#fit comes back and is like . sorry apparently im not allowed to be happy (directed at the cat watching them)

[ludaroace]

assuming madagio is good headcannon that madagio and fit end up having this god/champion dynamic but it's actually just like the most petty relationship in the world . like everyone else who has a god/goddess ? good terms, love it when they show up, trust in them entirely . madagio and fit ? worsties <3

madagio picked fit out of pure necessity and fit keeps working with them because he has to and neither of them are happy about it . they antagonize each other . fit sends more data but includes a message that tells madagio to go fuck themself . in retaliation madagio very clearly follows ramon for no reason despite having better things to do, not even for information just because they can . fit tells madagio he cannot send information on a certain day because it is his anniversary . fit gets yoinked mid date as a fuck you (he ends up getting put back, but it was to prove a point) . fit argues with every cat he sees and wakes up to his house filled with them . madagio hears pac wanted to adopt them and makes a point to just be there sometimes to be in the way, fit decides to be even more insufferable on purpose .

[illfoandillfie]

5 Simple Rules for a Successful Fake Relationship: Failure To Launch

5 SIMPLE RULES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summery: Tensions rise as you try to deal with Ben's secret and keep your fake relationship afloat. But when the script calls for an argument, will too much be said?

Warnings: Still pretty innocent. Some swearing, passing reference to Ben smoking, references to sex but not explicitly so, a discussion of a douchbag ex, a public argument.

Words: 6587

A/N: We’re really in it now folks. 

Originally there was going to be more in this chapter but it was getting too long and kind of undercut what is now the end of the chapter, so I rearranged some stuff. But that just means there’s a whole extra chapter that I didn’t think would be there when I wrote the masterlist lmao. 

Taglist:  @laedymoon  @dtfrogertaylor  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor  @hannafuckingsucks  @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie @tenement-funstah 

@coni-martina @johndeaconshands​

When you finally found the courage to leave the bathroom Ben was waiting for you in the seat he’d vacated earlier, now under a crocheted throw and staring at his phone. He looked up at the sound of your footsteps, smiling softly when he saw you. “Sorry,” you blurted out, dropping onto the end of the couch furthest from where he sat. “No worries,” he laughed, “you ready to keep watching?” “Mmhmm,” “Are you alright? You look a little pale,” “Fine, thanks. Just tired. Might call it quits after this ep.” “You wanna share the blanket?” “Nah, I’m not that cold,” your heart was racing with every word of forced naturality, white noise filling your brain and nervous butterflies filling your stomach. Did he always smile like that when he saw you? What other signs had you missed? You tucked your legs under yourself and pulled your phone out, a barrier between you and he, and a way to keep your hands busy as you tried to focus on the show. It was pointless though. It felt like an age had passed since you began the episode. A dramatic shift in your reality had occurred. You couldn’t remember what had been happening when the pause button was hit let alone understand what was going on now. There just wasn’t space in your head, not when you had to keep reminding yourself to breathe and not look over at Ben. God how you wished you hadn’t gone into the kitchen. Ignorance truly was bliss. You rubbed your thumb over the locked screen of your phone, occasionally unlocking it and opening an app before locking it again, the episode dragging on in the background. Finally, it finished, after much too much time. “Ready for bed or d’you wanna squeeze in one more?” Ben asked, apparently completely at ease. “Definitely time for bed,” you yawned as you stood up, praying Ben wouldn’t stop you. “Alright. I’m gonna stay up a bit longer so if the TVs too loud let me know.” “Night,” “Sleep tight, cuddle bunny.” You could feel Ben’s eyes on you as you headed through the doorway, only barely stopping yourself from sprinting to the safety of your room. You weren’t at all tired, but you turned the light out all the same, stumbling towards your bed by the glow of your phone. As you settled again the pillows you let out a long breath, finally allowing yourself to relax. There was nothing else to do but try to distract yourself, until you felt tired enough. You checked your emails again, but there was nothing new besides some spam for bitcoins. Then you opened youtube, hoping to find some sort of relaxing video that would help you get to sleep. It worked for a while, made you focus on counting your breaths and the meditation that was calmly being spoken. But then it stopped working, thoughts of Ben wriggling back to the forefront of your mind, making a lump form in your throat. A little while later you heard Ben’s footsteps pass by your door as he made his way to his room, the low hum of voices on the TV now quiet. You held your breath as he paused outside your room but his footsteps backtracked, a light flicked off, and then the door to your spare room shut behind him. You didn’t dare move until you were sure he was in bed. But he didn’t stir again, and you fell into a fitful sleep, interrupted by dreams in which you and Ben walked around hand in hand, sometimes blissfully happy, sometimes unable to separate, glued together like a bug caught on flypaper.

The sun had risen by the time you called a time of death on a decent night’s sleep, though it was still what you’d normally consider much too early. It was even too early for Ben who, as you’d come to learn in your months crashing at each other’s places, usually woke before you and enjoyed teasing you about being a teenager for sleeping in so late. You tiptoed to the kitchen and tried not to make too much noise as you brewed yourself a coffee. Maybe it was the new morning bringing clarity or maybe it was delirium from lack of sleep, but you felt you had a better grasp of the situation now. The fact was you didn’t like Ben in that way. And he knew that. So the obvious thing to do was nothing. If you said anything, confessed that you’d overheard him, it’d just end up with both of you feeling embarrassed and you having to put what you both already knew into words that would just hurt Ben more. And that would only add extra stress onto whatever dates and staged relationship moments you’d have to take part in. Because you couldn’t just stop pretending to date. Not when your story was creating buzz for your movie. Not when you were looking for a new job and every scrap of notoriety you could find would help increase your chances of actually landing some of the roles you auditioned for. You’d just have to grin and bear it for a few months. But you supposed that’s what Ben had been doing since who knew how long. With coffee in hand you made your way back to your room, fortifying yourself for what was to come.

It was a few hours before you saw Ben, sleep tousled and searching for caffeine. He took one glance at you and then stepped in close, bringing his hand up to your forehead. You were too stunned by the sudden warmth and how all the air suddenly smelt of him to do more than quietly ask what he was doing. “Checking your temperature. Not like you to beat me out of bed. And you still look kind of pale. Are you sure you feel okay?” “I feel fine Ben.” He withdrew his hand slowly but didn’t move away, his eyes darting to your lips and away again. You stepped back. Ben cleared his throat and turned back to the coffee he was halfway through making, “Are you still okay to give me a lift back to the pub?” “Yeah, of course. Just let me have a shower first.” “Yeah, no rush.” You managed to mostly avoid Ben until you were both in the car. The evidence of his breakfast was loaded into the dishwasher when you got out of the bathroom but he himself was standing on your back patio, looking up at the overcast sky as smoke from his morning cigarette dissipated around him. He waved through the window when he saw you. After that all you had to do was wait for him to brush his teeth and gather up his bag while you flittered from room to room making yourself look busier than you were. Once in the car you started a safe conversation about what you’d be doing for the rest of the day. “I’m going over to a mates house in the afternoon to watch the football but that’s about it. What about you?” “Um, nothing much really. I have a couple of scripts to look over but other than that nothing. I’ll probably just go back to bed though.” “Probably a good idea.” “Do I look that bad? I thought the concealer covered the worst of it.” He shook his head with a smile, “No, you look lovely. Always do. But I heard you tossing and turning a bit last night, didn’t sound like you got much sleep.” “Yeah, just had one of those nights,” you tried to wave him off, back to safer waters. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yes, I promise I’m okay,” when Ben didn’t stop looking concerned you added, “Just had some weird dreams, that’s all.” “You should’ve come hopped into bed with me. Nothing like a boyfriend to scare off weird dreams.” You forced yourself to laugh along, “Not sure fake boyfriends work so well. And it really wasn’t that bad.” He shrugged, “The offer stands for next time.” You didn’t know what else to say so you fell quiet. On one hand it was Ben. Ben who’d come to be one of your closest friends, who could make you laugh at the drop of a hat, who geeked out about sports and didn’t mind when you teased him for it. Usually you would have called him a dork and made a joke about how you’d hog the blankets or kick him in your sleep if he was unlucky enough to share a bed with you. But now that didn’t seem right. You didn’t want to lead him on at all. Didn’t want him to read more into your dumb jokes than you meant. So you let the radio fill the silence until Ben thought of a new topic. Thankfully the pub wasn’t far away, and you only had to fill a few more minutes with idle chatter until you arrived. You followed Ben inside and up to the bar where an amused barman handed over the keychain as Ben thanked him profusely. “God I would have been screwed if they hadn’t been there,” he said, relieved, as you stepped back out into the grey street. “Good thing they were there then,” you knew your tone was off, knew you should be standing closer to him in case anyone was looking, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take the step, “Where’re you parked?” “Just around the corner. Thanks for the lift, cuddle bunny,” Ben stepped close enough to pull you into a hug. Your chest tightened as you tried to stay relaxed, throwing your own arms over his shoulders like you normally would have. “Have a good day. Get some rest,” he said, kissing your cheek as he let you go. “I’ll try. Have a good day yourself.” With a wave Ben took off down the street and you got back in your car, driving in the opposite direction. It wasn’t until you were back home in your pyjamas that you realised that if Ben had heard you not sleeping, he mustn't have been sleeping either.

 Filming being over was a blessing, even if it did mean you were unemployed. It at least gave you a reprieve from being around Ben, although, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, it also felt weird to not see him every day. He’d become such a consistent part of your life, even without the whole fake dating thing, that the absence of his almost constant presence made you feel a little off kilter. You hadn’t seen him since he’d stayed the night, too nervous about how to act around him now, but you had exchanged a few texts and he called once to check that you’d caught up on sleep. It was the sort of thing a friend might do, so it didn’t make your stomach do flips the way seeing him in person did. But seeing him was unavoidable, especially after Mary called you to organise the next photo session. She gave you the time and the place and then asked if you had any concerns. You paused, weighing up whether it would be worth it to tell her. Would she tell Peter? Would it get back to Ben? “No, that’s all good. Ben knows?” “Yes, Peter’s talking to him about it. We’ve also been talking about the argument you’ll need to have.” “Oh?” “We’re considering planting someone in the area to record it on their phone. Pictures are good but video is better.” “Okay, that, uh, makes sense, I guess. I s’pose that means we should work out what it’s going to be about.” “That would be useful, Y/N. We’re leaning towards doing it next week.” “That soon?” “Yes, that soon. There’s been an upswing in comments online about the relationship potentially being fake and we’d like to try and clamp down on those.” “People are onto us?” “No, no, there’s always a few unbelievers, we were entirely prepared for that. Every Hollywood couple has endured the same sorts of comments at one time or another, no matter how real they were. But there’s been a few more this week than there were before. We hope that if people see you being unhappy with each other, they’ll be less likely to think it’s fake because A, fake relationships should be happy and B, it’ll make you seem more down to earth, relatable. Every relationship has moments when things aren’t the best and your relationship should reflect that to seem natural.” “Okay, so next week we fight. What about this week? Should we still act super happy and loved up?” “Look, there are pros and cons for that. On one hand if you act like everything is perfect now, it’ll take people by surprise when the argument happens which some people will see as normal and some will see as more evidence for it not being real. On the other if people suspect something is happening then the argument story could lose some of its impact when it runs. Either way, if people are talking about you it’s good, so it’s really up to you and Ben how you want to play it. Maybe give him a call and figure it out before you get there.” That made you feel a little better, hopefully any awkwardness or tension you weren’t able to hide would just be seen as a couple going through a small rough patch.

You bit the bullet and rang Ben as soon as Mary hung up, while you could summon the courage. “Hey, Ben, it’s -,” “Y/N!” A few male voices in the background rose up making high pitched oooo noises and someone wolf whistled. “Sorry, I’m just in the middle of kicking these dickhead’s arses in FIFA, gimme a sec,” “Sure thing,” You hung on the line, trying to work out what you were going to say as you listened to the guys trash talking each other and controller buttons being mashed. Eventually there was a cheer from Ben followed by a hearty suck on that, wanker, and then his laughter. “Hey, cuddle bunny,” The teasing voices started buck up again, but they faded as Ben carried the phone into another room. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked as he closed a door behind him. “Have you spoken to Peter yet?” Ben’s voice lowered, “You mean about the shopping photos? Yeah, he called about an hour ago, why?” “Did he mention the fight next week? “Yeah, it came up,” you weren’t sure whether the melancholy tone you heard was in your heard or not, “is that why you called, to work out what we’ll argue about?” “Not really. Um, I was more thinking about the photos this week and the sort of, um, mood they’ll have.” “Mood?” “Well, like, if we’re leading into a fight wouldn’t it make sense to, I don’t know, kind of hint what’s coming?” “I’d just assumed we’d be all over each other like usual.” “Yeah, I mean, not a huge change. We’d still like hold hands or whatever they want us to do but y’know maybe if we just like make things look a bit tense?” “Oh-kay,” there was definitely less of a smile in his voice now than before, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull it off though.” “You’re a good actor Ben, I’m sure you’ll manage,” “I wasn’t fishing for that but thanks. It’s more that I’ve missed hanging out with you as much since filming ended, it’ll be hard to hide how happy I am to see you.” “That’s sweet” You wondered if that was because of how he felt about you or just a change in routine throwing him off that way it had done you, “It has felt kind of odd not seeing you every day.” “So let’s just see how we feel on the day then, before we decide what we’re going to do.” “Ben you know I like to plan more than that,” “We have a plan. Go out. Hold hands while we go shopping or whatever and some guy takes our photos. Go home. That’s a pretty solid plan.” “Not quite what I meant though.” There was a muffled shout and you heard Ben cover the receiver and shout something back. “Sorry, the boys think we’re having phone sex or something,” he laughed. “No, I’m sorry, I’m interrupting, I should let you go.” “It’s okay, they can play without me for a bit,” “No, no, you go back to your game.” “Wait, we didn’t talk about what we’re gonna argue about.” “We can discuss it while we’re shopping. Wouldn’t want them to overhear you anyway. You go have fun beating your friends, I’ll see you in a couple of days.” You hung up before he could say anything, feeling more unsure than when you called.

The day of the photos you spent the trip into London psyching yourself up, reminding yourself that this was just acting, and acting was something you could do blindfolded with one hand tied behind your back. Besides, if some of your discomfort showed, it wouldn’t matter, at least you hoped it wouldn’t. Ben was already at the designated meeting spot when you arrived in the city, a photographer nearby waiting to capture your reunion. Having someone to perform for helped ease the tension that had been weighing on you. You smiled at Ben as you approached, legs feeling unsteady, heart racing. As soon as you were close enough you leaned in to steal a quick kiss and let him brush a strand of hair behind your ear, almost whispering your greetings. With the hellos out of the way he took your hand and began leading you up the street. “So where are you taking me this time, babe?” “Nowhere specific, babe,” he laughed, “They just want us to like, be out and about. I’ve been directed to walk us up this way, maybe pop into a shop or stop for a drink or something.” “Any idea how long it’ll take?” “Why? you got somewhere to be?” “Nah, just curious. I can stay for as long as the job takes.” Ben’s fingers flexed against yours, but you weren’t sure if it was in response to your statement or just a coincidence. Either way it made you worry that you were putting more emphasis than usual on this being work for you. Ben couldn’t suspect that something had changed, he couldn’t know what you knew about him. You corrected yourself by squeezing his hand and smiling up at him. As you walked you tried to treat it like you were filming a scene in a movie, just with less blocking and more improv. You were playing a role, playing the girlfriend, and nothing outside of the scene mattered, though occasionally you couldn’t help wondering what was going through Ben’s head. Was he trying to remind himself it was all manufactured or was he letting himself believe it was real? You shook your head and pulled yourself back into the scene. Together you ambled past shops, stopping to look in the windows of some, actually going into others. Inside a cute secondhand bookstore you’d seen but never been in before, Ben insisted on buying you something. He jokingly showed you a copy of the Kama Sutra, softly assuring you that the inernet would lose its mind if that book was seen in a photo. You shook your head and laughed and he put it back and let you pick something much less suggestive. You tried to tell him you could buy it yourself but he took it from your hands with a, “nuh uh, I spoil my girlfriends,” taking it up to the counter before you could protest. All the same you repaid the favour by pulling him to a halt outside a donut shop and buying the both of you a snack. It had the added bonus of giving you an excuse to drop his hand, needing both to keep from dripping chocolate ganache down your front as you continued walking. Ben wasn’t quite so neat as you managed to be, a spot of raspberry jam smeared across his lip and chin. As soon as you noticed it you pointed it out to him, earning a groan as he tried to wipe clean the wrong part of his face. “No, to the left more. My left, sorry.” “Why don’t you just get it for me?” “Really?” “yeah, c’mon. That’s the sort of cute couple thing they want. It’ll go over well on twitter with everyone who mashes our names together in hashtags.” You couldn’t think of reasonable argument not to so, with a smile you hoped didn’t seem too fake, you swiped your thumb over the patch of jam, hesitating for a second before you brought it to your lips and sucked it clean. A soft blush rose on Ben’s cheeks before your eyes and, seemingly unconsciously, he pulled his lower lip between his teeth. You didn’t want to hear whatever he might possibly say so you quickly turned to set off walking again, “So, our argument next week.” Ben shook his head, “Right, that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s gotta sound believable if there’s going to be a camera.” “Guess that rules out all the which brand of tea is best type arguments,” “Yeah, it should probably be a little more serious than that,” you conceded with a chuckle “Have you ever had a public argument before?” “Umm,” his question distracted you from the tension you’d been fighting since you arrived, “not like a full on fight but there’ve been snippy comments and disagreements. Sometimes they turned into full on fights once we were home. You?” “Once. At her parent’s place during their anniversary party.” “Yikes,” “Yeah, pretty much,” he chuckled, “We found a spare room before we really had it out, but people still heard.” “God that would have been horrible. I think my worst one was when me and my then boyfriend went out for dinner with some other mates. They were new parents and it was like their first night out since the kid was born and they were talking about how wonderful it all was,” “It’s a miracle don’t you know,” You laughed, “So they said. But they were talking about how hard it had been to start having sex again and then my boyfriend said something like it’s hard enough to get Y/N interested and that’s without a kid.” “Jesus,” “It gets worse. He had another dig at me later for not being adventurous enough and I realised it was because I’d said I wasn’t comfortable with something he wanted to try in the bedroom.” “What an arsehole. Please tell me you broke up with him on the spot,” “God I wish. I stayed with him for another two months,” you sighed at the memory, “But what about you though, what happened with the anniversary fight?” “Uh, well, it all happened pretty quickly. One second I was joking about what we’d be like at our anniversary party, the next she was saying she didn’t see us getting married and then we were in her old bedroom tearing into each other. And not in the fun way.” “Oh shit,” “It was for the best. We were way to young anyway but, still, not super fun. I don’t know if that helps us at all, with our fake argument I mean.” “Well, ours both started with small comments, right? So maybe we start with something small, like how you never put the toilet seat down?” you nudged his shoulder. He laughed, “Yeah, makes sense.” “Then we just have to work out what it builds to,” “Uhhh, things couples fight about… moving in together? Sex? Money? Control?” “Not sex. I’m invoking rule one here, sex is off limits. That’s way too close to home.” “Okay, fair enough.” “What about meeting the parents? We’ve apparently been seeing each other for three or so months now, so that’s not an unreasonable thing to argue about.” “Yeah. And we’re already both coping it from our families anyway, so they’d believe it if one of us wanted to do the family meeting thing and the other didn’t.” “Exactly. So, should I be the hesitant one or you?” “Honestly? I normally would have brought a girlfriend home by now. My parents think it’s really weird that I haven’t.” “Okay, so that makes me the hesitant one then.” “You okay with that?” “Yeah, absolutely.” You were slightly relieved at your role, figuring it’d be easier to act averse to the concept than all for it. “Let’s stop in at that café up there, talk though some things we could say. Give them a shot of us feeding each other chips or something.” Ben said with a playful smile, pointing ahead. You nodded, letting him take your hand again, returning the reassuring squeeze he gave you.

You were woken from another dream about Ben by your phone ringing. Groggily you answered. “Y/N, oh my god, is everything okay with Ben?” “Felicity?” you groaned, trying to push away the surprisingly detailed picture of Ben and you and a page from the Kama Sutra that your brain had conjured during the night. “Were you seriously still asleep? It’s midday.” “Shut up, I’m allowed to sleep in. No job, no auditions. And a shit night sleep.” “Was it because of Ben?” “Why would it be because of Ben?” you asked too quickly. “I saw the photos of you and him out yesterday. Is everything okay between you two?” “What photos?” “They’re on the Heat homepage,” You wedged the phone under your ear as you grabbed your laptop from the bedside table, willing your fingers to work a little faster as you found your way to the website. There was a gallery of photos. You and Ben smiling as you greeted each other. Walking hand in hand. Him through a shop window holding up a book and you laughing at it. You licking jam from your thumb. You paused for a second longer on that shot than the others, automatically focusing on Ben’s expression. Did everyone else see the flush on his cheeks and the look in his eyes? “Why would anything be wrong?” you asked, forcing yourself to move to the next photo, “These all look fine. Normal.” “Really? What about those last few?” Rolling your eyes you keep clicking through until you reached one of Ben, hands in his pockets, frowning a little. The next was you, sitting at the café, looking away from Ben. “Are you going to break up with him?” “What? No, definitely not. We were just talking about something kind of serious, that’s all.” “Break up serious?” “God, Felicity, no,” you almost laughed at the irony of her suggestion, “I guarantee you, we’re not breaking up anytime soon.” An idea came to you. If the world was going to see you arguing about meeting his parents then why not get the ball rolling early, “We were talking about meeting each other’s families. We haven’t done it yet.” “Really?” “Yes, really. He wants to but I’m not super keen to rush into that and it was just a kind of serious conversation. Everything is totally fine.” “Well one of the betting apps has odds up for when you’ll break up. And for who’ll actually end it. Odds are on you, by the way.”

Later that day Mary emailed to let you know the photos were working perfectly – the talk of your relationship being fake had died down – and when the argument would happen. They wanted you to go out to dinner and leave before you were finished, looking like you were on the verge of blowing up. Easy enough. You were prepared. You and Ben had hashed out some things you could use in the argument, without going so far as to write a full script. But the mention of the photos made you curious. What exactly were people saying about you now? Could anyone see what was actually going on, how one sided it all really was? In the days before the scheduled argument you found yourself looking at your own photos more and more. When you weren’t spending your time rehearsing for an audition or with your friends you were on twitter, falling down a rabbit hole of comments and reposted photos. If Felicity, or anyone else you knew for that matter, had found out she would have called you a narcissist. So you kept it to yourself. Your guilty pleasure. Seeing the comments about what a cute couple you were made you feel simultaneously pleased and queasy. You got a strange delight from knowing people believed you enough to speculate about your future, to write fanfiction about you. It was hard to pull your eyes away once you started and it definitely didn’t help you stop dreaming about Ben. The trail of reposted photos in your couple name hashtag led to compilations of screenshots of every comment Ben had left on your photos. All of them flirty and playful and beyond sweet. And he meant them. They weren’t just for show for him, they were real. The queasy feeling grew but still you kept scrolling. Day after Day as you killed time, night after night before sleep took you. Photos posted on Instagram by you or people you’d worked with on The Perfect Match, copied and reuploaded to twitter followed by screencaps of yours and Ben’s comments. Photos of the two of you on set, on dates, cuddled up on your couch. Every single one of them commented on by him. Kiss face emojis or cutesy pet names or sincere messages of attraction, love. The more you looked the more uncomfortable you felt about the whole situation. If Ben really did feel something for you beyond just friendship, then your arrangement wasn’t just unfair it was downright heartless. But, as you reminded yourself, he’d chosen it. If he’d had a crush on you and had still gone ahead with the studio’s plan, that was on him. You could hardly be blamed when you’d been working with half the information. And if it had developed afterwards then it was on him to talk to Peter and call the whole thing off if he had to. You huffed out a breath when you saw the first photo he’d posted of the two of you. The last day of filming, snuggled up in bed. My perfect match. As fucking if. You scrolled further down the hashtag and then back to his photo. The queasy feeling was lessening, being replaced with frustration and anger. Why would he have agreed to the arrangement if his crush was real? Why wouldn’t he have come up with some excuse? You’d expected him to say no anyway, it wouldn’t have surprised you or upset you and they’d had made it clear that you had the option to say no. Who was he to indulge his fantasies about you like this? Without telling you. Was he so sadistic as to enjoy torturing himself like that? If you could only ask him why. Ask how long he’d felt like that. But you couldn’t without admitting to eavesdropping and you couldn’t put an end to it anyway. You were stuck. It was enough to make you want to scream. With a long exhale you made your way to the kitchen for a calming cup of tea. As you reached into the cupboard for a mug your fingers brushed against a handle of his, the one you’d painted for him. You pulled it out and examined the lyrics you’d so carefully lettered. Why’d you have to pick that song of all things? Did he take it as encouragement that you’d picked a song with such lovelorn, infatuated lyrics? You had the sudden urge to smash the mug against the bench top. But you refrained, putting it back and grabbing another.

By the time you were getting ready to meet Ben for the dinner before the argument you were fed up with him and the whole arrangement. You couldn’t open a social media app without seeing a comment or a direct message from someone about Ben, if not from the man himself. You had no one you could talk to about it since, aside from Ben, Mary and Peter were the only people who knew your relationship was fake and neither of them was going to put an end to it if Ben wasn’t uncomfortable enough to mention it himself. Once or twice you’d considered messaging Joe, since he apparently knew everything too, but you’d chickened out every time, not sure how to go about it since you’d never met him and he was likely to tell Ben, even if you swore him to secrecy. You’d even considered telling Felicity but, though you trusted her to keep it to herself, she was kind of getting on your nerves too. Whenever you saw or heard from her, her first questions were always about Ben. She was mostly well intentioned, checking that you were happy and asking how things were between you, but sometimes she was closer to straight up gossiping – updating you on the odds given to those betting you’d still be together by the end of the month, slyly telling you what the latest article in Heat implied. And every time you were reminded of the impossible situation you found yourself in you couldn’t help but blame Ben. You wanted to have a crack at him about it, call him out for being a selfish git. But you had a job to do, and you were nothing if not professional. You went over the plan again – a snippy comment about him not putting the toilet seat down, he’d say something about a bad habit of yours, you warning him no to start something, him starting something anyway by suggesting you weren’t as invested since you refused to meet his family. Lots of crossed arms and unhappy glances and then the strained suggestion you leave. You’d walk back to his car in silence and let the photographer get a few shots before you got in and drove away. Easy.

Ben greeted you outside the restaurant with an easy grin and a complement. “Tone it down, Ben, we’re not meant to be too happy tonight.” “Hey, I’m allowed to be happy until we get into it,” he stopped talking as you went inside and found your table, waiting until the waiter had disappeared with your drink orders before he said anything more to you, “You nervous?” “Not really. It’s just acting.” “So having a public spat doesn’t bother you but you almost lost your lunch over our first date?” You looked down at the menu, “That was just because the whole situation was new and I felt weird about going on a date with you.” “Right,” he looked at his menu too. You didn’t care if it had sounded mean or if he took it personally, it was the truth, “Are you nervous?” “A little.” “Any particular reason?” “Uhh,” he drew the sound out as long as he could, “I just get more nervous before argument scenes than love scenes. I don’t know why. They’re harder to make convincing maybe?” He shrugged and made a face like it was a random suggestion pulled from thin air and not an excuse he’d come up with while stalling for time. You put the menu down and tapped your fingers on the table, looking around at the other patrons but barely taking notice of them. Ben glanced at you but only for a second. It was a relief when the waiter returned with your drinks and asked for your orders, though that didn’t help the strained silence that fell once he’d left again. “So, seen Felicity lately?” Ben asked, making a valiant attempt at polite conversation that you weren’t going to rise to. “The other day.” “How is she?” “Fine.” “That’s good. She still subscribed to Heat?” “Unfortunately. Brings you up every time I talk to her.” You huffed. Ben sighed. Even that annoyed you. You bit your tongue to stop from saying something bitchy before the food arrived. There was a plan to stick to. “How’re you going with auditions?” Ben tried again. “Okay I guess.” “Any callbacks?” “Not yet. You?” “A couple,” he shrugged, “You’ll get one soon, I’m sure. You’re too good an actress not to.” “Yeah, maybe.” Ben took a sip of his drink and sighed again, the noise grating on you, “What’s got into you tonight, Y/N?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice so as not to be overheard, “I know we’re meant to argue but you’re obviously not in a good mood anyway. Did something happen?” “Nothing, Ben. Everything’s fucking peachy.” “Doesn’t really sound like it.” “Drop it Ben.” “Fine. Suit yourself.” He leaned back in his chair and took another drink. You took a drink too, staring at the other side of the room. You hoped that the hired paparazzi was in position and getting some good shots.

The food arrived and you forced yourself to eat some of it, though you didn’t feel like it at all. Ben tried again to get you talking, asking how your meal was but you gave him another short answer. You stopped trying to eat and just moved the food around your plate. He took another drink and gave you a concerned look, “Y/N, if this is about something I’ve done, can you please just tell me.” You couldn’t hold back anymore, all thoughts of the plan, of the argument you were meant to be having, gone, “Of course it’s about something you’ve done.” “Then tell me what it is so I can try to change it.” “You can’t change it Ben.” “Not if I don’t know what we’re talking about. Just talk to me. Do I leave the toilet seat up? Do I load the dishwasher wrong?” He was trying to pull you back on track, “Whatever it is I can fix it. I never want to upset you.” His last sentence was said with such sincerity that you felt your chest constrict, “That’s what I’m talking about Ben. It’s too much.” “Babe,” he reached across to grab your hand but you pulled it back out of his reach, “What do you mean?” “I mean this – us, you and me. You’re so earnest and I can’t keep….” “Y/N, don’t.” “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay Ben. Not when you’re posting on Instagram that we’re a perfect match and you’re calling to check up on me and acting like we’re super fucking serious. You’re clingy and needy and I can’t keep pretending I love you as much as you love me.” You bit your tongue before you could say anything more you shouldn’t and stood up, “I’m sorry. I need some space.” Ben looked completely stunned only managing to blurt your name out once you’re back was to him. With a hand over your mouth you hurried from the restaurant, able to feel the eyes of everyone in the room burning into you. There was a clatter of cutlery as Ben stood up behind you. but you didn’t know if he’d followed. You didn’t turn back.

[lunatens]

mario kart

word count: 1937

genre: sO MUCH fluff

pairing: hwang hyunjin x gender neutral reader

summary: best friends to lovers through the power of mario kart

a/n: okay so if y’all haven’t noticed i’m in a bit of a skz mood recently lol and I've been feeling especially soft about hyunjin recently like ugH I love him anyways please enjoy this v fluffy thing I was so soft while writing it. hopefully it makes up for me not posting too much the last few days/next few days!! <3 also im kinda proud of this so pls give it love

song rec: fireproof - one direction

~

you: [mario kart, pizza and movie night at my house in 10'?]

you send a text to your bestfriend (and neighbour) hwang hyunjin, hoping he'll be able to make you feel better. your other friend, felix, just texted to last minute cancel your plans to go to the movies (apparently this boy he just met, changbin, is more important than you) so you find yourself annoyed and alone on this friday night. normally you'd just hang out by yourself and watch netflix or something, but you're actually in the mood to socialize tonight. you've changed out of the cute outfit you had planned into your favourite pair of sweat pants and a random hoodie you just grabbed off the floor. you're now lying sprawled on your bed staring at your phone screen and waiting for hyunjin's response, which doesn't take long.

hyunjin: [ya of course. loser buys the pizza!!]

hyunjin: [is everything ok? what happened to ur plans with felix?]

you: [don't worry about it, just come over. bring blankets!!]

you close your eyes, mentally preparing to get up from your bed. a loud knock sounds from your front door, and you groan and roll off your bed. you open the door to a smiling hyunjin, clutching an armful of blankets.

"you know, you can just come in; you don't have to knock."

"i know, but i like making you get up to open the do-is that my sweater?"

you look down to realize that it is, in fact, hyunjin's sweater.

"i guess so. well, your fault for leaving it on my floor. do you want it back? i can go change,"

"no! no, it's okay, you can wear it," he responds, slightly flustered, a subtle blush on his cheeks. you turn to head to the living room, not wanting him to see your own rosy cheeks as you fight back a smile. you and hyunjin have been best friends for as long as you can remember, but recently you've found yourself craving his presence more, longing to be around him, butterflies in your stomach going crazy at the slightest touch. it's the classic dilemma; you don't want to ruin your friendship by confessing, but at the same time it's torture to just be friends when you want so much more.

you lead hyunjin to your living room where the two of you set up your usual nest of couch cushions and blankets (hyunjin giggles to himself when he throws a pillow at you and it hits you square in the face, but it's your turn to laugh when you throw one back twice as hard, hitting his stomach with a dull thump!; you're surprised an all out war doesn't break out). you flop down, tossing him a controller as you open the game.

"my parents are gone for the weekend, so we can be as loud as we want," you mention, turning up the volume on the tv. hyunjin wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively.

"not like that you idiot!" you say with a gasp, throwing another pillow at him and praying he can't see the redness of your face.

"can we pleeeeeease pick each other's characters?" he says, giving you his classic puppy dog eyes (he definitely knows they're your weakness). you narrow your eyes at him.

"fine, but ONLY if you promise you won't make me be wario again," you say as you trade off your remote. he giggles as you watch him carefully.

"waluigi isn't much better, jinnie!!" you pout, and he doubles over laughing. you choose cat peach for him as revenge (in his words, "i don't want furries in my mario kart,") and he makes a face at you, to which you simply smile angelically.

"best two of three?"

"like always," he says, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. you internally melt at how cute he looks, intensely focused on the screen and determination in his eyes.

~

you win the first round, throwing both fists in the air in victory.

"okay i would've won if you hadn't sent that stupid blue shell at me!!" he whines.

"okay sure, you keep telling yourself that," you tease.

round two begins, and hyunjin just barely passes you at the last second.

"haha!! yesss!!"

"you're so lucky i ran into a goomba on the final lap," you say; you and hyunjin are pretty equal in skill, so you often bicker back and forth, arguing about who's the real mario kart champion (although you know you're definitely better). you start the third race, both of you determined to win; neither of you really care about having to buy the pizza, the boasting rights are prize enough. at the beginning of the third lap, hyunjin elbows you, and you gasp in shock as you watch waluigi plummet off the edge of rainbow road. as competitive as the two of you are, neither of you has ever resorted to sabotage. as you're placed back on the track, you see hyunjin smirking and your brain whirrs, trying to think of a way to prevent hyunjin from winning. a thought occurs, and pushing the nerves aside, you lean over and press a quick kiss to hyunjin's cheek. out of the corner of your eye you see him freeze, his character veering off course allowing you to surpass him and cross the finish line.

"YES! i win!!" you gloat, buzzing from the adrenaline of winning and the fact that you just kissed hyunjin. you just kissed hyunjin. the realization sets in and you look at him in shock at your own actions. he's staring back at you; normally you can easily tell what's on his mind, but in this moment you have no idea what he's thinking.

"hyunjin i-i'm so sorry, i just-"

"did you mean that?" he cuts you off.

"what?"

"or was that just a diversion tactic?" he says, voice soft and serious, contrasting the playful mood. his eyes search your face for an answer, then he breaks out in a grin.

"haha, your face is so red; i'm guessing it was more than just a way to distract me..."

"okay fine, maybe--maybe i did mean it. maybe i think you're really cute and maybe i want to be more than just best friends with you and maybe i'm kind of really in love with you. and maybe your face is just as red as mine," you blurt out.

"well maybe i'm just as in love with you as you are with me," he says, and his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. you're not sure when his face got this close to yours, but you aren't complaining. for the second time tonight, you find yourself brave enough to lean in, eyes closed, to press your lips to his. the equivalent of a disney fireworks show is going off inside you as his soft lips fit perfectly against yours and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you onto him. you can't help but smile into the kiss, ecstatic and relieved that everything worked out and your days of pining and daydreaming and complaining to felix are over. you feel hyunjin's lips curl up into a smile too, and you both giggle as you pull away slightly, your hands lost in his hair and noses brushing as you look in his eyes.

"you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that," he says, pressing another kiss to your lips.

"then why didn't you" you question, playing with his hair absentmindedly.

"i thought you liked felix!! i was sitting around in my room moping all day because i thought you and felix were going on a date! i've never been so happy to get a text in my entire life," hyunjin confesses with a nervous laugh. you can't help but laugh at the situation.

"i can't believe you thought i liked felix!! i've been asking him for advice on what to do about you!"

the two of you erupt in giggles, nestled in the mess of blankets with limbs tangled around each other.

"we're so silly," hyunjin says between laughter, pulling you back towards his lips. "i can't believe i can just do this whenever i want now," he mumbles into your mouth, and you deepen the kiss, wanting to be pressed as close to him as possible after desperately wanting this for so long.

"you still have to pay for the pizza, you know," you mention in between kisses. hyunjin's head falls back as he lets out a groan.

"...i was hoping you'd forgotten about that."

"nope! i'll set up the movie while you call," you say, kissing his cheek before moving to get up. you don't make it very far before hyunjin pulls you right back into his arms, peppering your face with kisses.

"hyunjin! i have to get up!" you giggling.

"no you don't. we can just lie here forever," he says, continuing to kiss you.

"we might get hungry though," you mention, this time pulling yourself away for real (even though it's probably the hardest thing you've ever done) to toss him his phone while you pick out a movie.

~

you're curled against hyunjin's side, head on his chest, listening to his slow breathing and heartbeat more than the movie itself. the room is dark save for the glow of the tv and the streetlamps outside. there's a flash as the headlights of a car pull into the driveway.

"we're gonna have to get up to get the pizza, jinnie," you groan.

"shhh baby, no we're not," he murmurs (you ignore how your cheeks heat up at the nickname), and your front door swings open as someone enters your house.

"someone order a pizza?"

you recognize the familiar aussie accent of felix and he walks in carrying a large box, changbin following close behind. he places the box beside you and gives you a cheeky grin, flashing you a thumbs up. you blush, hiding your face in hyunjin's chest.

"ew, they're so gross and affectionate," felix pretends to puke, and changbin laughs. "lets get out of here binnie. catch ya later, y/n; don't have too much fun!" felix says with a wink.

"bye, felix!" you say, encouraging him to leave. the front door closes and felix's car pulls out of the driveway, leaving you once again alone with hyunjin.

"jinnie, how-"

"i texted felix real quick while you were picking a movie asking him to help me out, then called him but pretended i was calling the pizza place," hyunjin explains.

"you're so smart," you say, kissing his cheek in appreciation.

"well, i try my best. oh, y/n?"

"hm?"

"you look really cute in my sweater."

"i know. i hope you know you're never getting it back,"

"that's fine with me," he says tackling you in another kiss. you lie there for a while, lazily making out while the movie plays in the background, hyunjin's hands on your hips and yours in his hair.

"it's crazy how so much has changed in just one night," you say, pulling away for a second.

"mhm...although really y/n, you're still my goofy, loveable best friend. just now we get to do things like this," he says, pulling you back into the kiss.

"i love you, hyunjin," you say, breathless. you've said this to each other many times before, but this is the first time you're saying it seriously and romantically.

"i love you too, y/n," he whispers back, and you want to live in this moment forever; just you and hyunjin, the rest of the world is a blur.

[shirtlesssammy]

8x22: Clip Show

Then:

Cas almost gets hit on by Dean 

Now:

Lost Creek, Colorado

A couple are at a cabin in the woods, and the woman is so happy that her boyfriend finally joined her. He acts like it’s no big deal but we flash back to a memory —specifically of Supernatural season 1, episode 2: Wendigo. He’s Tommy and has some serious PTSD from the terror he experienced that night in the woods.

He thinks he hears a growl and pulls his girlfriend away from the window. He knows that a Wendigo is outside and pulls out a flare to take the unseen monster out. He crumples to the floor and then just explodes right in front of his girlfriend. Eeerp.

At the bunker, the brothers continue to find records that the Men of Letters have kept over the years. Sam’s not doing so well due to all the Trials. He’ll feel better once they finish them.

Cas shows up in the war room, and it appears that Dean and Cas didn’t follow the golden rule of not going to bed angry. Dean doesn’t even acknowledge the angel. Cas is still convalescing. He sits down to talk with Sam a bit about the trials. Dean comes back with food for Sam—well, jerky, beer, and peanut butter cups. 

Cas offers to go with Dean for more food, but still gets the cold shoulder. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For everything.” Classic DeanCas, lol. (Brb, off to throw myself off a cliff.) Oh wait there’s more, Dean calls out Cas with the whole bolting with the angel tablet and adds, “You didn’t trust me?” 

THESE BOYS ARE NOT IN LOVE:

Cas is contrite but Dean is not accepting his apology. Sam stays out of it all for a bit but interrupts eventually to pull Dean aside to make it clear that Cas is one of the good guys. What’s that saying? Dean’s harder on Cas because he loves him the most? Well, meh, I do like their later seasons of grumpy banter more than the divisiveness of right now.

In any event, the brothers head to a storage room. 

Sam wants to find a case that their records mentioned. He finds the box, and Dean finds a dungeon! Sam’s box contained a movie film.

They set up the movie (They even made popcorn, guys!)

It’s an old black and white film of the Men of Letters. Josie, the woman that Abaddon possessed, is filming the experiment. They have a demon captured in the very dungeon the Winchesters just discovered. They throw holy water on the demon, recite an incantation at it, and then one priest cuts his hand and presses it on the demon. It flares out, apparently gone. The film stops. It was weird (!!!) One of the priests is still alive and Sam thinks it’s a good idea to get the lowdown on what they just watched on the film. Cas wants to go too but Dean won’t hear of it. (Brb, flinging myself off another cliff. DO NOT LIKE.)

Cut to the brothers meeting with the priest. He tells them that the other priest believed that demons could be saved. He thought that they could cure the demon and they could be a normal human soul again. There were other experiments after that one attempt, and then the priest ended up dead a couple months later. Something had torn him apart. Sam tries asking about records but goes into a coughing fit, complete with blood. He heads to the bathroom while Dean continues to talk with the priest. The priest agrees to give them the other priest’s papers.

Meanwhile, Cas is on a mission to make up with Dean. He’s at a Gas ’n Sip and pulling all the essentials to make Dean like him again.

Ways to woo Dean Winchester:

Beef Jerky

Porn

TP

Beer

Protein

AND Smiting the sap who can’t provide the pie

Cas almost smites the poor attendant. Metatron interrupts. They need to talk.

He wants to talk about Heaven. It’s apparently a mess up there without the archangels. Naomi isn’t in charge as much as she’s led Cas believe. Cas blames himself for everything that’s happened in heaven. (URGH, no! —I mean, yeah, but NO). Metatron thinks they can buddy up and save the day! They can sort everything out. First, they need to shut down Heaven. Then he mentioned crepes and flies away.

At the bunker, Sam can’t find Cas. Dean doesn’t care (URGH, no!) They decide to watch the last audio recording before the priest died.

Once again, there’s a demon in chains. This time, the priest injects the demon with purified blood. He continues to do this 8 times. And the demon seems to be cured. 

They decide to try the experiment out on their own decapitated Abaddon.

Meanwhile, Cas flaps over to Metatron’s brunch location, a cute restaurant with an outdoor patio overlooking the water. It’s a perfect place to relax!

Iconic dialogue alert: 

Waitress: Cool coat.

Cas: No, it's actually quite warm.

Waitress: Cute and funny. Okay…

Metatron: I should have picked a better looking vessel.

You’re not here to accidentally flirt with the waitstaff, Castiel! Cas asks for clarification on Metatron’s quest to close the gates of Heaven. Metatron waves it away as just another godly safety switch - you’ve got one for leviathans, demons, and Heaven, of course. Metatron tells Cas that it’s time for a heavenly lock-in to work out all their feelings. And he needs Cas, the warrior, to do it. Cas owns to feeling responsibility for the current state of Heaven but recoils when he hears the first trial. He’ll need to cut out the heart of the cute waitress, the sole nephilim on earth. (Pronounced in this episode as neph-IL-im.) “What’s more important?” Metatron asks. “Her life? Or your family?”

With season 9 under my belt, I watch Dean and Sam sewing Abaddon’s head on with particular horror. Like, you took on the Mark of Cain to defeat her, Dean Bean. Which led to a whole bucket of depression and sad men. Nobody likes buckets of sad men. (JK obviously I love it or what am I even doing here?) What a spectacularly bad idea! Still, it wouldn’t be my beloved show if characters were making smart choices. Abaddon wakes up, cracks her stitched neck, and greets them with “Morning, sunshines.” 

“I can’t wait to tear out those pretty green eyes,” she says, lovingly. The Winchesters smirk, drawing her attention to her handless state. (They chopped off her hands - or maybe just left them detached.)  “I’ll stump you to death,” she says and...that’s the spirit, Abaddon! She knows about the priest and his work curing demons. In fact, she was a special dispatch straight from Hell to make an example of him. The priest led her to Josie and possessing Josie helped her dismantle the entire Men of Letters network. Yeesh. 

The phone rings. It’s Crowley! Abaddon is appalled to learn that Crowley is the King of Hell. Dean and Sam leave the room to talk to Crowley and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD BOYS they leave Abaddon alone. 

Outside, the Winchesters chat with Crowley. He directs them to some news stories, “sexts” them an address, and bids them farewell. They discover that Crowley’s been putting out hits on people the Winchesters have saved. 

While Crowley’s giving them the news, Abaddon makes like Thing from the Addams family and puppets her hands out of the loosely closed box on the table.

Her hand crawls into her mouth and pries out the demon trap bullet. It’s freedom time, mofos. 

The Winchesters return to find Abaddon gone. You FOOLS! Sam keeps his eyes on the prize, though. Crowley’s latest address is from their “witches and baked goods” case and is clearly a trap. Time to make a play to catch themselves a different demon. 

Prosperity, Indiana

The power’s out in the target’s apartment (and so are the cupcakes! yum!) Unfortunately, Jennie’s body is also out - sticking out of the oven, that is. “You were a great gal, Jennie Klein,” Dean says and...okay? Great mourning, everyone. 

Crowley calls them up again. He’s killing off everyone they’ve saved (and using the books as a reference guide) until they deliver the demon tablet to him. 

Metatron and Castiel stalk the waitress outside her place of work, Metatron goading Cas to make a choice. Urg. It’s just the bad decisions gang all around. She whirls around to confront them and saves them the trouble of introductions. “I could see your halos.” (I start to hum Beyoncé to avoid thinking about this next part.) Metatron calls her an abomination and she begs to be allowed to just live her life. (She apparently works twelve hours shifts as a waitress, for heaven’s sake. It’s not like she’s exploiting her power.) Cas looks disturbed, apologizing even as he advances on her. She throws him across the grounds like he’s nothing and then advances on Metatron. Castiel kills her from behind. Oof. 

The Winchesters race to the next location, only to discover Sarah - the art dealer Sam flirted heavily with several seasons ago. She’s staying in a seriously adorable hotel room, with actual art on display. Dean greets her like he’s just dropped by for a casual visit. OMG Dean. Sam briefs her on the plan. Devil’s traps at all the exits, shotguns, and an exorcism ready to play on loop. We learn that Sarah’s married with a kid. (Sam gets a peek at what-could-have-been.) Sarah tells him that he’s changed - he’s more confident and grown up. She misses the old haircut. Awww… 

Crowley calls and starts counting down and when he reaches zero, Sarah starts to choke. She collapses. “You son of a bitch!” Dean shouts. “Son of a witch,” Crowley clarifies - his mother taught him a few useful spells. The Winchesters start tearing apart the room to try and find a hex bag. Crowley continues his villain monologue: he’s keeping all things hell-related far away from the Winchesters - no more demons getting close enough for them to kill. 

“I think the people you save, they're how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism, the collateral damage, the pain you've caused – the ONE thing that allows you to sleep at night, the one thing is knowing that these folks are out there, still out there happy and healthy because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes!”

I mean, when Crowley’s right, he’s right. 

Sarah dies. Ugh. UGH. Crowley gives an ultimatum: they stop their quest to close Hell or people keep dying. In rage, Dean hurls the phone across the room. When it breaks, they finally find the hex bag. (Me: But okay she only stopped breathing a minute ago? Start CCR and call 911!)

Back at the bunker, Sam is Not Okay™ and does not respond well to Dean’s attempts to cheer him up. Sam, who continues to look awful and exhausted, suggests giving in to Crowley. “We’ll kick it in the ass like we always do,” Dean insists. Rousing speech, babe. 

We fade to black, with everyone we love on dark paths of one kind or another.

______________________________

I NEED Quotes:

Well, that was weird with three exclamation points.

I NEED pie.

I can't wait to tear out those pretty green eyes.

First things first – what are you wearing?

You’d better find him toot-bloody-sweet. 

I know this is insane, but insane is kind of what we do.

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[sorrybaescenarios]

Thunder || Byun Baekhyun scenario || part 2

A/N: woooow this took me so much time im sorry. thank you so much for all the love part 1 received, i dont deserve it.

♛ Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

♛ Genre: angst

♛ Word count: 1,4k ops

| Part 1 | - | Part 3 | Part 4 |

The ride home was quiet, the only thing heard being the rain from outside accompanied by the occasional thunder. Baekhyun would sometimes sneak a glance at you through the rear-view mirror, sighing softly when you moved your head the other way. He looked like he wanted to say something, explain himself but as soon as he opened his mouth at a red light, no words came out. Was he nervous? Definitely. But he knew that sooner or later, he would still have to talk. When the car slowed down and your house came into view, you were up and ready to just storm out and run into the house, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. So, when you went to open the car’s door and saw that it wouldn’t budge, you finally turned to look at him with a scowl on your face.

“It’s still raining pretty hard, don’t you want to wait for a bit?” he asked, a small smile forming on his lips which only made you glare at him harder. He frowned at this and went to open the doors, seeing no point of keeping you in here if you were unhappy.

You turned around to look out the window, contemplating if you should leave now or ask for an explanation. A part of you told you to leave, saying he should be the one to feel the need to explain not for you to beg for him to talk. The other one, who was apparently stronger, wanted you to stay, needing some sort of comfort. So, you did.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

At your words, his head immediately shot up, clearly not expecting you to talk to him.

“Wait, scratch that. Were you even going to?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

His eyes widened in surprise at your accusation, “Of course! How could I not?!”

You raised a brow at this, leaning back on your seat, “Oh really? When? Tomorrow? Hours before leaving?”

He shifted his eyes back to the ground, a habit you’ve caught him doing on multiple occasions when he feels guilty about something. So that’s it then. His lack of words angered you more and this time you actually opened the door, leaving him alone in the vehicle.

You took off running for shelter towards your house, the heavy rain soaking you from head to toe. After a few seconds you heard the other door slamming shut and Baekhyun’s voice yelling for you.

“Wait, Y/N, I’m sorry! I was meaning to tell you, I swear I was! I just - I got caught up with all of the planning so we could spend as much time together as possible that it just completely slipped my mind.”

“Something like this doesn’t just slip your mind Baekhyun!” you yelled back, tears starting to form in your eyes, “you can’t just not tell me these types of stuff! In all of this planning you did, have you even thought about me for a second? Or did you just think about yourself?”

He stayed there silent as the rain poured on him, soaking his hair and clothes. His eyes locked with yours, silently begging for forgiveness. He knew he was in the wrong here, no doubt about that but he still hoped you could look past it and forgive him, like you always do.

Except this time, you didn’t.

“Just go! You were going to leave anyway.”

And with that, you finally disappeared inside your house, slamming the door shut behind you.

Two weeks have passed since that day and Baekhyun has done everything in his power to get you to talk to him. For the first few days, he kept texting and calling non-stop making you wonder how in the world did he have so much free time to keep blowing up your phone. When you actually answered one of his calls, he swore he almost had a heart attack. He was so happy and hyper that you picked up, he did all of the talking, you chiming in once in a while to answer one of his questions. After realizing one phone call can’t solve everything, he started sending you flowers. A lot of flowers. Your house was basically full of them, from small cute bouquets to large pots you could barely fit through the door. And with them came the occasional letter, saying how much he loved and missed you. It was really cute, and by the end of week two you were ready to even fly to where he was just to talk to him in person. Almost

You were laying on your couch, scrolling through your social media when you heard the door open and close with a soft click. You looked up when you heard huffing and puffing and saw your best friend from across the hall trying to make your way towards where you were through all the flowers.

“Jesus Y/N, how many flowers does this boy has to send for you to forgive him?”

You chuckled as she still struggled to walk without knocking anything over, being extra careful when your phone lit up with a notification. Your attention went back to the device hoping it was another text from Baek when you saw someone mentioned you in a post. Confused, you tapped on the notification and were greeted with a video that was currently loading.

After a few seconds, the first thing that popped on the screen was your boyfriend, dressed in a fancy dark blue suit which appeared to be frantically looking for someone. He appeared to be at an event of some sorts where cameras weren’t really allowed since this was clearly filmed with a phone. Once his eyes set on that person which was currently off screen, a big smile formed on his lips before he started jogging in that direction. And that’s when you saw it. His ex. Your eyes widened as they hugged and started talking, laughing and smiling at each other. They looked really good together, like really good and you bet if you were ever next to the two of them, people would think you’re the 3rd wheel not her.

You were about to close the video, seeing nothing major in it. You knew Baekhyun and his ex ended things in a friendly manner, so this didn’t bother you, that much, but thanks God you didn’t because in the next second she leaned in really close to him and whispered something into his ear, pulling away just as fast and planting a quick kiss to his cheek before walking away.

The sound of the doorbell distracted you from the anger that was bubbling inside you and you stormed off towards the door, knocking down all the flowers that were in your way, knowing exactly who it was, leaving your best friend dumbfounded in the middle of the living room.

“Hello, delivery for miss Y/L/N.” said the tall man with numerous bouquets behind him.

“Where were they sent from?” you asked impatiently.

The man paused, looking through his files, “China ma’am.”

“Ok, I want you to send them to this address.” You finally breathed out, scribbling down an address on his notebook. He nodded before saying his goodbyes and leaving.

And that’s exactly what you did for the whole next week. Every time a delivery for you came, it didn’t matter what it was, as long as they were from him, you just send them off to the SM building so Baekhyun could get it all when he came back. At first, you wanted to send them off to her but then quickly decided against it since she would most probably tell Baekhyun about it.

After that, you just ignored all of Baekhyun’s texts and calls and kept sending his deliveries away. You knew you were being childish, but you really couldn’t help it. For all he knew before, you were still mad at him so how could he just go and be all cozy with his ex was beyond you.

Another week passed and you got rid of almost all of the flowers that were still in your apartment, leaving the ones that were still fresh.

You were currently sitting on your couch, doing some work on your laptop when a knock on the door got your attention. You got up and made your way to the front door, opening it without checking. How you wish you would’ve.

There he was, your boyfriend in all of his glory standing right in front of you with bags under his eyes, looking tired.

“Can I come in?”

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[wee-chlo]

Everything Is Going To Be Okay: A Villain AU AU, Part 1

Inspired by @im-fairly-whitty and @slusheeduck ‘s  Villain AU, a heartwarming tale about family and love and- hahahaha I’m kidding, it’s tragedy.

When Miguel Rivera, the great-great-grandson of esteemed and beloved musician Héctor Rivera, was twelve, he was cursed and went to the Land of the Dead. There, he discovered the truth about his family’s bloody, crime-speckled past. Convincing Hector that he intended to keep the secret, he was sent home… and now, fifteen years later, he’s back.

This is a happy ending, but happy endings aren’t necessarily good ones.

Rated PG13 this particular chapter for mentions of suicidal ideation it’ll cool down to something closer to PG/G in coming chapters.

Miguel Rivera, great-great-grandson of the esteemed and beloved musician Héctor Rivera, died alone in his sleep when he was twenty-seven. He hadn’t been a public figure for nearly a decade and had been estranged from most of his family. Friends were relatively few, and so it took almost two days for his body to be discovered in his apartment in Monterrey, Mexico.

At first, the common theory was suicide. Rumors about what had happened to him on that Día de los Muertos fifteen years ago still churned and rumbled despite the family’s attempts to quiet lingering doubts about the official story. Word in the tabloids was that Miguel suffered from night terrors, panic attacks, and fits. There was a rumor that he was a paranoid schizophrenic, that he’d attacked his family and been disowned for it, that he was a dangerous predator that the family was trying to protect. No matter how many magazines and paparazzi were sued for libel and slander, another would crop up with something new, something even more salacious and hurtful.

Coco knew better.

She knew her brother, even if the calls had become more infrequent and the visits to the Rivera home had stopped when she was twelve. Her brother wasn’t dangerous, wasn’t crazy. Just… scared. She didn’t know why. He never talked about that night he disappeared and then reappeared at dawn, hysterical and sobbing. No matter how many therapists their parents had sent him to, no matter how many times the topic was broached, he remained tight-lipped about it, allowing people to come to their own dramatic conclusions.

He’d left home when he turned eighteen. Coco had been six, but had very dim, half-baked memories of her brother and parents arguing about it. He visited on her birthday, Christmas, and up until she was about twelve, he visited for Día de los Muertos. Then, one year, he said he wasn’t coming back.

The memory of that argument wasn’t vague or half-baked. Sometimes she thought her ears still rang with her Abuelita’s outraged yelling. The phone had been slammed down so hard it cracked and after that, Miguel was the black sheep. Coco, Mama and Papa had received calls, letters, emails, but no visits. Sometimes, he’d call the house and ask to speak to Abuelita, but she’d never take the call.

In the last year before his death, he, Coco, and his parents had engaged in a long and complicated game of phone tag. Instead of direct conversations, they’d leave messages to each other. Coco got the impression that Miguel did it on purpose, deliberately calling when he knew they wouldn’t be able to answer so that there wouldn’t need to be a conversation. In the weeks afterward, she listened to his last voicemail over and over and over.

Hey, sorry I missed you. Uh, everything’s fine up here. Keep an eye out in the mail, yeah? Your birthday present should be getting there soon. Tell Mama and Papa I love them, and, uh… tell Abuelita that too, okay? Love you. Bye.

When they first got the news that he was dead, it had sounded like a suicide note. Apparently, they’d found quite a few in his apartment from varying times. The autopsy said otherwise. Miguel had been on medications: Valium, Ambien, fentanyl, and lexapro. He’d had alcohol in his system, not a lot but enough to indicate that he’d drank some the night before. And he’d had a genetic heart condition. The mix of long-term anxiety and insomnia, combined with the medication and alcohol, had killed him silently and painlessly in the night. A freak accident. A tragedy.

The landlady had sent Miguel’s things to the Rivera household. Most of it would be given away or donated: clothing, bedding, kitchenware. But among the rubble of her brother’s life was a little box of evidence proving every stupid mumbler wrong: notebooks full of songs and music, old photos, a laptop with a family photo as the lock screen.

A shoebox filled with printouts and copies of every email and letter that the family had sent to them. Every Christmas card, every birthday letter. Clippings of the things that Rosa and Abel had been doing, the review of Rosa’s first play and Abel’s second album.

They hadn’t sent the suicide notes. Apparently, those were being kept until suicide could be officially ruled out. But buried in the box of letters sent to him was a letter he’d written but not yet sent. It made the bottom drop out of Coco’s stomach.

I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, he wrote, his handwriting shaky and cramped. I feel like I’m just wasting time for nothing. I could be with you all, and instead, I’m doing this. And it’s pointless because I’m not even going to do anything with it.

Just destroy that stupid laptop, would you? Nothing in there worth talking about anyway.

--

Miguel Rivera woke up dead.

Slowly, things came into focus. He was warm, bundled up in soft blankets. He heard something very distantly: voices, muffled and soft as if through water at first, then crystallizing.

“Should it take this long? I feel like it shouldn’t take this long.”

“The doctor said it’s normal for people who die that way. Calm down, mi amor.”

The voices were familiar. One he’d only heard from video clips and old newsreels but the other…

Pepita? Take care of him, will you?

He jerked away with a gasp, the memory knocking him out of the in-between state and back to… back to…

Oh.

His brain seemed to work in sections, processing things bit by bit, clunky even after the sudden rush of emotion that had hit him like electricity. He was in bed that wasn’t his, in a room that wasn’t his. The walls were sage and pastel yellow, the decoration minimal and sterile. Sunlight flushed in from an open window to his left, and to his right were two well-dressed skeletons, greying dark hair immaculately styled, their clothing tasteful, their expressions equal parts concern and shock. One was a woman with long hair, dressed in elegant purple, who could only be Mama Imelda. Sitting next to her…

“Hola, Papa Héctor,” Miguel said, the words sounding thick and clumsy to his own… ears? “Been awhile.”

“Migue,” Papa Héctor said warmly, reaching out and taking Miguel’s hand in his. “Oh, m’ijo, it’s so good to see you. I wish you’d taken a bit longer though…” He sighed, giving Miguel’s hand a squeeze. The feel of it was strange, bone rubbing on bone. The sight made old memories dredge up again, and he had to fight down the urge to wrench his hand free.

“But you’re here,” Mama Imelda said, sitting on the bed next to him. “You’ve been here for almost a day now, recovering. And you’ll need to recover for a while longer still.”

“A day?” Miguel’s head felt like it was full of gauze and cotton, even as his thoughts began to move at a steadier pace.

“You died in your sleep, chamaco,” Papa Héctor said quietly, shaking his head and looking so sad, like his heart was breaking. “Ay, Migue… It’s good to see you, but it didn’t have to be like this. It didn’t have to be this soon.”

Miguel couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It was too surreal. Dying in your sleep is what old people did, people who’d lived until they were in their seventies, eighties, nineties. It’s how Mama Coco had died, and Papa Julio. You don’t die in your sleep before you’re thirty. That’s not how it works.

“We’ve been so worried about you, m’ijo,” Mama Imelda said, cutting through the fog of confusion. “You stopped coming home for Día de los Muertos, you didn’t have an ofrenda up. No one knew what was happening. There was talk about you hurting yourself. We didn’t know what you would do…” She trailed off, and when Miguel looked up, she was giving him a rather pointed look. It took a moment for Miguel to realize what she was getting at but when he did, he almost laughed in their faces, it was so ridiculous.

“Go ahead. Ask. I won’t get mad or anything,” he said.

Héctor and Imelda shared a glance, and then she said, “The book.”

The words fell between them with all the delicacy of a pair of rocks. Miguel gently pulled his hand free of Héctor’s and peered at it. Funny, the joints didn’t look like they did in the biology books.

“Wasn’t much of a book,” he said, his voice sounding funny and distant. “Mostly notes. Newspaper articles. I got a couple of autopsy reports, but I had to be careful, you know? I didn’t know how picky the curse was and if I popped up back here… might have been a little awkward.” He couldn’t make eye contact with them. He didn’t know what they’d do, or say, or think. He’d had this whole speech prepared for years, worked on it every single spare moment, but now here he was and instead of something mature and reasonable, words just came out like vomit.

“You were good, I’ll give you that. Damn good. I mean, once I knew what the thought process was, I could catch the names. But then it just opened this whole new thing. I mean, how many victims, for instance? Don’t even know. Depends on how generous you’re feeling, I guess. Might be ten. Might be dozens. Sure, you might not have killed every one of them but it’s not like people didn’t throw themselves off of bridges or drink themselves to death after you dragged their careers so far into the muck that they couldn’t break out.”

“Miguel-” Héctor’s tone was almost pleading, but Miguel had been waiting for this moment since he was twelve and no one was going to stop it now, not even Héctor Rivera. He still couldn’t look at them, but there wasn’t much else to look at. He flopped back onto the bed and focused on a crack in the ceiling.

“But you know, I could never prove anything. You were damn good. I could never prove a thing. I just… knew enough to keep me up at night. Enough to make me feel sick. I couldn’t stand to be there anymore, in that house. I had to get out of there, but hey, can’t say anything because if I do, poof,” he made a tiny explosion gesture with his hands, the bones clicking together. “Back here. With you. So what else was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to do? Just pretend I didn’t know and everything was fine? Pretend like Ernesto De La Cruz didn’t exist-”

“That bestia doesn’t deserve your pity, Miguel,” Imelda said firmly, standing up from the bed. “He’s gone and done with now, and the world is the better for it.”

“Maybe,” Miguel admitted. “I wish they were all like that, I really do. I wish it was all that easy, but they didn’t all have to die. It’s like you just… got used to it.”

“Miguel,” Héctor said, his voice quieter now but firmer. “We never did things like that lightly. It was never for lack of trying anything else or going different routes. We did what we had to do for our family, to keep our children and their children safe.” He sighed. “You said you understood that.”

“I was twelve,” Miguel snapped back at the ceiling. “And I’d just watched you gloat about murdering someone and then watched that some person get snatched by a giant glowing cat monster. I lied.”

The silence that followed was heavy and dark. Miguel didn’t know how a heart that didn’t exist could still be pounding but he could feel it rattling his ribcage, felt himself tremble despite the blankets tucked around him.

“Miguel, look at me.” Miguel gritted his teeth, gaze fixed upwards. “Miguel.” The note of warning reminded him so much of his own father that he turned instinctively.

Imelda was standing behind where Héctor stood, her hands resting on his shoulders. They made a striking pair, he had to admit. Like something out of a Gothic romance, stark and dark and resolute. Like a painting of a king and his queen standing in judgment.

“We need to know that you can be trusted, Miguel,” Héctor said, folding his hands in front of him. “You’ve… spent a lot of time on this. And we know you never said anything when you were alive. But we need to know that that’s going to continue.”

“And if it isn’t?” Miguel asked, knowing the answer, and knowing his own. Héctor sighed again, and Miguel thought he saw Imelda’s hands tighten their grip on his shoulders.

“Then it’s the same as before, Miguel. You stay with us and we keep an eye on you until we know you understand.” Miguel blinked. “We’re not going to hurt you, Miguel,” Héctor said, sounding absurdly exasperated, as if he wasn’t talking to someone who knew exactly what he was capable of. “You’re our family. We love you, and we want you to be happy. We want you to be here, with your family. We want you to come home. But we can’t let everything this family built-”

“I’m not going to say anything.”

Héctor stuttered to a stop.

“I’m not,” Miguel said again. “I wish I was lying. I really do. I wish I never met Ernesto De La Cruz. I wish I never knew anything about all the things you’ve done. I wish…” He felt a lump form in his throat, which was so stupid because he didn’t even have one anymore, and when he spoke again, it came out a cracking croak. “I wish I could love you the way everyone else does. I wish I was going to…” Miguel whispered. Before he couldn’t bring himself to look at Héctor, but now he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He wished it didn’t feel as good as it did to finally get to talk, because it was Héctor, but Miguel had been alone for so damn long…

“I wish I was going to say something. But I’m not. Because… because I don’t want anyone else to feel the way I do. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand how dirty I feel. I couldn’t do that to anyone else. I couldn’t. I’m not…” He closed his eyes, covered his face, blotted out the horror on Papa Héctor’s face, the grief on Mama Imelda’s. “I’m not strong enough.”

“No, no, Migue, no,” Papa Héctor said, all the sternness and firmness gone like fog to sunlight, and Miguel felt him slip an arm around to pull him up into a sitting position. Papa Héctor’s hand gripped Miguel’s shoulder, pulled him closer so that he was in a half-hug, and it was enough to make Miguel shatter like so much glass.

“I just wanna go home,” he sobbed, curling into a ball against Papa Héctor’s chest. “I don’t wanna do this anymore, I don’t, I don’t-”

“It’s okay, m’ijo,” Mama Imelda’s hand touched his back, ran up and down his spine soothingly. “You don’t have to. You’ve been so strong, Migue. This isn’t weakness. It’s the right thing. You’re protecting your family. You’re home now.”

Home. With family. People who cared. People who’d loved each other.

People who’d killed for each other.

“It’s over, Miguel,” Papa Héctor said, tucking Miguel under his chin. Miguel felt Mama Imelda press closer, wrapping her arms around him and Papa Héctor both, a secure embrace. “It’s done.”

There was a time when Miguel thought that those words would be a gavel coming down. He hadn’t expected them to be a promise, aching with apology and forgiveness and love.

Papa Héctor’s hand smoothed back his hair carefully, and Miguel felt a distinctly foreign sort of drowsiness fall over him like a blanket. He relaxed by inches until he was putty in their arms, listening to Papa Héctor hum something aimless and soothing.

He wished he was stronger. He wished he had more of a backbone, more guts. He wished he was strong enough to make the hard choice, the painful choice. But really, it had never been a choice at all.

“Get some rest, Miguel.” Mama Imelda’s voice was warm and loving. “We can talk more later.”

[hansolmates]

170827 DIAMOND EDGE NYC: VVIP/HI-TOUCH & vernon moment!

disc. THIS IS A LONG AND COMPREHENSIVE post about my experience and mostly this is for me so i can look back at it in an hour and cry and i’ll probably add onto this later. im really really thankful that i had an amazing experience and i will love svt forever nd ever

During the day:

I woke up around 4am and arrived around 7.30 and they lined us up. My group of three vvip friends were around the 50s so we had a good line spot. The one thing I must say was that it was extra frustrating that the people who camped out (which is not allowed!) Were given PRIORITY tickets and cut the line! I can't even begin to explain how frustrated I was that they got special treatment for something they weren't supposed to do. We sorta just chilled around until 11 o’clock, we danced a little nd watched the carat ice cream truck go by!

But anyway there was nothing we could do and they sent vvip into the venue around 12 by then there were so many people and we stayed upstairs of the venue because having 3k people around one street was way too crowded. At first I didn't know what was going on but they were apparently preparing us for hi touch. We all lined up on the balcony and it was kinda sorta balls sweat hot. WE WERE BLASTIN MUSIC AND DANCING I WAS SCREAMING SO HARD lemme tell u less than 200 people on the rooftop that’s a party and then the staffer (who i will affectionately call J because she was amazing) was like “lol svt is doing soundcheck they can hear u downstairs and they think y’all are funny” and it was only 200 of us singing and stuff so they recorded us cheering for them and sent it back to svt. At the time she was filming i just came out of the bathroom and she filmed me and kris looking like absolute idiots dancing for svt by the bathroom LOL Afterwards mmt and svt sent us more water and snacks and soda because we couldn’t leave the venue to get food THEY'RE SO SWEET THE STAFF TREATED US SO NICELY!! J and mmt handled our fangifts with care and put them in sturdy boxes and made sure that we were hydrated and energized before we went back inside

HI TOUCH

OK THE HI TOUCH WAS A LITERAL BLUR they sent us to some stairs and was telling us the rules then all of a sudden we rounded the corner!! No warning!!! AND SEVENTEEN WAS THERE GIVING THE HI TOUCH!! The order thanks to haru peeps are as follows: minghao, vern, hosh, jun, jeonghan, woozi, seungkwan, dino, wonwoo, dk, scoups, josh mingyu. I wasn’t prepared for vern to go first nd I have an audio of me freaking out and going “oh shiiiii” when Vern was right next to me oh mah gah. I tried to pull it off and say “bro” and I did but Vernon kept staring at me until he got to kristine lol im so sorry vern!! But he’s even more gorgeous in person, his eyes are beautiful and his jawline can cut a bitch and he was wearing his cute red flannel that he always has on!! His head is big and his smile takes up his entire face and he’s just one big puppy you want to cuddle and im infinitely thankful for the eye contact!! Minghao is so hot oh my god he looks so confident and chill and he was givin those “yeaah babe” vibes. Their hands feel like lily petals. Boonseoksoon and cheol were very heartwarming, i squeezed all their hands until i was rushed off but i stopped to tell josh that he had pretty eyes and ended it off with mingyu and we jogged to our spot at vvip.

Concert Experience

I must say that i’m wholly impressed and happy that vvip did not push (it totally would’ve been fckin embarassing bc svt is really close to the stage so yes if they pushed it would’ve been awful) and i’m really sorry to hear that the rest of vip/p1/p2 had a really hard time trying to see BUT IT’S OKAY SVT IS NEVER COMING TO T5 EVER AGAIN. So im infinitely thankful that i was really really close to the stage and got to see the boys. BUT OKAY THE ONE THING THAT PISSED ME OFF? ??? CAMERAS. CAMERAS EVERYWHERE! I wouldn’t have cared if you were upstairs or in the back, but WE WERE LITERALLY FIVE FEET FROM THEM AND THESE PEOPLE ARE 6 FEET TALL and cameras were blocking my view because they were filming the whole damn concert. LIKE IT’S RUDE? GO TO THE BACK? DID YOU LITERALLY PAY TO SEE THRU A COMPUTER I DO THAT EVERY DAY!!! I ended up seeing the concert to its fullest so it’s fine BUT STILL SVT DOESN’T WANNA SING TO  BUNCH OF CAMERAS ESP TO THE PEOPLE IN THE FRONT? PEOPLE ARE PAID TO FILM THEM, THERE ARE FANSITES EVERYWHERE!! Enjoy the fleeting time you have with them!

But in the end it was more opportunity for me to soak up all the fanservice because *twiddles fingers* mwhahaahahahha there was enough room for me to dance for hoshi and going svt and i made eye contact with him, wonwoo during the dancing as well, mingyu, jeong *dies* it was too much 

Vernon (extended fanservice + rapping together!)

VERNON GETS A WHOLE DANG SECTION OKAY!!!! BECAUSE HE!! WAS NOT OKAY!!11! Kristine and i have been strategically preparing for MONTHS watching countless performances to stay in the corner where vern/jun would be performing on the most, turns out to be the right side so im two people away from the stage so i had a really good view of vernon’s beauty. I thought it was just me being biased but out of all the members Vernon’s stage presence is IMPECCABLE!! He doesn’t quote-unquote try to captivate you, he just naturally attracts people because his aura is so so so palpable. He was made to be on that stage!!!

Fanservice w/vern!

*sweats* after the whole hi touch fiasco i was convinced vern wouldn’t want to look at me but i held up my “vernon u lit” poster (dw i didn’t raise it high to block ppl) AND IT WORKED!!! My main highlight with him together was during check in (skip to 5:00) and since there was a lot of room I WAS GOING OFF dancing with him and rapping mingyu’s part along with him and shit i thought we had such a “feelin it” moment it was so surreal we were both in the song getting super super hype and the music was just immersed around us and i felt like the whole room melted apart and it was just the two of us sdlfjds;fjk;dsf im so gross my heart is warm my eyes are watery as i type this!! i miss him so much

anyway every performance after that, especially rock/if i and the ending ment i felt his stare and y’know that feeling when you pass someone attractive in the mall and you have that five-minute crush on them… i hope vern had that five minute crush on me because man i almost felt a way that boo or someone might feel when vern has that stare on you. He’s infinitely sweet and thankful at the ending ment when he thanked us for giving him new memories for his hometown i almost cried but he was lookin in my direction so i swallowed my feels

Final Details

Dino is the best. Performer. Like hosh performs really well when he dances! But shiii boy dino is on ALL THE DAMN TIME. i was told to be forewarned when u see dino AND Y’ALL WERE RIGHT

Lots of dk/minghao stans!!!! DK’S EYES ARE SO TWINKLY I UNDERSTAND WHY U LOVE HIM SO MUCH! A vvip had their gift as sunflowers with dk’s face on it IT’S SO FITTING

Performance unit IS WILD i used to think performance unit was just bc they did a lot of the choreo BUT NO. THEIR PERFORMANCE IS ALL THE WAY UP THERE you could feel every inch of their body carefully calculated and perfected even with OMG and highlight ND I WAS NEVER PREPARED FOR “MY I” WHY WASN’T THERE ARE TRANSITION FROM CRAZY LOVE TO THEN HOW DARE U

I used to go to concerts and from far away watch them spray water in the pit and u wish u were those people during healing cheol sprayed water and i felt CHRISTENED but all of a sudden ALL OF SEVENTEEN SPRAYED US IT WAS WET AND I FELT REBORN

At the ending ment hoshi screamed “I LOVE NEW JERSS----I LOVE NEW YORKKKK” lol my jersey self giggled

wonwoo/jun/scoups/jeonghan were definitely the most tired. Jun and Wonwoo were spacing out like crazy and coups literally ate his mic. Jeonghan was in another world most of the time, especially during the ballads he looked out to the crowd making exhausted eye contact. It looked like he was trying really hard to sing. Jeonghan and seungkwan had very visible cystic/stress acne, even through their makeup

*sigh* i guess i can’t avoid talking about the jeonghan situation amirite. From where i was everyone was v confused, sevnteen included. It lasted probably total of 10 seconds and we moved on. It was bad. We know it was very bad. Although Jeonghan seemed lowkey amused afterward THAT ISN’T THE POINT the concert was 99.9% perfect and i hope everyone remembers that and doesnt antagonize american carats (as american fans usually are for all the baddies)

All and all i feel honored that i was able to spend a comfortable night with svt, i know a lot of people aren’t able to say the same esp the people in the back. Its still replaying in my head and im infinitely thankful to stan such a wonderful group of boys and im glad to be a part of their tour