#and aside from that I’ve been very clearly struggling but it seems like no one is close enough to me to really grasp the seriousness

[merildae]

A hug would fix so many of my problems rn

[waltricia]

Regardless of whether anyone actually reads this, I need to show appreciation for the writing, blocking, and editing of the last scene of 3x03, “Forces of Nature.”

Recently, I noticed that the LW line “this author is captivated” was very specifically placed over a shot of Colin and I knew it was intentionally done to convey the double meaning of the narration being about her and him.

Since then, I’ve realized that the same thing is happening throughout that entire LW narration. And it is fucking BRILLIANT.

So, first of all, this is the transcript of the narration:

“This author believes that all of man’s greatest inventions are nothing more than a distraction from what is most natural to us. Our instincts. The innate animal impulse that is inside even the most sophisticated of us. For when all is said and done, our nature will always win out. It seems Lord Debling’s instinct has led this man of nature to the most surprising pick of the season in Miss Penelope Featherington. Suffice it to say, this author is captivated. For in the battle between man and nature, it is quite clear that the battle is in fact between man and himself.”

Now I’m going to break it down with captioned stills so that you can see which words line up with which frames and I’ll explain what I believe it all means.

“This author” - When it’s first said, it’s on Pen. The second time it’s on Colin. I think there are several meanings here. Firstly, she’s Whistledown and she’s published. He will be, assuming he publishes his travel journals or whatever. Secondly, I think it highlights how they will be united, in the Whistledown storyline along with everything else. There’s a third meaning, but I’m going to get back to it later, once we get to the second use of “this author.”

This is the Innovations Ball, so on the surface, LW is speaking about man-made technology versus the natural world. But with the introduction of “man,” the shot immediately cuts to Colin, so the second layer of the narration is about him. All of Colin’s invented personality traits are a cover, hiding his true self- his sensitivity and his feelings for Pen. Obviously, this echoes what she wrote about him in 3x01, but it’s different. The context is the same, but this time, she’s not speaking directly about him, and really, she may very well not be thinking about him at all in writing it. After all, she still doesn’t know about his feelings for her. But we know. And the feeling of what she’s saying this time is less jarring; more, fittingly, natural. Because he’s starting to confront all of it as well.

In this shot, Colin has been walking across the room to get to Pen. There were people on his right, obstructing his view of her, but as LW says “natural,” Colin passes those people and, though we cannot yet see Pen, we can tell from Colin’s face that he finally clearly can. She is what is most natural to him.

He comes up to her and says that he has a question for her. The narration starts again. But on this shot, it’s only the one word, “our.” Aside from this just being romantic, I think it highlights that the narration is about both of them. But I also think that it’s not just about them. It feels to me as if, metaphorically, it’s written by both of them. Hence, my emphasis on the importance of “this author.”

We cut to our first close-up of Colin in this particular intimate sequence of close-ups. And we’re really in his perspective now, as he’s struggling to manage his feelings.

Again, he had been masking, trying to be like the other “sophisticated” gentlemen.

But a shift is occurring within him.

And this where I really hope there is at least one other person out there paying attention because all of the elements are coming together to tell us something incredible here. We have our beloved Julie Andrews delivering the line with a profound heaviness. We have Kris Bowers’ “Call Me Simon” coming to a close, sounding like a clock striking midnight. And we have the decisive sentiment of the words themselves. I'm convinced that the words “done” and “win out” being said on Pen speak to the finality of Colin’s feelings. If there was uncertainty before, it is gone now and there is no turning back. He is in love with Pen.

But before Colin can say anything else, Debling steps in and takes Pen away to dance.

Side note: Amazingly, I can back up my theory with this shot and another one of my theories:

I had said, when the trailer came out, that when true red shows up behind Colin, that indicates his love for Pen. This is the first time we see that happen.

But anyway, back to Whistledown…

Debling is the literal “man of nature,” while Colin is the metaphoric “man of nature.” Both have picked Pen.

We’ve finally come to the second “this author” and here’s the third thing I wanted to say about it: Possibly my favorite thing about this sequence, is that it acts as a vehicle for the representation of the Polin role reversal. From one end of the Whistledown narration to the other, Pen and Colin literally and metaphorically switch places, seamlessly. They exchange their physical places in the room. She’s the wallflower, then he’s the wallflower. She’s the author, then he’s the author. In a metaphorical sense, they’re both writing this Whistledown piece. This whole sequence serves to show us how Colin and Pen have really been equal this whole time. They’re just star-crossed. It’s like what Luke has been saying in interviews, Colin and Pen keep missing each other. They have brief moments where they eclipse each other and then they slip right past until the next time they orbit around to each other again.

Ok, here’s the final stretch, and it is a fucking fascinating maneuver:

The battle isn’t between Colin and Debling. In fact, Debling doesn’t signify at all here. I’d say there are actually three other battles being referenced: Colin and himself, Pen and herself, and Colin and Pen. The first “man” of that sentence is said on Colin, while “nature” is said on Pen. So in the battle between Colin and Pen- for there is a battle, as Cressida will mention in 3x04 when she says “Eros and Psyche, battling it out”, and also there will be more blatant battling in part 2- the real battles Colin and Pen are facing are the ones within themselves.

Of course I’ve already written about Colin’s battle with himself.

The reference to Pen’s battle with herself is particularly interesting to me. At first, I didn’t see it and I didn’t understand why that bit of the narration was spoken over the Pen and Debling dance instead of over Colin. Then I realized that the second “man” of that sentence is said directly on top of this shot where, again, it’s not about Debling; it’s her face we’re seeing. Then, Debling spins her and the “himself” is on Pen too. And I know I’m right about this because the shot was in the trailer and I watched it so many times. And I noticed that Sam Phillips is very specifically looking away from the camera in this moment. I figured it was because we had to know that the moment was about her. And I was right.

Pen’s journey is her reconciliation with herself. Colin and Pen really have the same inner battles. They both need to drop their masks. That’s why the mirror scene is going to be so important- it’s about exposing and embracing the bare parts of both of them. They are already equal and united. They just need to see it.

Ok that’s it. I’m done. I got it out. And I literally can’t add any more images to this post. To anyone who will have read this fuckin novel I just wrote, thanks for sticking around. These ballroom sequences are particularly difficult for the cast and crew to do, and there is obviously so much complexity in this one, so I feel like it should all be acknowledged. Someone has to acknowledge it, and if that has to be me, I will gladly continue using up my Friday afternoons to do so.

To the cast and crew, to the captain of the season 3 ship, Jess Brownell, to the director, Andrew Ahn, and writer, Eli Wilson Pelton, to everyone’s favorite choreographer/movement director, Jack Murphy, to Luke, Nic, and Julie fuckin Andrews, I see you and I love you. Please keep doing what you’re doing. It’s all worth it. ♥️

[estellan0vella]

My Very Own Speed Demon: K.S Kim Seungmin x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 15.5K

CW: Seungmin is bad at feelings, talks of a guy making reader uncomfortable with touching, Mechanic Student Seungmin, Hyunjin is a bit of an ass

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The sun sinks lower, painting Miroh College in golden hues as shadows stretch lazily across the almost-empty parking lot outside the engineering building. The faint hum of machinery fades into the evening air as Seungmin steps out, rolling his shoulders with a slight groan. His black shirt hangs open, the silver chain on his chest catching the light with every movement. He wipes his slightly greasy hands on a rag stuffed into his back pocket, his boots scuffing against the pavement as he heads toward his car.

But something halts him. A few rows down, parked like a relic from a cooler era, is a 1977 Datsun 280Z. The hood’s popped open, and standing in front of it is you.

You’re bent slightly over the engine, your phone in one hand as the other gestures vaguely toward something under the hood. A quiet sigh escapes you as you tilt your head, clearly deep in a YouTube tutorial. The sunlight plays off the chain belt draped around your waist, your layered necklaces, and the flutter of your blue maxi skirt. A loose strand of hair brushes against your face as you mumble softly to yourself, brows furrowed in concentration.

Seungmin slows, lips twitching into a barely restrained smirk. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath. You’re cute. And absolutely lost. Before he realizes it, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he strides toward you.

When he’s close enough to see the way you’re squinting at your phone like it holds the secrets of the universe, he clears his throat. “You’re looking at the wrong engine model.”

You jolt like you’ve been shocked, nearly dropping your phone as you whirl around. Your wide eyes meet his, and your voice comes out breathy, startled. “Shit, you scared me!”

Seungmin raises his hands in mock surrender, the silver rings on his fingers glinting. His smirk deepens. “Sorry, sorry. I just couldn’t help noticing you looked like you were fucking struggling.”

Your cheeks flush, but you huff out a laugh despite yourself. “Yeah, well. I don’t know jack shit about cars, so I’m improvising.” You gesture toward the duct tape crisscrossing random parts of the engine. “This seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Seungmin leans closer, eyebrows raised as he inspects the tape job. “Jesus Christ. That’s a lot of duct tape.”

“Duct tape works,” you insist, crossing your arms in a half-defensive, half-sheepish posture.

He straightens up, deadpan. “How’s it working for you right now?”

Your lips twitch, trying not to laugh. “Okay, point taken.”

He snorts, rolling up his sleeves as he steps closer to the car. “Mind if I take a look? Because this thing isn’t running without some proper help. And no offence, but I don’t think YouTube’s got you covered.”

You hesitate for a moment, then sigh, stepping aside. “Go ahead. I’d appreciate it. Just, please don’t tell me it’s completely fucked.”

He leans over the engine, peering into the mess of parts. “Probably just your spark plug. Maybe the alternator if you’re really unlucky. But this? This is salvageable.”

You lean against the side of the car, watching him as he works. The way his fingers move over the parts, quick and sure, makes you feel a little less panicked. “The grease on your face tells me you’ve done this before, so I have faith in you"

Seungmin glances at you, smirking. “You should probably raise the bar for what counts as a ‘professional mechanic.’ But yeah, I’ve worked on cars since I was a kid and I'm a mechanics student. You’re in decent hands.”

“Well, considering I almost called Hyunjin to come save me, you’re already a fucking upgrade,” you admit with a small laugh.

He freezes for a split second, looking up at you. “You know Hyunjin?”

“Yeah,” you say, tucking your phone into your bag. “We’re supposed to be working on this art history project together. He’s going to fucking kill me for being late.”

That earns you a quiet laugh as Seungmin wipes his hands on his rag. “You’re meeting him at the Alpha Phi house?”

You blink at him in surprise. “Wait, you’re in Alpha Phi?”

He shrugs, leaning casually against the car. “Yeah. I'm Seungmin. I live there with him and the other idiots.”

A grin tugs at your lips. “I'm Y/N and Hyunjin's mentioned you. Mostly just complains about you being soulless.”

Seungmin snorts. “Sounds about right.” He glances back at the engine, then at you. “Hate to break it to you, but this car isn’t going anywhere until you replace the spark plug. You’re fucked for tonight.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Of course I am. That’s just perfect.”

“Hey,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “I’m heading home anyway. Why don’t you let me give you a ride? It’s either that or you haul your ass across campus alone.”

You hesitate, biting your lip as you weigh your options. “Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you or anything.”

Seungmin tilts his head, his voice calm but teasing. “What kind of dick would I be if I let a pretty girl with good taste in cars walk all the way to campus alone?”

“The same kind of dick as most of the guys on this campus?”

He bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Well, they’re all assholes. I’m not.”

That gets a real laugh out of you, and you push off the car. “Alright, fine. Let me grab my bag.”

As you fall into step beside him, he shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing at you sideways. “So, art history, huh? What’s the project?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s on Tudor art. Specifically how Anne Boleyn’s image was erased after her execution. Hyunjin’s handling the movement and symbolism stuff.”

Seungmin groans, rolling his eyes. “That tracks. Hyunjin loves overanalyzing the fuck out of everything. Half the time, I think he’s just making shit up to sound smart.”

You laugh softly, your steps matching his as the two of you head into the twilight.

The drive to the Alpha Phi house is unexpectedly comfortable, considering you’re riding with a guy you’ve known for all of ten minutes. Seungmin’s Honda Civic smells faintly of coffee and motor oil, and the faint hum of the engine is almost soothing as it cuts through the winding streets of Miroh College. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, curious about this sharp-tongued yet oddly chivalrous stranger. He’s relaxed, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rests on the gear shift, the silver rings on his fingers glinting in the muted streetlights.

Seungmin breaks the silence first, his voice dry but not unkind. “So, why a 280Z?”

You blink, his question catching you off guard. “What do you mean?”

He flicks his gaze toward you briefly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before his eyes return to the road. “It’s a cool car, sure. But let’s be honest—it’s a high-maintenance pain in the ass. And judging by your duct tape situation earlier, I wouldn’t peg you as the ‘engine whisperer’ type.”

You laugh softly, your fingers fiddling with the bracelets on your wrist. “Okay, fair enough. I’m not exactly a mechanic. But it was my dad’s car. He restored it when he was in college, and it’s been in the family ever since. It’s sentimental, you know?”

His smirk softens into something more genuine, and he nods. “Yeah. I get that.”

The car falls into a comfortable quiet again, broken only by the soft buzz of the engine and the occasional sound of tires crunching over the asphalt. The two of you fill the gaps in the silence with casual conversation. You complain about campus parking, and he counters with a running list of the best parking spots he’s commandeered over the years. 

He mentions a coffee shop near the library that’s cheap but “doesn’t taste like watered-down pretentious-cunt water,” and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. When you bring up how much you love late-night drives, his face lights up just slightly, and he shares how he used to drive aimlessly to clear his head when shit got overwhelming.

By the time he pulls up in front of the Alpha Phi house, its massive white columns glowing in the night like some over-the-top temple to chaos, you’re almost disappointed that the ride is over.

The house looms ahead, loud even from the outside. Someone’s yelling from the second-floor window, and you catch a glimpse of a guy leaning halfway out, waving his arms. “For fuck’s sake, Chan, shut up and come back in before you fall!” someone shouts from inside.

Seungmin just shakes his head, exhaling sharply as he pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. “Every day, I wonder why the fuck I still live here,” he mutters under his breath, grabbing his keys.

You step out of the car and sling your bag over your shoulder, smoothing your skirt as he leads the way up the wide, creaky steps. The faint light from the porch lamp glints off the chain around his neck as he digs into his pocket for the keys.

“Hyunjin’s probably upstairs,” he says, unlocking the door with a practiced ease. “You’ll hear him before you see him.”

The door creaks open, and the chaos of the frat house spills out into the night. Inside, the space is somehow both clean and a complete disaster. The floors are clear of clutter, but the mismatched furniture in the living room is piled with discarded hoodies, random solo cups, and what looks suspiciously like a pair of boxers. A giant flat-screen TV blares some football highlight reel, and the faint smell of beer, sweat, and something burnt lingers in the air.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say quietly, taking a tentative step inside. The house feels like it’s pulsing with energy—voices shouting, footsteps pounding, someone laughing like a maniac in the kitchen.

Seungmin shrugs, brushing past you toward the noise. “No problem. Hyunjin’s room is upstairs, last door on the left. Just tell him I didn’t kill you or anything.”

You smile a little at that and nod, heading toward the stairs. The wooden steps creak under your Converse, and the sounds of the house get louder with each step. Behind one door, someone’s blasting music—something heavy and bass-driven. Behind another, you hear what sounds like a heated debate about the “existential meaning” of SpongeBob.

Finally, you reach the last door on the left. You knock softly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you wait.

“Come in!” Hyunjin’s voice booms out almost immediately, loud and theatrical as always.

You push the door open to find Hyunjin sprawled dramatically on his bed, his long limbs draped across the comforter like he’s auditioning for some avant-garde art piece. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, and his golden hair is messy in a way that looks too good to be accidental.

“Took you fucking long enough,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “I was about to start working without you.” His eyes land on you, and then narrow slightly. “Wait—how the fuck did you even get here? Did you walk?”

“No,” you say, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. “Your friend Seungmin gave me a ride. My car decided to fuck me over in the middle of the engineering lot.”

At the mention of Seungmin, Hyunjin groans, flopping back onto his bed like the mere thought of his frat brother is exhausting. “Of course he did. Bet he was an absolute cunt about it too, wasn’t he?”

You laugh softly, setting your bag down on the chair near his desk. “He was actually pretty nice. Surprisingly helpful, considering the duct tape situation.”

Hyunjin snorts, propping himself up on his elbows. “That asshole’s full of surprises. Don’t get used to it, though. He’s usually too busy being a sarcastic dick to help anyone.”

You smile faintly, settling into the chair and pulling out your notes. “He’s not that bad.”

“Trust me,” Hyunjin says, grabbing a notebook from the floor and flipping it open. “You haven’t known him long enough yet. Give it time.”

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, the chaos of the house fading into the background as you dive into your project.

Seungmin steps into the kitchen, popping the tab on a cold beer before leaning against the counter. The sound of the aluminium can hissing open is barely audible over the general buzz of conversation. He takes a long, quiet swig, hoping for just a moment of peace. But when he lowers the can, he immediately notices it. Six pairs of eyes fixed on him like vultures circling a fresh carcass.

Minho, Felix, Jeongin, Changbin, Jisung, and Chan sit scattered around the dining table, their expressions ranging from smirking amusement to outright glee.

“So,” Chan starts, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms like he’s conducting some kind of frat house tribunal. “She was cute.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, playing dumb. “Who?”

“You fucking heard me,” Chan replies, his smirk widening. “The girl. The one who came in your car.”

Minho snickers, lazily spinning a pen between his fingers. “Yeah, I saw her. Very your type. You into hippies now?”

Felix immediately elbows Minho in the ribs, his voice sharp with mock outrage. “Shut the fuck up, Minho. She wasn’t a hippie; she was hot.”

Seungmin groans, tipping his head back and muttering to the ceiling like it might spare him. “Here we fucking go.”

“You don’t just offer a girl a ride unless there’s something there,” Jeongin cuts in, his grin pure mischief as he leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Seungmin shoots him a glare. “Her car was busted, and it was getting dark. What was I supposed to do, leave her there to get mugged or some shit?”

Jisung raises a hand like he’s in class, his grin borderline feral. “Counterpoint: You’re totally the guy who lets people fend for themselves because you’re too busy being a soulless bastard”

Changbin chuckles, lifting his can in a mock toast. “Be honest. You didn’t give her a ride because you’re a nice guy. You did it because she’s hot, right?”

Seungmin takes a slow, deliberate sip of his beer, his patience thinning with every word. When he sets it down, he exhales sharply. “From an objective standpoint, sure. She’s, objectively speaking, good-looking. I can admit that.”

“‘Objectively,’” Jisung parrots, squinting at him. “Why the fuck do you keep saying it like that?”

Jeongin smirks, leaning forward with his chin resting on his palm. “Because our boy here doesn’t know how to handle the fact that he just lived a fucking meet-cute.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t pop out of his skull. “I don’t know her. I gave her a ride, that’s it. The end. Stop making this a fucking thing.”

“Yet,” Changbin drawls, grinning like he’s cracked the code. “You don’t know her yet. But you could.”

“This isn’t a fucking fanfiction,” Seungmin snaps, slamming his beer down on the counter hard enough to make the others laugh. “Alright? This is real life. She’s not some pixie dream girl who’s gonna change my fucking world or whatever.”

“Relax,” Jisung says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We’re just saying it’s a possibility. You’ve got the whole oil-smeared, black-on-black, moody mechanic thing going for you. Girls eat that shit up.”

“Exactly,” Jeongin agrees, nodding sagely. “She’s probably already imagining you fixing her car shirtless in slow motion. Hell, I’m imagining it.”

“Fucking gross,” Seungmin deadpans, shaking his head as the table dissolves into laughter.

Chan raises an eyebrow, his voice mockingly serious. “You’re saying there’s no chance, none at all, that she might’ve been a little into you?”

Seungmin stares at him, his tone flat. “Zero. I’m the asshole who told her duct tape isn’t a real fix and then made her leave her car in the lot. Really romantic.”

“That’s your version,” Felix says with a grin. “Her version is probably all, ‘Oh my God, this sexy, grumpy mechanic saved me and then gave me a ride in his cool car.’”

“It’s a Honda Civic,” Seungmin mutters.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jisung replies. “You’re a walking Wattpad trope right now.”

Seungmin sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re all idiots. I helped her out because it was the right thing to do. That’s it.”

But as their teasing fades into background noise, Seungmin can’t help the way your face lingers in his mind. The way you’d smiled at him, soft and sweet, like you weren’t sure if you were supposed to but couldn’t help it anyway. The way you’d laughed when he’d called you out on your duct tape fix, not defensive, just genuine. And the way you’d looked so at ease in the passenger seat of his car, your hair catching the light from the streetlamps as you told him about your dad’s 280Z.

He shakes his head, pushing the thoughts aside. This is nothing. Just a pretty girl who needed a ride.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself as he finishes his beer and listens to his friends laugh.

The autumn sun bathes the campus in golden light, shadows stretching across the cobblestones as Seungmin strides toward the café. The crunch of fallen leaves under his boots echoes in the crisp air, his every step purposeful but unhurried. His black compression top clings to his frame, the fabric outlining his shoulders and arms. The silver chain against his chest catches the light as he shifts the strap of his bag, his fingers absently toying with the chunky rings that gleam on his hand.

He spots the café ahead, its tables littered with students hunched over laptops, sipping steaming cups of caffeine. His plan is simple. Grab coffee, kill some time, and enjoy the rare peace between classes. But as he rounds the corner, the sight of you freezes him mid-step.

You’re standing near the entrance, your sage green blouse slipping slightly off one shoulder, the delicate strap of your bra peeking out. Layers of necklaces glint against your skin, and your chain belt sways with every tiny shift of your weight. You’re smiling, polite but clearly uneasy, as a Sigma Chi douchebag looms too close. His navy sweatshirt emblazoned with the frat’s oversized logo makes Seungmin’s lip curl immediately.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” the guy sneers, his voice dripping with mockery.

Your polite smile falters, but you hold your ground, your tone gentle despite the venom aimed at you. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think—”

“Bullshit,” the guy cuts you off sharply, his voice rising. “You were sweet as fuck at the party, all flirty and cute. Now you’re ghosting me like I’m some fucking loser? What the fuck is that about?”

Seungmin’s jaw tightens. The guy’s posture, leaning in with fake bravado, makes his blood simmer. You’re too nice, too soft-spoken, trying to defuse the situation instead of telling this idiot to fuck all the way off. Not on Seungmin’s watch.

“Hey, Y/N!” Seungmin calls out as he strides toward you.

Your head snaps to him, relief flashing across your face. “Oh! Hi, Seungmin!” The brightness in your voice is unmistakable, and you take a step toward him, only for the Sigma Chi asshole to block your way.

The guy sneers, glancing between you and Seungmin. “Kim Seungmin? Really? You’re ditching me for this fucker?”

Seungmin’s boots crunch loudly against the gravel as he closes the distance. His sharp eyes narrow, and his voice drops, calm but laced with menace. “Got something you want to say, Sigma Chi?”

The guy stiffens but holds his ground, though the confidence in his sneer wavers. “Yeah. I’m saying she’s ditching a real man for some emo mechanic wannabe. That about cover it?”

Seungmin tilts his head slightly, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. “Funny. You sound like a lot of talk for someone who’s about five seconds away from having their teeth kicked in.”

The frat guy falters, glancing around to see if anyone is watching. Seungmin steps closer, his boots scraping loudly against the pavement, and lowers his voice. “Walk away, asshole. While you still have a choice.”

The guy scowls but backs off, muttering something about “fucking losers” under his breath as he storms off. Seungmin watches him go, the tension in his posture easing only once the guy is out of sight.

“Fucking dickhead,” he mutters before turning his attention back to you. “You alright?”

You nod, your fingers fidgeting with the bracelets on your wrist as you take a steadying breath. “Yeah. I didn’t know how to get him to leave without making it worse.”

“You don’t have to,” Seungmin says simply. “Guys like that don’t deserve your time. Next time, just tell him to fuck off.”

You laugh softly, though it’s tinged with a bit of nervousness. “Easier said than done.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says, his voice lighter now, though the edge of protectiveness hasn’t left. He tilts his head toward the café door. “Come on. Let’s get coffee before some other Sigma Chi asshole shows up.”

You fall into step beside him, the warmth of the café greeting you as you step inside. The scent of fresh coffee and pastries wraps around you like a blanket, and the low hum of conversation fills the space.

“Grab a seat,” Seungmin says, gesturing toward the tables. “I’ll order.”

You choose a small table by the window, your nerves finally settling as you watch him at the counter. He exchanges a few quick words with the barista, his tone casual but confident, and a few minutes later, he’s making his way back to you with two drinks in hand.

He sets a cup in front of you before sliding into the seat across from you. “Chai latte,” he says. “Figured that’s more your speed than straight black coffee.”

You blink, pleasantly surprised. “How’d you know I like chai?”

He shrugs, smirking faintly as he takes a sip of his own drink. “Lucky guess. You just seem like the type.”

You chuckle, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. “Well, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Least I could do,” he says, leaning back in his chair, his silver rings tapping lightly against the ceramic mug. “That guy was a fucking disaster.”

You trace your finger around the rim of your cup, your voice soft. “He wasn’t always like that. We just didn’t click, and I thought he’d understand, but I guess not.”

Seungmin snorts, setting his drink down with a small thunk. “Yeah, because entitled shitheads like him don’t take rejection well. They think they’re God’s gift to the world and lose their shit the second someone disagrees.”

You smile faintly, though there’s a sadness in your eyes. “I just try to see the good in people. Maybe that’s stupid.”

He watches you for a moment, his eyes softening. “It’s not stupid. It’s just risky. Too many people out there are assholes, and being nice doesn’t mean they’ll stop being assholes.”

You nod, taking a sip of your latte and you glance up at him with a small smile. “Well, I’m lucky you were there.”

“Damn right, you were,” he says with a smirk. “Seriously, though. If some other dick tries that shit, call me. I’ll handle it.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “What, glare them into submission?”

“Exactly,” he deadpans, taking another sip of his drink. “It’s a very refined technique.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, and the tension from earlier melts away completely. Seungmin surprises you with his dry humour and blunt honesty, and before you know it, the conversation flows easily, dipping into random topics and shared complaints about campus life.

When you finally leave the café, the sun has dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the quad. Seungmin walks beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets as the two of you approach the main campus intersection.

“You heading to class?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Art history in ten.”

He nods. “Workshop for me. Another day of fixing shit that some moron broke.”

You laugh softly. “Sounds riveting.”

“Oh, it’s a fucking thrill,” he replies with a faint grin.

At the intersection, you pause, turning to face him. “Thanks again, Seungmin. For everything.”

He nods, his expression softening. “Anytime. Just don’t let assholes like that ruin your day, alright?”

You smile warmly, your voice quiet but sincere. “I’ll try.”

With a small wave, you head off toward your class, and Seungmin watches you go, the sound of your footsteps fading into the autumn breeze.

He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. You’re sweet, soft-spoken, and far too good for this world. And somehow, you’re starting to get under his skin.

The Alpha Phi house looms ahead as you walk up the driveway, your oversized portfolio folder tucked under one arm. The autumn breeze toys with the hem of your blue maxi dress, making it swirl around your ankles as you climb the steps to the front door. Stray strands of hair escape from the clip holding them back, brushing against your face as you adjust the strap of your bag and shift the weight of the folder. Your mind is focused on Tudor art, Anne Boleyn, and the mountain of work you need to finish before tomorrow—definitely not on how chaotic the frat house is probably about to be.

You knock lightly on the door and step back, waiting. The sound of heavy footsteps grows louder before the lock clicks, and the door swings open to reveal Seungmin, barefoot, in grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and a white t-shirt clinging to his damp frame. A towel hangs loosely around his neck, his dark hair tousled and still wet from a shower. The sight is so effortlessly casual yet striking that it catches you off guard, and for a second, you forget why you’re even here.

His sharp gaze flicks to the massive portfolio folder you’re holding. “Jesus Christ,” he deadpans, leaning against the doorframe. “That thing’s almost as big as you.”

You huff a soft laugh, shifting the folder to rest it against your hip. “Well, Tudor art’s got a lot of depth. It’s heavy, literally and metaphorically.”

Seungmin’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. “Right. Deep. Heavy. Bet it’s still more entertaining than the shit Hyunjin tries to call art.”

You grin, your voice light as you step past him into the house. “Oh, it’s profound. Intricate. Emotionally moving. You’d love it.”

The house, predictably, is chaotic but lively. There’s the faint sound of a video game coming from one of the rooms down the hall, the kitchen smells faintly of burned something, and a pair of sneakers is inexplicably hanging from the banister. You glance around, searching for any sign of Hyunjin.

Seungmin notices your scanning gaze and rubs the back of his neck. “About that,” he says, his voice edged with mild irritation. “Hyunjin left, like, twenty minutes ago. Went to meet up with that Marissa girl.”

Your shoulders slump slightly as you let out a quiet sigh. “Of course he did. Perfect timing as always.”

Seungmin shrugs, dropping the towel onto the back of the couch and crossing his arms. “If it helps, I can try to help you out. And by help, I mean I’ll sit here, look up shit on my laptop, and let you do all the actual work.”

Your grin softens into something more genuine. “That would actually be amazing. Thanks, Seungmin.”

He jerks his head toward the stairs. “Come on. It’s quieter in my room.”

You follow him up, navigating past a stray hockey stick and what looks like a torn-out couch cushion, until you reach his room. It’s surprisingly neat—especially for a frat house—with a neatly made bed in one corner, a desk covered in mechanical tools and textbooks, and walls lined with posters. Your gaze lands immediately on one—a half-naked woman straddling a motorcycle, her pouty lips and sultry gaze seeming comically out of place compared to the otherwise functional vibe of the room.

“Wow,” you say, unable to suppress a small laugh. “A half-naked girl on a motorcycle? Real classy.”

Seungmin glances at the poster, his smirk returning. “What can I say? It’s vintage. Been with me since I was thirteen. Practically a family heirloom at this point.”

You hum thoughtfully, setting your portfolio down on the bed. “I had Bruno Mars on my wall. Right next to Edward Cullen.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Bruno Mars and Edward Cullen? What a lineup.”

You shrug, your lips quirking. “I was multifaceted.”

“Clearly,” he says, smirking as he leans back on his hands. “But Edward Cullen, though?”

You nod, unzipping your portfolio. “Oh, obviously. A staple for any teenage girl. But for the record, I was team Alice.”

That makes him pause, his brow furrowing slightly. “Team Alice? Not team Jacob or Edward?”

“Too mainstream,” you say with a grin. “Alice deserved better. She’s underrated.”

Seungmin lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I can’t even argue with that.”

You settle cross-legged on the bed, flipping through the pages of your portfolio and spreading your sketches and notes across the comforter. Seungmin leans forward slightly, picking up one of your reference images.

“So,” he says, studying the sketch of a Tudor-era portrait. “What’s the big project?”

“It’s about how Anne Boleyn’s likeness was erased after her execution,” you explain, pointing to a specific note scribbled in the margin. “They painted over her portraits, rewrote history through art. It’s fucked up, but it’s also fascinating. Some of her portraits survived, though. It’s like this tiny act of defiance against a system that tried to erase her completely.”

Seungmin traces his thumb along the edge of the image, his dark eyes thoughtful. “That’s some heavy shit. People really went that far to bury her?”

“Yep,” you reply, smoothing out another page of notes. “Art’s more powerful than people realize. It can tell the truth—or rewrite it. That’s what makes this so interesting. It’s like solving a mystery but through brushstrokes and canvas.”

He watches you for a moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. The way your eyes light up, your voice gaining a quiet confidence as you explain something you’re clearly passionate about—it’s distracting in a way he didn’t expect. And maybe doesn’t entirely hate.

“Alright,” he says finally, snapping out of it. “Tudor art, huh? I think I’ve got some old books on restoration techniques that might help.”

You blink, surprised. “You do?”

He gets up, heading to his desk and rummaging through a small shelf. “Yeah. Took an elective on historical restoration last year. Figured I’d keep the books in case I needed them. Didn’t think they’d actually be useful, though.”

You watch as he pulls out a few worn textbooks, his movements efficient but with an almost surprising gentleness. He tosses them onto the bed beside you.

“Here,” he says. “See if there’s anything in there you can use.”

You pick up one of the books, flipping through the pages with growing excitement. “Seungmin, this is perfect. Thank you.”

He sits back down, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “No problem. Just don’t let Hyunjin take all the credit for this shit.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “He’s not that bad.”

Seungmin snorts, his smirk turning sharp. “Sure he’s not.”

Seungmin leans back against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him, one foot tapping lazily against the edge of the bed. He watches you sketch in your portfolio, the soft scratch of your pencil filling the otherwise quiet room. The occasional rustle of paper or your quiet hum of concentration is the only sound beyond the faint chaos filtering in from the house downstairs. 

For a moment, he just observes. The way your brow furrows slightly as you work, how the delicate chain around your neck glints every time you shift positions.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his tone dry. “So, how many times has Hyunjin ditched you for shit like this?”

You pause mid-sketch, glancing up at him with a small shrug. “It’s not that bad,” you say. “He lets me use his printer when I need it. Mine broke a while ago, and I haven’t replaced it yet.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his smirk sharp as a blade. “Do you own anything that actually works, or is your whole life just duct tape and crossed fingers?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “A few things work. My blender’s still going strong.”

“Great,” he deadpans, gesturing at the mess of notes and sketches spread across the bed. “And how much of this ‘collaborative’ project is actually Hyunjin’s work?”

You hesitate before flipping to a single page in your portfolio, its sparse, half-assed notes glaringly out of place among your meticulously detailed work. You push it toward him, your lips twitching in a sheepish smile.

Seungmin peers at it, his expression blank for a beat before he lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit,” he mutters, leaning back. “He’s really pulling his weight, huh?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “He’s busy, I guess.”

“Yeah, busy being a useless dick,” Seungmin says bluntly. “Honestly, you should erase his name from the project and turn it in as your own. Fuck him.”

Your eyes widen, and you immediately shake your head, scandalized. “I can’t do that! He could fail!”

“And?” Seungmin’s gaze sharpens, his voice edged with disbelief. “That’s his problem. You’re the one busting your ass here. What’s he even doing, fucking Marissa while you save his degree?”

You groan softly, dropping your pencil and fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “It’s not that simple. I don’t want to screw him over.”

Seungmin sighs, his tone exasperated but not unkind. “Then you need to tell him to step the fuck up. You’re not his babysitter.”

You grimace, avoiding his eyes as you pick at a loose thread on your skirt. “Confrontation makes me feel like I’m going to physically die.”

He snorts, his lips curving into a smirk as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, you seem like the type who’d eat around a deathly allergen just to avoid ‘causing trouble.’”

Your silence is damning. You don’t even look up.

“Oh my fucking god,” Seungmin says, his voice laced with incredulity. “You’ve actually done that, haven’t you?”

You groan softly, covering your face with your hands. “I had my EpiPen! I was being polite!”

He stares at you for a long moment before letting out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “You risked death to be fucking polite? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Peeking at him through your fingers, your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “To be fair, the coconut added to the flavour. I wasn’t even mad when my throat started closing up.”

Seungmin’s jaw drops, and he shakes his head, looking genuinely appalled. “What the actual fuck? You’re insane. Like, genuinely fucking insane. Who the hell does that?”

You shrug, biting your lip to hide a laugh. “It was a really good dessert.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.” When he looks back at you, there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, though his voice is firm. “You’re unbelievable. Sweet, sure. But fucking unbelievable.”

“I just don’t like making people feel bad,” you say softly, fidgeting with your pencil again. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he counters, his voice dropping into something almost serious. “You shouldn’t have to risk your life or your grade just to keep everyone else happy. That’s not how it works.”

You glance at him, surprised by the sudden edge in his tone. The usual sarcasm in his voice is gone, replaced by something quieter, heavier. It’s unexpected, but it doesn’t feel unwelcome.

“Maybe you’re right,” you murmur, your gaze flicking back to the portfolio spread across the bed. “But it’s hard. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

Seungmin leans back against the headboard, watching you for a long moment. His expression softens just slightly. “Standing up for yourself isn’t causing trouble,” he says, his voice quieter now. “It’s just making sure people don’t walk all over you. And trust me, people will walk all over you if you let them.”

You nod slowly, taking in his words as you absently trace the edge of your sketchbook. For a moment, the room is quiet again, save for the faint noise of the frat house below.

Seungmin’s voice cuts through the silence, light and teasing once more. “So, about the coconut. Did someone finally figure out you were dying, or did you just sit there and wait for your ‘polite death’?”

You laugh softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “One of my friends noticed and freaked out. She basically tackled me and stabbed the EpiPen into my leg while I was trying to tell her it was fine.”

Seungmin lets out another laugh, running a hand through his damp hair. “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re lucky you’ve got people watching out for you, because clearly, you won’t do it yourself.”

You stick your tongue out at him, earning a sharp smirk in return. “Maybe I’ll start being more assertive. After this project is done.”

“Good,” he says, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms. “Because if you let Hyunjin keep pulling this shit, I’m gonna start calling you Saint Y/N. Patron fucking saint of doormats.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “Fine, fine. I’ll try to stand up for myself. No promises, though.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his smirk laced with challenge. “I’ll believe it when I fucking see it.”

And though he’s teasing, there’s something in his voice that feels almost encouraging, like he might actually believe you can do it.

The house hums with faint background noise as Seungmin sits cross-legged on his bed, the fan lazily pushing air through the room. Your portfolio rests open in front of him, the pages fanned out carefully on the comforter. His sharp eyes flick over your sketches, pausing on the intricate lines and shading of Anne Boleyn’s face.

One piece in particular, a half-finished sketch of Anne wearing her iconic "B" necklace, makes him stop. Her expression is soft but haunted, the shadows under her eyes suggesting both weariness and resilience. It’s not just good; it’s fucking captivating.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, running a thumb along the edge of the page. “She's talented as fuck.”

He leans back, letting his head rest against the wall as his thoughts drift. He’s not sure what it is about you that keeps grabbing his attention. Maybe it’s the way your sweetness feels genuine, like it hasn’t been diluted by the world yet. Or maybe it’s the quiet determination you carry, even when people like Hyunjin leave you holding the bag.

The thought of Hyunjin makes his jaw tighten. That asshole.

By the time Hyunjin walks through the door later that night, the house is alive again. Bowls of Minho’s kimchi jjigae are being passed around the living room, the spicy, rich aroma filling the air. Seungmin sits on the floor, his back against the couch, spooning stew into his mouth like it’s his last meal.

The front door opens with a bang, and Hyunjin strides in, looking far too pleased with himself. His hair is slightly mussed, and he hums under his breath as he kicks off his sneakers. Before he can even greet anyone, a slipper flies through the air, smacking him square in the face.

“What the fuck?!” he yells, stumbling back and clutching his nose. His wide, offended eyes dart to Seungmin, who’s glaring at him.

“You,” Seungmin says, setting his bowl down on the coffee table with deliberate care, “are fucking lucky Y/N is too nice for her own damn good.”

The chatter in the room screeches to a halt. Chan, perched on an armchair, raises an eyebrow and gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Alright, what the hell is happening?”

Seungmin doesn’t even glance away from Hyunjin as he explains. “Our dear friend here has left Y/N to carry their entire art history project on her back. She’s done everything, while he’s done jack fucking shit.”

Minho, who’s leaning casually against the wall with a beer in hand, lets out a low whistle. “Classic Hyunjin move. Should’ve seen it coming.”

Hyunjin groans, rubbing the spot on his cheek where the slipper hit him. “She said she didn’t mind! I asked her if she needed help, and she told me it was fine!”

“Of course she did,” Seungmin snaps, his glare intensifying. “Because she doesn’t like confrontation, you absolute dickhead. And you fucking know that.”

“That’s rough, man,” Felix says from the couch, slurping his stew loudly. “Kinda makes you a cunt, doesn’t it?”

Hyunjin groans again, throwing his hands up. “Okay, okay, I get it. I fucked up. What do you want me to do?!”

Seungmin doesn’t even hesitate. “Pay for her car repairs.”

The room goes completely still. Then, one by one, everyone nods in agreement.

“Yeah,” Chan says, pointing his spoon at Hyunjin like a judge passing down a sentence. “That’s fair.”

“Her car’s a fucking 280Z,” Minho adds, taking a swig of his beer. “Repairs aren’t cheap. Pay up, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin looks around the room in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “You guys are ganging up on me! What the fuck!”

“No, what the fuck is you,” Seungmin snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “You owe her. If it weren’t for her, you’d fail that class. Pay for the fucking car.”

Hyunjin sighs heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll pay for her car repairs. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Seungmin says flatly, picking up his bowl of stew again. “And if you flake on this, I’ll throw something heavier than a slipper next time.”

“Like what?” Hyunjin challenges weakly.

“Like the fucking coffee table,” Seungmin replies without missing a beat.

The room bursts into laughter, but Hyunjin mutters under his breath as he grabs a bowl of jjigae for himself. Changbin, seated on the floor with his legs stretched out, nudges Seungmin with his foot. “You really stepped up for her, huh? Study buddy and all.”

Hyunjin squints at Seungmin, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Wait. You? Helping with art? What’s next, you learning to waterpaint?”

Seungmin glares at him, but the heat doesn’t quite reach his voice. “I know how to read, dumbass. It’s not that hard to help someone find sources.”

Jeongin smirks from his spot by the coffee table, resting his chin in his hand. “Nah, it’s not just that. Seungmin’s got a soft spot for her. We all see it.”

Felix leans forward, his grin mischievous. “Yeah, the mean mechanic act breaks real quick when she walks in with her flowy skirts and shy little smile. You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

Seungmin flips him off with zero hesitation, his eyes narrowing. “Eat shit, Felix.”

“I’m just saying,” Felix continues, unbothered. “You’re kinda protective for someone who’s ‘just helping.’”

“I don’t have a fucking thing for anyone,” Seungmin retorts, shoving a spoonful of stew into his mouth. “She needed help, so I helped. End of fucking story.”

“Right,” Jisung says, drawing out the word with an obnoxiously knowing smirk. “Totally believable.”

Seungmin groans, standing up and grabbing his empty bowl. “You’re all fucking insufferable.”

As he stalks out of the room, the sound of their laughter echoes behind him. But as much as he tries to ignore their teasing, the image of you sketching quietly on his bed lingers in his mind.

Maybe they’re not entirely wrong. But he’s not about to admit that. Not yet.

The late afternoon sunlight slants through the wide windows of the Alpha Phi living room, turning the room golden and catching motes of dust as they swirl lazily in the air. The mismatched furniture gives the space a slightly chaotic charm. Minho is sprawled on the couch like a cat, his cherry-red hair catching the sunlight as he lazily flips through a magazine about exotic pets. A faint smirk plays on his lips, suggesting he’s less interested in the articles and more in the idea of tormenting his housemates with his next grand idea.

Chan is perched on the armrest of the couch, his easy grin in place as he scrolls on his phone. His head bobs faintly to the playlist humming from a speaker tucked in the corner.

The peace doesn’t last.

Seungmin walks in, his boots heavy against the floor, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black cargos. His shoulders are tense, his jaw locked tight, and his sharp eyes dart around the room like he’s searching for something or someone to aim his frustration at.

Minho looks up first, instantly zeroing in on Seungmin’s sour expression. He doesn’t bother hiding his amusement. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Sunshine himself,” he drawls, tossing the magazine onto the cluttered coffee table. “What’s got your panties in a twist today?”

“Fuck off,” Seungmin snaps, sinking into the armchair across from them with all the grace of a dropped anvil. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and drags a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath.

Chan raises an eyebrow, setting his phone aside. “Uh-oh. You look like you’ve been thinking too hard. What’s going on?”

Minho leans forward, his smirk sharpening like a predator scenting blood. “Yeah, Seungmin. Lay it on us. Who pissed you off now? Or is this your natural state?”

Seungmin glares, his gaze flicking between them like he’s debating whether or not to just leave. But the weight in his chest refuses to budge, and he knows he’s going to explode if he doesn’t say something.

Finally, he exhales sharply, his voice low and tight. “It’s about Y/N.”

Minho and Chan exchange a quick glance, eyebrows shooting up in unison. Minho’s grin stretches wider, and Chan’s expression softens with interest.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Minho says, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Go on, lover boy. We’re listening.”

Seungmin scowls, but the heat in his glare feels more defensive than angry. “I don’t know,” he mutters, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I’ve just been thinking about her. A lot. And it’s fucking annoying.”

“Thinking about her how?” Minho presses, his tone a mix of curiosity and outright glee.

“Fucking... I don’t know! Like that!” Seungmin snaps, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “That’s why I’m asking you two assholes. What the fuck is going on with me?”

Minho’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, you absolute dumbass. You like her.”

Seungmin freezes, his sharp gaze snapping to Minho. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Chan says immediately, clapping his hands together like he’s just cracked the case of the century. “It’s so fucking obvious. How do you not know this?”

Minho cackles, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. “Are you emotionally stunted, or just slow on the uptake?”

“Probably both,” Seungmin mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, this is fucking stupid.”

Chan’s grin turns fond, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Oh, Seungminnie. You’re so cute when you’re like this.”

Seungmin flips him off without hesitation. “Don’t fucking start.”

Minho tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re really out here having a whole-ass existential crisis because you caught feelings. It’s almost... endearing.”

“Fuck you, Minho,” Seungmin bites out, though his tone lacks any real venom. “I didn’t ask to be analyzed. I just want to know what the fuck I’m supposed to do about it.”

Minho sits up, rubbing his chin like he’s deep in thought. “Well, for starters, you could try not being such a cold, emotionally constipated robot. That might help.”

Seungmin glares, leaning back in the chair. “So helpful. Thanks.”

Chan chuckles, reaching over to pat Seungmin’s shoulder. “He’s right, though. If you like her, you’ve gotta stop acting like a brooding asshole and actually talk to her. You’re good with words when you want to be.”

“Yeah, but not like that,” Seungmin mutters, crossing his arms. “What the fuck do I even say? ‘Hey, I’ve been thinking about you a lot and it’s annoying as fuck, so maybe we should go out?’”

Minho bursts out laughing, nearly falling off the couch. “That’s... wow. No. Don’t say that.”

Chan shakes his head, biting back his own laughter. “Just be honest, man. You don’t have to make it weird. She’s the type who’d appreciate the truth.”

Seungmin sighs, tipping his head back against the chair. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I just fuck it all up?”

Minho snorts. “Then at least you’ll know instead of sitting here stewing like a fucking idiot. Either way, it’s a win for me. Free entertainment.”

“Go to hell, Minho,” Seungmin mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Chan chuckles, his voice softer now. “You’ll figure it out, Seungmin. Just don’t overthink it. You’re not as bad at this stuff as you think.”

Minho hops off the couch with a shit-eating grin. “And if you fuck it up? Well, we’ll all be here to laugh about it.”

Seungmin sighs heavily, standing and heading for the kitchen. “You’re all fucking insufferable.”

In the kitchen, he grabs a beer from the fridge and twists the cap off, taking a long swig before leaning against the counter. Minho and Chan follow him, their shit-eating grins still firmly in place.

“So,” Minho begins, hopping onto the counter and dangling his legs like a kid on a swing. “What’s the grand plan, Romeo?”

“There is no fucking plan,” Seungmin mutters. “I’ll keep helping her with her project and hope I don’t make things weird.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “That’s not a plan. That’s avoidance.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” Seungmin deadpans, taking another swig of his beer.

Minho nudges him with his foot. “You like her. Just admit it to yourself and do something about it. Don’t be a coward.”

Seungmin sighs again, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m not a coward. I just don’t want to fuck up something good, alright?”

Chan claps him on the back. “Then don’t. Keep it simple. Honest. She’ll appreciate that more than anything.”

Minho grins smugly. “And if she doesn’t? Well, at least we’ll have fun watching you crash and burn.”

Seungmin glares at him, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays him. “Go fuck yourself, Minho.”

Minho smirks. “Already planned for later.”

Seungmin groans, pushing off the counter and heading for the stairs. “You’re fucking unbearable.”

Minho’s laughter and Chan’s chuckling follow him as he heads back to his room, but even with their teasing, Seungmin feels a little lighter. Maybe, just maybe, he can figure this out.

The low whir of Seungmin’s fan hums through the room as you sit cross-legged on his bed, your laptop balanced precariously on your thighs. Stacks of old books are scattered around you, a testament to the marathon research session you’ve been enduring. The late afternoon sun filters through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the room. You’re wearing a light summer dress, its fabric brushing against your skin as you adjust your position, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh. Strands of your hair have slipped out of the clip holding it back, framing your face as you squint at your screen.

At his desk, Seungmin leans back in his chair, his black sweatpants and tight tank top clinging to his frame in the warm room. One hand flips through a heavy book on Tudor history, the other absently twirling a pen. His brow furrows in concentration, but every so often, his gaze flicks to you. Curious, amused, unreadable.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “So,” he starts, his voice slicing through the hum of the fan, “have you talked to Hyunjin yet?”

Your fingers pause mid-typing, and you glance up, blinking. “Uh, no. I don’t think I need to. It’s not really a big deal.”

Seungmin’s pen drops to the desk with a loud clink, and he swivels to face you, his expression flat but his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, sure. Not a big deal. He slacks off, you do all the work, and he gets to keep floating through life like a fucking golden retriever on vacation. Totally fine.”

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping despite yourself. “He didn’t mean to slack off. He’s just... busy.”

“With what? Pouting for his Instagram stories?” Seungmin leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. His sharp eyes glint with mockery. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t let him off the hook so easily. I could shave one of his eyebrows off.”

You laugh again, waving him off. “Seungmin, no. It’s fine, really. I’ll just finish the project, and we’ll move on.”

“Yeah, no.” He stands abruptly, his chair squeaking against the floor. “That’s not happening. Get up.”

You blink at him, confused. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to teach you the art of confrontation,” he says, walking over to you with an air of finality. He holds out a hand, clearly expecting you to take it. “And before you say anything, no, you don’t get a choice.”

You lean back, groaning. “Oh no. I’m bad at that. Absolutely not.”

“Exactly why we’re doing this.” He grabs your hand, his grip firm but not forceful, and pulls you to your feet. 

The movement sends your laptop sliding precariously to the side of the bed, and you hastily catch it before steadying yourself. Your dress brushes against his sweatpants, and for a moment, his hands linger on yours, warm and steady.

“I already hate this,” you mutter, pouting.

“That’s the spirit,” he quips, smirking. He takes a step back, crossing his arms as he looks you up and down. “Alright. Repeat after me. Hyunjin, you’re a selfish asshole, and your hair isn’t even that great.”

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head frantically. “I can’t say that! What if he hears me?”

“Good,” Seungmin says, his smirk widening. “Maybe he’ll learn something.”

You laugh nervously, covering your face with your hands. “This feels so wrong.”

Seungmin sighs dramatically, stepping closer and gently tugging your hands down. “I was prepared for this,” he says, his voice carrying a note of triumph. He walks to his closet, rummaging around until he pulls out a dartboard with a photo of Hyunjin’s grinning face pinned dead centre.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, your jaw dropping as you stare at it.

“It’s modular,” Seungmin says nonchalantly, holding it up. “I’ve got all the guys’ faces in here. They piss me off in cycles.”

“This is insane,” you say, barely stifling your laughter as he hangs the dartboard on his door.

“It’s cathartic,” he corrects, tossing a dart into your hand. “Go on. Aim for the pretty boy’s stupid smile.”

You hesitate, holding the dart awkwardly. “I’ve never thrown a dart in my life.”

“Not fucking rocket science,” he says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Just throw it. Let your rage guide you.”

Rolling your eyes but laughing, you square your shoulders and toss the dart. It bounces off the board and clatters to the floor with an anticlimactic thunk. Your cheeks heat up as you bury your face in your hands.

“Jesus Christ,” Seungmin mutters, pushing off the wall and walking over to you. “Alright, rookie. Relax. You’re trying too hard.”

He steps behind you, his hands gently resting on your arms and you feel your breath catch slightly as he leans in, his voice low and soft.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing your forearms lightly. “Loosen up. You’re not throwing a grenade.”

You nod, trying to ignore how close he is, or the way his cologne lingers, sharp and clean. “Okay. Relax. Got it.”

“Good,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now, aim. And don’t overthink it this time. Just let it go.”

With his guidance, you throw the dart again. It sticks in the board, just outside Hyunjin’s cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you turn to look at Seungmin with a triumphant grin.

“See?” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not so bad.”

You laugh, the tension from earlier dissolving. “Okay, that was kind of fun.”

“Kind of?” He raises an eyebrow, feigning offence. “It’s the best fucking stress relief there is. Try again.”

Grinning, you grab another dart and throw it. It lands even closer to the centre, and you let out a delighted cheer.

“Nice,” Seungmin says, nodding approvingly. “You’re a natural. Hyunjin should be scared.”

As you line up another shot, Seungmin leans back against the wall, arms crossed. There’s a softness in his expression now, a flicker of something he doesn’t let show often. Watching you laugh and let loose feels oddly satisfying.

“Alright,” you say, aiming carefully. “What do I get if I hit his stupid grin?”

“A medal for bravery,” Seungmin deadpans, but his smirk betrays his amusement.

You throw the dart, and it lands just shy of the photo’s centre. Laughing, you turn to him with a mock pout. “I want a rematch.”

“You’re not ready for that kind of pressure,” he says, his tone teasing but warm.

And for the first time all day, the weight of your project and the tension with Hyunjin feel far away. In this room, with Seungmin, all that exists is the laughter, the easy banter, and the flicker of something unspoken in the air between you.

The sun dips low, casting a warm, golden hue over the Alpha Phi house as you neatly pack up your things in Seungmin’s room. The quiet scratch of your pen against paper, the occasional tap of your laptop’s keyboard, and the hum of his fan have created a soothing rhythm all afternoon. Now, as you finish jotting down the last of your citations, you stack your books and papers into an organized pile.

Seungmin leans back in his chair, his legs stretched out and his dark eyes lazily tracking your movements. A pen twirls effortlessly between his fingers, his expression calm but sharp—like he’s quietly taking in more than he lets on.

“Leaving already?” he asks, his tone casual but carrying a note of something you can’t quite place.

You glance up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’ve got to get ready. I have a date tonight.”

The words hit like a brick, and Seungmin freezes for half a second before resuming the pen twirl, though his fingers grip it a little too tightly. His face remains neutral, but his jaw ticks slightly.

“A date?” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You nod, slipping your laptop into your bag. “Yeah, Minho introduced me to a guy in his class. Animal behaviour or something? He seems nice.”

His forced smile cracks for a moment, but he patches it quickly. “Nice,” he echoes, leaning forward in his chair. “That’s… great.”

The silence lingers, awkward and heavy. You tilt your head at him, your soft gaze curious. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Fine,” he says quickly, too quickly, sitting up straighter. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You frown slightly, unconvinced, but you let it go, offering him a gentle smile. “Thanks for all your help today, Seungmin. I really appreciate it.”

He nods stiffly, watching you head for the door. His chest feels tight, like someone’s wrapped a steel band around it. When the door clicks shut behind you, he lets out a low, frustrated sigh and tosses the pen onto his desk.

A beat passes before he’s on his feet, striding purposefully down the hall toward Minho’s room.

Minho’s door is ajar, soft music filtering out as Seungmin pushes it open without knocking. Minho is sprawled on his bed, headphones around his neck, scrolling through his phone with his usual smug expression. Minho barely has time to look up before Seungmin grabs a pillow from the bed and swings it at him with alarming force.

“What the fuck?!” Minho yells, his phone flying from his hand as he scrambles to defend himself.

“You!” Seungmin growls, punctuating each word with a swing of the pillow. “Fucking introduced her. To. A. Guy?!”

Minho bursts into laughter, raising his arms to shield himself. “It’s incentive, Seungminnie!” he cackles, gasping between laughs. “You needed a push!”

“I don’t need a fucking push!” Seungmin snaps, hitting him even harder.

Minho tries to sit up, still laughing despite the onslaught. “You’re so fucking obvious- Ow! Stop, you lunatic!”

“Good!” Seungmin barks, his voice sharp as he lands another hit. “Maybe next time you’ll keep your matchmaking bullshit to yourself!”

The commotion attracts Chan, who appears in the doorway with his arms crossed and an amused look on his face. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m smothering Minho,” Seungmin says flatly, not even looking up as he presses the pillow down over Minho’s face.

Chan nods approvingly, stepping into the room. “Good. Carry on. You’re doing the lord’s work.”

Seungmin lets out a humourless laugh, pressing the pillow down harder as Minho’s muffled protests grow louder. “I know, right? Someone’s gotta do it.”

“While you’re at it,” Chan says casually, leaning against the doorframe, “make sure he can’t reproduce. The last thing we need is a mini Minho terrorizing the campus.”

Minho’s muffled yell rises to a panicked pitch as Seungmin shifts his weight, digging a knee into Minho’s crotch. The resulting strangled groan is enough to make Chan burst into laughter. “Jesus Christ, Seungmin,” Chan says, shaking his head. “You’re fucking ruthless.”

“Yeah, well,” Seungmin mutters, his tone clipped. “He fucking deserves it.”

Minho finally manages to yank the pillow away, his face red and his hair a mess as he glares up at Seungmin. “You’re a psycho!”

“And you’re a fucking meddler,” Seungmin snaps, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “What the hell were you thinking, setting her up with some random guy?”

Minho sits up, rubbing his face. “I was helping! You’re clearly into her but too chickenshit to do anything about it!”

“I didn’t fucking ask for your help!” Seungmin snaps, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

Chan raises a hand, stepping between them with a smirk. “Alright, let’s all take a deep breath. Minho’s an idiot, but he’s not wrong. You’re jealous, Seungmin. Just admit it.”

Seungmin glares at him, his jaw clenching. “So what if I am? What am I supposed to do about it, huh? March up to her and say, ‘Hey, I think about you way too much, and it’s driving me fucking insane?’”

“Honestly? Yeah,” Chan says, shrugging. “She’s sweet. She won’t bite your head off.”

Minho smirks, leaning back against the headboard. “And if she says no, at least you’ll have closure. Better than sitting here brooding like some tragic fucking Byronic hero.”

“Fuck off,” Seungmin mutters, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Chan claps him on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, man. Just be honest. It’s not as scary as you’re making it out to be.”

Seungmin huffs, glancing between them. He hates that they’re right. The thought of you with someone else already twists his stomach into knots, and the idea of doing nothing feels even worse.

Without another word, he storms out of the room, leaving Chan and Minho grinning behind him.

“Think he’ll do it?” Chan asks, leaning against the wall.

Minho snorts, rubbing his sore ribs. “Oh, he’ll do it. Or he’ll self-destruct. Either way, we win.”

Their laughter follows Seungmin down the hall, but for once, he doesn’t care. He’s got bigger things to worry about and her name is Y/N.

The Alpha Phi living room is a vortex of noise and chaos. The mismatched couches are packed with bodies. Jeongin and Felix are loudly arguing over the outcome of a video game, their hands flailing in exaggerated gestures, while Jisung lies sprawled on the floor, chip crumbs scattered around him like evidence of a crime. The massive TV blares the commentary of a football game, its volume competing with the general din. Minho is perched half-asleep on the armrest of the couch, his cherry-red hair a mess from running his fingers through it repeatedly, while Chan sits cross-legged on the floor, calmly trying to fix the connection on a janky Bluetooth speaker.

Seungmin reclines in the worn recliner, scrolling idly on his phone, tuning out the noise with practised ease. His legs are stretched out, and his dark eyes are fixed on the screen in front of him. It’s an average evening in the house, loud, chaotic, and comfortably predictable.

Until his phone rings.

The name flashing on the screen makes him sit up so abruptly that the chair creaks. He immediately presses the green button, his heart rate kicking up as he brings the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” His voice is calm, but there’s a sharp edge of alertness in it.

A soft sniffle echoes on the other end of the line, and every muscle in Seungmin’s body goes taut. “Seungmin,” your voice breaks, trembling and fragile, and it’s enough to make his blood run cold. “I—I didn’t know who else to call. He… he was awful. I just- I’m so sorry-”

“Hey,” Seungmin cuts in, his voice firm but gentle. “Stop apologizing. Just breathe, okay? Tell me where you are.”

Your breathing is shaky, but you manage to get the words out. “That sushi place near campus. I’m in the bathroom. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” he says, already slipping his boots on with one hand and gesturing wildly at Minho with the other. “Stay there. Don’t leave the bathroom until Minho and I get there. We’re coming to get you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, barely audible, and the line goes quiet.

Seungmin stands, his movements quick and purposeful. “Minho. Shoes. Now. You’re driving.”

Minho’s lazy posture vanishes as he sits up, alert. “What? Why? What’s going on?”

“Y/N,” Seungmin says sharply, grabbing his jacket. “She’s in trouble.”

The room quiets instantly. Jeongin and Felix stop arguing mid-sentence, their heads snapping toward Seungmin. Jisung sits up from the floor, the chips forgotten. Even Chan abandons the Bluetooth speaker, standing with his arms crossed and his face serious.

“Fuck,” Minho mutters, pulling on his shoes. “What kind of trouble?”

“She’s at the sushi place,” Seungmin says, his tone tight. “And it’s because of the guy you introduced her to.”

Minho’s face falls, guilt flashing across his features. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit,” Seungmin snaps, already halfway to the door. “Now move.”

The drive to the restaurant is tense. Seungmin sits in the passenger seat, his foot tapping a relentless rhythm against the floor. He checks his phone every thirty seconds, the tight line of his jaw only softening when he glances at the screen and sees no new messages. Minho keeps his focus on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tighter than usual.

When they pull into the parking lot, Seungmin is out of the car before it even comes to a full stop. His sharp gaze sweeps across the glass front of the restaurant. Through the window, he spots the guy sitting at a table, casually scrolling through his phone as if nothing’s wrong. Seungmin’s blood boils.

Minho sees him too, muttering a low “Fuck” under his breath. “I’ll handle him,” he says, his voice hard. He pushes the car door open and strides toward the entrance, his usually laid-back demeanour replaced with something cold and dangerous.

Seungmin doesn’t wait to see what Minho does next. His focus is on you. He heads straight for the bathrooms at the back of the restaurant, his boots thudding heavily against the tile floor. Stopping just outside the door, he takes a deep breath before knocking softly.

“It’s me,” he says, his voice gentler now. “You can come out.”

There’s a long pause, followed by the faint sound of shuffling. The door creaks open slowly, and you step out. Your eyes are red and puffy, tear tracks glistening on your cheeks. Your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself, your whole frame trembling slightly.

The second you see him, something in you breaks. You step forward and bury your face in his chest, your hands clutching his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Seungmin freezes for a split second, his eyes wide with surprise. Then his arms wrap around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other presses against your back, holding you close. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

You don’t say anything, but your fingers grip his jacket tighter, and your trembling becomes more pronounced. He holds you like that for what feels like forever, his heart pounding as he tries to stay calm for you.

When you finally pull back slightly, he keeps his hands on your shoulders, his dark eyes searching your face. “You’re safe,” he says, his voice firm but soft. “I promise. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Your lips tremble as you nod, but you still can’t bring yourself to speak. Seungmin brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch careful, grounding. “Do you want to tell me what happened? Or do you just want to leave?”

“Leave,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Alright,” he says without hesitation. “Let’s go.”

He keeps a protective arm around you as he guides you out of the restaurant. As you pass through the dining area, his sharp gaze finds Minho, who is standing over the guy’s table, his expression icy and his arms crossed. The guy is slouched in his chair, looking decidedly less cocky than before, and Seungmin feels a flicker of satisfaction at the sight.

Outside, Minho’s car is waiting. Seungmin opens the back door for you, helping you in before sliding in beside you. Minho climbs into the driver’s seat a moment later, his face pale but his expression grim.

“Where to?” Minho asks, his voice quieter than usual.

“Back to the house,” Seungmin says firmly. “She’s staying with us tonight.”

Minho nods, starting the car without another word.

In the backseat, you lean against Seungmin’s shoulder, your body still trembling slightly. He doesn’t say anything, just rubs slow, soothing circles on your back with one hand, his touch steady and reassuring. The warmth of his presence and the quiet strength in his gestures begin to ease the tension in your chest, bit by bit.

The drive back to the Alpha Phi house is suffocatingly quiet. Minho’s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white, his jaw clenched like he’s holding back a thousand words. In the backseat, Seungmin sits close beside you, one hand resting on your knee, steady and firm. It’s not invasive, not demanding. It’s just there, a silent promise of safety.

Your head leans against his shoulder, your breath shaky but starting to even out. He hasn’t said much since getting you out of the restaurant, but his presence is enough. When the car pulls into the driveway, the headlights casting long shadows against the house’s worn exterior, Seungmin nudges you gently.

“We’re here,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost soothing.

You sit up, your movements sluggish, and Seungmin is already out of the car, holding the door open for you. He offers you his hand, and you take it without hesitation, your fingers trembling slightly in his firm grasp.

Minho hesitates by the car, glancing between you and Seungmin with guilt written all over his face. “Do you need—”

“No,” Seungmin cuts him off sharply, his glare like a blade. “Just... go inside.”

Minho opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it, nodding stiffly and heading up the steps without another word.

Seungmin keeps his arm around you as he guides you toward the house. The muffled sound of laughter and chatter spills out the windows, but the moment the two of you step through the front door, it dies like a switch has been flipped.

Jeongin, mid-laugh, stops abruptly, his expression shifting to confusion and concern. Felix, perched on the back of the couch, opens his mouth to say something, but Seungmin’s sharp glare silences him instantly.

“Not now,” Seungmin says, his tone flat but carrying an unmistakable edge of authority.

The room goes completely silent, everyone exchanging uneasy glances as Seungmin leads you upstairs. His grip on your shoulder remains steady, a grounding force as you ascend the creaky steps. You barely register the concerned murmurs behind you, too focused on the warmth of his touch and the growing knot in your chest.

When you reach his room, Seungmin pushes the door open and gently guides you inside. The familiar scent of his cologne wraps around you, grounding you further. He closes the door with a soft click, shutting out the world, and turns to face you.

You stand in the middle of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The dam you’ve been holding back all night finally breaks, and a small sob escapes before you can stop it.

“Hey,” Seungmin says softly, stepping closer. He sits on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside him. “Come here.”

You hesitate, fiddling with the hem of your dress. “I—”

“Y/N,” he interrupts, his tone gentle but firm. “Come here.”

You move slowly, sitting beside him. The second you’re close enough, he pulls you into his side, one arm draped securely around your shoulders. His warmth seeps into you, steadying your ragged breathing.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” he asks after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Or we can just sit here. Your call.”

You swallow hard, nodding slightly. “I- I tried to call the date off,” you start, your voice trembling. “I just- he wasn’t what I wanted. And when I told him that, he got-” Your breath hitches, and you shake your head, trying to steady yourself. “He started touching me. Grabbing me. I- I didn’t like it. I told him to stop, but he just laughed, and I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Seungmin’s entire body goes rigid beside you. His arm tightens protectively, and his jaw clenches so hard you can hear his teeth grind. “That piece of shit,” he mutters under his breath, his tone low and venomous.

You glance up at him, your eyes wide and glossy. “Maybe I overreacted,” you say quickly, your voice defensive as though you’re bracing for judgment. “Maybe I just-”

“No,” Seungmin cuts in, his voice sharp. He shifts to face you fully, his hands gripping your shoulders gently but firmly. “Don’t fucking do that, Y/N. Don’t blame yourself. If you were uncomfortable, then you were uncomfortable. That’s it. No one gets to fucking touch you without your consent.”

His words make your chest tighten, but in a different way. A warmth spreads through you, breaking through the lingering fear. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Seungmin’s gaze softens, his hands sliding down to your elbows. He exhales slowly like he’s forcing himself to calm down. “You deserve better than that,” he says quietly. “Better than some asshole who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.”

“He wasn’t you, Seungmin,” you say before you can stop yourself.

The room goes still, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. Seungmin’s eyes widen slightly, the sharpness in his expression giving way to something warmer, something softer.

“Good,” he says after a beat, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He pulls you into a tight hug, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. “Because I’d never fucking treat you like that.”

You bury your face in his chest, letting his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his arms melt away the last traces of fear. For the first time all night, you feel like you can breathe again.

After a while, Seungmin pulls back slightly, one hand lingering on your shoulder. “You know,” he says, his tone lighter now, “Minho owes you a massive apology. I say we make him grovel.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes. “It’s not his fault.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “Sure, but letting him squirm a little wouldn’t hurt.”

You laugh again, stronger this time. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he says with a smirk. Then his expression softens, and he leans forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “Hey. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head.

He hesitates for half a second, then his lips curl into a faint smile. “Go out with me. Let me take you on a real date.”

Your breath catches, your heart thudding in your chest. “You mean that?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while. I just didn’t know how.”

A small smile spreads across your face. “I’d like that.”

Seungmin’s shoulders relax, the tension he’s been carrying all night finally easing. “Good,” he says, his smile widening. “Because I’ve been waiting for an excuse to make a move.”

You laugh softly, the sound bright and genuine. “You’re not very subtle, you know.”

He groans, rolling his eyes. “Don’t rub it in.”

“Cool and mysterious,” you tease, leaning a little closer. “Not exactly your vibe.”

Seungmin snorts, but the warmth in his gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Yeah,” you say, your smile softening. “I know.”

The quiet knock on the door is hesitant, a rare sound from someone like Minho. Before either of you can respond, it creaks open, revealing him standing there in sweats and a hoodie that’s slightly too big for him. His cherry-red hair is a mess, like he’s spent the last hour running his hands through it in frustration. His usual cocky smirk is absent, replaced by something far more uncertain—almost guilty.

Seungmin’s eyes narrow, though he doesn’t move from where he’s perched on the bed beside you, his arm loosely draped behind your back. “What do you want?” he asks, his tone clipped.

Minho hesitates in the doorway, his eyes flicking between you and Seungmin. His hands stay buried in his pockets, his shoulders slouched as if he’s bracing for impact. “I’m… fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t fucking know he was going to be like that. I just thought—shit, I thought I was helping.”

You exchange a quick glance with Seungmin, who huffs but doesn’t say anything. Slowly, you stand and cross the room toward Minho, ignoring the way his eyes widen slightly in surprise. Before he can protest or retreat, you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hug.

Minho stiffens for a moment, caught off guard, but then he melts into the embrace with a sigh, resting his chin on your shoulder. His arms come up, circling your waist with a grip that’s firmer than you expect—like he’s the one who needs comforting.

“I know,” you say softly, your voice muffled against the fabric of his hoodie. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Minho lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Still. I feel like a fucking asshole.”

“You’re not,” you say firmly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I think you scared him off, anyway.”

Minho smirks faintly, though the guilt still lingers in his eyes. “Good,” he mutters. “But I’m gonna fight him. Just so you know. That prick doesn’t get to pull that shit and walk away.”

“Do what you need to,” you reply softly, resting a hand on his arm.

His smirk falters, and his grip tightens almost imperceptibly. “You’re too fucking nice,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “You know that?”

“Minho,” you wheeze dramatically, giggling weakly as his hold becomes borderline crushing. “Can’t breathe.”

“Shut up,” Minho says, though his tone is lighter now. “I’m processing being wrong, and I’m not taking it well.”

Seungmin snorts loudly from the bed, crossing his arms as he leans back against the headboard. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he says dryly. “Minho, wrong about something? Someone call the press.”

You laugh again, a little stronger this time, and Minho scowls over your shoulder. “You’re fucking enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Seungmin replies without hesitation, his smirk sharp.

Minho pulls back from the hug, ruffling his already messy hair with a groan. “This is a disaster. I try to help, and it just blows up in my face. I should’ve known you were too much of a coward to ask her out on your own.”

“Here we fucking go,” Seungmin mutters, rolling his eyes.

Minho points an accusatory finger at him. “You. This is partly your fault. If you’d just grown a pair and asked her out, I wouldn’t have had to intervene!”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And your intervention led to exactly what? A shitshow?”

Minho throws up his hands. “I’ll admit it! I fucked up, alright? But don’t act like you didn’t need the nudge.”

Seungmin leans forward slightly, his voice razor-sharp. “Next time, keep your fucking nudges to yourself.”

“Boys,” you interject softly, your tone patient but firm. Both of them snap their attention back to you, and you give Minho a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Really. No one’s perfect, Minho.”

Minho looks at you, his expression softening further. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seriously, though. If you need anything—anything at all—you come to me. I don’t care what it is, okay?”

You nod, your smile warm. “I will. Thanks, Minho.”

He leans down slightly, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. His voice drops to a low, serious tone. “I mean it, Y/N. I’ll fight anyone for you. Literally anyone.”

“I know,” you whisper, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his words. “But I think you’ve done enough for tonight.”

Minho straightens up with a sigh, ruffling your hair playfully. “Fine. But if that prick so much as breathes in your direction again, he’s dead.”

Seungmin chuckles from the bed, shaking his head. “You’ll have to get in line for that, Minho.”

Minho smirks, turning back to him. “Big talk from the guy who’s been dragging his feet all fucking semester. Don’t get all protective now—you’ve got a date to plan.”

Seungmin flips him off without missing a beat, and Minho’s grin widens. You can’t help but laugh, the tension in the room finally dissolving as they slip back into their usual banter.

For the first time all night, everything feels like it might actually be okay.

The hum of the city murmurs faintly in the background as you linger outside your apartment building, your phone clutched loosely in one hand. The early evening air is warm, carrying the faint tang of gasoline and asphalt. The golden glow of the setting sun drenches everything in soft, honeyed light. You catch your reflection in a nearby window and smooth down the strap of your yellow bustier crop top. The fabric hugs you snugly, the bright color contrasting against your black flared pants, which sway lightly in the warm breeze. Your black Converse scuff against the pavement as you shift your weight nervously.

The distant growl of an engine draws your attention, low and throaty, vibrating through the air. You glance up as a sleek black motorbike rounds the corner, Seungmin perched effortlessly on top like he was born there. The machine glints in the fading sunlight, polished but clearly well-loved, with just enough wear to make it look lived-in. Seungmin slows the bike as he approaches, and your breath catches at the sight of him.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, cargo trousers that hang low on his hips, a fitted black t-shirt that clings to his lean frame, a well-worn leather jacket zipped halfway, and scuffed boots that look like they’ve seen more road than carpet. His hair is slightly tousled from the wind, and there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he kills the engine and kicks the stand down.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, stepping closer as the silence rushes in to fill the space the engine left behind. “You didn’t tell me you had a motorbike.”

Seungmin swings his leg off with ease, the motion fluid and confident. His boots hit the pavement with a satisfying thud as he straightens up, shrugging casually. “Not something I go around broadcasting,” he says, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. “But I figured it’d make a decent first date impression.”

“Decent?” you echo, your eyes wide and sparkling. “Seungmin, this is fucking unreal.”

His smirk deepens, and he reaches behind the seat, pulling out a smaller leather jacket. He holds it out to you, his fingers brushing yours briefly as you take it. “Jisung’s,” he explains. “Figured you’d need one. You’re about the same size, and he won’t notice it’s missing for at least a week.”

You shrug the jacket on, the leather slightly oversized but warm and reassuring. “It’s perfect,” you say, zipping it up. “Jisung has surprisingly good taste.”

Seungmin chuckles, then picks up the helmet hanging from the handlebars. He steps closer, his movements deliberate as he gently places it over your head. “Hold still,” he murmurs, his voice dropping a notch. His fingers brush against your jaw as he fastens the strap under your chin, his touch light but lingering. Once the helmet is secure, he pulls back, his dark eyes meeting yours through the visor. “Ready?”

You nod eagerly, your pulse quickening. “Hell yes.”

He grins, climbing back onto the bike and steadying it with ease. He gestures for you to climb on, his smirk playful. “Hop on, daredevil.”

You swing your leg over the seat carefully, your movements slightly hesitant as you settle in behind him. The leather of his jacket is cool against your palms as you wrap your arms around his waist. You feel the firm press of his body beneath your hands, steady and grounding.

“How fast do you want to go?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder, his voice muffled but clear.

You lean closer, your voice daring and breathless. “Fast enough to feel like we’re fucking flying.”

His smirk turns almost wicked, and he nods. “Alright. Hold on tight.”

The bike roars to life beneath you, the deep rumble reverberating through your legs and chest. You tighten your grip on Seungmin’s waist as he pulls onto the street, the bike purring as it eases into motion. The city blurs past, a kaleidoscope of lights and colours, as Seungmin weaves through traffic with effortless precision. The wind rushes against you, tugging at the loose strands of your hair that escape from the helmet.

You laugh, the sound bubbling out of you like champagne, light and effervescent. “This is fucking insane!” you shout, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Seungmin glances at you in the rearview mirror, his grin sharp and full of exhilaration. “You good back there?” he calls.

“Never better!” you reply, tightening your hold on him as he picks up speed.

The city begins to thin, the towering buildings giving way to open stretches of road. The air cools as the sun dips lower, painting the sky in streaks of deep orange and fiery pink. Seungmin leans into the curves of the road, his movements fluid, the bike responding to him like an extension of his body. You cling to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Faster?” he calls over his shoulder, his voice teasing but tinged with excitement.

“Y!” you shout back, your voice full of laughter.

He obliges, twisting the throttle and sending the bike surging forward. The wind whips past you, the world blurring into streaks of colour and motion. For a moment, it feels like nothing else exists. Just the bike, the open road, and Seungmin’s steady presence.

Eventually, Seungmin slows the bike, pulling onto a quiet stretch of road lined with tall trees. He kills the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening after the rush of the ride. He flips up his visor, glancing back at you with a smirk.

“Still breathing?” he asks, his tone light and teasing.

You pull off the helmet, shaking out your hair as you catch your breath. “Barely. That was incredible.”

He chuckles, leaning back slightly as he watches you with a mixture of amusement and something softer. “Glad you liked it.”

“Liked it?” you repeat, your grin wide. “Seungmin, that is the best fucking date of my life.”

His smirk softens into a genuine smile, and he reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Good,” he murmurs. “That was the goal.”

The sky above has deepened into twilight, the first stars beginning to dot the horizon. You tilt your head back, taking in the clear expanse, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Beside you, Seungmin shifts slightly, resting his elbows on the handlebars as he watches you.

“You’re something else,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of awe.

You glance at him, your cheeks warming at the sincerity in his gaze. “So are you, Seungmin.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I think you’ve got me beat.”

You laugh softly, leaning closer to him, the warmth of his presence chasing away the lingering coolness of the air. “Guess we’ll call it a tie.”

His grin returns, sharp and playful. “Deal. But only because it’s you.”

The air between you feels charged, the adrenaline from the ride mingling with something deeper, more electric. Seungmin's eyes meet yours, and without hesitation, his hands find your waist, his grip firm but grounding as he lifts you gently off the bike and sets you down. The world feels steady beneath your feet, but your heart is anything but.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, a sound that sends a shiver coursing through your spine.

Before you can respond, his hand slides to the small of your back, tugging you closer. His other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your face toward his. The heat of his body presses into you as he dips you slightly, his lips crashing into yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless. The kiss is searing, unrestrained. Like he’s been holding himself back for far too long and has finally decided to let go. His fingers tighten in your hair, and the hand on your back presses you flush against him, eliminating any space.

Your hands fly to his chest instinctively, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt as you melt into him. The faint scent of leather, wind, and his cologne surrounds you, intoxicating and grounding all at once. His lips are soft yet demanding, each movement carrying the weight of everything he hasn’t said out loud. The cool night air bites at your skin, but it’s drowned out by the fire between you.

When he finally pulls back, his lips linger close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb brushes against your waist absentmindedly, and his eyes, dark and intense, lock onto yours. A grin slowly spreads across his face, equal parts smug and genuinely amused. “You’re gonna have to hang on tighter than that for the ride back to the frat,” he teases, his voice roughened with desire.

You let out a soft laugh, still catching your breath as you clutch his jacket for balance. “I think I can manage,” you say, your voice softer than usual but no less sure. “I’ve got my very own speed demon. How could I say no?”

His grin widens, that slightly cocky, slightly boyish charm making your stomach flip. “Damn right you do,” he mutters, leaning in to steal another kiss, this one quick and playful but no less electrifying.

He steps back reluctantly, letting out a breath as if steadying himself, before turning to grab your helmet from the bike. “Helmet back on, daredevil,” he says, his voice light but still carrying that teasing edge.

You tilt your head as he steps closer, holding the helmet up for you. “Oh, you’re worried about safety?” you tease, but you stand still as he slides the helmet over your head with careful hands.

His fingers brush against your jaw as he adjusts the strap under your chin, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Gotta keep you alive,” he says with a smirk. “Wouldn’t be much of a date if you died halfway through.”

You laugh, the sound muffled by the helmet but no less genuine. “Fair point.”

Once the helmet is secure, he tilts the visor down, his dark eyes crinkling slightly with amusement as he steps back. “More Tudor art when we get back?” he asks, his tone casual but his gaze still holding that spark of mischief.

You pretend to think, tapping your finger against the helmet. “Depends. Are you going to admit that Anne Boleyn was a badass?”

“For you?” he says, his smirk softening into something more sincere. “I’ll admit anything.”

Your laugh echoes in the cool night air as you climb back onto the bike, wrapping your arms around his waist again. This time, your grip is tighter, not just because of the ride but because you don’t want to let go.

Seungmin revs the engine, the deep, throaty growl vibrating through your chest. He glances over his shoulder, his voice carrying over the roar. “Ready?”

“Always,” you say, your voice steady despite the helmet.

He grins, twisting the throttle, and the bike surges forward, cutting through the night like a blade. The city lights blur around you as Seungmin navigates the streets with the same effortless confidence as before, but this time, the ride feels different. It’s not just adrenaline now—it’s something more grounded, more connected. Each twist and turn feels like a shared secret, the warmth of his body steadying you as the wind rushes past.

As the city falls behind you, replaced by quiet streets and patches of open road, the sky above deepens into twilight. The stars begin to peek through the inky blackness, their faint light mirrored in the shimmering horizon ahead. You press yourself closer to Seungmin, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you even as the bike picks up speed.

When the lights of the frat house finally come into view, you feel a pang of regret that the ride is almost over. The bike slows as Seungmin pulls smoothly into the driveway, the rumble of the engine fading as he cuts the power. He kicks down the stand and turns to you, his grin still firmly in place.

“Still breathing?” he asks, his voice teasing as he removes his helmet.

You pull off your helmet, your hair tumbling out in a mess of strands. “Barely,” you reply, laughing softly. “But that was fucking worth it.”

He chuckles, watching you with a mixture of amusement and something softer. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one,” you fire back, your smile widening.

Seungmin shakes his head, clearly trying not to laugh, and steps closer to help you off the bike. His hands find your waist again, steadying you as your feet hit the ground. This time, his touch lingers, his dark eyes scanning your face as if committing every detail to memory.

“Ready to dive back into Tudor art?” he asks, his tone teasing but affectionate.

You roll your eyes, a laugh bubbling out of you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“For you?” he says, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Always.”

You shake your head, biting back a grin, and follow him toward the house. The warm glow of the frat house lights spills out onto the driveway, and as you step inside, you feel the lingering coolness of the night disappear entirely. With Seungmin by your side, everything feels exactly as it should.

[bumblebyaf]

the pricefield breakup was good

just finished double exposure and while the game had many flaws i entirely disagree with one of the biggest complaints i’ve seen both before and after the games release: the pricefield breakup. in fact, the pricefield breakup is my favorite part of the game and one of the most fascinating character writing decisions that defined a lot max’s character for me…so here’s my essay on why max & chloe could never work long term, the breakup was incredibly natural, and how its the only way for both of them to move on. don’t bother reading of course if you don’t want to hear any of these opinions <3 

to start off the bat (and this will be the paragraph people hate the most): max & chloe are one of the weakest lis pairings (and again this is obviously all my opinion). they honestly never even had that much chemistry to me and i probably never would have shipped them had the game come out later but since the game came out when it did and it was the first gay game i’d ever played and they were like the only gay rep i knew it was brilliant & i think nostalgia for this clouds a lot of what people see when they think of pricefield but objectively they never make sense as a pairing to me and i find their scenes together quite awkward or boring. chloe is an asshole to max throughout the whole game (and i am a huge chloe supporter, i understand absolutely where all of her anger and issues were stemming from and it made sense!) and max is either a pushover who just lets her do it or like entirely indifferent to it/ignores it i guess depending on how you play; and max is shitty too i mean we know she ghosted chloe for years and then went back to blackwell for like a month or whatever without ever looking up chloe and who knows if she ever actually would have. which like max doesn’t have an obligation to do that but she clearly wanted to after she meets chloe again and then she spends so much of the game thinking about how chloe replaced her with rachel when max left first and trying to just slot herself back into the exact spot she left (also chloe did not replace her anyway they were entirely different relationships). (unrelated but this is why i hate when people have max add her name to the wall in the junkyard hide out lol) max spends the entire game watching chloe die in several different ways and trying desperately to keep her alive which has got to make a crazy trauma bond/attachment and honestly aside from one or two very obviously written “gay” scenes chloe barely registers as romantically interested in max to me (which…yeah chloe is spending the whole game going through a lot of stuff!) right up until the end where chloe realizes how hard max has been trying to keep her alive/max has been helping her with all the struggles she’s having this week/backing her up with her family drama etc during a time where chloe doesn’t really think anyone cares about her…which i don’t know again seems like a trauma bond to me! and then max sacrifices an entire town for her? of course they get together. you also have to remember that this game takes place during like the WORST week of these two young girls lives it’s just crazy to me how people define their entire relationship/personalities by this time period 

also like i know a lot of LIS fans don’t love BTS because its a different studio and the original LIS writers never wanted a prequel & that for some reason a lot of LIS fans think rachel is the devils fucking spawn BUT thats a different argument (bts being my second favorite game & rachel my third favorite character) but after watching chloe in bts (still with Issues and trauma but less heavy and more shared) and seeing her fall in love with rachel there i could never see her with max the same way

also to be clear i’m not saying at all that i think max & chloe don’t care for each other deeply; i do believe they love each other my argument is just that this relationship could never really last long term and mostly stemmed from the trauma they were going through which brings me to the main part:

max & chloe breaking up makes perfect sense for their characters, especially the reason given as well. chloe telling max that she wants to move forward and live in the future but max is always looking to the past- this single line sold me on the break up immediately i found it fascinating! max does live in the past! its her entire power! her entire game is about rewinding over and over to make the perfect moment etc. max’s character is constantly being brought into question when it comes to how she uses her powers even when she only ever tries to use them for good reason (in particularly i really like the subtle way the comics handled this too, BY CHLOE, but i know not everyone likes the comics either and they’re obviously not canon to the games since they contradict double exposure lore as well. but in the comics an alternate timeline chloe criticizes max on how reflexively she uses her powers to save/help people without considering how rewinding a moment affects everyone around them as well- and how sometimes things go wrong but can work out anyway. this is proven by us also following a second timeline without max there to rewind and we see how those characters navigate the issues max erased and in some instances they turn out even better and i like a happier healthier chloe having this perspective).  i feel like the chloe we meet in life is strange is so specific to that one game (she is going through so much active trauma and it is literally like the worst week of her life) but the pieces of her i’ve seen outside of that game show me how much her character can change when given space to breathe so i don’t think its fair to hold her to just that week. i can very easily see how chloe would want to put everything behind her and try to fully move on/away from everything that has happened and this being the only way she feels she can move forward- similarly how max could spend everyday stuck living with the choices she made and the effects its had on her, how much harder it is for her to separate and move on. 

i also think it makes perfect sense that chloe could grow some resentment towards max for her mothers death- i’m sure chloe wouldn’t act on this but i can see them both knowing it’s there and chloe not really being able to help feeling it. i mean chloe really is fully accepting of her death in life is strange and its max who makes the choice to keep her alive (and yes it’s shitty of chloe to make it seem like a choice at all but that’s also just like…the game having to give the player a choice too). chloe has to live with knowing her mother and everyone she knew died so she could live and max has to live with knowing she directly made that choice and both of them have to just…know and live and think about this everyday they’re with each other how can they move on? is that not suffocating? with some space they can at least maybe start to really separate from it 

i also think chloe’s implied insecurities around max rewinding parts of their relationship also make sense to be honest…max spends the entire game trying to fix every interaction to be the right one like i KNOW she would rewind mistakes because i DID that as her; and maybe you can say max would never use her powers again after the storm but to be honest i don’t think thats true…i think she would never redo grand scale things again (except i guess she does in double exposure) but i just don’t know if i believe she could resist the temptation to keep her and chloe’s interactions perfect- at least in the beginning. i’m not saying she DOES but i GET it- i understand chloe’s paranoia (if it is just paranoia and not fact) because i don’t think i could trust either because i also understand MAX. max who killed an entire town for chloe & their relationship- wouldn’t you feel like you had to keep doing everything in your power to make sure it works? to keep it good, to keep chloe happy?  it’s a really complicated feeling for both of them i’m sure

and i think chloe is right when she says max is always living in the past because we literally see her doing it during the game. she’s still journaling to chloe, she keeps chloe in her wallet & on her wall, we keep having flashbacks to arcadia, max keeps a box of arcadia with her (even though we know she’s also been traveling/on the road most of her adult life), she’s never discussed any part of her past with her friends, her photography focus is about the lonely and abandoned. the entirely of double exposure is about max learning how to really stop living in the past and the harm it could do (through what happened to maya and safi and how its still happening four years later because no one ever really dealt with it etc) and that’s why this undercurrent and the pricefield breakup is my absolute favorite part of this game and the best part of it

i also think it’s really worth pointing out what a lot of people seem to have missed (in the complaints i did see); max & chloe didn’t have some horrible explosive ending and they hate each other forever now and the two are forever ruined or whatever…chloe simply saw she could never truly move forward with max and maybe more importantly she saw max could never move forward with her (how could max move forward from the worst choice she’s ever had to make in her life when she’s also sharing a bed with it?) chloe still loves and cares for her, max still loves her, they could be on friendly terms very easily- in fact i think the only reason they don’t talk right now is because of max (which is for the best during this time i think anyway) and chloe would be absolutely open to their friendship whenever max is ready. chloe wants the best for both of them & chloe’s text at the end of the game proves she’s still thinking of max & open to talking again whenever max is. max also has feeling by the end of the game that’s ready to really start moving forward from arcadia now and one day she will be ready to confront chloe again and i think whenever that happens the two will be really good friends again- like they always were.

[theduckofindeed]

Moon’s Eyes in the Vanny Ending of Help Wanted 2 + Other Thoughts

I’ve been watching Dawko’s playthrough of Help Wanted 2 lately, as I don’t have a VR headset, so I can’t actually play the game myself.  Today, I watched his video showing the Vanny ending after you get the Bonnie mask in Princess Quest 4, and I noticed an odd detail that I haven’t heard anyone else bring up yet.  When you get the Vanny ending normally, Moon has black pupils.  But if you get the ending after getting the Bonnie mask, Moon has red eyes like he usually does in Security Breach.  That’s gotta mean something, right?

I’m still conflicted on what this ending means.  It seems pretty straightforward on the surface, that Vanny is crushing Glitchtrap and freeing herself from his control.  (Glitchtrap even reacts in fear when she does this.)  But then other people theorize that this is Vanny taking Glitchtrap’s place as the new villain, I think?  I must admit I’m a bit confused, as I thought Vanny was just Vanessa brainwashed by Glitchtrap.  So Vanessa getting revenge on Glitchtrap makes more sense than her wanting to get rid of him and continue on his work without him.

Yeah, clearly I’m a bit confused by FNAF lore (aren’t we all), so I’m sure I have some details wrong.  I don’t totally even understand Glitchtrap’s goals or, by extension, Vanny’s.  I thought Vanny probably killed 9 kids before the events of Security Breach.  What was her motivation for this?  Is she killing kids just because Glitchtrap wants her to?  Is there a greater purpose?  I know that Sister Location had all this confusing lore relating to Afton creating the Funtime animatronics to kill kids because of his weird experiments with remnant or whatever.  Because he wanted to revive his dead son.  (Honestly, I really struggle to follow the lore anymore.  When I’m sitting through another FNAF-related episode of Game Theory, I’m typically so confused.)

If Vanny is gathering kids for the same purpose that the Funtimes were basically built for, why would she wish to continue on with Afton’s work independently of him?  Then again, I know that the theory now is that Glitchtrap is related to the Mimic.  Which just makes things even more confusing.  So…what’s the Mimic’s goals, then?  Other people theorize that Vanny’s goal is to get Glitchtrap an actual body.  Again, what would her goal be with Glitchtrap gone?

Anyway, I’m very torn on which theory is more correct concerning the Vanny ending of HW2.  I’d really like it to be representing Vanny freeing herself from Glitchtrap’s control and getting vengeance on him and that this is part of Vanessa’s plan to help Gregory get rid of the Mimic.  But that doesn’t mean my favorite interpretation is right.  Though I do believe it’s more straightforward and less confusing.

As for Moon’s role in all this, if my preferred theory is correct, does that mean that Moon has joined Vanessa and Gregory in defeating the Mimic?  Why?  Does Moon’s presence in the claw machine even directly correlate to Moon or is he representative of something else?  (One theory said Moon represented Gregory, though I’m unsure about this.)  If any animatronic is working with Gregory and Vanessa, I’d think it would be Freddy.

On the other hand, if Vanny is simply destroying Glitchtrap and taking on the role of the new main villain, why is Moon helping her?  Is he doing so willingly or because he’s infected by a virus like many of us assumed?  Because if he’s not infected and is serving Vanny willingly, what is his motivation?  I see no reason why he’d want to willingly join this evil woman’s cause?

Again, there must be some important reason why Moon’s eyes are red in one ending and have black pupils in another.  Red pupils implies a virus and black implies no virus.  But aside from changing whether or not Moon is a willing participant in all this, I’m unsure what other significance there could be.

It is interesting that we seem to have confirmation that Moon has a special role to play in Vanny’s plans.  Many of us, including myself, believed this.  There was always something off about him.  Based on that note about a kid being unable to sleep in the dark after spending time in the Daycare, clearly Moon (and possibly Sun, as the kid wet the bed with the lights on) was scaring kids before the events of SB, even though I don’t think the Glamrocks got infected by the virus until shortly before the game’s events.

Furthermore, even Freddy seemed afraid of Moon.  While he had a hard time accepting that his friends would attack Gregory, he had a much easier time believing that Moon was dangerous, stating that Moon WILL find Gregory if he’s not careful.  He also referred to Moon as “it”, which I thought was odd.  Even in Ruin, Sun/Moon are called “it” rather than “he”.  (HW2 is the first time I can remember either of them being referred to as “he”, and that’s by Sun himself when he says about Moon, “He’ll wake up”.)

Anyway, obviously Moon was acting weird before the events of SB.  I know the books say that Sun and Moon were originally a theater robot, with Moon being the villain of their show, and Moon was never intended to be a part of the Daycare at all.  But…

1: With all the merch and other artwork for both of them (including large statues outside the Daycare entrance and inside the gift shop), it seems Moon was definitely intended to be taking care of the kids alongside Sun.

2: Cassie’s comments about the Sun and Moon plushies in Ruin imply she had fun playing with Sun during the day and found Moon to be a comforting presence at night.

3: It would just be odd if Moon was not reprogrammed from his villain role at all.  I don’t believe that part of his act was telling kids to go to sleep.

What all this means is…Moon clearly was meant to work in the Daycare and oversee naptime, and Sun and Moon were once good at their jobs or else Cassie wouldn’t have had fond memories of them.  So something clearly happened to cause them to start scaring the kids.  And Freddy, apparently.

I must admit that I’m rather biased against the idea of Moon being evil and serving Vanny willingly.  But I also think there’s a lot of evidence to support my idea that Moon didn’t voluntarily assist an evil woman in killing kids.  He seems to have had a more gentle nature when Cassie knew him, and again, there is zero motivation for this robot to help this murdering rabbit lady or whatever the heck Glitchtrap is in whatever the heck their evil plan is.

That’s why my theory was always that Moon was infected by the virus earlier than the other robots.  Maybe as a test subject.  And he was probably chosen because his weird behavior would be less noticeable than that of the Glamrocks, who are the main stars of the Pizzaplex.

Mini Generator Rant: I mean, clearly the staff did notice an issue and put in those generators.  Which are horribly ineffective because the lights still go out every hour.  On the hour.  Even in the Daycare.  Even after you turn the generators on.  And honestly, what’s the point of generators that don’t start up automatically when the lights go out?  What, so the kids are responsible for crawling into the play structures and turning them on?  All five of them?  Which are required to light up one room?  It’s just bonkers, I say!  Bonkers!

Some final thoughts…I have mixed feelings about the implications of HW2’s endings.  While many of us already believed that Moon was working with Vanny, I guess I’m not the biggest fan of having direct confirmation.  I kinda preferred it when this was left open to interpretation.  That’s how I prefer most of my mysteries, really.  I also just hope they don’t confirm that Moon is actually evil.  Because I like Moon, and I’d prefer it if his evil side is due to a virus and not because that’s his true nature.  Plus, I just dislike Vanny, so I’m, naturally, not too fond about one of my favorite characters teaming up willingly with one of my least favorites.

Anyway, those are my lengthy thoughts.  Long story short, I’m just curious if anyone else noticed the difference in Moon’s eyes in these two endings and what that might mean.

[timeless-fanfic]

Unexpected Distractions

Word Count: 1358

Andrew x Reader

Note: Someone requested a one-shot of a look into Andrew's thoughts during his first meeting with the reader! Here it is!

It was a normal day in Capernaum, or at least it should have been. The marketplace was as busy as ever, the air thick with the smell of freshly baked bread and dried fish. I’d just finished helping my brother, Simon, carry a load of supplies for the day’s work. Normally, I’d be focused on the task at hand, not much for distractions. But today—today was different.

I first noticed her standing near a stall selling pottery. She wasn’t from around here; that much was clear. Something about the way she carried herself—confident but not overbearing—caught my attention. Her movements were smooth, deliberate, like she always knew exactly what she was doing. As she picked up a simple clay jar, examining it closely, I found myself... watching.

I don’t know why I couldn’t look away. There was something about her that drew me in, like a quiet force. I shook my head, trying to push the feeling aside. There was work to be done, and Simon was already giving me a look like I was slacking off.

But then, before I could regain focus, I heard a voice behind me.

“Andrew, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I turned to find Philip grinning at me, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Of course, he’d noticed. He always seemed to catch me at my most vulnerable moments. Beside him, Thaddeus chuckled, crossing his arms as he followed Philip’s gaze to the woman I’d been watching.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” Philip nudged me playfully. “I’ve never seen you this flustered before. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, clearing my throat. “Just... distracted, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Thaddeus added, his smile widening. “You’re distracted by something, alright.”

I wanted to deny it, to tell them they were being ridiculous, but my face felt hot, and I knew I wasn’t doing a good job hiding my reaction. Simon always said I was too easy to read, and now I was proving him right in front of the others.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly.

Philip leaned in, lowering his voice. “You should talk to her.”

“What? No, no, that’s... unnecessary,” I stammered, rubbing the back of my neck. “We’ve got work to do. Let’s focus on that.”

But neither of them seemed inclined to let it go. Philip nudged me again, more forcefully this time, while Thaddeus crossed his arms, watching with a smirk that said he wasn’t buying my act for a second.

“You’re already thinking about her,” Philip teased. “Why not go say hello? It’s not like you to hesitate.”

I was about to protest again, but then she turned toward us, and any words I had dried up in my throat. She had a calm presence, yet her eyes held a sharpness, like she saw everything and understood more than most people would notice. I felt a knot tighten in my chest. I wasn’t usually like this around anyone, much less someone I’d never met before.

Before I knew it, Philip was pushing me forward, and I stumbled a little, catching myself just in time. “Go on, Andrew. Don’t make us do all the talking for you.”

I shot him a glare, but it was no use. The two of them were clearly enjoying this too much.

I took a deep breath and walked over, trying to muster some semblance of normalcy. “Uh... hi.”

Smooth, Andrew, very smooth.

She looked up from the pottery in her hands, meeting my eyes with a curious tilt of her head. “Hello.”

There was a brief, awkward pause, the kind that always feels much longer than it actually is. I struggled to think of something to say that wouldn’t make me sound completely ridiculous. But of course, before I could say anything remotely coherent, Philip and Thaddeus followed behind me, clearly not content to let me flounder on my own.

“Andrew here was just admiring the pottery you were looking at,” Philip said with a sly grin, clapping me on the shoulder.

I shot him a look that I hoped conveyed my irritation, but he only smiled wider.

“Oh?” she said, glancing between me and the jar in her hand. “You have an eye for pottery?”

“I—uh, not really,” I admitted, feeling my face heat up again. “I was just... noticing... things.”

“Noticing things,” Thaddeus echoed with a chuckle. “Very specific.”

I glared at him this time, but it was no use. They were clearly having too much fun at my expense. I turned back to her, desperately trying to salvage whatever was left of my dignity.

“I’m Andrew,” I said, offering a hand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just—uh, it’s nice to meet you.”

She smiled, taking my hand in hers, and I couldn’t help but notice how her grip was firm, confident. “It’s nice to meet you too, Andrew. I’m [Y/N].”

Her voice was calm, steady, and it had this way of making me feel like I was the only one she was focused on. I could hear Philip and Thaddeus snickering behind me, but I ignored them. For once, I didn’t want to be distracted by their teasing.

“So, do you live here in Capernaum?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation toward something normal.

“Not exactly,” she replied, setting the jar back down on the stall. “I’ve been traveling for a while. I’m not really sure how long I’ll be staying.”

Something about the way she said it made me want to ask more, to understand where she was from and what had brought her here. But I didn’t want to come off as too eager.

“Well, if you need anything while you’re here, we’re usually not too far from the market,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like I was rambling.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, her smile widening slightly.

For a moment, we just stood there, and I couldn’t help but notice how easy it felt, despite the initial awkwardness. There was something about her that put me at ease, even though I was certain Philip and Thaddeus were both grinning like fools behind me.

Speaking of which, I could practically feel their eyes on me, waiting for me to say something else, or—worse—do something embarrassing. But, thankfully, [Y/N] didn’t seem fazed by their presence.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Andrew,” she said after a beat, her gaze softening a little. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, hoping I didn’t sound too eager. “I’ll see you around.”

She gave me one last smile before turning and walking back into the marketplace, leaving me standing there, feeling oddly dazed.

“Well, that went well,” Philip said, clapping me on the back again. “You didn’t trip over your words too much.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Thaddeus added with a grin.

I groaned, running a hand over my face. “Thanks for that, by the way. Really helpful.”

Philip shrugged, still smiling. “What are friends for?”

I shook my head, but I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. As much as their teasing got under my skin, part of me was grateful for it. If they hadn’t pushed me forward, I probably would’ve spent the rest of the day avoiding the whole thing.

“Do you think you’ll see her again?” Thaddeus asked as we began walking back toward the shore.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe. She said she’s not sure how long she’ll stay.”

“Well, if she does stick around, maybe next time you won’t need us to push you into talking,” Philip teased, elbowing me lightly.

I rolled my eyes, but the thought of seeing her again made my heart race a little. There was something about her—something that made me want to know more.

“Maybe,” I muttered, not wanting to give them more ammunition for their teasing. “We’ll see.”

As we walked away from the marketplace, I found myself glancing back, just once, hoping that maybe—just maybe—I’d get the chance to talk to her again.

[hazelcephalopod]

Alright so. I’ve had the experience of When Calls the Heart (Hallmark) bc my mom is watching it. Here’s my thoughts so far.

1- Idk if this show has a historical consultant. But if so whosever it’s is seems to have a policy of “show up when I want and say what I want”.

2- the most based take this show has had in 12? seasons is “Pinkerton’s suck”.

3- Every time something interesting almost happens it is over in moments.

4- a woman had chicken pox (it’s roughly 1912) and looked stunning the whole time.

5- truly. Plz. Let these people act! I’m falling asleep.

6- shout out to the first couple episodes of season 1 where things are actually happening, people get to act, and it feels like a better consultant is on set.

7- Did I mention that the historical accuracy is not very good? It’s not, but admittedly most of it is just ok the cusp of “that’s too early or skirting the edge or too early”. No wonder peoples view of the past is so skewed. That said it has started to get better, I can only assume whoever their consultant is care more about this or the upcoming era.

8- this series is based on a Christian book series. I find it very funny that despite this they have struggled to keep a pastor.

9- the cast history is hilarious. Here are the reasons—

A) the love interest character (a mounty) from the books, his actor wanted to leave so they just killed him and had no idea what to do with the main characters romance plot. So they just gave her two love interests and a baby. She has somehow convinced herself that she wants the lightly shady salon owner -btw I was so excited for him to be shadier but no, not really- and not the new mounty she’s clearly in love with. Also the new Mounties niece-daughter (adoption) has been shipping them since they met and adopted Mc as her new mom by force. Including only inviting her uncle/dad and MC to her adoption hearing.

b) remember that California college scandle a few years ago? The mom actress from that was one of the best actors and characters on the show. Bc of it they cut her out and removed her scenes abruptly and just did a voice over that she left. Oh this also meant the child actor playing her adopted son had to be cut. Poor kid. Also her character had like 3-5 love interests Thru the show.

c) the intermittent villain -whose villainy is frankly, deeply boring- is bacially main cast. He keep becoming good only to be a villain again. He’s sorta the bad boy more old pathetic wet man with high blood pressure faced with mortality. Possibly most interesting character on the show. I think he used to be in soap operas. For the first few seasons whenever I saw him I thought he was a different person. He was previous female characters (above) love interest and rival.

d) the sheriff used to be a mounty. He’s also the town judge -no training for that besides mounty, and also hates lawyers- and almost mayor. He hates all new things. He owned a cafe with the kicked off character (above) and was also her love interest, and also of course the above guys rival -they have sorta become friends since then. his actor used to play a major villain in at least one soap opera. (Aside I’ve decided rn to start shipping the old men)

10- the MC best friend had to leave -as she was the one written off due to the actress personal scandal- so they had to make the quirky mild problem character her new best friend. New best friend used to be MC dead husbands fiancé before they broke up bc it was not ever happening. She is the only character who speaks with a North Atlantic accent Bc she was a NY actress before moving back to the Canadian rockies(? Wherever they are), the actress kills it tbh -she was also the one who looked immaculate despite having chicken pox as an adult.

12. The costuming is spotty. Beginning? Excellent. Middle? Looks like it came from the macys catalogue of the current year. Recently? Slightly better depending on character. Tbh for a bit I thought maybe the actors were supplying their own costumes, so it really boiled down to how much each actor cared and how good at cosplay they were.

[likea-black-widow-baby]

What are your thoughts on Daniel Sousa?

Yes! I’m sorry it’s been so long Anon!

I love him. He’s so well written. I have a lot of thoughts about his arc in s1 of Agent Carter, and I’ve talked about a few of them before so I’ll just zoom in on one for now.

The way he reacts to Peggy’s “betrayal” is very telling. It really puts all his cards out on the table. I’ll try to lay it out chronologically.

1. Peggy Is “The Killer”

When Daniel first discovers that Peggy is the one the SSR has been chasing, his first reaction is, understandably, disbelief. What’s interesting is where that disbelief comes from. It probably comes from a few places: he’s been standing up for her, he feels betrayed by that. She has spent so long convincing everyone that she would never be Howard Stark’s lackey, but here she is, seemingly helping him commit treason. She’s killed someone— something which totally goes against the image of Peggy Daniel has in his head. There must be so much conflicting information in his head that he’s struggling to put it all together.

2. The conclusions he draws

With that information on the table, it’s fair that he feels betrayed. What makes his reaction more interesting though, and a bit more disappointing, is that he seems to take that disillusionment and uses it to reduce Peggy down to what the rest of the men think of her: that she’s just Howard’s puppet. It could be argued that he uses phrases like “Stark’s in so deep he’s scrambled your brain” as a way to provoke her into talking since he knows she hates being perceived that way. But I think a part of him believed it. Peggy wasn’t who she said she was, so why should her independence be any different?

3. He trusts her anyway

After all that, it’s truly astonishing that he still believes her when she presents what she knows to the SSR. It speaks very highly of his character that he’s still thinking clearly enough to weigh everything he knows about her and not just her recent betrayal when considering whether she’s telling the truth. Not to mention that Dooley and Thompson both look to Daniel for an impartial opinion even when they know he’s taken Peggy’s betrayal the hardest. He’s an excellent detective who is able to put his own feelings aside for the greater good.

So anon, here are some of my thoughts on Daniel Sousa! Hope you got what you came for, even if it’s a few weeks late 😅

[delicatenightfury]

Star of the Mountain Chapter 24

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

Please comment, reblog, and like!

Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Pleasantries with Gandalf were short-lived. The wizard seemed very anxious and dove right into what he wished to say.

“You must set aside your petty grievances with the dwarves,” he said. “War is coming. The sepsis of Dolguldor have been emptied.” Thranduil cast a lazy look over at Bard, indicating that he was not truly taking the Grey Wizard seriously. “You’re all in mortal danger!”

“What are you talking about?” Bard asked.

“I can see you know nothing of wizards,” Thranduil replied before Gandalf could. The elven king stood to pour a glass of wine. “They are like winter thunder on a wild wind rolling in from the distance, breaking hard in alarm.” He handed Bard a glass. “But sometimes a storm is just a storm.”

“Not this time,” Gandalf said. “Armies of orcs are on the move. These are fighters that have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength.”

“Gandalf,” Oreliell said, stepping forward slightly. “Are you sure of this?”

The wizard nodded gravely.

“I have seen them with my own eyes.”

“Why show his hand now?” Thranduil questioned.

“Because we forced him! We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland. The dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor.” He led the elves and human out of the tent to look at the mountain. “Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the mountain. Not just for the treasure within but for where it lies, its strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north. If that fell kingdom should rise again… Rivendell, Lórien, the Shire… even Gondor itself will fall.”

“These orcs armies you speak of, Mirthrandir, where are they?” Thranduil asked.

Gandalf sighed heavily, unable to give an answer. Thranduil rolled his eyes and returned to his tent. Oreliell and Vedis looked at Gandalf.

“Are you all right, Gandalf?” Oreliell asked quietly. He looked rather beaten up. “Perhaps you can have Vedis take a look at your wounds-”

“I am fine,” he said. “Truly. Besides, we have much larger things to worry about than a few cuts and bruises, don’t you think?” He paused and looked between them. “How is the company?”

Oreliell sighed.

“They are all alive. But the dragon sickness has taken root in Thorin’s mind.”

Gandalf nodded gravely.

“Then we must think of a way to get through to him.”

“Gandalf, I’ve tried. He is my One and even I struggled to speak with him.”

“I understand. Nevertheless, we mustn’t give up.”

Oreliell smiled a little.

“You’re crazier than I thought to believe I would give up.”

Gandalf smiled back at her before returning to the tent. Vedis placed a comforting hand on Oreliell’s arm.

“All will be well, muinthel.”

Oreliell nodded and followed her sister to the tent. Gandalf was back to trying to convince Thranduil.

“Since when has my council counted for so little?” he asked. “What do you think I’m trying to do?”

“I think you’re trying to save your dwarvish friends. And I admire your loyalty to them. But it does not dissuade me from my course.” Thranduil rose from his chair. “You started this, Mirthrandir. You will forgive me if I finish it.” Oreliell exchanged glances with her sister as Thranduil approached one of his guards. “Are the archers in position?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Give the order. If anything moves on that mountain, kill it. The dwarves are out of time.”

Gandalf stormed out of the tent, clearly angered. Oreliell looked at the elven king, who still stared out at the mountain.

“You said that you would attack at dawn,” Oreliell said. “Would you be so heartless as to shoot while they are not expecting it?”

“They have been given their warning,” Thranduil said.

“And what about the warning Gandalf has given you? We have traveled many months with him. If what he says about the orcs is true, then I think we must at least consider his words.”

“Oreliell.” She glanced over her shoulder at her sister, only to realize that Vedis was no longer standing there. “You’ll never believe who just showed up.”

A moment later, Vedis entered the tent with Bard, Gandalf, and Bilbo in tow.

“Bilbo,” Oreliell said with a smile.

“I’m glad to see you’re all right, Oreliell,” Bilbo said.

“Who is this?” Thranduil said.

“Bilbo Baggins, the official burglar of the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

“If I’m not mistaken, this is the halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.”

Thranduil sat down in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly at Bilbo. The hobbit shuffled in place.

“Yes,” he said under his breath. “Sorry about that.” Oreliell glanced at Vedis, who was also smiling. They watched as the hobbit stepped forward, pulling something out of his pocket. “I came to give you this.”

He placed the item on the table and pulled away the cloth. Everyone stared in shock and awe.

“Oh my gosh,” Vedis murmured.

“The Heart of the Mountain,” Thranduil breathed, standing slowly. “The King’s Jewel.”

“And worth a king’s ransom,” Bard said. He looked down at Bilbo. “How is this yours to give?”

“I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.”

Oreliell almost laughed in disbelief. She was stunned by his courage. But she couldn’t help but worry about what Thorin might do if he found out.

“Why would you do this?” Bard asked. “You owe us no loyalty.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Bilbo told them. “I know that dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult. They’re suspicious and secretive, with the worst manners you could possibly imagine. But they are also brave and kind and loyal to a fault. I’ve grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can. Now, Thorin values this stone above all else.” Oreliell noticed that he glanced her way. “In exchange for its return, I believe he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war.”

Oreliell glanced at the two leaders. Bard turned to Thranduil, still in shock at the hobbit’s actions. Thranduil looked at him for a moment before looking back at Bilbo.

“We will take this into careful consideration,” Thranduil said. “Someone will show you a place to rest for the night.”

Bilbo nodded. Gandalf ushered him toward the entrance, but the halfling suddenly stopped.

“I nearly forgot!” he said. He turned around and pulled a sheath far too large for his body. He handed them to Oreliell. “You left your swords back at the mountain. I figured you’d want them back.”

Oreliell looked down at the swords then at Bilbo. She was surprised that he had noticed and that he had brought them with him to give to her. She put her hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Bilbo. You did not have to do that, but I greatly appreciate it.”

Bilbo smiled at her then stepped out of the tent with Gandalf. Oreliell looked back at her blades. She had not really realized that she had left them in the mountain; her haste to leave made it slip her mind. But Bilbo had brought back both her swords and her pair of daggers.

“He is a brave hobbit,” Vedis commented.

“Yes. Much different from when we first met him. I just hope he stays safe tomorrow if war breaks out.”

Vedis put her hand on Oreliell’s shoulder. The two exchanged small smiles.

“The halfling is quite impressive,” Thranduil said, regaining their attention. 

“Indeed he is. You also need better guards,” Oreliell replied, barely casting him a glance.

She heard Bard half choke on a laugh, but he tried to cover it with a cough. Oreliell smiled to herself. She didn’t need to look at Thranduil to know his eyes had narrowed. 

“I noticed that both of you are without armor. If you are interested, I can provide both of you with sets for tomorrow.”

Oreliell wanted to roll her eyes. She wanted to ask why on earth he thought they would need armor if they were going to confront Thorin. But she knew better.

An army of orcs were on the way.

And she recalled something Thorin had told her long ago: “never underestimate dwarves.” She hated to come before the man she loved dressed for battle, but she wasn’t sure what kind of plan he had come up with to handle Thranduil’s army.

Oreliell sighed and glanced at Thranduil. She nodded.

“Then I shall make sure that you have it.”

He stepped aside to deliver the orders to one of his guards. Bard looked at the Arkenstone then at the sisters.

“What do you make of it?” he asked. “The stone.”

“Bilbo is right about it,” Oreliell said after a moment. “Thorin craves this stone more than anything. It is sacred to the dwarven people, the crowning glory and symbol of their house and power. Thorin will not be pleased to see it in your hands.”

“Our hands? Would you not carry this?”

“I barely want to look at it,” she admitted. “That rock has taken away more from me in the past few days than I ever wanted to lose. And that says a lot, for I have lost much in my long lifetime. Simply seeing me siding with you will create a reaction. I do not want Thorin to think that I have betrayed him further by taking that stone.”

Bard nodded.

“I understand. I shall speak with Thranduil to see what we shall do with it.”

“Before we get to that,” Thranduil said as he stepped back inside the tent, “I would like to have a word with Oreliell.”

Bard glanced at her before going outside. Vedis stayed a minute longer. She studied Thranduil for a long moment before looking at her sister.

“I will go inspect the armor we are being given. If you would like, I can take your swords with me?” she said. 

“Thank you,” Oreliell said, passing her blades over.

“Let me know if you need me.”

“I will, muinthel.” 

Vedis nodded and stepped out. Oreliell took a breath before looking at Thranduil. The elven king had remained standing and was watching her.

“{You risk a lot going with us tomorrow,}” Thranduil said after a long moment. “{Why do it?}”

“{Because I have already lost so much. And I do not wish to lose my betrothed as well.}”

“{Even after everything he has put you through?}”

“{Do not pretend you know him better than I do.}”

Thranduil motioned for her to follow him. They stepped outside once again to look at the mountain. The braziers were lit above the gate, but otherwise everything appeared normal. Oreliell couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside.

“I want you to know that I truly do not want this,” Thranduil said. “While the heirlooms of my people are of great importance to me, this was not the outcome I had hoped for. I tried to avoid this when your company passed through my kingdom, but Thorin turned me down.”

“Because he still holds a grudge against you for what you did when Smaug first took the mountain. Or rather, what you didn’t do.”

Thranduil sighed. He turned to look at her.

“I want you to understand what it is you are risking going into this, what this could potentially do to you if things do not go smoothly tomorrow.”

“I am well aware what could happen, Thranduil. And that is why I must be present tomorrow. If something were to happen to Thorin, I would never be able to live with myself. I will protect Thorin with my very life.” She looked at the mountain again. “No matter what happens to me, he will live.”

[oatmealdaydreams]

Hearthfire (3/16)

Chapter II | About One But Not the Other

<- Prev // Masterpost // Next ->

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Summary: In the aftermath of The Meeting, Logan and Thomas talk but not about what they need to address. Orange shows up in an unfamiliar place, and he talks to a furious Remus. The Sides and Thomas are rattled, but they'll need to communicate and be vulnerable to heal.

There are birds in the Flower Garden that need tending to.

Warning: insecurity, burn scars, panic attacks/anxiety attacks, implied/reference intrusive thoughts, minor violence, threats; let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 5734

Art for This Chapter [art by @canvas-the-florist]

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It’s about a week later, and Indigo still hasn’t gotten the chance to talk to Rainbow about...that entire fiasco. 

Red hasn’t left his room in about the same amount of time. Green is worried. 

Cyan and Purple have no fucking clue what’s going on with their fellow Sides. 

Yellow hasn’t dared to be around Green for a while. 

It’s about a week later, and Indigo still hasn’t gotten the chance to talk to Rainbow about...that entire fiasco. 

As if the aftermath of the aftermath of the wedding, paired with the Nico Situation, isn’t enough to bring thick tension into the air. Now, it feels like there’s fabled swords over everyone’s heads, and no one’s doing anything about it. They just pretend, in glittering gold Denial, that the metaphorical swords aren’t there. 

The bumblebee and the red cardinal in the Flower Garden still remain, well, affected, and now there’s a steady problem with the crow. This specific problem isn’t that the crow is getting dimmer like the other critters and flora, no, that’s not it, that’d be too easy to deal with. The problem is how much it clearly yearns to fly around with the cardinal, yet it doesn’t dare to even settle onto the same side of the Orange Tree. Not that the cardinal itself can fly anymore to meet the crow halfway. The cardinal has been struggling for such a long time that Orange himself—with the memory he has—sometimes forgets that there was a time when it flew happily free. The red cardinal, the poor chicklet, had been dimming since...before it’d been a cardinal. Orange hasn’t seen it very bright, not like the other fauna and flora, not like any of them, not even once. It’s always been a bit dim. 

And then the meeting...and after that meeting, the cardinal’s wing broke. 

Orange can only do so much from the shadows, as a gardener, as a wildlife carer, as everything he is. He cannot fix broken wings without the one who’s hurt deciding to rest. 

The cardinal isn’t resting. 

And the crow remains both distressed and scared for itself, and for its beloved friend. 

Why won’t you listen? Why must I be pushed aside in favor of such pursuits? What would you do if...if I weren’t me anymore? 

Orange’s eyes heat up, burning, he can feel the tell-tale of bitter and citric thoughts pinprick the edges of his irises. He sighs, putting away his gardening gloves and a small pair of shears. It seems he needs to tend to an indigo-feathered bird. 

As Orange fwooshes into his mist form, he sinks and absorbs into the ground to watch over the inquisitive crow. 

=====

As mist, Orange sinks up like an eerie fog on the floor of the living room, just an inch behind the couch. From this spot, he cannot see well who is sitting with flaring citrus in their mind, but by the context—

“Thomas, as I’ve mentioned before, I am a part of you, so I’ve seen The Office bloopers the same amount you have,” reiterates a tired but firm voice, sounds of sheer fabric rustling as if from tightening a tie. 

—well...Indigo can be predictable, at the very least. 

“Well, still, it’s fun to watch,” Rainbow chimes in.

“Hm,” is the only response Indigo gives. 

If I were more lenient, would you want me then? If I encouraged the same immaturities as the Others did? If I were more indulgent in frivolous or mundane things? If I weren’t me, would you want me then?

The amount of tart whispers Orange sees written before him, like scorched words onto his eyes that only he had the burden to see, is nearly blinding. Indigo’s bitterness plays into such a specific anger that screams unfair unfair unfair so loud that it’s silent. His pleas to be heard will never be heard because they can only be seen, and only torched eyes can see them. 

And see them Orange does, though not joyously. 

There’s shifting on the couch, the telltale little squeaks of what he can hear from on the ground. Audio from the t.v. buzzes around his head like wisps of static, and he catches a few lines here and there as some of the cast members laugh. Rainbow laughs with them. Indigo only hums, attempting to feign amusement. It only sounds like the kind of short response you make when you’re upset and aren’t truly up for answering questions. It feels...odd, Orange decides, to not hear a genuine chuckle from the scholar. Even if he tried to hide it or turn his face away, Indigo always found the bloopers just as amusing as their centre does. Not anymore, it seems. He doesn’t find a lot of things amusing anymore. 

Orange’s eyes burn every time Indigo thinks in that indignant citrus, a slight glow of amber in the darkness. The quietest fwoosh whispers in the air when his eyes glow. 

Why can’t you want me the way you want them?

His eyes glow again, a quick spark-like flash of colour amongst the hidden mist. 

“Logan?” Rainbow starts conversely. 

“Hm?” answers Indigo, fabric shuffling, and Orange could guess he’s fidgeting.

“Could…” a sigh before continuing, “Are you—do you know how Roman’s doing?”

A bright spark of amber, and Orange’s eyes burn so horribly. 

You can’t even ask if I’m doing okay. You worry about everyone else that isn’t me. Am I not enough for you? Will I ever be? Have I ever been? 

There’s a strange shuddering that rings out through the entirety of the mist. A strong tug, tugging towards where Indigo presumably sits. Oh, god, it’s bad. It’s really, really bad if he’s this close and yet the summoning beckons him closer. Poor little crow.

Indigo stares blankly for a moment, pushing the anger down down down into the depths of his chest. 

“I admit that I don’t know, Thomas,” he doesn’t acknowledge the tiniest bite in his voice, “Roman hasn’t been...he’s taking time for himself, I suppose.” 

The bite doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. The bite means he’s hurt, alone, and yet forced to sit as someone else is sought after instead of him. Because of fucking course they are. Of course, they are. Of course. But no, the bite doesn’t mean the steady crow is vindictive towards the cardinal. Indigo himself is worried for Red, and Orange can see it without having to look at him. The small rustle of a fist clenching on dress pants is enough to tell, let alone the aching concern that bleeds through under the bite in his voice. 

“Well, I hope he’s okay. I’m glad to hear he’s at least resting,” Rainbow says. 

Well, now, Indigo never said that, did he? Orange thinks, Knowing Red...oh, but I shouldn’t spoil. 

The orange mist flicks a gaze towards an unseen—well, let’s call it a force—and returns to his duties. 

Indigo does not respond to Rainbow. 

The mist shifts and floats as it travels under the couch, hiding behind the t.v. and peeking out from the lower bits of the t.v. stand. It observes, now with a better viewing point. It stays still and patient.

Purplish, spiky vines curl around Rainbow’s wrist as he laps back into silence, probably turning his attention to the t.v. again. The air buzzes as he thinks, ponders, wonders about whatever he wonders about. Given context, well—a few ruby-red roses pop out and bloom on the purple vines. It tightens around his wrist as it slowly climbs up his forearm, not unlike a slippery serpent. There’s a prick here and a prick there, Rainbow’s hand twitching as it slithers higher towards his chest. Orange can see his eyes darting from thought to thought, though an outsider may say he’s quickly reading the captions on screen. He frowns at himself—

“Hey there, Thomas,” comes a grumbling voice.

—and he startles, nearly jumping in place as Purple makes his presence known.

“Oh-kay, I forgot you still do that,” mumbles Rainbow as he places a hand over his organic heart. 

Indigo blinks and turns to Purple, who sits on the back of the couch near Rainbow. 

“Ah, hello, Virgil,” he greets.

“S’up, L,” Purple returns, pointedly nodding at Indigo in greeting. 

“So...what’s up?” Rainbow asks awkwardly, now scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Purple opens his arms wide and gestures vaguely to himself. 

“Seriously? I’m your Anxiety, why do you think?” Purple rolls his eyes. 

“You just gestured to all of you.”

“Don’t quote How to Train Your Dragon at me–”

“Well—”

“And, really? Are you sure you don’t know? Not forgetting something important? Forgot to lock your car? Left the stove on?”

Indigo sighs, “Thomas hasn’t used the stovetop for a few weeks, what—” 

“What if you’re missing your house keys? You can never find them...and you never will.”

“Okay! Okay, Virge, I get it,” Rainbow interrupts before Purple can go much further with his usual ‘checklist’. 

The purple vines continue their slow, slow ascent on Rainbow. Purple eyes them. He doesn’t make a comment. Rainbow exhales a sharp sigh. 

“I’m worried about Roman,” he admits softly, the air tensing, “Last I saw him…”

The roses on the vines shimmer at the mention of Red. 

Purple winces, both at the anxious flora and at the vague mention of when he saw Red last. It was the last time they all saw Red, to be fair. Though Purple doesn’t have much of a clue why Red’s been hiding away, he can definitely imagine some likely scenarios based on the Others’ solemn and bitter demeanors in the aftermath. 

Indigo gives an awkward glance away, his heart clenching slightly at the reminder of that fucking meeting. That total shitshow. They’re finally talking about it—specifically Rainbow is finally at least mentioning it—and it’s about Red. It’s not even in reference to Indigo or what happened or if he’s okay. That’s—that’s not fair.

Why can’t I be asked about? Why won’t you pay attention to me like you pay attention to him?

Bitter, angry scorched words appear in front of Orange’s eyes. They burn his retinas, his irises, his eyeballs in their entirety. He’s so angry. Angry because he feels mistreated, angry because it’s unfair, angry because no one does anything about it. Angry, angry, angry. 

And yet…

There’s a lighter hue of orange shadowing the scorched words from Indigo. They’re like subtitles, tiny little subtitles that Orange almost can’t read. The hue isn’t unlike orange blossoms from a fruit tree. 

I hope he’s okay. It’s not his fault Thomas won’t pay attention to me. Maybe I can knock on his door…? Would he answer me? I like to think he would. 

And yet. 

Hope leaks through under the anger. Indigo Hopes, and those little flakes of Hope are something to cling to. 

“Yeah, no wonder I popped up, Thomas, fuck,” Purple grumbles mostly to himself, though not unheard. 

Purple’s hands shake the smallest bit as Rainbow’s reflect the same. Their minds swirl with nebulous thoughts unreachable to Orange’s domain of thinking, but it’s not hard to guess what they’re about. Red had left a meeting hurt and he nearly cried, again, and it’s not like the Sides have to rise up every time their centre’s summoning them. Throughout the past week, Orange observed their centre trying to get Red back, to ask what’s wrong, because holy shit. He hadn’t expected a citric explosion, had he? Really? Curious. 

“What if he won’t come out of his room? What if he’s hurt really bad? What if he’s bleeding? What if no one comes for him? What if he doesn’t answer?” Purple mumbles on and on, biting on one of his nails as his Tempst Tongue bleeds from his tongue like watery tar. 

The purple, rose-littered vines still climb up Rainbow’s arm. Indigo is one the glance at it this time, and he pushes aside his own feelings in favor of his centre. He does that a lot, doesn’t he?

“Virgil, look at me,” Indigo commands gently, and Purple looks straight—ha—at him.

The scholarly Side starts to take deep, exaggerated breaths. Rainbow’s eyes dart over at him as well. They both copy his breathing as he goes, and he gives them an encouraging little smile. 

“That’s it, nice and slow with me,” he speaks softly, keeping reassurances and encouragement constant. 

The purple vines slowly descend the opposite way off Rainbow, and the red roses on them rustle as they reverse in growth. What used to be full blooms are now regressing into simple buds, dimming and paling. 

“Now, what are five things you can see?” the astrophile asks, keeping a calm demeanor for the benefit of the other two. 

“Uh, um…The Office bloopers,” Rainbow names one. 

“The—the weird stain on the couch,” Purple lists the second.

“Pants,” number three, as Rainbow looks down at his pants. 

“My hoodie…” a fourth, says Purple. 

And finally, the fifth, Rainbow lists, “The stairs.”

Indigo nods at them, encouraging. 

“Four things you can hear?” he guides. 

The ice-maker in the kitchen thuds ice around as it drops into its proper container, startling Purple as he narrows his eyes at it. 

“Ice-maker, for whatever reason…” he begins the first, glaring at the kitchen. 

“Um, when the cast misread Dwight’s directions to the, uh, the barn,” Rainbow stumbles through number two. 

“Thomas’ breathing,” Purple mutters the third. 

“The…” Rainbow pauses for a moment, and singing chirps poke around from outside, “The birds outside.”

“Good, that’s good. Three things you can feel?” Indigo remains soft, gentle, patient. 

Rainbow exhales a long sigh, looking back down at his pants and rubbing his palms over it. 

“Pants,” he mumbles. 

“Hoodie,” says Purple.

“Stain on the couch—wait, why is it sticky?” 

“It better be ice-cream.”

“Why wouldn’t it—wait, what?”

“What?”

“Alright, alright, why don’t you list two things you can smell?” Indigo interrupts not unkindly, gathering their attention again. 

“Uh, okay, um...the rest of the coffee from this morning,” Rainbow lists. 

“The couch stain—what is that? Why’s it smell so weird?” Purple scrunches up his nose in disgust as he glances at the sticky stain on the couch, which lies somewhere on the other side of it. 

“I...don’t want to know anymore.” 

“Ugh, yeah, no, nope, not today.”

“Virgil, Thomas. One thing you can taste?” Indigo guides their focus again. 

Purple looks away from the sticky, smelly, very weird couch stain that he rather not think about anymore. Rainbow smacks his lips as he tries to think of something.

“The bitter under-taste of burnt coffee grounds from when the coffee got over-brewed,” they say in a strangely unified chorus. 

Indigo blinks for a minute at the unified answer, but he lightly shakes himself as the other two calm down. 

The purple vines have receded, shriveling away with pale rose buds falling off. They slowly disappear until it’s as if they were never there to begin with, Rainbow’s wrist is free from the pricks and spikes of purplish worry. Once Purple catches sight of the vines’ absence, he visibly slumps and relaxes into his patchwork hoodie. Indigo nods to himself as he notes the vines’ disappearance, glad he could be of assistance in some way. They listen in times like these. 

Well. Isn’t that interesting? 

How come they only listen when it’s to benefit them?

The scorched words almost startle Orange as they appear before him, burning so bright and so furiously that it almost snaps him back into his typical form. Keyword: almost. He settles himself, the mist only shimmering for a moment as he does so. The truth of it isn’t what surprises him; anyone who’s seen and observed knows how true that thought to be. No, it’s the absolute force of it. It’s burning brighter than a sun, brighter than a forest fire, brighter than a scared crow in a flower garden who longs to fly. 

“So…” Rainbow begins, shuffling in place. “The meeting, it—um…”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you aren’t in a mental place where you can handle it, Thomas,” Indigo is kind and patient and listening. 

“That’s—thank you, Logan.”

“Unnecessary, all in a day’s work.”

“No, I mean it. I don’t think I tell you it enough. I appreciate you, Logan.” 

The lighter hue of orange words float in front of Orange’s eyes as Indigo stares at his centre for a minute too long.

Please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it—

He’s desperate. 

Please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, please mean it—

He’s heart-wrenchingly desperate...and Hopeful. 

Something tugs in Orange’s chest as he watches from behind the t.v. stand, near the floor, floating slightly above the carpet as citric mist. 

Indigo can’t seem to form words, so he instead nods thankfully and doesn’t comment on the underlying feeling of you’re lying. Purple watches from his spot on the back of the couch. He could probably feel the Doubt coming from Indigo in what Purple’s described before as ‘waves of light purple shadows’. Orange can’t see or feel Doubt—that’s not his area, after all—but he doesn’t need added abilities from his functions to know the kind scholar Doubts Rainbow. He Doubts him too, though not in the area of truly meaning it when he thanks Indigo. 

“And...I do appreciate Roman, I just—what happened to him? Why’s he so hurt?” Rainbow admits, asking genuinely. 

It takes every fiber of Purple’s practiced instinctual being not to jump up and shout what do you mean. He chooses to narrow his eyes instead, an almost frightening glare shivers through the air. It takes Orange every ounce of steady levitation not to shift into his usual form instead of the mist, and it pricks his being like pins and needles to just float there as he listens in. He cannot glare nor grit teeth, but he can glow tart-bright like a misty lamp light in a mostly-hidden area where no one pays attention. Indigo, ever so patient and cool-faced, forces himself to stay seated as his hand twitches to clench his dress pants again. He decides that gritting his teeth in both Envy and Unfair is better than messing up his smooth pants. He can’t go looking unprofessional, now could he? 

“Thomas,” Indigo forces out with a measured voice, the grit and bite staying underneath his tone. “Could you elaborate what you meant by ‘what happened’ to Roman?”

“I, uh,” Rainbow hesitates as he feels the tension, the protective anger, humming in the room. “He wasn’t always so...like that, was he?”

“Like what?” Purple can’t help but bite, but winces as he reminds himself Rainbow’s question is from a place of concern rather than condescending snark. 

“Hurt,” Rainbow mumbles, and the answer almost catches Purple by surprise. 

Indigo sighs away the Envy, letting the Unfair he feels for Red seep and bleed into his voice, “I...I don’t remember when he wasn’t, Thomas. It’s—frankly, it’s unfair.” 

Rainbow eyes Indigo in surprise at the open emotion before the astrophile cools his expression and puts his mask of professionalism back on. 

“L’s right. Princey’s been Princey for, like, ever, and him being hurt just...we don’t know,” Purple admits, shrugging as he shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket. 

“That’s not good,” Rainbow mutters.

Purple gives him a look of no fucking duh. 

Indigo swallows as he tries to think when he really did see Red smiling genuinely because he was happy, and not because he was helping someone else or working on a project for Rainbow, or...huh. 

When was the last time any of them even noticed Red’s smile not being for someone else? 

When was the last time Red sang outside of videos?

“Wait, what about Janus?” Rainbow brings up. 

Purple immediately hisses at the mention of the serpentine Side, little tendrils of crystallized amber mixing with purplish vines as they tie themselves around his ankles like anklets. Or, more accurately, like a pair of cuffs with the promise of foreboding chains. 

“What about him?” Purple spits.

“Well, he looked...worried. I’ve never seen him like that,” Rainbow answers.

Purple rolls his eyes and scoffs, the purple vine-cuffs tightening as the amber tendrils glisten. Indigo nods along with what Rainbow says. Seeing Yellow so openly horrified as a certain realization had dawned on him isn’t a common sight, let alone one to see while conversing with their centre. 

“It’s whatever, Thomas. He’s an asshole,” Purple grumbles.

“He helped me,” Indigo whispers at the same time, though aside. 

No other except Purple seems to take note of it as he glances briefly at the scholar. He makes no comment, clenching his jaw in silent retaliation. 

“He must’ve done something,” Purple grits out, “Remus has been a lot more recently.”

“More intense? Yeah, I know,” Rainbow comments, scrubbing a hand over his face again. 

Indigo hums, expecting as much. Green’s always been, well, Green, but as of late...Yellow really fucked up. Green can’t seem to let it slide by like he usually does with things. Not when it’s his brother, not when it’s Red, not then. Never then. The eerie, greenish nebulous cloud of Unwanted and Hurt floats around Rainbow’s head as a pair of octopus-like tentacles wrap around his neck. They stay loose, not tight enough to actually hurt him, but their light touch makes Rainbow shiver as thoughts linger about. 

Indigo glances at the octo-cloud, and Purple follows suit. They exchange a brief glance as Rainbow flinches at some invisible whisper. Though Green isn’t physically present, his influence is still very much there. He has a job to do, as they all do. He just may be a bit...extra dramatic in his duties right now. Which is to say he’s got a stronger grip than his usual imaginative ventures as the technical vessel for Intrusive Imaginings. 

Indigo clears his throat, which nearly startles his centre out of his seat and causes Purple’s gaze to sharply meet his again. 

“I believe Remus has been more invested in his projects than usual,” Indigo puts simply. 

“That’s putting it lightly, L,” Purple grumbles in his spot. 

Indigo ignores him for the time being, “I’d imagine he’s getting some...frustrations out of his system.” 

At the mere mention of Green being frustrated, flaring amber-coloured words sting and burn Orange’s eyes. 

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!

There’s a sharp tug in Orange’s chest, and he unwillingly absorbs into the carpet behind the t.v. stand as he sinks out. 

=====

Y’know, being summoned against your will gets really fucking annoying when there’s so many people that need your eyes to watch. 

As Orange pops into wherever he is, he gets shocked out of his mist form. Now, he wears his usual attire: the spiked leather jacket, a dark shirt with burn marks, his orange-patterned studded boots, dark pants with a chain hanging from one loop to another, and decorative flame glasses that sit neatly on the bridge of his nose. He huffs as he glances around at his surroundings, shaking off the last bits of coloured mist. Putting the flame glasses atop his head so he can properly see, Orange can’t help the bewilderment. He’s standing in a vast field of dark stone, purplish and bluish hues branching out like veins in it. There are sharp, spike-like rock formations protruding from the ground in sets of threes, fours, or fives. They’re akin to that of daisies and weed-filled bouquets. These rocky groupings are littered throughout the landscape. Whitish mists and fogs cling in the air, about the height of where Orange’s knees stand. It’s eerie, and there’s a chill that shudders down his spine. It’s a worm of warning, to be simply described, of whatever this place is. It has the remnants of Red’s and Green’s Creative dust. Well, ‘dust’ isn’t right, it’s more like sprinkles of Creative magic, but ‘dust’ is more accurate to the feel of it in this place. There’s a feeling, a presence of something else here. Someone else, he should say, because it feels as if a third kind of Creative magic is seeded into the very essence of this place. It’s a presence that’s old, faintly familiar. It reminds him of the colour Pink, a forgotten dream that’s been lost to ruin as its memory ages. He knows this presence. He knew it well, when it was...where in the fuck is he?

He walks forward in a random direction, trying to find the culprit of who had the particularly tart thought of cussing someone out. They’re somewhere near, they have to be. Orange always gets summoned close to them when this happens. So, he shouldn’t be that far away from whichever Side has a mind reeking of Unfair. 

Orange immediately stops once he spots a giant, dark hole in the ground from a distance. It’s massive. The inside looks to be deep in depth, an unsettling matte darkness ready to swallow a being whole if he were to come any closer to it. It’s gaping like a monster’s great maw. Amongst this barren wasteland, it’s the only thing that isn’t rock or stone. A loud, screeching roar echoes from it as Orange stares warily at the crater in the ground. Something bites at his lungs, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s a thin and weak copy of purple tendrils that loop loosely around it. 

Where in the fuck am I? Who would fucking be here? What the fuck, Orange thinks, reasonably, as he stands still. 

A clink, crash, and crumbling thud of rocks against what sounds like metal makes him tear his attention away from the crater and to a different direction. He gives one last glance at the crater, walking away. As he heads to the origin of the sound, he spots various scars in the stony ground. Of what, he can only assume weapons and blades. He nears as the thuds of his boots seem to alert whoever the fuck is fucking around out here. Orange spots a mud-smeared, green costume and realizes the only one who would even dare to be in such a place. 

Green slams his mace—sorry, morning star—against another formation of sharp, spiked rock bouquets. The remains of it go flying across the foggy air, and some of it skids across the ground. He does it again, and a metal-born scar scraps anew into the stone plains. He seems to ignore the fact Orange is right there. 

That is, until Orange’s eyes fwoosh in angry amber as the words fuck you and your stupid hat scorch his sight; the sound of fire breaks Green from his furious focus. 

He nearly pales when he spots Orange. 

Okay, so, maybe he hadn’t been ignoring him and actually just hadn’t noticed him yet. 

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” Green’s voice is quiet, firm, and borderline threatening as his eyes glare blood-red at him. 

He tightens his grip on his morning star as he lowers it, and Orange feels too wary about that fucking crater to spare a scoff. 

“Well, I’m sure there’s a better way than that,” Orange says, vaguely gesturing to the demolished rock formation. “Why not beat his hat into smithereens, huh? It’s much more fun!”

Orange summons a wooden bat, spiked with crooked nails, and rests it on his shoulder. He pushes the weak copy of purplish vines off his lungs as he focuses on dealing with this whole situation. Green feigns an unbothered eyeroll as one side of his mustache twitches and he sniffs. 

“What if I beat you instead? How’d you like that, ya orange fuck?” Green retorts, smirking wide and unsettling in an attempt to make Orange go away. 

Orange doesn’t go away. 

“I thought you were the fun one, Green. Why take aggression out on just rocks? I don’t think Yellow would—”

Green nearly swings his morning star at him, but he just smashes the rock formation into even smaller crumbles and pebbles. 

“Shut the fuck up, Ori,” he growls. 

Hm, well, that was quicker than usual. 

A lot quicker, actually. 

Out-of-character kind of quick. 

That’s not good. 

It’s not fair, he can’t do that! He can’t, he can’t, can’t can’t can’t!

Orange blinks away the burn as he sees the citrus words scorch the air in front of him. He shifts as he sets the head of his bat on the ground, leaning against it slightly. 

“Y’know, you can hit more than just a hat, too,” Orange continues, tilting his head mockingly. 

Green sneers at him, “It ain’t your fuckin’ business.” 

“Oh, don’t be like that! What’s so fresh about Yellow that has you so wound, huh? You’re not usually so bothered.”

Green glares at him, grip tightening further on his morning star as it stays buried in the last bits of the rock formation. 

“Or is it something to do with Red’s exit last meeting?” 

Green growls deeper, showing teeth and fangs, as he rips his weapon from where it’s stuck and points it threateningly at Orange. The arsonist simply smirks as he raises his hands, his spiked bat poofing away. 

“You stay the fuck away from him,” he snarls, baring sharp teeth that could easily cut through whatever they wished. 

“Oh, I can’t help if I’m summoned, you know that,” he says, backing away slightly. “Why do you think I’m here?”

That gives Green a split-second-and-you’ll-miss-it pause, grip loosening but then tightening again on his beloved weapon. 

He can't just hurt him like that. It’s not fair, he didn’t do anything to deserve that! Unfair, unfair unfair—

The scorching words linger this time, and Orange huffs out a sigh. 

“Jeez, and I thought you’d be done after all these rocks were demolished,” Orange teases sarcastically, “Gotta get justice for your brother, don’t you?”

Okay, so, wrong thing to say. 

Orange’s eyes widen as Green starts to swing his morning star at him, immediately sinking out and sinking back in right behind him. 

“Kinda rude, isn’t it?” his voice gets Green turning on his heels to face him.

“Leave ‘im alone!” Green bares his pointed fangs as he aims at Orange again, though the arsonist simply dodges again. “He don’t deserve that, stop hurtin’ him!”

“I’m not the one who hurt him, Green.”

“But you’re the one who’s here.”

Another swing, another miss. 

“Well, as you’ve told Indigo: ‘who do you really want to scream at?’”

And Orange sinks out before Green can react. 

=====

He pops up into his room, sighing as he stretches his arms behind him. Something pulls at his shoulder muscles, and his winces. He throws off his leather jacket as it flutters onto his bed, grimacing at another pull. His spiked bat leans against the wall near his bed. The door to the Flower Garden beckons him, shimmering in flaring amber-like flames. Orange ignores it for the time being. He groans as a sharp pain sings through his back, trying to stretch more but being denied by his body. 

There’s an oval-shaped hole in the back of his shirt, a few burn scars poking out. From it, a pair of vibrantly orange wings rest against his back. They’re small, some of the feathers bent and others ready to fall off. There’s white on his secondaries, greyish from being hidden. His wings ache as he tries to unfold them, though not as bad as they would if he didn’t take care of them. The bones creak as he goes slowly, up until the wings are spread and as wide as they go. 

Orange walks over to his closet, opening it to reveal that one of the doors acts as a three-sided mirror on the inside. He turns his back to it as he bends his wings and reaches to pluck the ready feathers away. He does his best to fix and smooth the bent ones. He summons his wooden brush—one with a butterfly weed engraved onto it—and brushes what parts of the wings he can. 

Orange drifts off into thought as he continues his routine. 

Green, for less obvious reason, is angry that Red’s been mistreated and hurt so much. They fight, yes, they’re made to be opposites of each other, two sides—heh—of the same scruffed coin. What Red is, Green isn’t. What Red isn’t, Green is. And yet, they’re still brothers. Brothers fight and quarrel. So, perhaps Green being angry for Red isn’t as far off as others may make it out to be. 

Red’s been hurt for a lot longer than most of them realized. The poor little cardinal tries to make something worth praise, and yet...well. And yet. 

Then there’s Indigo, who...wait. 

Orange narrows his eyes in thought as he grooms his wings. 

Is it just him, or did Indigo’s wounds on his hands...disappear? They weren’t there when he was mist earlier. He hadn’t felt the need to comment on them during all of that, but it seems maybe he should have taken a better note of them. Though they are Sides, metaphysical beings of Rainbow’s Imagination—technically, they can be considered creations of Red’s because Red is Rainbow’s Creativity, but he digresses—their own wounds and injuries still take about the same time to heal as Rainbow’s would. So, if they weren’t there, then he’d be hiding them. 

The Sides can shapeshift, after all.

But why would Indigo feel the need to—oh. Oh.

Yeah, okay, it’s not that hard to figure it out, is it? 

Indigo’s hiding his wounds. Red’s hiding himself. Green’s furious. 

Purple’s concerned. 

Yellow and Cyan are...something. He needs to check in on them soon. 

Rainbow’s confused—when isn’t he—and horribly worried. 

Orange poofs his wood brush away. He’s gotten all that he can reasonably reach by himself. He closes his closet door, heading towards the Flower Garden’s entrance as it flares more and more. 

The door opens as he leaves his wings exposed, Hoping he can stretch them while he tends to whatever needs tending this time.

[whoreologium]

Lupin's Baby Sister

As the group sought shelter from the storm, Lupin led them to a secluded safehouse nestled in the French countryside. His usual carefree demeanor was still present, but there was something more serious, almost anxious, about him as they approached the small cottage.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Lupin said, though his voice was unusually tight. He guided them inside with quick, purposeful steps, eyes darting around as if he expected danger at every turn.

Impey was the first to notice. "What’s with the nerves, Lupin? You’re acting like someone’s going to jump out at us."

Lupin forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Nothing of the sort. Just... be respectful when I take you inside."

The group shared puzzled glances but followed him through the house until they reached a room tucked away in the back. Lupin hesitated at the door, his hand lingering on the knob. For a moment, it seemed as though he was struggling with something. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

Inside, lying in a soft bed, was a young woman—pale, delicate, and clearly unwell. She stirred as they entered, her gentle eyes opening to reveal a look of confusion.

"Brother?" she whispered weakly, her voice soft as a feather.

Everyone froze. Cardia blinked in surprise, her voice just above a whisper. "Lupin, is this...?"

"My sister," Lupin replied quietly, his usual charm replaced with an unmistakable tenderness. He moved quickly to her side, kneeling by the bed and taking her hand in his. "You shouldn’t be up. You need to rest."

The frail woman smiled at him, though it was weak. "I heard voices... I didn’t know you had company."

"You don’t need to worry about that," Lupin said, his voice dropping to a soft murmur as he adjusted the blanket around her. "I’ll handle everything."

Victor stepped forward, his brow furrowed in concern. "Lupin, if she’s unwell, I could help. Maybe I could—"

But Lupin immediately shot up, shielding his sister from Victor’s approach with a protective arm. "No. Don’t get too close." His usual playfulness was gone, replaced with a stern protectiveness. "She’s fragile. I don’t want anyone overwhelming her."

Victor hesitated, not used to seeing Lupin so defensive. "I won’t do anything to harm her. Let me just take a look—"

Lupin’s eyes narrowed. "I can take care of her myself, thank you very much. I’ve been doing it for years."

His sister gave a soft chuckle, reaching up to brush Lupin’s cheek. "You worry too much, brother. I’m not as delicate as you think."

"That’s what you always say," Lupin replied with a small, fond smile as he leaned into her touch. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop worrying."

Impey, never one to hold back his surprise, finally spoke up. "Wait a minute, you have a sister? And she’s been here this whole time?"

"Yes," Lupin replied curtly, his eyes still on his sister. "But I don’t tell people about her for a reason."

Cardia stepped forward carefully, her voice gentle. "Lupin, it’s alright. We’re not here to intrude, but Victor can help. He’s treated so many people before."

Lupin sighed, glancing at his sister, whose weak smile had only grown more tired. "I know, but..." He looked back at Victor, his tone softer but still filled with hesitation. "She’s all I have left. I can’t risk anything happening to her."

Victor’s expression softened with understanding. "I won’t do anything without her consent. But I can at least make her more comfortable. Please, let me help."

Lupin glanced down at his sister, and her gentle nod was all it took for him to relent. "Alright," he murmured, his tone reluctant but accepting. "But only if she says it’s okay."

"I trust you, brother," she whispered, giving him a reassuring smile. "Let him try."

With a deep breath, Lupin stepped aside but remained hovering close, watching every move Victor made as he assessed her condition. Victor was careful and respectful, moving with the grace of someone who understood the weight of Lupin’s protectiveness.

"I can relieve her symptoms for now," Victor said softly after his examination. "But to find a cure... I’ll need more time, more information. With your permission, I’d like to start right away."

Lupin hesitated, his heart clearly torn between his desire to protect his sister and his hope that maybe, just maybe, there could be a way to truly help her. He glanced at her again, her tired eyes meeting his, full of love and trust.

"Do it," Lupin finally said, his voice quiet but filled with determination. "But you’ll let me know everything you’re doing. No surprises."

Victor nodded, his tone equally serious. "You have my word."

As Victor set to work preparing a remedy, Lupin returned to his sister’s side, his hand brushing her hair back gently. "You’ll be alright," he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "I’ll make sure of it."

His sister’s eyes fluttered closed, her expression peaceful as she settled back into her pillow. "You’re always taking care of me..."

"And I always will," Lupin said softly, his voice filled with unwavering resolve.

The rest of the group watched in quiet awe, surprised by the tender, coddling side of Lupin that they had never seen before. For all his wit and charm, his heart was clearly tied to the fragile young woman in the bed, and in that moment, they saw just how fiercely he loved her.

[leonsrightlations]

The Earth is Online Chapter 12

The big mole ground its sharp claws against the head of the enormous match. With a snap, a spark flickered on the scarlet match head. Quickly, a flaming blaze engulfed the entire match. The big mole placed the match on the ground and used its long claws to grab the huge turkey and place it on the flame to roast.

Lin Qiao went to the corner to help the chef up. She raised her head and said, “He’s okay, just unconscious.”

Tang Mo and Li Wen helped Li Bin up.

Aside from the chef who was unconscious and wouldn’t wake up, the six remaining people sat to one side, far away from the big mole.

However, the underground cavern was only so big. Even if they sat as far away as possible, the crackling sound of the burning match and the appetizing, enticing scent of turkey both unavoidably drifted over.

Bright grease flowed little by little from the turkey meat, dripping at last into the raging flame. Tang Mo had never smelled such an enticing scent before. No seasoning had been used at all. It was purely turkey roasted over a match. The appetizing scent unique to meat drilled into all of their nostrils.

The giant match illuminated the cavern, allowing everyone to see that turkey even more clearly. It was scorched a glossy yellow color, the outside skin a bit charred. As a result of the crackling flame, the outer skin was roasted even more wrinkled and crisp. Even if they were unable to put it in their mouths, they could all imagine how delicious it was.

Everybody swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

The match burned to ashes and the turkey was already roasted. The big mole sat cross-legged on the ground, its small eyes gleaming. Those sharp claws and massive, pointed teeth suppressed the urge of the six people to snatch the turkey. From a distance, Tang Mo watched the big mole take a bite of turkey. The instant it ate the turkey, its expression turned incomparably soft.

“Turkey that has been roasted using Mosaic’s match really is the most delicious thing in the world. I’ve never told anyone this. This is the happiest Thanksgiving Day I’ve ever had.”

The big mole used its teeth to tear at the turkey meat, paying absolutely no attention to those humans who sat in the distance, continuously gulping saliva.

With the mole like this, Tang Mo and the others had no way to complain. The six people were still clear-headed. Among them, Tang Mo could be counted as having the highest combat power. But even if it was him and he did his best to make use of that cheap book, in this situation of having only collected one ability, if he used his ability to unleash a sneak attack, it could be blocked by the other party’s claw. He’d also been robbed of the match to be used as fuel to roast the turkey.

The big mole’s facial expression was full of pleasure. Six people’s stomachs rumbled loudly.

After the big mole ate a drumstick, its mood seemed joyful. Biting into the other drumstick, it mumbled, “Why do you have Mosaic’s match?”

Suddenly being questioned by the other, Tang Mo was a little startled. Calmly, he said, “Previously…I unfortunately met her once.”

The big mole “oh’d” once. “Did Xiao Mosaic commit arson or murder this time? Actually, she’s an obedient, sensible little girl. Her hobbies are just a bit special. You must also feel that she’s very cute, right?”

Tang Mo: “...” To sum up, this felt like a life-threatening question.

Between his small life and his conscience, Tang Mo ruthlessly picked the former.

“She’s really very cute,” he said with a wooden face.

The big mole nodded. “She is. She’s as cute as me.”

Tang Mo: “...”

Everyone: “...”

Whatever makes you happy.

The big mole finished eating the other drumstick and began to eat a wing. It moved extremely quickly. Almost in the blink of an eye, its sharp claws picked out the wing bone. Tang Mo’s pupils shrank. According to this speed, it absolutely should be as easy as turning over a hand [1] for the big mole to kill the seven of them. Then, when it had been struggling for a while just now, don’t tell me…it was playing?

The big mole dim-wittedly ate the turkey, unaware that Tang Mo had been thinking about it and that his whole body was on guard. On one side, it ate meat. On the other side, it vaguely said, “This time I really must thank you for the match. Mosaic’s match is the best fuel for roasting turkey, but this little girl isn’t sensible. She says she needs the match to set fires and is never willing to give me one.”

Tang Mo reminded, “Just now, you said she was an obedient and sensible little girl.”

The big mole touched its head. “I said that? I don’t remember.” It quickly changed the subject. “To speak according to common sense, you guys shouldn’t be attacking the tower at this time. Mosaic’s match is very good to use as a weapon. It can accompany you to survive the second floor. It’s also barely enough to cope with those disgusting bugs on the third floor. I’m really lucky, ah. Meeting all of you sooner means I get to enjoy my turkey sooner. Ah, praise to the Black Tower! Happy Thanksgiving!”

Tang Mo was watching the big mole carefully when, suddenly, his hand was lightly bumped by someone else. He turned to look. Luo Fengcheng mouthed: Question it. [2]

Tang Mo had already intended to do so. Taking advantage of the opportunity made by the big mole’s good mood, he casually questioned, “We shouldn’t be attacking the tower at this time?”

The big mole ate meat and nodded, “With your current level, how many of you have awakened abilities? If this was the first floor’s normal mode, all of you would die the moment you entered, to the point where you can’t even get to my cave. Those earthworms [3] up there could just bite you all to death.”

Luo Fengcheng grabbed onto the keywords. “Ability? Normal mode?”

The big mole only answered the last question. “That’s right. Aren’t you all playing idiot mode right now?”

The idiots: “...”

Indeed, it seemed that the Black Tower had said at the start that this was the first floor’s idiot mode…

The turkey had already been half-eaten. Tang Mo glanced at its remains. Even though he wanted to know more about the subject of abilities, right now he had something even more important that he wanted to know.

“Mole…Uncle Mole, in the end, what is attacking the tower?”

“Attacking the tower is attacking the tower. You all currently can’t attack the tower. It’s only because a stowaway reached the level of attacking the tower that all of you were forcibly pulled into the game by him.” Its voice suddenly paused, and the big mole lapped at the grease on its claws. “Hey, shouldn’t I also be grateful to that stowaway? If not for him opening the game in advance, none of you could have entered. If you guys couldn’t enter, I also couldn’t eat such a delicious turkey. But he’s a stowaway…”

Tang Mo asked, “What’s a stowaway?”

The big mole suddenly raised its head, a gleam flashing through its eyes.

“A stowaway is someone who didn’t participate in a Black Tower game but used some other method to log into the Black Tower. They are all the most hateful, vile people. If I can grab one and eat them up, I can get formidable power. I like to eat stowaways the most. Their meat is both savory and tender. Additionally, they contain formidable power. Every single stowaway possesses an ability!”

The six people exchanged glances. Even the young woman, the youngest of them, understood that ‘people who have logged into the Black Tower’ probably referred to them who had survived and hadn’t disappeared.

Hearing this, Tang Mo’s scalp felt numb, but he still maintained his calm.

“Then what method did they use to log into the Black Tower?”

The big mole’s teeth rubbed up and down, creating an ear-piercing sound. “Altogether, there are three ways to enter the Black Tower. The three ways result in three kinds of identities - official players, reserve players, and stowaways. Official players are those who participated in a Black Tower game within three days, gained victory, and obtained the Black Tower’s official recognition. 

“Reserve players are those who didn’t participate in a Black Tower game in three days, but participated in another game and also obtained a certain degree of the Black Tower’s approval. Reserve players only need to win a Black Tower game later on to be promoted to official players.

“Finally, we still have them, my favorite stowaways…”

The big mole swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

“Stowaways are those who, within those three days, eliminated another player by committing a crime. [4] Before the game officially started, every human being was a hidden player. By eliminating at least one hidden player, you could log into the Black Tower. The elimination method…” The big mole raised those tiny, shrewd eyes, “...was not at all limited to playing a game. Committing a crime is also ‘eliminating a player,’ you know.”

Tang Mo’s heart fiercely clutched once before he quickly resumed tranquility.

He recalled the first stowaway he had met.

Qian Sankun, that thief. Tang Mo originally thought that the two of them were the same, that they had experienced a bizarre game and finally survived as the victor. In that ability book, Qian Sankun’s name had the word “stowaway” after it. Tang Mo had never understood it, but he hadn’t thought it had this kind of meaning…

The big mole began to eat the turkey’s breast meat. As it crunched and bit, it vaguely said, “What a pity that stowaway didn’t come to my place, or I could eat him… A stowaway capable of opening the tower attack game this soon should be so delicious! If I eat him, I can get some power!”

The big mole regretfully said, “Every official player and stowaway definitely has awakened an ability. The probability of a reserve player awakening an ability is a little lower… I really want to eat up that stowaway, ah…”

The big mole again swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

Tang Mo and the others didn’t dare imagine the scene of living people being eaten, but what the big mole had said just now already gave them a distinct outline of the world of the Black Tower.

Only four hundred million people survived in the whole world. They were divided into three types - official players, reserve players, and stowaways. Reserve players might possess an ability, while official players and stowaways definitely did. Tang Mo was one such official player, possessing that cheap book. Qian Sankun was one such stowaway, possessing the ability to store items in his body.

At the moment, they had no idea what proportion of the three types of players was higher. It might be official players and it might be reserve players. But it was absolutely not possible for it to be stowaways.

Even if the scope was extended to the whole world, those who had committed a crime in those three days’ time couldn’t exceed ten million.

If the stowaways were few in number, then were there more official players or reserve players?

Tang Mo inexplicably felt that it was possible the official players like him were also fewer in number. At least among the seven of them, there were four who definitely hadn’t participated in a Black Tower game.

The big mole began to eat the last bit of breast meat. “It really is a pity. Has that stowaway who opened the tower attack game already been swallowed whole? [5] Why didn’t he come to my place? Such a delicious stowaway… I really want to eat one, too…”

Finished eating the last mouthful of turkey, the big, full-to-bursting mole rubbed its plump belly. The aroma of turkey still permeated the air. Everyone sucked in a few mouthfuls, consoling themselves by smelling the turkey’s scent.

The big mole was no exception. It used its scarlet nose to sniff unceasingly at the air.

Gradually, the aroma of turkey dissipated.

A clear childlike voice sounded in the ears of Tang Mo and the others -

[Ding dong! Completed the side mission: Roast a turkey for the cute Uncle Mole.]

Everyone simultaneously released a breath of air.

Right at that moment, they heard a weird, sharp laugh. The big mole opened its tiny eyes wide and its shrewd, piercing gaze swept over everyone present. It gurgled as it laughed, and nobody knew why it was making such a monstrous noise.

The sound was like fingernails scraping on glass, giving everyone goosebumps and making the hairs all over their body stand on end.

Then everyone heard it use an excited and oppressive voice to say, “What did I find? Just now it was concealed by the turkey’s scent. Unexpectedly, I only now noticed that among your group of seven humans, there are two official players, four reserve players…and one stowaway! My Black Tower, why are you so good to me today? I'm going to eat this stowaway! I'm going to eat them! [6] Happy Thanksgiving!”

[Ding dong! The second side mission has been triggered: Find that damn stowaway!]

[PREV] [TOC] [NEXT]

Character Refresher:

Li Bin (李彬), 29, male, works at a PR firm.

Peng Yu Wen (彭玉雯), 18, female, first year of university. Small, looks like a junior high student.

Tang Mo (唐陌), 23, male, librarian. Our protagonist! :D

Li Wen (黎文), 25, male, unemployed. A foolishly sweet second generation whose Maserati is now destroyed.

Lin Qiao (林巧), 20, female, university student.

Zhao Xiang (赵翔), 32, male, former chef. Spent this chapter unconscious. (x_x)

Luo Fengcheng (洛风城), 28, game designer. Wears glasses and looks refined.

Uncle Mole (鼹鼠叔叔), a cute mole with a big appetite. ^_^

Translation Notes:

[1] 易如反掌 - idiom literally meaning as easy as turning a hand, the closest English equivalent would be “as easy as lifting a finger.”

[2] What he actually mouths is 套话 (taohua) which is like to sneakily get information out of someone. That’s an unreasonably long sentence to mouth in English, so I tried to shorten it as much as possible…

[3] This is inconsequential, but I got unreasonably excited about it. The specific word he uses for earthworm is 地龙 (dilong) which literally means ‘earth dragon’ in simplified Chinese. On the other hand, a mole is 土竜 (mogura) in Japanese, which literally means ‘dirt dragon.’ They are brothers……………….

[4] That is to say, they killed another player. I have a hard time figuring out if this is a change from the original to the print version or if the word 犯罪 just has an embedded euphemistic meaning. It literally means to commit a crime. I don’t know why it wouldn’t just directly say ‘killing’ since the text definitely hasn’t shied away from that before. *shrugs*

[5] I’m not sure if this is a joke or not but Uncle Mole seems to be misusing/literally applying an idiom (生吞活剥, to swallow whole) that means…to thoughtlessly/mechanically regurgitate knowledge. Like quoting someone famous out of context. Or like…misusing an idiom………. My grasp of the language is super not strong enough to definitively say if this is the right interpretation of this line or not. ._. But it’s kind of funny if so.

[6] Masculine 他 is used here, which is the default for when you don't know someone's gender. I’m going to use ‘them’ to refer to the stowaway in the cave from this point onward, because their identity (and gender) is unknown.

Lesser translation note: I had a hard time writing out an explanation for the specific grammar point that I struggle with so I will just show you a venn diagram of the problem instead:

(If you snitch on me to my sensei about my sloppy msp character writing with a mouse you are banned forever from my heart.)

In this sentence, the word 要 is used, which I translate as ‘I’m going to’ because in English it has the same kind of sense of ‘intending/desiring to do something strongly but without the certainty of a scheduled event.’ Like there’s a difference between ‘I will go there now *goes there now*’ and ‘I’m gonna beat the crap out of him *merely desires to beat the crap out of him; may not actually beat the crap out of him*.’ Anyway, this is a problem that plagues me eternally, not just here, but I thought I’d mention it. (And don’t even get me started on ‘can’ vs. ‘may.’)

Sorry for the late chapter!!! Hopefully it won't happen again but also my life is at a bit of a crossroads atm so there's a high chance I may have to do a brief, planned hiatus at some point in the coming months.

[skythesnake]

Afraid of Love - Book 1 of the Soulmate series

Chapter 2

Natasha was in pure awe. The girl she saw standing in front of her was goddess level beautiful. Is… this what having a soulmate feels like? Natasha still didn’t know the girl’s name, but she felt her face heat and the rest of the world seemed to fade around the girl timidly standing in the doorway of the lunchroom, trying to figure out where she should sit. She cleared her throat and forced herself to look away. It took her longer than she would have liked to admit to realize the entire room had quieted. The poor girl looked terrified. Alex stood up and walked over, taking the girl’s arm and gently guiding her to their empty table. Natasha’s mind scattered, thoughts felt sluggish and too fast all at once and she couldn’t make sense of any of them. Alex sat the girl next to Natasha and then took her seat next to Lee. Natasha didn’t catch any of the friendly words Alex and Lee threw out. She just had to focus on quieting her mind. Not noticing the fact that the tanktop the girl wore was in her favorite shade of purple. Not noticing the way her golden hair was perfectly braided in a thick braid thrown over shoulder. 

“Um… my name is Calliope. I use She/Her pronouns…” Her voice was soft and smooth and it helped to bring Natasha out of her panicked thoughts. Alex’s voice came back into focus.

“That’s a pretty name! This is my friend Natasha. Also She/Her pronouns, not really sure what’s wrong with her. Probably just had a bad day.” She didn’t trust herself to speak so she just nodded and gave Calliope an apologetic smile. Calliope nodded and went back to quietly eating her food. Now that she’d been brought out of whatever the hell her brain had just gone through, she could think much more clearly and couldn’t understand what had just happened. She mentally shrugged and finished her food. She was almost sure now that Calliope wasn’t her soulmate. There was no feeling of connection, no certainty that this girl was “the right one”. Maybe they could be friends though.

. . .

I have never been the talkative sort. My entire life, I’ve been extremely shy, and my parents uprooting my entire life to move to the bigger town definitely didn’t help things. Of the thousand and one ways I had worried today would go, another girl who hadn’t told anyone her soulmate wasn’t one of them.  In hindsight, it probably should have been. My hometown was much smaller and even there, kids were known not to share their soulmate's name until they were about 20 - the legalized adult age. It shouldn't have been too much of a stretch to think the same might be here. It's a town bigger than any I'd traveled to before; I didn't know what to expect. After I denied the first several people to ask who my soulmate was, people stopped asking. Before the school day even started, I was labeled as ‘other’. So much for that fresh start Father had promised me. The first class was a little slice of hell. The teacher was nice, sure, but they had called me to the front of the class to introduce myself. I stuttered my way through my name and pronouns, but then stopped, unsure of what else to say. Mx. Green smiled warmly at me and told me I could go back to my seat. The students didn’t seem to hate or ridicule me all that much, but I still felt my face heat as I sat down, sure I’d made a fool of myself at this school. Again. The worst of it was lunchtime. I struggled to find the cafeteria, and when I did, I seemed to be the last person there. I stood in the entryway, trying to figure out where to sit, unconsciously shrinking into myself. My eyes darted around the room to find one friendly face. One person I hadn’t met or seen today that might not hate me. A girl with strawberry blonde hair and hazel eyes stood and gently took my arm in her hand. She led me over to her table, mostly empty aside from a boy with short black hair, buzzed on the sides, and a very pretty girl with dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. The first girl introduced herself as Alex, She/Her pronouns, and smiled at me warmly. The boy introduced himself as Lee, He/Him pronouns. Apparently, the two were soulmates. They looked expectantly at the second girl who was dutifully eating her food and pointedly not looking at me. Had she heard about me already and the other two had not? Was she about to look up and expose my strangeness? Did she hate me already? But no, she seemed to not notice me, nor her friends looking at her. So I introduced myself

“Um… my name is Calliope. I use She/Her pronouns…” I had meant it to sound more cool and confident, but it had come out as more of a timid mutter. Alex seemed to hear me anyway since she smiled at me again.

“That’s a pretty name! This is my friend Natasha. Also She/Her pronouns, not really sure what’s wrong with her. Probably just had a bad day.” The girl - Natasha - looked up then. She didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly and smiled apologetically at me. As if by instinct, I nodded at her, then went back to eating. Try as I might, I could not stop worrying about her. Her purposefully blank face arose in my mind again and again, no matter how many times I tried to banish it. I sighed inwardly and did my best to keep my anxiety off my face for the rest of the day.

[lonelier-version-of-you]

It’s taken me long enough to write up my thoughts on the latest two Casualty episodes, but I’m finally doing it now, and hey, late is better than never.

S37E34 “Separation”:

This was an excellent episode!! Probably one of my favourites from this series so far - and I liked it all the better, of course, for not having any scenes with Faith. (It was very good in its own right, though, even putting aside the relief of getting a break from Faith.)

Oh, Jacob, Jacob, Jacob. I wish I could give him a hug. :( His storyline is being brilliantly done, but it’s nonetheless very sad to see him struggling so much. Especially with how he’s avoiding therapy and others’ support. I tend to relate a lot to characters who are traumatised but don’t want help because they don’t think they deserve it, so... yeah.

Charles Venn’s performances have been absolutely wonderful throughout this entire storyline, but I thought he was especially outstanding in this episode. In particular, the moment between Jacob and Billie where she wanted him to kiss her, and Jacob hesitated - as though he clearly didn’t want to (well, I suppose more like he did want to but wasn’t quite ready, but hopefully you know what I mean anyway), but he made himself kiss her anyway. Some beautifully subtle acting there. And again, it shows very well how Tina has affected Jacob mentally - I’m sure Billie would have been fine if Jacob had said no, but he felt like he had to. That it was what he “should” do. (I think one could parallel/contrast this, as well, to the scene in Ethan’s last ep where Jacob went on the date with - May, I think her name was? And he panicked and left.)

I could write whole essays about this storyline and everything Jacob’s going through at the moment, and I think I probably will, but I’ll wait until after the next ep.

The plot device of Jacob running into Billie on a shout felt like something that could’ve easily seemed forced into the episode, but it worked out very very well! Billie seems really nice in general, but sadly, I have a feeling their relationship won’t go well. Jacob’s not emotionally ready for a relationship right now IMO - well, I think he could make a go of it, but he needs support and therapy too, not just another romance, that by itself isn’t going to help him - and I think on some level or another he knows that. Which is part of what makes this all so sad. :(

The Max and Jodie storyline is still very interesting to me, and I’m really enjoying their scenes together! Maybe part of why I like it so much is that it, and Max in general to some extent, makes me think of Henrik - a consultant doctor who walked out on his daughter/son respectively, and now their dynamic is strained because of it. Although I like to think things will turn out happier for Max and Jodie.

The patient storylines were very good. I particularly liked the storyline about the two sisters.

The Dylan and Donna scenes were great - well, when aren’t they?! I don’t have a lot to say about those, but yeah, I’m still very pleased Donna came over to Casualty and that they’ve made her friends with Dylan. :)

And it turns out Ryan - or Harry Tressler 2.0 as I’ve been jokingly calling him in my mind - is bi! Good for him, and it’s nice to have representation. Ryan’s my least favourite of this nurse quartet for his personality (I mean, him spreading rumours about Jodie hasn’t been exactly endearing him to me!), but I am glad to have some more queer rep anyway. And maybe I’m taking things a bit far by thinking of him as “Harry Tressler 2.0″, because Ryan’s had moments where I quite like him (like the one in this ep, when he’s basically like “oh, I like men, I just don’t like you”), and I don’t think there’s been any moments where I’ve liked Harry Tressler (unless I’m forgetting some).

S37E35 “Deliverance”:

I like that this one happens to have the same title as one of my favourite CHVRCHES songs! And it was a pretty good episode in general, too, though I liked it less than “Separation” because this one did have Faith in it. :/

The Jacob comedy stuff was alright, but it feels a bit odd because most of his storyline recently has been so serious. Having said that, I loved the little moment of him dancing! That was adorable.

Di Botcher was great in this episode. I just wanted to acknowledge that - she’s a brilliant actress. I hope Jan and Ffion reunite eventually, though!

The Max and Jodie stuff is still good, but I feel like Jodie’s maybe having too much drama too quickly. I’d like to see Cam and Rida get some dramatic storylines, so that Jodie’s scenes can focus just on the storyline with Max for a while, rather than having these other big stories as well. Having said that, Jodie reminds me somewhat of Gemma Wilde, who had some big dramatic storylines soon after she arrived too and got a lot of great scenes out of it (S15 E20 “Unravelled” is one of my favourite episodes about dealing with trauma that Holby ever did). So idk.

Speaking of Cam, the whole thing with him having a crush on Jodie makes me think of Arthur’s crush on Chantelle in Holby. Has anyone else been thinking that too? It is a bit different though, as Arthur and Chantelle never lived together, as far as I can remember!! But yeah, I keep kind of expecting Cam to make a mixtape for Jodie like Arthur did, lol.

A Ryan/Jodie romance could be interesting. I have no idea where their storyline will go, so I’m very intrigued to see what comes of it.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

The End of Year Movie Roundup You Didn't Know You Wanted (And Don't)

Crikey Mc Crikington IV! It’s been an interesting couple of years in the world of movies and TV, hasn’t it? Ever since 2016, it’s felt like good movies and TV shows are rare gems bobbing around in a sea of filth, never getting the attention they deserve and then disappearing back into the undifferentiated swill of garbage. It’s not that good stuff hasn’t been getting made- it’s just that it’s been struggling in a landscape dominated by absolute, reeking arse. But since, ooh, the latter part of 2022 to now, things feel a bit different, don’t they? It seems like the good stuff has been gaining ground; that- for a change- neither the alt-right, froth-mouthed dicks or the woke-washed virtue-signalling shitheads are winning the culture war. Instead, actual culture seems to be winning. Fancy fucking that. Of course, when I say ‘culture’, I don’t necessarily mean high culture. Nope. I’m talkin’ ‘bout that sweeeeet pop and pulp culture, y’all! Of course, there’s been a fair amount of blithering crap, too, but with the companies that push it (mainly Disney) haemorrhaging money like someone stabbed a bank, most of it feels increasingly irrelevant. So, I’m going to use this blog to deliver capsule reviews of the things that- to me- exemplify the best of last couple of years of pop culture, meaning some cack will make it into the mix. They’re not in chronological order or anything, by the way (though I have stuck the films ahead of the TV series). They’re just in the order that I felt like writing about them. Oh, boohoo, cry me a fucking river- it’s not like you pay for this shit.

John Wick Chapter 4 You’d think watching Keanu Reeves get thrown down stairs and off tall objects would eventually get old but, for some reason, it really, really doesn’t. The John Wick films are truly excellent pieces of cinema and have been from the start. Aside from being incredibly satisfying, violent, gritty revenge movies with fight choreography that would give Ghandi a hardon, they’re also beautiful, intricate exercises in subtle, intelligent world-building in which just a few key words or phrases- or a carefully-selected symbolic object- can pack an enormous amount of information into a few seconds. Oh, and they’re contemplations on the nature of honour and consequences that somehow transcend and act as a comment upon the genre of their birth without ever feeling like a trite condemnation or deconstruction of it. The fourth part does an excellent job of tying the series-thus-far together and providing a meaningful conclusion, which also happens to come loaded with some of the most brilliantly inventive action sequences of any movie from the past fifty years, a sound-track to die for and set-dressing to fucking drool over. No, it won’t be the last one of these- the films make too much money to just bury after four, despite the very final ending- but I appreciate that the movie treats itself as a finale and actually pays off and ties up all the storylines we’ve so far encountered. It’s nice to see a movie that acts like a movie rather than a mere episode of something; that has the panache to commit to the pretence of to its own myth-making. Easily one of my favourite flicks for a good, long time.

Smile Have I reviewed this before? I don’t remember or care: it’s so good, I’ll happily tell you how good it is a million times! In horror films, mental illness is very often the seasoning on a big plate of terrifying shizz, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it used as effectively as it is here, with the main character understanding from the get-go that the supernatural horror she’s experiencing mimicks a mental breakdown and tailoring her responses and survival strategies accordingly. Meanwhile, the unnamed entity manipulates perception and its victim’s psychopathology in a way that’s clearly designed to eat away at her sense of reality while also making other people think she’s crazy and alienating her from her support network. The result is a tense, terrifying cat-and-mouse game between an intelligent, adaptable protagonist with wits and an actual, physical body on their side and an unknowable, awful entity with absolute power over their perception of reality but no corporeal form with which to threaten them. The threat feels plausible and horrifying, but we- as viewers- never become inured to it, because it also seems surmountable: we don’t just switch off and accept the lead character’s fate (a problem with a lot of horror movies) because there is a chance of survival, and we feel that right from the off. The body-horror reveal of the monster’s true form (or, at least, the form it chooses to project during the final stages of its assault) is spectacular, gripping and shit-your-pants scary. Seriously, this film won’t just have made money for cinemas: it will have saved countless laundromats and dry-cleaners from going out of business. It’s trouser-ruiningly good. If you need to be scared out of your tiny mind at short notice, I can whole-heartedly recommend Smile.

Luther: The Fallen Sun Fuckin’ Nora, Idris, do you want some mash to go with this absolute banger of a movie? I found out after watching it that this flick got mediocre reviews and that really only serves to demonstrate that most film critics couldn’t find their arses with a state-of-the-art laser-guided arse-finding system. I suspect that the problem most critics had is that they went in expecting a police procedural and got a neo-noir thriller in which the method of investigation is less important than the spectacular nature of the crime, the heroism of the protagonist and the character of the setting. This is a slick, stylish little movie, polished until it slightly outshines most supernovas. It’s set predominantly in a version of London that feels less like the modern world and more like the city in the grip of the Crays- its like a parallel universe where the tropes and aesthetic preoccupations of the Diamond Geezer era never went away and instead evolved alongside technology. That was also the original Luther series, of course, so you’d think people would know what to expect, but it’s been awhile since that aired and modern critics and audiences apparently have the memory spans of fucking grasshoppers. Now, to return to the point: style, an interesting world, a compellingly psychotic villain and the presence of Idris Elba all make this a good film, but the reason it’s a great film is much more basic: it actually makes you feel things. It depresses me that the bar has sunk that low in recent years, since movies purport to be art and the whole point of art is to make you feel stuff, but very few modern movies have engaged me like Luther, which absolutely nails its pacing, scripting and acting to produce something that hits right in the soul. Without spoiling anything, there’s a bit involving a room filling with gasoline while a filament slowly heats up to ignition-temperature… and halfway through, I realised my heart was racing, my palms were starting to sweat and I was clenching my teeth, desperately hoping that the two characters trapped inside would make it out alright- even though I’d spent most of the movie wanting to slap one of them. I’ve seen movies with clashing armies and exploding planets that felt less epic. A truly well-crafted movie can do more with a single lit fuse than a standard-issue flick can achieve with an entire fireworks display. And that’s why you ought to see this movie.

If you’ll permit me to go a bit meta before we move on, this is also the thing I’ve been begging for since the BBC ruined Doctor Who and deprived me of a lead in the mainstream media I could relate to and root for. I mean, I know Doctor Who's good again now anyway, but I appreciate this too. We’ve got a British hero who thinks his way around problems and displays a laudable- even noble- version of masculinity that’s been missing from screens for a really long time (and he gets to be the hero right up until the end- there’s no fucking bait-and-switch bullshit here). We’ve got a world that’s sufficiently different from the real world to be worth exploring. We’ve got absolutely zero virtual-signalling impinging on the plot and characterisation. And that’s it. This is literally all I fucking wanted. Not so fucking hard, was it, mainstream media? Why the fuck did I have to wait so fucking long?

Oppenheimer And now, ladies and gentlemen, we come to a piece of cinema so glorious- so beautifully-crafted and intricate and meaningful- that I have absolutely no hesitation in calling it the best movie of the decade. I also have no hesitation in calling it ‘Boppenheimer’, because it is an absolute fucking bop and I’ll fight anyone who says different. Folks, if this movie is still playing at a cinema near you, go and see it. If it’s not, find some other way to see it. This isn’t just the height of Christopher Nolan’s movie-making career- the apotheosis of his talents and a showcase for the amazing actors he can attract- it’s also a true cultural moment: something that everyone should share in and appreciate together. It’s hard to describe what makes this film so fucking good, but you know what? I’m going to have a crack at it! Ostensibly, it’s a retelling of the invention of the atomic bomb and the aftermath of its first detonations in a theatre of war. But it’s so, so much more. It’s a character study reflecting on the motives, flaws and redemptive qualities of a Jewish man terrified that Nazi Germany would unlock the power of the atom before the allies. It’s a reappraisal of this man- who has oft been condemned for bringing such an evil invention into the world- recognising that he was a pawn of much darker forces doing what little he could do to spare the world yet greater evils. It’s an exposé of the way the US government of the time exploited and then tossed aside the nation’s brightest minds; using their insight and intellectual labour but refusing to listen to their dire warnings about the misuse of the power they were developing. It’s a study of the prejudices and flawed relations that characterised life in the 1940s and 50s. It’s a deep dive into the workings of the mid-20th Century scientific community. It is, quite simply, brilliant. From its visualisation of atomic physics to the ingenious ways it finds to show Oppenheimer’s doubt and guilt over the use of his weapon, Oppenheimer is a once-in-a-generation piece of media whose import and significance can’t and shouldn’t be denied. I thoroughly expect it to take its place in the western cinematic canon alongside Citizen Kane, Doctor Strangelove, The Seventh Seal, Alien, The Truman Show and other lightning-in-a-bottle one-offs whose existence could never have been conceived before they came screaming into existence with the swagger of inevitability and- appropriately in this case- the explosive roar of sheer newness.

Er… I really like this film.

Slumberland And now, a family film! A fucking excellent family film, in fact! Loosely based on the Little Nemo in Slumberland comic strips from the 1930s (and I do mean loosely), it’s a movie about a troubled young girl dealing with tragedy by escaping into a very literal world of dreams, which ultimately serves as the route and method by which she forges new, meaningful connections in the waking world. And if that sounds a little heavy, don’t panic: there’s also a scene in which we learn that the most popular dream in Canada involves riding a giant goose like a fucking dragon. I don’t want to spoil too much of this one, because every dream sequence and plot-point is delightfully inventive and unexpected and really deserves to be experienced fresh. It’s rare to stumble onto something so thoroughly and completely charming and it’s always refreshing when you do. Slumberland handles important themes with a lightness and dextrousness that makes them accessible and comprehensible to the younger members of its audience while keeping its world and plot vital and interesting for older viewers who might already have had their fill of such themes. Normally, I’d deduct points for gender-flipping the main character from the source material, but on this occasion it’s a bit of a non-issue. The Nemo of the comics was a bit of cipher and- if you really need him to be in it, it’s kind of heavily implied that this Nemo’s father was the original. Besides which, Jason Mamoa’s over-exuberant dream-dweller, ‘Flip’, provides a sympathetic masculine presence for any young lads in the audience and he gets nearly as much screen time as the ostensible POV character. So, having addressed the elephant in the room, all that remains to say is: THIS IS A VERY FUCKING GOOD FAMILY FILM. Though maybe not quite as good as…

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish Excuse me, but what fucking right does this film have to be as good as it is? I mean, it’s a spin-off of a minor character from the Shrek films about a talking cat going on a quest to find a magic star that grants wishes. Why the fuck is it one of the best things I’ve seen in years? I mean, on the surface, it’s just a really fun family flick. It’s funny; its set-pieces are creative; its characters are entertaining and larger than life; its animation style is fresh and frankly enchanting. But then it also decided that it wanted to be a meditation on confronting the ageing process and its implied threat of mortality. And it fucking nails it. It’s not prescriptive or lecturing: it sympathises with Puss’s fears as he realises he’s used up all but one of his nine lives… but it ultimately shows that his increasing age doesn’t have to define him. Add a few quiet, tender moments of the kind often missing from the hyperactive movies of the last few years, a wonderfully psychotic villain and a B-plot about the value of found families, bonded by love rather than blood, and what you have is a truly excellent slice of entertainment that wears its heart on its sleeve and, in a landscape littered with insincere corporate garbage, is remarkable for its sincerity.

A Haunting in Venice Okay, brutal honesty time: Kenneth Brannaugh (who I just misspelled) isn’t as good in the role of Poirot as David Suchet was. However, it feels unfair to judge him or his take on Agatha Christie’s classic mysteries by that metric, since Suchet’s Poirot was a spectacular, long-running, genre-defining figure who probably won’t be equalled in televised detection fiction any time this millennium. Judged on its own merits, A Haunting in Venice is a deliciously intricate, intelligently-realised film which succeeds in saying something new about its central character and doing something new with its genre. Loosely based on Christie’s The Halloween Party, A Haunting in Venice takes on the overtones of a horror story and pits Poirot against forces that may be genuinely supernatural in a setting and world that embraces gothic aesthetics and conceits as much as it does those of the detective-genre. I don’t want to give too much away, but I will see that A Haunting in Venice finds just the right balance between horror and rationality and toys with ambiguity in a way that a lot of modern movies- keen to over-explain things to an imagined audience of thickos- might miss. It also knows how to treat its subject matter with sobriety when it counts without sacrificing an overall sense of playfulness.

A final note: its predecessor, Death on the Nile, was probably the weakest of the Brannaugh trilogy (and Venice does feel like the final entry in a trilogy), despite the welcome presence of Dawn French as an eccentric communist lesbian. Death on the Nile made its Poirot a little too prickly and unforgiving and also had him reflect Christie’s real-life conservative-with-a-small-c politics, which (though confined to one or two lines) made for uncomfortable viewing at best. While I understand the intention was to contrast him against characters who today’s viewers would find more relatable, it served to rob the protagonist of some of his wisdom and mystery (Poirot needn’t be a paragon of progressivism- in fact, that would be just as bad- but he ought to be above such things; a rarefied figure concerned less with politics than his own moral imperatives). Luckily, Venice seems to have learned from these mistakes and eschews even minor forays into politics, preferring instead to focus on character drama and a battle between rationality and magical thinking to generate its various tensions. Yeah. Good choice.

Peacemaker That more or less does it for the films (well, the good films- the dreck will get their own blog at some point), but there’s still a couple of telly shows I want to talk about. Starting with this one! Peacemaker is one of the funniest, most over-the-top shows of the last ten years. Billed as a superhero program, it’s really more a comedy and ode to schlocky pop culture framed that uses a superhero story as a framing device. While it also has some important and timely things to say about the threat of climate crisis and ends on a bit of a downer (which I won’t spoil), the overall experience is one of hilarious, ludicrous, over-the-top scenes punctuated by some of the best heavy rock ever used in any show’s soundtrack and a lot of down-time devoted exclusively to really, really funny dialogue. If you liked Archer but felt it could benefit from more heavy metal interludes, the comedy here is very much in the same style: people talking at cross-purposes in a way that leverages their clashing belief systems, background and mental illnesses for comic effect. Ultimately, as with Archer, its acerbic tartness also serves as cover for a heart of gold. There’s no meanness of spirit or coldness to Peacemaker. If anything, I’d describe its approach to characterisation as joyously redemptive, while its overt inclusivity isn’t the clinical box-ticking of most Hollywood ‘diversity’, but rather seems to stem from an all-embracing, eclectic fascination with the way human beings are shaped by background and divergent life-experiences. It’s really, really good to see this done well for a change.

Oh, and there’s bits that are also a bit sexy.

One Piece I never got round to watching the original One Piece anime, despite my abiding affection for Japanese animation. That wasn’t a deliberate thing- there was just always something else to watch first. As it turns out, that was a stroke of luck, since I now get to watch the English-language, live-action adaptation fresh and it’s a fucking delight. It’s also so profoundly weird that I have no idea how to explain why it’s so good to a normal, sane reader. Between the violently revolutionary fish people, the murder-clowns with detachable body parts, the fruits that give you superpowers, the badass martial-arts chefs arguing over oregano, the sexy, plus-sized pirate queens, the sea-snails that act like living telephones and the high-ranking military leaders with very silly hats, it’s kind of hard to know where to start. What I can tell you is that the whole world of One Piece is absolutely fascinating: a nautical civilisation of a thousand islands whose technology seems to have evolved in such a way that sail-based ship-travel, gunpowder cannons and neon lights are all in use at the same time; where traditional aristocratic societies coexist with violent samurai clans; where piracy is less a crime than a lifestyle choice. I can tell you its characters are compelling and ridiculous… yet also compellingly, sincerely heroic in a way that western-origin protagonists are rarely allowed to be, lest the show-runners be accused of reinscribing toxic ideals. I can tell you that the fight scenes are epic and the special effects regard little things like physics with a magnificent degree of contempt. And, of course, I can tell you that it’s bloody good fun.

Doctor Who 2023 Specials After a shaky start with The Star Beast (which kinda felt like the first draft of a better script to me- see my full review) the Who specials shaped up to be some of the best telly in years- high concept sci-fi and cosmic horror seen through the lens of off-beat humour and silliness that my home country still does better than anywhere else. After the wilderness of the Chibnall/Whitaker years, the specials felt like getting Doctor Who back as an early Xmas present. I won’t go on and on here since I’ve written several full reviews for the individual episodes, but I feel it’s important to state again my delight that this exists.

And that’s probably enough to be getting on with, don’t you think? Well, guess what: you don’t get a vote! This is the end of the blog whether you like it or not. You can piss off now.

[sunpopz]

free falling pt.2

pairing: haechan x afab!reader word count: 7.6k contains: gamer au, smut, perv!hyuck, sub!hyuck, humiliation kink, degredation, solo masturbaiting (m), overstimulation, handjobs, hyuck is rlly wrong for what he does lmao summary: you and haechan finally meet in person, but the circumstances aren't very ideal. how long can he keep himself together?

A/N: this took me fucking FOREVER but finally i'm done T^T. sorry for the wait + please leave feedback preferably in reblog tags!!

link to part one

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annoying ass 🤎 🐻: please call me back annoying ass 🤎 🐻: im sorry annoying ass 🤎 🐻: please dont hate me

your heart hammered in your chest as you watched each message pop in, nervously chewing on your fingernail. the confidence left you the moment it was all over, and while you felt bad for leaving haechan completely in the dark, you weren’t sure where to go from here. 

everything you’d just done felt out of character, as if some alternate persona took over. it was sort of empowering, being this more confident and taunting version of yourself, and knowing that your little puppy crush on one of your best friends was reciprocated only confirmed that feeling. 

but it was all foreign and uneasy now, you sitting cross-legged on your bed staring at your phone while the room only seemed to feel bigger and bigger around you.

after some contemplation and a self pep-talk, you figured there was no way around directly addressing what got you here without forever being uncomfortable with each other. you just weren’t sure how to go about that, but it didn’t matter because you were picking up your phone before you could talk yourself out of it. 

haechan picked up immediately. “hi.”

“hey-”

“i’m so sorry, y/n,” he cut you off and his voice sounded even worse, like he was about to cry. “i don’t know what i was thinking. you deserve so much better. i’ve been so disrespectful.”

“i’m so sorry, y/n,” he cut you off and his voice sounded even worse, like he was about to cry. “i don’t know what i was thinking. you deserve so much better. i’ve been so disrespectful.”

woah.

you were, for lack of a better word, shocked at his formal apology considering how he would normally struggle just to admit defeat in any other context. you and jeno would genuinely fight him to get him to say he was wrong at times. “oh.”

“i understand if you don’t wanna be friends anymore,” he continued, clearly crying now. your stomach flipped. “i really fucked up.”

you didn’t even realize exactly how much this invasive habit of his had been eating at him until now, and you honestly wouldn’t have even played with him the way you did if you knew it would end up with him crying to you like this. this felt serious and strange, like something you only experience once, and it lit fire in your veins.

haechan was never open like this. he was open to listening and aggressively caring, sure, but the idea of him crying to you about anything wasn’t even a thought before today. the wet cracks in his voice were the most intriguing part, and you wished you’d facetimed instead just to see the tears drop from his eyes. loud, obnoxious lee haechan was actually putting his pride aside to let himself feel all the shame he had coming to him.. he had to feel really bad.

but if he felt so bad, why did he do it in the first place?

you felt the switch happen within you, as if triggered into slipping into the other “persona” by your friend’s crying, before you spoke again. “don’t cry, haechan.”

his shaky breaths halted immediately, listening carefully to whatever you were going to say. your tone was nurturing and forgiving, merciful, and he felt that he could cry again just from that alone. he sucked it up, though, curious about why on earth you’d forgive him.

there was some silence before you spoke. “what you’ve been doing is simply disgusting,” you started, pausing to hear if he’d make a comment about that. you were met with silence. “and technically, i shouldn’t trust you anymore.”

there was a ‘but’ in there somewhere, he was sure of it. your sentences were leading somewhere, but they were slow and calculated, and he felt the urge despite his self pity to rush you to finish. he once again sucked it up.

“you already knew that, though. and you did it anyways. that’s what perverts do.” you told him, and this time you could hear him suck in a shaky breath after your pause. you smiled to yourself, hiding it as if he were in the room. “so tell me, haechan. are you a pervert?”

his heart skipped a beat, panicking in search of a response to such a question. truthfully? yes. but did he think you wanted to remain friends with one? “uh. n-no? i mean-”

“no?,” you laughed incredulously, mocking him. wrong answer. “you mean to tell me you beat your junk to me like every day, so much so that you’re crying in shame about it, but you’re not a pervert?”

“no! i meant-”

“is that not entirely backwards to you?” you cut him off, igoring his desperate attempts at backtracking with your piercingly judgemental tone. you felt on fire. “it’s completely fine for you to do what you did? are you not apologizing for the very thing you’re now telling me is normal, socially acceptable behavior? you really are fucked up in the head.”

haechan’s mind swam in a lake of pure confusion, feeling as if he was being pulled back and forth. your actions told him one thing while your words said another, and then they’d switch and give off the complete opposite message. he felt lost like maybe he was just too stupid to understand you, unsure what your motives were. did you really think he was fucked up in the head or were you just saying that to tease him? if you wanted to tease him, was it to turn him on or to make fun of him?

“so you have nothing to say for yourself?”

it seemed so easy to piss you off. you were just about to forgive him, giving him a rope to grab just to snatch it back that quick. that’s what confused him.. it felt so fake yet so real at the same time, this territory entirely unfamiliar to the both of you. he didn’t know what it was like to really make you mad, to really disgust you, so he couldn’t tell what was genuine and what wasn’t. 

he just felt stupid. completely and utterly stupid, unable to tell what’s okay from what’s not. was his brain really so twisted that he’d end up trying to convince you that he did nothing wrong? he gave up. “i’m sorry. i am a pervert.”

the defeat in his voice thrilled you. it reminded you of the familiar triumph you got from that exact defeat in other contexts, whether that be during competetive video games or meaningless debates. you usually had to work for it, but now he willingly submitted to you due to the shame of his own actions. it was rewarding; felt like justice.

you hummed in agreement, light and appraising, like a teacher encouraging a student for getting a question right. haechan wanted to cry again. “and do you think it’s a good idea for me to stay close friends with a pervert?”

“...no.”

“then you’ll have to make it up to me somehow, right?”

“yeah?”

he was cooperating with your condescending words as if he were being scolded by a parent. you were once again thrilled, feeling the power you had over him as if it were tangible. 

you sighed as if reminded about how disappointing this was and he felt scared that he might’ve said the wrong thing again. after some silence, you cleared your throat. “so promise me you’ll never touch yourself to the thought or image of me ever again. can you do that?”

but that’s the thing, wasn’t it? he could apologize all he wanted to, teary eyed and desperate to keep you in his life, but would he stop?

was this instance enough to scare him out of his bad habit?

“yes,” he breathed, voice full of hope. whether the hope was for your forgiveness or his future self, you weren’t sure. “i promise.”

—

your relationship was never quite the same.

weeks went by and haechan still acted as if you knew all of his deepest secrets, doing nice things for you and agreeing with everything you said even when he disagreed in his head. he was still witty and loud around everyone else in your circle, but he behaved like a kicked puppy towards you. 

to anyone who payed close enough attention, it would seem like you were blackmailing him or something. it kind of hurt considering you literally weren’t, but he did it to himself. 

jeno noticed the change first, having been the third leg of your usually tight-nit trio. he didn’t say anything directly, but he would reference the sudden lack of chemistry between you at times. sometimes it was a joke and sometimes it just came up in conversation, but you felt bad regardless, even if you’d done nothing wrong. he just assumed it was something that would pass and stayed out of your ways.

you missed the person in your life that haechan used to be. his playful nature, his cocky tone, the bright smile that always reached his eyes.. that especially was something you rarely saw, and it was never because of you.

though, one thing that never changed were the good night texts.

you always texted each other good night even if you hadn’t talked that day, sometimes with emoji hearts or smiley faces. as miniscule as it was, it solidified that you two were in fact not on bad terms, and still wanted to keep in touch with each other.

it was also the reason you decided to play with him some more.

there was a gaming convention that had been coming up for quite some time; a decently sized event in a popular city where all the well-known streamers would meet up with both fans and each other. your circle of online friends had your own little community of watchers that only seemed to grow as each day passed, so you’d all been planning to go since it was announced, talking out the meetup and budget every few days.

the three of you were to meet your other friends - yena, jisung, and winter - at a huge airbnb that you all put money towards renting. the event would last three days while the house is rented out for a week, the extra days set aside to explore the city.

you could practically feel everyone’s excitement for the trip build up as the weeks went by, and as you finally entered the large house with a big suitcase in hand and a neck pillow hanging onto you for dear life, it never faultered. you were the second one to arrive (after jeno), barely even able to take in your environment before he jumped from the couch and engulfed you in a tight hug.

“jeno!” you heaved, the breath leaving you as his grip only got tighter. you hugged him back with just as much energy.

it was kind of surreal to see and feel him in person after only interacting with him through a screen for so long. his body was warm and firm against yours, muscles contracting as his arms tightened around you, and you let out a strangled noise while tapping his back to signal that he should release you. “dude, i love you but you’re gonna kill me.”

he let you go and stepped back, hands still tugging a bit on your forearms like he wanted to hug you again. “i’m sorry, this is just.” he gave you a once over, eyes sort of wide. “it’s just.. you’re real.”

a laugh rumbled from your chest as you nodded, agreeing with the sentiment that meeting jeno in person confirmed that he was in fact real. his smile grew as he stared at you some more, then shook his head as if in disbelief before letting your arms go. “i explored a little. the owner of the place left us these goodie bag things in the bedrooms, but there’s only four so you should grab one before anyone else gets here. come, i’ll show you.”

you had about thirty minutes alone with jeno before the others started piling in an hour or so between each other, loud and excited to finally meet in real life. it felt almost dream-like to hear their voices and see their familiar faces in your physical environment. the two-story house was lively with exclamations bouncing off the walls by the time it was dark.

the place was neat with a lot of space; not necessarily fancy but not cheap looking either. it was organized nicely with real wood floors and smooth clean furniture, board games and gaming consoles in their respective rooms to provide the guests with entertainment. none of you would’ve be needing those anytime soon, though, too focused on catching up on each other’s journey’s getting there.

haechan arrived way later than everyone else, walking in clumsily with a flimsy duffle bag and sweats, hair a fluffy mess and crocs on his feet. he’d clearly worn whatever would make him most comfortable on his plane ride without thinking of the part where he finally gets to meet his friends and take pictures. you thought he just had to be acting silly for attention though, considering he was texting the groupchat in sadness every time any of you sent a selfie with each other, complaining about his delayed planes.

it was no secret that attention was something he thrived (and honestly relied) on, but the way his face broke into that happy content smile when everyone shouted his name and ran to hug him definitely added evidence to that fact. 

your heartbeat quickened when you saw him, his laugh ringing in your ears. you had felt pretty tired because of all the activity and jet lag, but he was the one you anticipated seeing the most so all the drowsiness left you immediately. 

you realized too late that you were just staring at the group hug from a foot away rather than joining in, everyone already releasing haechan by the time you thought to move. it led to a much more intimate-feeling embrace as the rest of the bunch went to sit back down leaving just the two of you there, his expression towards you almost bashful. this greeting was a lot different from jeno’s, with your heart pulsing hard in your chest and your mind much more in tune with your senses. 

he smelled nice, warm and thick with how close you were. feeling the body heat of his form through his clothes grounded you a little and you remembered that this was haechan, someone you’d been wanting to meet so bad for the past year and a half. he was often the only person who could make you smile on shitty days and the only person who could never truly piss you off. just a few blunt words from him had given you breakthroughs before, and while most people saw some unpredictable and obnoxious guy, you saw genuine unconditional care and attention. you hugged him a little tighter.

haechan sighed sweetly at that and burried his face into your neck a bit. “hi.”

“hi,” you breathed back, his voice almost hushed like the simple hello was for your ears only. goosebumps rose on your skin, not used to anything about this, but especially hearing him that close. “was waiting for you all day.”

he moved away from you abruptly then, like he shouldn’t have been touching you for that long, and huffed a fake little laugh. his eyes avoided yours when you studied his face (which was even prettier in person, you noted) as he put his bag down against the wall with everyone else’s. ignoring the weird part of that interaction, you turned around to go back to your seat only to be met with both yena and winter staring you down in a mixture of curiosity and understanding. your heart dropped as you sat down, knowing you were about to get grilled.

your relationship with the two of them was definitely closer than your relationship with jeno and haechan in the emotional aspect. you guys bonded easier, and while the guys were more on the ‘i’m hanging out with you to have fun’ side, the girls were more like the ‘i’m hanging out with you ‘cause we just understand each other’ side. they were sweet but honest, the two of them making the most loving environment for you whenever you needed it. that also made them incredibly nosy, because now that you supposedly kept them updated with any substantial drama, they felt compelled to know anything you hadn’t told them yet.

you side eyed the girls sitting next to each other the moment you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, already knowing it was one of them in your groupchat. sure enough, they were already looking back at you with their phones in their hands and anticipation written on their faces. you rolled your eyes.

duckieee 🐤: ???  duckieee 🐤: did u guys fuck or sumthing?? <winter3: yena 😭 duckieee 🐤: im serious !! wtf was that he looked like he was about to jizz himself <winter3: well yeah but we already know he has a crush on them.. that was just like. a very weird energy like we definitely missed something

you bit your lip to hide the smile starting to break out on your face, unable to contain your excitement about the topic of you and haechan. you still felt like you were catching your breath after hugging him, and your eyes flicked over to him for a moment. he was talking to jeno and jisung, likely catching up when his own eyes met yours for a second and looked away just as fast, visibly stuttering in his thought process because you caught him staring. you went back to your phone.

you: wdym you know he has a crush on me? did he say something? <winter3: ? duckieee 🐤: itz obvious as fuck duckieee 🐤: but thats besides the point <winter3: ^^ you: 🖕 you: ok yes something did happen but i can’t say you: you guys need to drop it for his sake  duckieee 🐤: omg <winter3: woah <winter3: yk you’re gonna have to tell us eventually right? you: and i’ll be expecting compensation for doing so 💗 <winter3: 🖕🏻 duckieee 🐤: 🖕🏻🖕🏻

some time passed with the group of you just making conversation again, now with beers from an ordered case in your hands, taking in each other’s presence. it was probably the most content you felt in a while, the main event of this entire trip now crossed out in your book. sure, you guys came here for the convention, but meeting up was the part that was most anticipated.

there was a moment of comfortable silence after having talked for at least an hour and you took the time to put your hazy brain to use and observe everyone in the room. your eyes scanned the couches from left to right, seeing haechan next to the girls, jeno next to haechan, and jisung in between jeno and you. out of nowhere, you started giggling.

you got a mixed reaction of confusion and amusement, ignoring a comment from yena about you being a silly drunk while jeno spoke, curious to know what was going on in your head. “what’s so funny?”

you looked at everyone again, watching them watch you, eyes lingering on haechan for a second longer than they should’ve. they all seemed just as content as you, sitting relaxed and sleepy. you fought the urge to laugh again as you structured your next sentence in your brain. “you’re all hot as fuck.”

you laughed even harder as the words processed through everyone, surprise on their faces as none of them were expecting that response. they laughed with you a little too, also tipsy and now clearly even more confused, so you continued.

“it’s just like,” you started, sitting up in your seat so you could try your best to seem serious despite the dopey smile on your face. “you’re all gamers, some trash-,” you looked pointedly at jisung, who jokingly opened his mouth and put his hand on his chest in faux offense, earning giggles from everyone else, “-and you all use discord and twitch and all that, yet you’re all hot. it’s so rare; not even one of you are below 10. i’m saying this genuinely.”

“you can change that ‘you’ to a ‘we’, you know.” winter insisted, her eyes sincere and smile sweet. very typical of her, including you into your own compliment to make sure you weren’t left out. it wasn’t even that you thought you didn’t look good yourself, you just weren’t thinking about it. you thanked her regardless.

jeno nodded along to winter’s words and it made you feel a little bashful now that the attention was completely on you, but then he spoke and dragged it even more. “yeah. i mean this in the friendliest way possible, you’re even hotter in person.”

haechan was at a loss. from the moment he walked in and saw you, he felt like he was back in high school, nervous to even be sitting in the same room as his crush. he thought for a moment that he was going to be fine and easily able to keep himself together, but then hearing your quiet voice up close as your body pressed to his drove him haywire. now as he listened to jeno acknowledge how attractive you were without relunctance or actual feelings attached, he just didn’t understand it.

your presence in and of itself was magnetic, and he could barely focus on any of the conversations you all were having because he just couldn’t stop looking at you. there you were, the same person he had a history of getting off to at any and all times of the day, looking even more mouth-watering live and in action. sure, you were also a close friend who sweetly asked how his day was in the evenings and hyped him up in his most energetic moods, but there was currently a phenomenon occuring in his mind.

psychologically (and he didn’t know the exact science of how, but he knew it was there), he had trained himself to associate you with sex and lust, and he had been aroused all night. you weren’t even wearing anything but casual clothing, skinny jeans and a tank top under a halfway-zipped hoodie, but it didn’t matter. he’d seen you in this exact outfit before, but only through a screen, and now he could see even just the details of the cloth material, the textures of your face and lips, and the strands of hair on your head that didn’t stick with the rest. he wanted you so bad.

the feeling of his face in the warmth in your neck earlier replayed in his mind as well, but this was dangerous territory. he’d deny it ‘til the day he died out of fear, but he had been jerking off to you regularly once again despite his strong will not to when you confronted him. you were like a drug and he had relapsed, learning to either hold his desires off until a call ended or come up with an excuse to turn off both his mic and cam and just beat it out real quick, staring hard at your unknowing face. the latter happened very rarely due to how quickly you caught onto his “bathroom breaks”, but that wasn’t enough to convince himself that he wasn’t as bad, or truthfully worse, than he was before. 

to put it simply, he adapted, and as relunctant he was about it at first, he just indulged and indulged until he ultimately gave up on his dignity completely.

but again, this was dangerous territory. you were actually here and he was turned on beyond belief, but he couldn’t just get himself off here. there were too many people and he was likely going to be sharing a room, and he realized it was worse than he thought when he watched you excuse yourself to the bathroom with that usual polite smile, almost having to stop himself from following you just to see more of how your ass swayed while you walked.

yena had created a game, as previously discussed while planning the trip, where each person pulled a paper from a hat with room numbers written on them to decide where everyone would sleep. there were four rooms in total, three of them having two beds and one of them by the game room in the basement. realistically, no one would need that room, but it was nice to have the option for two people to end up sleeping alone. 

you were paired with winter, much to both haechan’s relief and dismay. while he knew there’d be relatively no positive outcome of the two of you sharing a room, but part of him just wanted to be in your presence for as long as possible. he ended up with the solo room downstairs, though, which was definitely the best option, and he grew excited knowing that he was now able to get off in peace.

you all grabbed your things and headed into your respective rooms, starting your night time routines. haechan was thrilled to see that his room had a bathroom right next to it, thanking every higher power that he didn’t have to walk up the stairs again if he had to pee in the middle of the night. he could still hear some muffled laughter and conversation from the floor above him as he settled himself, pulling out his facewash with a smile on his face, rushing to finish his routine so he could take care of his pulsing hard on.

as he entered the bathroom, though, it smelled very faintly of something sweet and fruity, which he recognized to be the strong scent of your clothing when he hugged you earlier. sure enough, the familiar navy blue hoodie you wore sat rolled up on the counter by the sink, and he realized you used the bathroom downstairs when you left just a half hour before this.

his dick reacted before he did, his body just automatically intruiged by anything that reminded him of you. and when he picked it up to place it elsewhere, he realized he had a big decision to make.

his thoughts screamed at him to rub himself off on it, mind already becoming void of common sense at the prospect of getting figuratively closer to you. he knew he should just go return it to you, or at the very least place it somewhere else, but he was nearing past the point of horny, that very familiar feeling of caving in starting to creep over him as he barely weighed his options.

he was placing his facewash down and raising the hoodie to his face before he thought to stop, sticking his nose into it and sniffing deeply for a long moment, groaning when he exhaled. he felt nearly dizzy, hand rubbing himself over his sweats to give himself some much needed relief.

the way your face lit up in conversation when it was something that interested you, leaning forward in your seat made his heart race. seeing the goosebumps and hairs on your arm as you walked past him, wafting your lightly sprayed perfume in his space made him want to grab and kiss you. he could reach out and touch you if he really wanted to, and he did really want to, but he had to relax.

in his mind, if he had just been like normal people and displayed his affection appropriately, the two of you could’ve been dating by now. he could’ve been your boyfriend, sitting right next to you on the couch, arm around you shoulder, kissing your cheek every now and then. you could’ve shared the bed downstairs, his hands roaming your body as you made out, groping your ass and rubbing your cunt over your underwear. you would’ve been all like ‘no.. haechan our friends will hear us’ and he’d say ‘let them hear. they’ll know none of them could ever have you like i can.’ 

he’d fuck you hard and rough, the cheap headboard hitting the wall and the bed creaking as you whimpered at every thrust, wet and loud, skin on skin. he’d watch you try to cover your mouth when he hit your g-spot with a mean laugh, slapping your hand away and forcefully grabbing your face just to come closer and spit, ‘are you stupid? i said let them hear.’

you’d be apologizing and whining his name in desperation, about to cum when he’d see his phone light up on the nightstand for what felt like the millionth time that night, looking over to unread messages of his friends upstairs begging the two of you to shut up. jeno specifically would be angry and exasperated, jealousy apparent even through this ext messages, and he would pick up the phone and take a selfie from a high angle that shows the both of you. you’d be fucked out and teary eyed, his cock deep inside of you and he would be winking and throwing a kissy face, then he’d send it to jeno.

best of all, though, you’d be apologizing for your irrational anger towards him after catching him over a month ago. you’d apologize for making him cry, for calling him a pervert, for making him promise something that you knew he was bound to break just to make yourself feel taller. he’d tell you that you should’ve been flattered by his behavior and you’d cum then, squeezing tightly around his cock as you screamed out his name.

haechan was completely out of his mind.

he knew it whole-heartedly, having placed the bunched up hoodie on the edge of the counter as he desperately humped his now naked cock onto it, eyebrows screwed tightly and sweats and underwear pooled at his feet. the fantasies in his head were all quite stupid, but it was so hot to him to imagine you wrapped around his finger the way he was wrapped around yours. and knowing that when it really came down to it, if he had to tell you about such fantasies, he’d be put in his place immediately. he could only dream. 

he was breathing hard, eyes shut and whimpering faintly with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, lost in the feeling of fabric from your clothing on his skin, and so so close to coming when he heard someone clear their throat at the doorway.

fuck. why didn’t he close the door?

haechan jolted, a sharp gasp leaving him as he covered himself with your hoodie at the speed of light and turned just to be met with the sight of you at the doorway. your arms were crossed as you leaned against the doorframe, eyebrow lifted and amusement written on your face. haechan’s heart sank deep into his stomach.

here he was again, caught. this was worse than before, much worse, an actual violation. surely, he’d broken an actual law this time, and as his reality sunk in, he felt doom hit him.

“so.. you were just gonna leave a cum stain on my jacket? and thought that was a good idea?” you asked, deadpan but once again amused, and haechan didn’t know what to say. he felt frozen, just watching you react with ringing in his ears before he could even begin to figure out how to get out of this. 

you scoffed at his silence, staring down the stupid look on his face as you walked towards him. he probably didn’t realize it, but his chest was heaving, eyes wide and panicked as he looked down at your judging expression. you just stared at him for a moment, challenging him, then reached for your hoodie when he didn’t budge.

he held it tight to him, resisting against you trying to grab it. you snatched it then, attitude written on your face at his audacity, and he seemed to visbily cower, lowering his face now that his hard leaking cock was exposed.

you laughed, grabbing his face and forcing him to look back at you. his eyes met yours, shameful and a little scared, and you gave him a fake pout. your words came out soft and quiet, laced in disappointment, “you promised me.”

guilty, he sighed in defeat, the sound now familiar to you. “i’m sorry-”

“no the fuck you’re not,” you interrupted him, loud and amused at his apology. “don’t even try that shit with me. just look at yourself.. hard as a rock from my fucking jacket.”

you grabbed his arm and turned him to face the mirror, the reflection of a half naked haechan looking back at him. you moved behind him just as he looked away, too ashamed to see himself like this, and grabbed his dick, stroking slowly.

haechan squealed, eyes wide in shock before fluttering closed and breathing in both deeply and sharply, and you once again laughed. he was fucking into your hand immediately, a new and sort of heavy desperation firing in his veins at your foreign, yet craved touch. you watched him through the mirror, stroking a little faster and twisting your wrist as you hummed, his hands dropping to the counter to keep him balanced.

“easy there, boy.” you mocked, honestly kind of shocked at his instant reaction. after watching his hips stutter at your words, you came up with an idea. “i want you to listen to me very carefully. can you do that?”

he nodded hesitantly, eyebrows knitted in concentration as he chased his high. it was rising quicker than expected since he was already wound up, and he felt like he might die if he didn’t cum soon. you kissed the back of his neck before you spoke, earning a soft moan.

“honestly, haechan? i want you to fuck me so bad,” you admitted in a sweet longing sigh and he moaned again, louder. you couldn’t bite back your smile, using your free hand to tightly cover his parted mouth before you continued. “and i know you want that just as bad, if not more, so i want you to prove to me that you can. if you last this handjob, i’ll let you fuck me.”

he’d never make it past two minutes.

haechan was completely and utterly overwhelmed, lost in the way your smaller hand wrapped around his length. this was more than just seeing the person he had been losing all control over in person; this was your skin on his most sensitive area, your soft hand replacing his as you helped him get off to you. he felt the way your boobs brushed against his back, your breath at his neck, your hand clamped on his face. you were just hundreds of miles away and now you were all over him, your warmth and smell engulfing his senses as you gave him the pleasure he’d craved from you for so long.

you stroked him faster, ignoring his groan and leaning up to his ear in a whisper. “you’re seriously pathetic, you know? i gave you the opportunity to start over and you violate my clothing?”

your words were sharp and judging and haechan keened lewdly, getting deja vu. your breath tickled his ear, the faint smell of beer passing through his nose at your proximity. he felt like he was floating; completely in heaven with you all over him, piercing him with degrading words.

“you like that nasty shit, don’t you?” you asked, relentless with your pace on his cock. at his silence (or as silent as he could be with mindless whimpers leaving his throat), you removed the hand on his mouth to get an answer. instantly, he was heaving loudly as if he had just saved himself from drowning, irritating you as he once again just didn’t seem to think about anyone else in the house. “will you shut up? i asked you a question.”

after your words processed in his mind, he looked up at you through the mirror, eyes lidded and glossy and confusion written on his face. you rolled your eyes. clearly nothing you were saying was registering with him. “dumbass.”

maybe the words you spoke to him actually weren’t making sense in his mind at the moment, but he clearly understood something in your tone that told him you were degrading him, making him feel like his world revolved around you. 

your hand started squeezing tighter at the tip and he fell forward, his own hands gripping the counter for balance. a time bomb was ticking in his gut, having been sitting on the edge of an orgasm for what felt like hours now, and he knew he was done for. his thrusts became sloppy and his eyes shut, eyebrows twisting as his pleasure intensified. he was normally so much more talkative, or at least vocally responsive in bed, but you had caught him in an act and were actively putting him in his place, sending his head to the clouds. the thrilling part was that he knew this was only a fraction of what you could do to him had there not been a house full of people in the way.

everything felt surreal. he didn’t even realize the sounds he was making, high and desperate, or the fact that he was starting to shake. you continuously hummed and chuckled at him and it drove him insane, getting no sort of sympathy from you as he lost himself completely just from your hand. one noise he made in particular, a high and desperately pathetic whine, clearly caught your attention because you mocked it in the same tone, lifting the end a bit to make it sound like a question. he was going to lose his mind.

“stop, stop, stop, stop,” haechan begged, breathless and desperate for both an orgasm and something more, still fucking your hand despite his words. you could tell he was close before he even said anything, but you weren’t nearly done, so he was just going to have to figure something out on his own.

as he struggled to hold back, mouth agape with whiney breaths leaving him, a thought occured to you. “when i confronted you a while ago.. were you really crying because you didn’t want to lose me as a friend, or was it because you were scared you wouldn’t have me as a form of free porn anymore?”

he came then, hard and graciously, and you busted out laughing. he couldn’t even fully register what you had just asked him; he just heard the tone of your voice, condescending and merciless, and understood that you were acknowledging his vulnerable tears and invasive behavior at the same time. it was all too much, past the point of too much, and his orgasm nearly knocked him over with the force of it, leaning completely on the counter now as his legs tried to keep his body upright. your laugh was drowned out by static for a moment before reaching his ears again, now quiet and to yourself as you turned his body over so he was leaning on the counter entirely.

then the realization that you were still stroking him, just as fast as before, hit him like a truck.

he wailed openly, torso stiffening as he used his palms on the counter to subconsciously lift his body up and away from your hand, hips pushing into it regardless. you shushed him harshly. “don’t make me cover your mouth again. we’re in a house full of people. not that you care.”

“please,” he begged, voice barely coming out as he looked up and into your eyes fully for the first time, ignoring your words. his recently lidded eyes were now wider and you could actually see his dilated pupils, eyes already watery from the painful pleasure he was recieving.

“i asked you a question, haechan. a very important one,” you reminded him. his eyebrows furrowed, desperation laced in both his breathing and the way he looked at you from one eye to the other quickly, trying his best to explain his confusion without words. you lifted a brow.

he looked away then, eyes landing around the room as he tried his absolute best to remember what you asked him, brain full of absolutely nothing as your hand continued to work him with speed. you could physically see the seperation in his mind from his body, loud whimpers leaving his mouth and hips jerking both away and towards your hand as he tried to think. 

“are you too stupid to remember anything now?” you pressed. haechan moaned then, deep and too loud for your liking. irritation laced your words then, mocking him as you spoke slowly. “your name is haechan.. you’re twenty-one years old.. you’re a filthy pervert? a stalker with no self control.. ringing any bells?”

dumbly, he nodded, the slow speaking actually helping him despite it’s purpose. you smiled widely, wishing you could get this on camera. “yeah? that’s you, baby?”

the petname sent a hard rush through him from head to toe, slow and electrifying, and he didn’t even realize he came again until he came back to his senses. he was sitting on the closed toilet seat now, his pants back on and his eyes bleary as he took in his surroundings.

you weren’t anywhere to be seen.

shaking off the feeling of deja vu, he got up on shaky legs and grabbed the water bottle you must’ve left for him on the counter, not noticing how dry his mouth was until he saw it. he downed it quickly, the loud crinkling of the bottle echoing off the walls as he emptied it. 

once again, he was alone after your assistance, but it was different this time. he wasn’t confused or sad, nor did he want to reach out and apologize. he just knew now that this was the game you were going to play, and even if he didn’t like it or wished there was more to it, he had to be grateful for what he had of you. 

because realistically, he shouldn’t have had anything.

—

creeping through the hallway proved to be extremely unnecessary once you entered your room, because winter was wide awake.

you snorted when you saw her figure lying back on the bottom half of the bed, legs dangling off the edge with her phone held above her face. she was clearly into whatever she was watching, the screen’s brightness being the only light in the room. you made your way to your suitcase to find some pajamas. “why are you still up?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” she bit back, quick and playful. it would be a lie to say your heart didn’t sink a little at the possibility of her knowing what happened downstairs, and she took your silence as an answer. “if you guys are fucking, i don’t get why you just won’t say so-”

“we’re not!” you hissed in a whisper, hinting that she needed to keep her voice down when saying something like that. you were pulling your pj shorts up your legs when she gave you a highly suspicious look, that being the first time she turned her face away from her phone since you came in. you tried to give her a convincing look but a smile creeped on your face regardless, and you cursed your reflex of smiling when embarrassed. 

winter scoffed in amusement and turned back to her screen. “i hope you know i don’t believe you one bit, and you should feel lucky you didn’t room with yena because she’d be tearing you apart right now. however, i’m the nice one so i’ll just let you sleep and wait until the morning.”

bless her heart, you thought.

you were settling into the white bleach-smelling sheets of the bed, already feeling the long day catch up to you when you got a notification.

you were going to ignore it considering you’d left your phone on the floor on accident, but when you looked down, you saw the unmistakeable contact name with the brown heart and bear emoji. putting aside your laziness, you reached down and grabbed it, letting the screen unlock with face recognition so you could read the message.

annoying ass 🤎 🐻: goodnight

you felt giddy at the text, heart warming at the fact that he remembered. you mentally slapped yourself for not remembering first, especially after completely demolishing him not even an hour ago.

you knew this relationship was weird. what haechan was doing was weird, and your tolerance for it was weird. but regardless of already having two people curious about it, and possibly three with jeno’s confusion, nobody had to know, so it didn’t matter. you both had something to lose which made you both vulnerable to each other, and it was inevitable that this would only continue to become nastier and more eventful, but that only excited you. the two of you could be weird together.

typing quickly and with a sense of solidarity, you texted him back and shut your phone, ready to see what the next day might bring for the two of you.

you: goodnight <333

- -

TAGLIST: @paymal7 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @zzztaegizz @deepbookslibrariesquotesbear @tyongerine @hellooseulgi @liliansun @neonymphatbest @muiiq1 @scentedponykidpainter @pocketneos @lune1897 @jenocrush

A/N: thank you everyone for the nice words about the first part and showing interest in a part 2!! sorry for the delays and everything. also if some things like timing in the story didn't make any sense it's because i didn't plan that part out so i just wrote whatever pls ignore it lmaoo