingdom Hearts II" for a Transformers convention felt like a misguided choice to me.

At the end of the script reading, there was immediately another bonus round of charity auction, where they flogged a signed copy of the script and an inflatable rubber ducky from Amazon. Up and up the price crept, in increments of £10 at a time. At £280, for some reason I'll never know, David asked us all to clap, as if this was in any way an auspicious figure. We duly obliged. The final bid ended up being for something like £450, or 2/3rds of a sealed Animated Swindle remarked by the late Derrick J. Wyatt.

Overrunning by this point, I thought: this is it, the headline event is starting soon, I'll be able to chill out for an hour watching the old cartoon, and then I can go back to the bar and hang out, hopefully feeling a little rested. But then it was the actual surprise! The Mapes brothers had found a never-before-seen recording from the '80s. What was it? It was the audition tapes for Wheelie. Because I'm still in theory the custodian of Wheelie's TFWiki page, I dutifully got out my phone to record. The performances were demented, delivering nonsensical rhymes in a nonspecifically exotic accent. After each, David would go, "Do you want to hear another?" And the audience yelled back, "Yes..." And I sat there, listening to these unfamiliar voice actors cackling and giggling, thinking how it's been years—literally years—since I started trying to fix Wheelie's wiki page. I haven't touched it in months. And I wondered, will I ever be free of you? Will my work ever be done? As I write this I have been home for less than 24 hours, and somebody has already added a note to the page. It rhymes badly. It's not cited. I'll need to fix it, I guess.

And then, Gregg Berger got up onstage, to read us an extract from his work-in-progress memoir. He told us, it's fine, feel free to leave, none of you are expected to stay, this isn't that kind of thing. But the thing is, I had no idea how long this segment was going to go on for (20 minutes, per the schedule? Everything had overrun!), and I wanted to watch the cartoon, you know, the headline event of the evening, the thing I'd been told was the big thing to be excited about, which most of my friends were staying here for anyway. I snapped. I couldn't take it any more. I got my phone out and started posting in the group chat.

I could not tell you a single thing Berger talked about in the extract from his memoir. I was simply too tired. It described a world utterly alien to mine. A third of the words he was saying seemed to be quotes from other people. And the thing was, the thing that really got to me, aside from all the self-hatred over feeling like a hater, was that I'd brought with me a zine containing some lengthy personal episodes from my real life, and all I could think was: does this sound like that reads? Will my friends read it, and slump in their chairs, and loll their heads, persisting only out of a sense of obligation?

I knew it was over because suddenly people started clapping. By then, it was already too late. I watched the first part of "More than Meets the Eye", a boring cartoon I'd watched mere months prior in the cinemas (and enjoyed, somehow), and it was only when I realised we'd moved into the second part without me even noticing that I decided I was simply too tired to stay any longer, and finally made the wise choice to return to the bar.

Usually, Club Con has been fun and exciting, and I think the problem TFNation is increasingly having with it is that they feel like every year they need to debut something which has never been seen before, something important, over something which sparks joy. Last year was great: Jayhan rocked. This year did not rock. It just rolled on, and on, and on...

And I hate to be a hater about it. The auction raised £6400 for charity, of course that's fucking brilliant. The script reading made me chuckle a couple of times. The Wheelie auditions genuinely shed some light on a character/performance which has always been controversial. Gregg seems to have touched the hearts of a lot of people with his reading. These things were all perfectly fine taken on their own. And of course a huge part of my problem was just the physical reality of it, my own tiredness, the caught-up-in-my-own-head of it all. It was a me problem. But also, also, could they not have saved Gregg 'til last, as they have done with people like Garry Chalk in the past?

Look, something was just cursed this year. Viv got trapped in one of the elevators for ten minutes; another of the elevators was permanently cordoned off with hazard tape. That Saturday night, there were reports of Jim Sorenson being pursued through the corridors by someone from the salsa convention. The salsa convention! In years past, this charming trademark of TFNation, these bizarrely coincident events, background set-dressing, now elevated to plot-relevance, twisted into something adversarial. We heard that one of our volunteers had got in a fight with one of theirs. What the FUCK was going on, that night? There was a new water cooler positioned by the entrance to the dealer hall. Could there have been something in there, turning our vision red, driving us to madness?

I don't really remember what happened after I left the panel room. I hung out in the bar for a bit, and began to enjoy myself again—but I don't think I stayed up much later.

Sunday

That night, I was finally able to get some rest: I wasn't awoken by a stupid fucking fire alarm, or even a deliberately-set phone alarm, but rather by my own body deciding "hey, that's it, you've had enough". I felt good. I decided that Sunday would be a reset for me. I shaved, as I'd planned to, because my beard has developed a sizable bald spot, creeping up my neck onto the right side of my face. It used to be quite small, hidden away under my jawline—but roughly coinciding with that aforementioned personal crisis, more of the hair seems to have disappeared, an ice cap melting. At work, strangers come up to me and whisper the word "alopecia", as though whispering it makes this in any way a remotely polite thing to say to someone.

I'm not really attached to my facial hair—or rather, I guess, it's not really attached to me—but the half-on, half-off look is just kind of stupid. It's distracting. My eyes are up here! So at the moment, I'm having to shave more regularly. Maybe it'll grow back, or maybe it'll all fall off, and I'll probably be fine either way. So on Sunday morning, I took it as an excuse to perform the ritual. Cleave it away! All that shit in my skull, pushing its way out—begone! I gave myself horrendous razor burn; my blade was too blunt. In the evening, returning to my room, I saw there was still a spot of dried blood on the centre of my chin. It had been there all day. Whoops. But in the meantime, it fuckin' worked and all. I felt great. I looked cute, in my Hatsune Miku t-shirt and pink shorts.

On the way down from our room, I was able to prove to Jalaguy just how dogshit my phone camera is. I've had the thing for maybe six years at this point; it was actually my first decent-spec smartphone, but the camera is a dreadful thing that smears out every shape into a blurry haze regardless of the lighting conditions. Apparently it's "AI-enhanced", which to my knowledge just means you have an option to crank up the saturation sometimes; presumably, this software was a vain attempt to cover for the camera modules being cheap pieces of shit even at the time. Still, I was able to get maybe my favourite photo of the weekend.

Sunday was so, so much quieter. There is a kind lie at TFNation that Sunday's dealer hall is just as good, that places like Toy Fu purposefully hold back some stock for the second day, that the big stalls like ID Toys won't run out. It's not fucking true. The Blokees blokes had sold out. The bins were all half-full, the dregs of Revenge of the Fallen Sideswipe redecos, Armada Side Swipe redecos, Siege Sideswipe redecos, accumulated like silt in the wake of the gold rush.

But as a true gamer, I thrive on Sunday. I will find the things that no-one else wanted. I made off like a bandit. At Toy Fu, I found a Generations Junkheap going for a song; nobody gives a fuck about the Reveal the Shield Junkion mold these days, it's hot garbage, Studio Series is where it's at, but I'm still a Classics collector and I think that toy looks sick. I got my Wreck-Gar from Umar a couple of conventions ago, and now he's got a bike to ride on. Or maybe Junkheap is a Star Seeker! The world is his oyster. I also picked up a Combiner Wars Firefly—with his correct hand/foot/gun this time around—to complete my Superion, except the rest of the Aerialbots are in storage back at my parents' house so this is mostly academic.

I finally got a chance to properly look at the stall of my favourite traders, Blue Beetle. I've historically spent tons of money on frankly absurd quantities of cheap shit toys from their stall; this year, it was slimmer pickings for me, their huge bucket of slop by that point consisted mostly of BotBots. As usual, there was also an assortment of Transformers- and Marvel-inspired 3D-printed paraphernalia, custom-designed by one of the pair. The coolest item he had this year was a working clock in the shape of Cybertron; the second hand is the Ark, orbiting around. I don't really have room for that kind of thing in my life, but I was able to admire it from a distance.

Yesterday, I'd been tempted by an incomplete Robots in Disguise Movor and Rollbar to complement my childhood Ro-Tor and Armorhide, but they'd sold by the time I returned. Still, I was able to pick up a cheap Wildrider with dog-eared stickers; I plan to rip out his arm and use it to repair the other one I got. Last year, they also had an absolutely ruined Tentakil in their big bin, so sun-bleached as to be practically a redeco, with painfully stiff joins I dared not to try; I had actually resolved ahead of time that if it was still there this year, I'd pick it up, to go with my knackered Snap Trap. Well, lo and behold, there it was, dredged up from the BotBot pick-and-mix! I picked it up, and the main guy at the stall (I really need to get his name one of these years) waxed poetic about it, in mock outrage. "All weekend, I've seen people pick that little guy up, and I'm just like—come ON, he's £2!!! Yeah, he's a little sunburned, but where are you going to get a G1 guy for £2?" Of course he was absolutely right. As I said to him, it was less a question of whether I wanted to spend £2 on a Tentakil, and more a question of whether I dared to dip into the world of peroxide or whatever. But hey, if there was ever a toy to test the waters with...!

My dream of a Robots in Disguise Ruination wasn't quite dead, however—another stall actually had another Rollbar, this one complete with instructions, for a similar price to the one I'd seen at Blue Beetle. I also grabbed a Classics Megatron (about time!) from the same seller, and he threw in a Universe Ravage for free (my secondhand Hound came without one when I got it, many years ago now, so it was perfect!).

I hesitated for far longer than I should've over a complete Armada Demolishor for literally a tenner at another store. The thing is that I already have a Demolishor, with Blackout, just missing his missiles. But finding the missiles on their own has proven to be far trickier than I'd ever imagined! So really, I'd just be admitting defeat by buying a complete copy and flogging my incomplete one to recoup the cost (I could probably sell the Mini-Con alone for a tenner, if I was patient enough). "Are you having a laugh?" said Ben, when I agonised to him over it, which immediately snapped me out of my indecision. Honestly, it's really funny how much on the same wavelength we can be in that room. At one point I saw a Transmetal Optimus Primal at the Toy Fu table, and was about to buy it on the spot, when Ben pointed out, "It's missing one of its kneecaps. There was another one here earlier which was complete—but I bought it." Unbelievable!

I helped Daniel find a Beast Machines Rattrap I'd spotted earlier in the day, which he in turn only wanted to give to Jo—and I think she in turn planned to give it to Rabbit? This reminded me that I wanted to go home with some Beast Machines stuff myself. There was a Strika and a Tank Drone, which were at the top of my list to go with the dark horse favourite of my haul last year, the Motorcycle Drone. Unfortunately, they were a bit too expensive for me to buy on sight, and they were gone by the time I circled around. I'd also set my sights on some of the other Basic Vehicons, but was torn between the original colorways and the Robots in Disguise redecos, which had starred in a comic strip of mine. In the end, I decided to favour the original Beast Machines versions; partly because as I say, I'm swearing off redecos, and partly because I didn't want to start a whole new collection of "guys who appeared in that one comic wot I did". These worked out to be about a tenner cheaper than the sets of the redecos I'd otherwise seen, so that was nice, especially because at first I was disappointed to discover that I didn't really like them: Scavenger was great, but Mirage and Nightcruz really refused to cooperate while transforming. I was later able to work them out, in the comfort of my own home, and now I like them all, thankfully.

My last purchase was really exciting for me. One stall which was new for this year was Junk Shop U.S.A., being run by a couple of gentlemen who'd apparently come all the way over from Japan, bringing with them a bunch of uncommon and niche exclusives! It's quite typical for me to spot something on Saturday which is in some way special, but not in very high demand, going for more than I could usually justify for a toy of that size—in this case, it was United Rumble and Frenzy, paired up for £40. That's just too much to pay for two Scout Class figures, in my head, but I resolved that if nobody else had bitten by the end of the weekend, I'd make them an offer. Sure enough, they didn't seem to have received much interest, so my waiting paid off. They also seemed to like my fancomic (I'd been giving copies to most of the dealers), so that was really nice. While at the convention, I often like to gather up weird little micro-collections, and I found that this year Rumble and Frenzy paired really well with the Universe Ravage and Classics Megatron. It's all vibes, innit?

Unfortunately, due to my fixation on making the most of my remaining time in the dealer hall, I made the usual mistake of neglecting to visit any of the guests until it was already basically too late. David Kaye had vanished, with only the deserted amusement-park-esque queue barrier snaking towards his table to indicate that he was ever there. Again, I should've just sucked it up and waited for half an hour earlier in the day, but ironically the reason I hadn't was a complication with the thing I'd planned to get him to sign: an Armada Megatron jigsaw puzzle Jo bought for me last year. It wasn't until lunchtime that day that I was able to enlist Ben and Jo to put the damned thing together. And let me tell you, we smashed that children's jigsaw puzzle. I was hoping to mention to Kaye how his performance in Armada was one of the main things I enjoyed about the show, back when we were watching it for Our Worlds are in Danger—but then I had to go and let myself be distracted by toys, and miss my one shot! Argh!

Nick Roche was also permanently swamped. One of the volunteers shook his head at us, saying that Roche was heading off on his lunch; Jo made a valiant effort by saying "We're close personal friends!" (are we? I'm not!). The volunteer just shrugged and said, "man's gotta feed sometime", which I thought was really funny. I managed to briefly accost Roche in the bar later and shove a zine into his hands while he was presumably on the way back to his room, so that was something at least. God knows what he thought of it, assuming he's even read it. Dude was also massively behind on commissions, and ended up staying up late in his room finishing a couple of pieces for Jo—not that you'd know it, they turned out amazing.

I was however able to catch James Roberts at his table. For the last few conventions I've been putting off buying the notebooks, but this time my number was up: I got the set. In exchange (well, apart from money) I also gave him a zine, because I figured if any of the guests would be into my pretentious-ass prose, it'd be him.

Jo and I also briefly spoke to Simon Furman, mostly to let him know that certain parts of his Armada run were the best things he'd written in the early 2000s. He did actually light up at the reminder, and bemoaned the cancellation of Energon/Cybertron, as he always has done. Plus we managed to not completely embarrass ourselves, so I'm calling this one another win.

We finally got the full story from Jim as to what the fuck happened last night. It's really a tale for the ages, and I won't do it justice here, but I'm sure the legend will only grow over the course of conventions to come. Basically, it was like this: somehow, the salsa dancers had arranged things with the hotel to cordon off one of the two corridors leading through the building. This was another reason why the convention felt so unbearably busy. The signs were carefully worded: "to avoid congestion", TFNation attendees were directed to the other corridor.

Now, to hear Jim tell it, he was rushing to the panel room, and at that point, the corridor wasn't cordoned off, or he didn't see the sign, or something. Or maybe he did see the sign—I'm sure he'll never tell. Regardless, he was three-quarters of the way up the corridor when he saw the barrier at the other end. Still, it would have been asinine for him to turn around and go back, so he ploughed ahead.

But then someone called after him! And so he glanced over his shoulder, and offered a "sorry!" in deference. Then suddenly, this person came up alongside him, tried to step in front of him. Jim sort of just carried on going, but no sooner had he passed the man, he felt hands on his shoulders! The dude had physically grabbed him, yoink!

Like a cartoon character, Jim's legs were in motion but going nowhere, and the salsa guy's supervisor or someone was saying "Let him go! Let! Him! Go!" Until finally, the guy let Jim go, and he scurried off to the panel room.

Now, I'm told that around this point, Jo and Rabbit happened to be outside the panel room. So these salsa dancers came up to them and asked, like, "Who is running your convention? The behaviour of your guests is completely unacceptable!" They dutifully pointed into the room, up on stage, where David was busy MCing.

Eventually, the salsa people ended up crossing paths with some of the volunteers. Jim likes to imagine that they made a demand along the lines of, "PRODUCE THE COWBOY!" One thing led to another, and apparently one of the salsa folk—presumably, the same blockhead who'd grabbed Jim—slapped one of the TFNation volunteers on the arm. Not a proper blow or anything, but like—what the fuck!

So finally hotel security stepped in, Jim got called out. The salsa guy began this litany of complaints: according to him, Jim bodychecked him in the corridor! He demanded that the security team check the CCTV tapes. "Yes, PLEASE check the tapes!" Jim agreed, because he knew for a fact that they would show their guy laying hands on him. And of course, he had no intention of pressing charges, but- Of course, that turns the tables. By that point, the other salsa guy was apparently at his wit's end trying to talk down his idiot pal, and finally the guy listened. And that's more or less the end of it, but apparently, hotel security later conferred with TFNation staff to say they had reviewed the tapes, and "Your guy did nothing wrong." Not only that, it turned out that Jim had been chased down the corridor not just by that one guy, but by four salsa dancers! Absolute scenes.

So yeah, that's the story of how Jim became the mortal enemy of salsa dancers. On Saturday night, I'd found the signs of this going on in the background to be kind of alarming, but in the light of day, it was impossible to see the situation as anything other than extremely fucking funny.

We had intended to stop by the "Construct-A-Con" panel, but by the time we arrived, David Kaye was up on stage doing an audience Q&A. It's crazy how much Kaye gives off the impression of being one-of-us, a bona fide fan of the franchise (or at least the parts he's been involved with!). We presume that the convention-organising roundtable had been swapped with Kaye's panel for some reason or another.

Back in the bar, the number of toys floating around had reached a critical mass. I think it was SameAsItEverWoz who had acquired a full set of Kabaya toys for Kenzan, Jinbu, and Ganoh. These came complete with ten-year-old Japanese chewing gum, so Erica, Sixty_Cats and myself all got to try some! I don't know why I'm phrasing that like this was a good thing. The gum was very bad, but we've since updated the TFWiki pages for Kenzan and Jinbu to properly document how it tasted. Ganoh's page has yet to be updated; poke Erica to get on it!

Daniel picked up a Collaborative H.I.S.S. Megatron (the toy I'd originally planned to cover for the RRCo zine)—mostly just for the sake of buying something! It was right before the dealer room was closing, so he got a good price, but a few days later his airline lost his damn luggage (he's since got it back, minus an expensive bottle of whiskey that apparently got stolen by airport staff). Still, we managed to eke what fun we could out of the thing; I was thrilled to find that Rumble and Frenzy could sit in his gun turret. Meanwhile, it turned out Umar had got a Classics Optimus Prime, which immediately made me keen to get my own copy out of storage; it's crazy how good a pair he makes with Megatron.

I'll level with you—at this stage in my journaling, it's been a full week since I arrived at the con, so my memory is hazy. These fragmentary scenes are all that remain aside from vibes. But I got to talk to a bunch of people that night. I had a good bitch sesh with Chris McFeely and PaperPlane off the YouTubes, as we chatted about wronguns in the community and the possibility of a YouTube panel at TFNation in the future (David was not keen). I got to shoot the shit about comics and stuff with Cradok from the TFWiki Discord, who I only ever really get the chance to chat with at TFN, but who's always a pleasure to speak to—he knows so much about so much.

There were a few people who left as Sunday was wrapping up, which always takes me by surprise, even though it shouldn't. Coordinating across the hotel proved to be difficult for me as I kept getting booted off the guest WiFi for some fucking reason, so I'd just randomly stop getting notifications. At one point I checked the group chat and realised that Viv had ollied outie maybe an hour ago—and it was like, welp, I'm probably not gonna see her again until next year!

That's the aspect of the convention which I find is really brutal: I like panels, and I like talking to guests, and I like getting toys, but most of all, I like talking to my pals. And unfortunately, for most of the weekend, all of these activities are in direct competition. There are physically not enough hours in the day. Most of these people, I could happily spend a whole day with them, and it'd pass in the blink of an eye. I'm not talking about the whole crowd—I'm talking about individual people. Even if I was never to step foot outside the bar the entire weekend, I'd still find myself wishing I'd got the chance to talk to all these people just a little longer. But it's only by the existence of this event that we're able to meet. For so much of the year, everyone is so far away.

I'm sick of all the typing. I just want to hang out.

I think it was Sunday night when I briefly lost my phone. My pink shorts were really throwing me off, so I didn't have my usual feeling of whether or not my phone was or wasn't in my pocket. At one point we went off to get tea, and we'd just left the hotel when I realised—shit! I'd left it in the bar. So we rushed back, but at that point it was already gone, handed in to the hotel staff by one of our pals. But the thing was, the hotel staff didn't seem to have a fucking clue about it!

I asked at the bar. They knew nothing about it and told me to check with reception. I asked at reception. The lady there asked me what my phone looked like. Oh dear, I thought. It's a generic off-brand phone. It's black. It's in a very badly yellowed clear case, I guess? "Yellow phone", echoed the receptionist. I shook my head. "No, no, it's a- nevermind. It's just a black phone." It was a moot point because she knew nothing about it. She went over to the concierge desk and tried to call housekeeping. Housekeeping knew nothing about it. She shrugged and told me to check with the bar again. Internally I was like, one of your staff has my phone! Are you not going to try and get the bottom of it? So I went back to the bar and asked one the wait staff. She passed me over to her supervisor. The supervisor went back over to the concierge desk, and finally returned with my phone, which had apparently been there the whole time. What a palaver! Daniel and Jalaguy looked after me during this whole little snafu, which was really great. We had a nice dinner and stayed up 'til late.

Monday

This was easily my best Monday at TFNation yet. I wouldn't dream of leaving on Sunday, but I usually find that the only cheap trains on Monday are late in the afternoon, by which point most people have usually fucked off already. Not so this year! I wasn't the last one standing! I was hanging out with people right up until the end! Ha!

I managed to find the last few people I'd wanted to give zines to, and shoved copies into their hands during the goodbyes. I walked a couple of people up to the train station, as is tradition.

Rachel's stuff from Friday was all out on the tables again; Prime Thundertron and Titans Return Hot Rod still hadn't found a new home, which I was thrilled by, because I hadn't found a complete Hot Rod and I'd really come around on the idea of Thundertron. I had a go of transforming him myself, and immediately decided that Jala was just wrong, it rules. There was also a Netflix Kingdom Rattrap, which I decided I'd like. My Kingdom Rattrap is the retail deco, and he's missing his rifle; this one was complete, and technically different, and it felt fitting considering all the thought I'd been giving to my stupid Rattrap collection. But then I saw Daniel playing with the toy, and I was like... actually, he should have it. I didn't need it, he'd get more out of it! It was really nice to see someone discovering that figure for the first time, a toy that means so much to me. I spent the entire train ride home just flipping Thundertron from one mode to another. Few toys exude such life and personality. Like I say, I'm normally the #1 Prime hater, so it's not a figure I ever would've thought to pick up—if not for Rachel's generosity. So I want to give her a huge thank-you, I'm sure a lot of us ended up leaving the convention with something like that which really excited us, thanks to her.

Also on the table was the original fucking pencil art for Jack Lawrence's cover to Lost Light #10, which auto_thots had bought. Unfortunately, it hadn't brought along anything to transport something like that with, so the damn thing was just out there on the table next to everyone's coffees. After a near-miss, I was like, hold the fuck on, we've got to get this thing off the table. Thankfully, Daniel had mistakenly ended up with a spare copy of issue #184 of the Marvel UK comic, which had a plastic sleeve of about the right size; in went the art, while Ella adopted the comic (we got to hang out a little bit more this year, which was nice!).

Jo, Rabbit and I are all Magic: The Gathering players, and the previous night, Rabbit had revealed that they'd brought along a bunch of Bloomburrow packs, so that we could do our own little tournament. This really thrilled me, because my coworker who I usually go to MTG events with had BETRAYED me for Bloomburrow by going away on prerelease weekend to play in another city, so I'd pretty much resigned myself to never playing the expansion, despite it being the most appealing set in ages. Thanks to Rabbit, I got to actually try some of the cards! On Sunday night, I made a WBR lifedrain deck with a bat/lizard typal theme, and we got the chance to play in the bar on Monday. My deck actually played really well! I won some, I lost some, but most importantly I had fun, and Rabbit was very patient with the fact that I was constantly getting up to say goodbye to people. I felt like I hadn't got to spend much time with either of them over the weekend up to that point, so it was really nice to actually sit down together and do something like that, right up until the time came for me to go and get my train.

Next time

So at TFNation 2025, here are some things which I hope will make me enjoy myself better:

I probably won't be contributing a review for the Refined Robot Co. zine again, assuming Ben decides to extend the trilogy into a quadrilogy. I love doing it, but drawing just takes me too long, and it's just not the same without drawing. Also, look, this isn't me blowing my own horn, but I think it'd be difficult for me to top this year's piece of writing—there were a perfect storm of factors which made this one work, and I simply can't think of a reason I'd ever be able to write a better piece in that specific format.

I have plans already for next year's zine, and if all goes according to plan, I will have the whole thing finished by the end of this year. Which should mean I will have the damn thing printed months in advance. Look, we all know how these things go, but that's my plan.

I might try to collaborate with someone who has a table to give away (sell?) some printed goods. I felt like this year was so busy that I actually struggled to give away nearly as many copies of the Wheelie comic as I'd hoped, for instance, and Ben definitely found the same with the RRCo zine. I'm sure there's lots of people who'd like my stuff if they knew it existed.

I will get lots of sleep before going to the convention. No, really.

If circumstances outside my control conspire such that I do not get enough sleep, I will allow myself to resort to the 500ml cans of Monster which the Hilton was selling for £2 each at breakfast for some unfathomable reason. Honestly, I can see why they weren't included in the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet; if they were, we probably would've seen a few heart attacks.

I will probably voice some of my criticisms of this year's Club Con in the annual feedback survey they do, in the hopes that they will take more of a back-to-basics approach. I'll also try to notice if I am not having fun, and try doing something else.

I will try to wear shorts with bigger pockets. (Sorry, Jo, I will not be able to participate in the cosplay show, though I will of course continue to rep the merch.)

I will stop taking items of breakfast food "for the road".

I will suck it up and queue to see guests towards the start of the day.

I will try and change my financial situation to have a stream of income outside of my job—whether by making significant sales from my existing collections, or by having a Patreon for some meaningful creative endeavour—which I will use to properly budget for things like TFNation. I need to allow myself to spend more on specific things that I want, and waste less time scrubbing around Facebook, eBay, and charity shops for random bargains (this year was a fluke). My attitude towards money has always been fucked and it's time to work on that.

In case it's not obvious, though, I did overall really enjoy myself this year, and that was entirely down to my friends, old and new, for being such wonderful people to be around. Even in my most sleep-deprived and highly-strung state, you all made me feel content, comfortable, and included in our little community. I was constantly being surprised by your antics. I hope to see all of you again next year, and I hope that I will see some of you before then!