#i just didnt want to draw the movement i just ... i was tired ...

[spitinsideme]

Jesus Christ how strong does Ragatha have to be to handle pomni handing off her arm without moving?

nun ragatha has to carry the whole world on her back thats why she has grown so strong .... (demon pomni is the one on her back)

also thoufh, actually, nun ragatha is actually quite strong ! shes used to pomni just dangling off her arm and shes basically doing it everxay every second of her life now wth her, so youknow shes just like strong enoifh !! also, demon pomni really doesnt weigh much shes short and skinny and pretty light so not much of a struggle !

[stsgluver]

TAKE ME BACK TO BEFORE – gojo satoru

summary. based off of this drabble. satoru loses his best friend, and, in the process, loses you too. PART ONE OF FOUR.

wc. 4.4k

tags. ANGST <33333 some fluff at the beginning, slight mention of some suggestive activities, cliff-hanger ending (neither happy nor sad), might be swearing I can't remember and it's 12am I'm too tired to check, may include spelling mistakes

a/n. sorry some bits are a little rushed but I wanted the focus on yn and gojo without making it too long!! hope you enjoy (unknown whether i'll pt2 it, might just leave it to the imagination)!!!! this is also my first long long piece of writing so i’m happy to accept any criticism xxx

chapped lips kiss along the back of your neck, soft hair tickling with each movement. you can feel the heat of the sun that peaks though the half closed curtains – satoru’s fault since the additional two seconds that would take is two seconds that he’s not with you and god forbid he’s not wrapped around you like a koala.

like right now.

you daren’t not open your eyes yet, enjoying the peace of being gently pampered by your boyfriend’s love as his kisses move down your shoulders and his fingers draw circles on your thighs and tummy. one leg is slotted neatly between yours and for a few blissful moments, he’s not the strongest sorcerer alive and you’re not his semi-grade one girlfriend that is constantly scrutinised for not coming from a well known clan. in their eyes you weren’t worthy to be in bed with a special grade. not that that had ever stopped you or gojou.

“i know you’re awake,” satoru murmurs against your skin, lifting his head up so that it rests against your shoulder. his voice is laced with sleep and you’re sure he hasn’t been awake much longer than you. he squeezes you impossibly closer, his bare chest against your back and your lips tilt up in a smile at the fact you’re the only one who will ever be this close to him. able to touch and kiss every inch of his skin with no infinity acting as a barrier.

after the fight with toji, gojo had reached a state of enlightenment. he declared himself the honoured one and suddenly you, suguru and gojo were no longer doing missions together. in fact, gojo would practically drop off the face of the earth for several weeks at a time as the higher ups took advantage of his new-found skills. you and suguru coped but it had changed the dynamic of your relationships entirely so these mornings were easily your favourite time of the day.

“i preferred it when you didnt speak,” you lie, twisting round in his arms to face him. it was becoming more of a rarity to see your boyfriend without his glasses on. as his power grew stronger, the consequential headaches were only worsening and shoko could only counter his cursed technique so much. “more kisses please.” squeezing your eyes shut and puckering your lips in an over-exaggerated manner, you hear satoru snicker lightly but he complies nonetheless.

one hand dips under your head to lightly grasp ahold of your hair, ensuring you stay tightly against him. the other reaches down, skimming past your shorts to grasp your thigh and pull it over his leg so your body is pressed against his. his hands are so gentle but they leave a fiery heat in their path that makes you wish you weren’t at the jujutsu high dorms with your friends either side of you.

“so demanding,” he mocks, his voice muffled against your lips. you’re almost embarrassed by how hard you’re trying to swallow the whine that’s stuck at the back of your throat. and satoru knows, he always knows, and he pinches your thigh as your hand wraps around his neck.

you bite down on his lip and squeeze your hand and he’s gasping and you’re kissing him harder until, finally, oxygen catches up to you both. satoru keeps you close, your foreheads pressed against one anothers as your quickened breaths mingle.

it’s a few more seconds till your heart has calmed down enough to hear yourself think and you open your eyes to see his ocean blue ones already staring at you. if your cheeks weren’t already red from your small make out, they definitely were now under his powerful gaze, so full of love and adoration.

satoru sees you so clearly, you look like an angel to him. sure, he has a strip from a photo booth of the two of you folded in the back pocket of his uniform at all times and hundreds of pictures of you on his phone to look back at when he’s away from you. but seeing you like this so up close is an image he wants branded into his brain permanently.

“we don’t have class today,” satoru says suggestively, drawing dangerously high circles that have you shuddering in anticipation.

your thumb brushes against his chin, tickled against the slight stubble that he’d shave off once you got out of bed. “what are you proposing?” you hum with a grin.

satoru enunciates each of his words with a wet kiss to your lips, cheek, nose and jaw, “you, me and a whole morning of s-” 

there’s a sharp knock against the door and satoru rolls over onto his side of the bed, letting out a very loud and very mature whine. you giggle quietly and press one last kiss to the crook of his neck, telling him to go speak to whoever it is. with a grumbled who the fuck is cockblocking the honoured one, satoru complies and slides off of the bed to find his pyjama pants to at least look half decent.

you watch him lazily, and you think you could fall back asleep if it weren’t for the fact your body is buzzing from the simple make out session. it was scary to admit the power satoru had over you.

“i’m trying to spend quality time with my girlfriend kento, this better be good,” satoru whines as he slides open his dorm door. you could almost picture nanami’s disgusted expression at the half-clothed, six-foot-something sorcerer who, quite frankly, was acting like a child.

“i need your help exorcising a few grade threes that were spotted,” nanami admits in a monotone voice but your heart instantly sinks.

“you’re grade two-” satoru tries to argue but you hiss gojo and the simple use of his family name has him reconsidering. clicking his tongue, he nods once at nanami with a more serious expression than is usually worn by the special grade, “give me five and i’ll be there.”

“i’ll be outside. bye yn.”

“stay safe kento!” you call back to him as you hear his footsteps get further away. 

satoru slowly closes the door. any trace of the sexual desires that were in the room previous have dissipated into a quiet sombre. he’s silent for a few moments before he turns his attention back to you, carefully assessing your response.

you stare up at the ceiling for a few more moments before you meet the eyes of your boyfriend. there’s an unspoken name between you and both of you are scared to say what you’re thinking.

the mission had initially meant to be one for you: it was supposed to be just a couple of grade two curses. easy. but you’d pushed yourself too hard the day before during train and could barely walk on your left leg. shoko had been away with family so the higher ups made the executive decision to send nanami and him. 

things went nasty quickly with the information being all wrong and satoru was the one who ultimately exorcised the curses as the rest of you mourned over what remained of his body. it didn’t matter that almost twelve months had passed. the guilt of ‘what if’ still tormented your memories and you’d be lucky if you went a week without seeing him in your dreams.

“i love you.” you turn your body to the left to see satoru having knelt down just in front of the bed. his icy blue eyes were filled to the brim with concern and pity for your situation. with satoru so often being away for missions now, you two had struggled to work through your guilt as you tried to pull further and further away from him. 

you offer him a small smile for reassurance. “i love you too.”

“always?” he tilts his head and grins. it didn’t take a genius to figure out that satoru had two very clear and distinctive love languages: physical touch and affirmations. he didn’t need the reassurance but there was just something about hearing you profess your love for him over and over that made his heart soar. 

you reach out to hold his face, and he practically purrs as he nestles himself closer into your touch. “of course pretty boy. who else would put up with your tantrums?”

“tantrums?! i would never,” satoru says, appalled by the accusations so much so he holds your wrists and kisses both palms of your hands. “that hurt my feelings.”

“you’ll be okay.” you roll your eyes, but your lips have quirked into a small smile and satoru mirrors it with a with a wide as he classes that as a  success. he places one little kiss to your lips, sighing reluctantly as he knows he’s got to leave you. 

despite the fact he was getting ready to go on a mission and not spend the day on a date with you, you do love the view of watching him get dressed. his back muscles in particular as he pulls a white shirt over his head that you wish you could bite—

“help?”

since you had started slipping into satoru’s room and spending the night, you two had formed a codependent morning routine. one part of which being the fact that satoru seemed to lose all ability to button up his uniform jacket the second you were in his bed. 

you shrug off the duvet and slip off of his bed to stand in front of him where he stood awaiting. a silence settles between the two of you as your hands gently pull his jacket together and slot each of the buttons into place. his glasses remain in his hand so you’re blessed with those ocean eyes watching each of your ministrations.

“suguru gets back from visiting his parents today,” you loop your arms loosely around his neck once you’re done, and he wants to laugh at the way you stretch up to meet his height. “him, ieiri and i are going to get boba if you want to join. bring kento too. i’m worried about him.”

“he’ll be okay,” you frown at satoru’s cheerful, but also dismissive, tone. “it’s just a part of-”

“-being a sorcerer. yeah i know,” you grumble. satoru is not an idiot, far from it, he’s just never known anything other than the jujutsu world. in such a world death has become normalised – even for a boy only eighteen. “but me and kento aren’t from families like you. we didn’t know what we were signing up for,” you explain and his lips pull into a thin line.

he presses an apologetic kiss to you forehead and gives your waist a soft squeeze, “i’m sorry, love you, baby.”

“i love you more,” you draw your arms around him more tightly and press your cheek to your chest as you hold him close to you, “come back to me safely.”

“answer my calls idiot,” you sigh as you press on geto’s contact for the third time. he should have arrived at the school twenty minutes ago but it had pretty much been radio silent since he’d arrived at his parents. other than the confirmation that he was there and safe, you hadn’t heard anything. you initially weren’t concerned – he was seeing his family after all – but he was never late to meet you.

“ieiri!” 

as you run down the hall to her, you notice your teacher, yaga, standing stony-faced with paper in his hands. you hold up your phone with suguru’s contact on the screen, “have you heard from sugu-“ shoko sighs, shaking her head and your stomach drops. not suguru too. you could barely recover from haibara. the only person that got you through that was satoru and you don’t think he can hold you together and keep himself sane if suguru had been killed by a curse too.

“someone tell me he’s still alive,” there’s tears welling up in your eyes as your grip tightens around your phone. what if you’d called him a day prior? would he have answered? asked for help? could you have saved him?

shoko can’t meet your gaze as she struggles to find the right words to explain so it’s your teacher that wordlessly answers your demand by handing you the letter in his hand, “read this.” 

you wish you hadn’t.

“what? what?” you repeat, eyes wide as you scan the word ‘execution’. your stomach is doing flips at this point and you really think you might be sick. your head pounds as you reread the words. “is this real?”

“unfortunately,” yaga confirms.

you think maybe it’s selfish, your friend is clearly suffering because no perfectly well being commits such a heinous act, but the only person that concerns you is– “does satoru know?”

“no,” he shakes his head, “i’m informing him once he’s back with nanami. i’m going to need all four of you to be on your best behaviour, keeping a low profile and completing any missions received as swiftly and efficiently as possible. we’re all going to be scrutinised for every decision we make from now.” yaga doesn’t have to explain himself fully to you both to know what he’s implying. all of you are under suspicion now of conspiracy – one mistake and the next execution letter could have your name written.

“do you know where is suguru now?” you ask shoko with a shaky voice once yaga has walked away back to his office.

“the boba shop,” shoko plays with the unlit cigarette in her hand. she, much like gojo, kept her true emotions hidden by a veil of grins and snarky comments, but there was a clear tone of defeat in her voice. “we planned to go there so he’ll go.”

you lift your head up from the floor, “but that was before he did… this.” there is a lump in your throat as you speak and find yourself feeling selfish as your concern shifts to your boyfriend and how he’ll handle suguru’s defection.

“he’ll be there,” shoko says firmly with the utmost trust in her voice. a true belief that he will never let you both down, that he will never do anything that has been accused of him.

-

that belief is quickly dashed, a day dream that isn’t real and the truth cut through you deeper than any curse ever could. suguru was nonchalant when you had spoken, apologetic that he had to leave all of his friends as opposed to his actions that caused that. shoko had called satoru and the rest had been a blur as she took you back to jujutsu high to give satoru and suguru their space.

time stills until a familiar aura of cursed energy enters the high school. he’s not wearing his usual dark shades so you can see his eyes are clearly bloodshot and puffy from tears – even if they’re partially covered by his growing white locks and his hunched posture.

you, shoko and yaga have been awaiting his return. there is a target on suguru’s head now and your teacher needs to know if satoru has pulled the trigger. you just need your boyfriend to come back to you in one piece, both metaphorically and physically. 

he doesn’t acknowledge any of you. there’s no words, no gestures, no shift in his energy to even let you all know that he’s responsive to the outside world. it’s like he’s just on autopilot as he pushes between the three of you and heads in the direction of the dorm rooms.

shoko sighs, flicking the lighter in her hand as she silently takes her leave. your heart feels like it’s ripping in two and you’re struggling to pick up the falling pieces as you watch her walk away. suguru is gone, shoko is shutting down and satoru…

yaga encourages you to go and speak to satoru whilst he discusses with other sorcerers about plans going forward regarding suguru. 

“toru? toru?” you knock lightly on his door, repeating your nickname for him when he doesn’t respond to you the first time. you know he’s in there.

another twenty seconds go by before you make the assertive decision to enter, pressing your palms against the door and slowly sliding it open. slipping in and closing the door behind yourself, there’s a slight ache in your chest as you mourn the blissful morning you had woken up to. a morning in a world that no longer existed.

the bed is still perfectly made as you had tidied it before you’d gone on your suguru hunt. satoru sits at his desk, his foot tapping lightly on the ground repeatedly as his knee moves up and down. you have never seen him in any state of anxiety before. it felt intrusive to witness the strongest in such a manner – even if you are his girlfriend.

you perch yourself onto the edge of his bed and wait for him to open up. which he never does. shocker. “did suguru say much to you?”

“no.”

“i know this is bad right now but-“

“do you know?” satoru snaps, hands slamming down against his desk causing you to jump. you’ve never seen him speak so angrily and act out – his emotions overruling his logical reasoning. “is it because i’m fucking cryin? is that what made you realise?”

“satoru-“

“you were here. you have been with him and not once did you mention that suguru wasn’t doing well,” satoru doesn’t sugarcoat his words as he layers the blame thickly on you, “maybe if you hadn’t been so fucking focused on how your last fuck up killed haibara, i wouldn’t have lost my best friend.” you choke back a sob, hand over your mouth as tears well up in your eyes. satoru doesn’t look at you. somewhere between this morning and now, your position has shifted – from the centre of his universe to just another weak person who burdens him.

“he is my best friend too,” your broken voice tries to defend itself. the attempt falls on deaf ears because now satoru is pacing back and forth, his fingers pressed to the sides of his forehead as he rotates them in small circles. migraine.

“satoru i get you’re grieving and you’re hurt but you can’t blame me,” you try to reason because god you love him so much and you think if he means what he says, if satoru truly blames you… you’re not sure how you’re going to be able to move on.

“cant i?” satoru lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “i ignored him for you. to make sure you were okay.”

“look we’re both emotional right now. i’ll give you some time to cool off and we can work this out–” you try to reach out and hold his hand but you're met with a force you haven’t felt in a very very very long time. he turned his infinity on.

“dont bother,” he slouches back down into his chair, forearm covering his eyes as he leans back. “there’s nothing to work out.”

those tears that you’d been holding back are freely flowing now, down past your reddned cheeks and dripping onto his bed sheets as you feel yourself become light-headed. “are you break-“

“go.” there’s a chill down your spine from the assertiveness in his voice. it’s monotone and without any trace of the love he had for you that morning. he really means it then, everything he said.

so you comply and you don’t look back.

– TWELVE MONTHS LATER

“ieiri, i just need two more minutes then i should be ready to go–”

“you’re leaving.” 

your breath hitches and your whole world comes to a halt at the oh-so-familiar voice behind you. one that had barely addressed you or acknowledged your existence for a year now. a ghost.

“gojo,” you know he doesn’t like your usage of his first name from the disgruntled sound he makes. there’s a brief pause as your brain hot wires itself back into function again and you refrain from repeating his family name that tastes so foreign on your tongue. “uh, yeah, my plane to korea leaves in a few hours.” 

“you weren’t going to say goodbye?”

you scoff, closing the last box with the remains of your tape, “this is the first time you’ve recognised my existence in nearly a year, gojo. can’t say goodbye to someone who’s already left you behind.” your tone is especially sharp as you utter the syllables of his last name. it hurts to speak to him, to hear his voice, to exist to him again. he doesn’t get to speak to you with a breeziness in his voice, like he never abandoned you in the worst way possible. like he didn’t shatter your heart into a million pieces when you were already at your lowest.

the world of jujutsu is cruel and had been especially to you since geto’s defection and the break up with gojo. you had shoko and nanami but shoko was slowly regressing into a shell of a former self and nanami had always had one foot out of the door. the last twelve months had only solidified his decision to leave.

the higher ups have little to no respect for you – that is a fact. gojo leaving you had removed any sort of political defence you had against them and they didn’t hesitate to question your position and capabilities as a sorcerer after every mission. you don;t need gojo to survive, you could stand up for yourself, but you deserved more than to be left in the lurch at such a volatile time with suguru’s defection. 

there’s a dampness in your palm and you wince as you realise how tightly you had been clenching your fists.

gojo reaches out for your bloodied hands and you flinch away, finally turning back to look at him.

he’s stunning.

“don’t touch me,” you are quick to widen the distance between the two of you, wiping your hands on your dark skirt. for a moment there’s a parallel to all those months ago – when he’d decided to break up with you and cut you off from touching him with the same infinity that had once brought you so much joy. initially, allowing you to touch him had been his way of opening up, learning how to be vulnerable to the person he loves. he hadn’t needed to tell you you were over the moment he forced that barrier between you once more.

“i’m sorry.” his blue eyes aren’t as blue as they once were, their light dimmed, and he looks genuinely apologetic for overstepping. it doesn’t ease the ache.

the two of you take a breath and just stare. your eyes scan the face and body of the man who you thought you knew like the back of your hand. every scar on his body and every thought in his mind.

his lips quirk into a sad smile, “i love you.” your jaw clenches at his admission and you turn back to your boxes. 

he doesn’t mean it. he can’t.

“gojo,” you warn quietly, your thoughts quickly going into haywire at his confession because you’d be lying if you said you don’t love him too. in fact, you know you do – it’s what has driven your hatred towards him to blossom into a garden of sharp, bleeding roses.

“please stop calling me that,” he always hated to be reduced to the clan he is from. he takes a cautious step towards you as the words continue to spill from his lips. “i love you, i love you so much, but i have lost so much. i got scared and i pushed you away and it was so wrong of me–”

“i lost everything.” you look directly at him and you can only hope that he knows you’re referring to him and him alone. it isn’t that you consider everyone else expendable, you’re just capable of coping with the loss of them. a piece of you died a year ago and 

“but you’re not the strongest are you?” you click your tongue and almost laugh. he belongs in this world of sorcery more than you ever could. everything is reduced to power. “i’ve been this prodigy since as long as i can remember and i couldnt save haibara, i didn’t even realise suguru was spiralling and you…” 

“i was right here,” you press a finger directly into the centre of his chest to emphasise your point. somehow you manage not to hesitate and stutter as you realise he’s dropped his infinity for you again – even if it is just to allow you to prod him in anger. “i needed you. i lost someone who i saw as a little brother and then one of my best friends kills his parents and an entire village. i needed you.”

gojo’s left silent for a moment so you finish off, “you know how i find this society to be a prestigious bunch of shit but i stayed for you and you still left me. i would’ve done anything for you.” there’s those tears again. you need him out of your room and you need out of this world as soon as possible.

“i have two kids.”

“what?” you don’t bother to hide the hurt in your voice, nor the underlying tones of jealousy. you’d been out of his life for twelve months and he’d already moved on? and had kids? at nineteen?

“they were about to get sold to the zen’in clan-“ your eyebrows furrow as the pieces of the puzzle come together. 

“fushiguro’s?” you cut him off to ask tentatively, and gojo nods. you take a seat on your bed. you’re not quite sure you can handle anything coming out of his mouth without risking passing out from the sheer overwhelmingness of it all. how dare he waltz back into your life, announce he has two kids that he was willingly raising to ensure they didn’t become victims of the zen’in clan? for what? as a favour for the man who basically killed him not even three years prior?

gojo flashes you a sheepish smile, clasping his hands together as he rocked back and forth on his heels nervously. “want to raise them with me?”

taglist ! @sanokiss ! @dummyf ! @erenssin ! @makiuchiha97 ! @sosoa ! @bontensh0e ! @cole-silas ! @fenrysashryver ! @istanuwow !

[jubiilee13]

hi babes I saw you begging for requests for mike schmidt so I decided to send my own request to you… as cliche as it is, could you write an angsty misunderstanding fic where basically mike is over-working himself to death and barely making time for you and you think you did something wrong but it turns out mike was just tired af. It can be smut or fluff since I don’t know what you really like to write. Sorry if this request is bad I’m not good at asking for things😭😭

-anon

anon ily ty for the request 😻😻

this may be a lil bad bc I’m sick rn but I hope u still enjoy 🫶

warnings: tiny mention of blood, angst, angy mike, sad reader, alludes to a little smut at the end but yeah

lets just say for this abby is at a um... sleepover or smth idk i forgot to include her

didnt check this for grammatical errors so my bad if it sucks lmao

—

you and mike didn’t fight often

i mean you never really had reason to

but lately mike had been weird, he had been… distant.

mike often had his rough days, as did you, but this time was different.

every morning when he returned home instead of his usual warm embraces, you’d been receiving the cold shoulder, at most a few sentences spoken between the two of you before he dragged himself off to bed.

you were worried to say the least, you knew you had done nothing wrong, yet something in your gut made you wonder if you did.

so you decided today was the day you were going to talk to him about it.

boy was that a bad idea...

the moment mike stepped out of his bedroom he spotted you, anxiously fidgeting as your eyes met his own

"we need to talk mike" you mumble, clearly not looking forward to having this conversation.

mike rolls his eyes, "what y/n" he replies, attitude evident in his tone, yet the attitude is weak, and you note his face is just a bit paler than usual, the bags under his eyes more evident, something was off.

"whats been going on with us mike?" you ask, voice trembling "did... did i do something? you- you've been so distant..."

"its nothing y/n, stop worrying" he says with a scoff, and you bite your lip.

"mike you dont have to lie to me" you say softly, extending your hand out to him to soothe him.

Then something inside him snaps, that movement- that feeling. he couldnt take it.

"God damn it y/n i said nothing is wrong! you never listen! just leave me alone! you clearly only make things worse!" he cries out, and your body freezes.

"o-oh" is all you can say, retracting your trembling hand, clearly in shock

"o-okay um... um i-i'll leave you be..." you mumble under your breath, trying to hide your emotions until you were out of his sight.

you scurry away, biting your lip so hard it draws blood, and the moment you enter your bedroom the tears escape.

you shut the door behind you, leaning against it and sliding to your knees, hand reaching to cover your mouth to hide the sobs.

what had you done?

did you upset him?

is he gonna leave?

so many questions flooded your mind all at once

it was so overwhelming, all you wanted was him... but right now that was the one thing you couldnt have.

so you sat there, leaning against the door of your room for god knows how long.

eventually when no more tears could fall, you lead yourself to your bed, a bed that had been untouched for a few months now due to you always sleeping with mike, and after a few more shaky breaths, you slipped into a uneasy slumber.

As you slept, mike took himself for a drive, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles faded to white.

he was angry

he was tired

he just wanted to be home

it slowly started to dawn on him that upon his arrival home earlier, his anger had been misdirected.

he wasnt mad at you

he loved you

god- you just wanted to help

why couldnt he see that?

he lets out a shaky sigh, punching his steering wheel as he lets out a few grunts of anger (much to the dismay of the car infront of him)

he decides to leave you be for the time being, and he leads him self on down the winding road, until he comes across an empty parking lot.

he lets himself settle there for a while, staring into the dark abyss in front of him.

eventually he decides to call you, and when you dont pick up... he calls again.

and again.

and... again....

and 12 more times.

he was worried to say the least, what if you left him? what. if you didnt love him anymore?

after the final call he places his phone in his pocket, running a hand through his hair as he starts up the car again and heads home.

in the meantime you were at home, tossing and turning, unable to find a true sense of saftey in your own sheets and god was it horrible.

you didnt notice the buzzing of your phone, nor the vibration any time left another voicemaiil.

so you lay on your back, your teary eyes staring up at the ceiling.

thats when you heard the front door open, the jingling of mikes house keys alongside his work ones

maybe he didnt leave

did he come back for you?

maybe he-

your thoughts are interrupted however by a gentle, almost silent knock at your door. you want to open it, you really do, but you're scared.

for once you put aside your fear and you sit up, quietly tiptoeing over to the door and cracking it open just enough to meet mikes eyes.

both of your teary eyes meet one another, and something snaps within both of you

your grip on the handle goes slack as mike gently pushes further on the door, and the moment it opens enough for him to enter, youre surrounded by him

he kisses you gently, his hands wrapping around you, and you two hold the kiss until you eventually pull away to gasp for air

"im so sorry- i never meant to snap at you baby- i-i- im just so exhausted- work is so hard- i-i never meant to take it out on you- i love you so muc y/n- i"

you cut him off by kissing him again, this kiss growing more heated, your body pressing against his

"its ok" you whisper when you pull away, your foreheads resting against one another

"we'll be ok" you whisper

those 3 words are repeated for the rest of the night, along with other words of praise and affirmation.

the two of you love each other, and tonight it shows.

just as youre about to fall into a warm, peaceful sleep, mike presses a kiss against your damp forehead.

"i love you"

that was all you needed to hear in order to slip into slumber in his embrace.

--

yayayayya mike

i hope that was good

ok ily

bye pookster

[beanscool-excellent]

some ride the crimeclone notes because people liked my tags about it on that one post

ride the crimeclone (or just crimeclone) is the production of rtc that i have planned out in my head that i will never be able to put on bc i have changed parts of the script and putting it on would be Wildly Illegal, hence the name crimeclone

i jumped around the show a lot making these in my sketchbook and im going around my sketchbook too so its a little all over the place but!!

jane has contacts that make it look like her eyes are buttons

she has the doll in her pocket the whole show but the stuffing is falling out of it so ocean trails behind her and cleans it up

"my song--(leans down to pick up fluff)--was a cautionary tale--(leans down)--of hubris.(leans down, shoves fluff into her pocket)"

before the new birthday song when everyone brings the outfit ricky brings jane her doll and jane hugs the doll and its a very sweet moment

janes makeup is done to look like she has a patch on her face

puppet motif in tbojd

all her movements look very choreographed until "and im asking why lord" and then she just goes apeshit. she is so fucking mad

like i said earlier it has the energy of sam pauly's all you wanna do

i genuinely dont know how to put this into words but the lights on the umbrellas like. circle?

you know those people who sync up their christmas lights to the radio and it looks like pieces of light are moving up the sidewalks? that but in a circle

ok enough jane talk

propaganda posters in wtwn !!

this kinda thing ^

theyre used kinda like the big posterboards that spell out ocean in mcc*rter's version

mischa snaps his in half in the scene after wtwn

the outfit ricky quick changes into during sabm is So Glittery its almost obnoxious

the shirt is partially unbuttoned too

the implication is that he didnt have time to rebutton it after the cat sex

i also think the cat sex is a pre recorded projection so that theres enough time for the quick change bc i still want ricky to come out on "for theyre at war with canine"

i think he has the electric guitar the whole last section too and i want it to be strapped to his cane

idk why i just think itd be fun

oh also we keep lets get real space babies and dont be a dick

and its the version where ricky is actually disabled but i think that goes without saying

and while were at it keep love conquers all it is a CRIME that they removed it

i think thats all i have to say for now so heres my costume design stuff

oh i should elaborate on the noels lament skirts huh

ok so the skirt for the uniform is long so it spins out a lot, think the talia dresses but more pleated and less flowy, and the underside is red so during noels lament they can pin it up to look shorter in the front,, it looks weird in the drawing and i think it sounds weird but ive done it with my big skirts irl and it looks cool so. yeah

ill reblog with more stuff eventually but im writing this out at midnight and im tired so no more right now

[sweetfushi]

Hi! Hi!

I wanted to requrst a olatonic Aizaea scenario please 🫶🫶

Lets imagine he has a biological daughter and he arrives early from work and finds her doing something he didnt know she could do (Singing, playing a instrument or something)

Thanksss

REACTING TO HIS DAUGHTER'S HIDDEN TALENT

fluff | shouta aizawa x reader, established relationship, you have a child together. ◦ notes. D/N means 'daughter's name', studying got boring so here's my form of procrastination, sorry this took so long :(

God, I'm tired, is Aizawa's first thought as he arrives early from work, stepping through the front door and closing it behind him with a sigh. He hangs his keys up, carefully unwraps his scarf and stores it in its corresponding basket and rubs the back of his neck, the pads of his fingers aiming to press the tension out his muscles.

"I'm home," he calls out in the seemingly house. He picks up the sound of your shuffling and movements in the kitchen and eases at the indication of your presence. After kicking his boots off, he makes his way over to you, finding you amidst countless dirtied bowls as you attempt to follow the recipe for something.

"I was just about to head over to you," you say, evidently beaming at your husband's presence gracing you earlier than usual. He lets his hands encircle your waist as you kiss him, humming at the low rumble in his chest.

He pulls away after a moment of indulging himself to ask, "where's D/N?" To which you respond, "last time I checked, she was in her room rummaging around for God knows what," you huff out a small laugh. "When I asked her what, she just hummed and continued to look around."

Aizawa purses his lips and nods, curious as to why his daughter seems to be acting so apathetic. Despite taking after his own rather unbothered and stoic personality, Aizawa always believed that there was room to worry about his daughter's behaviour. "Let me know when your.... experiment, works out," he chuckles, nodding at the mess in the kitchen.

You wipe your hands on your apron before smacking his shoulder and motioning for him to leave, to which he laughs - a low but soft sound you've loved drawing from him.

"D/N? I'm home early," Aizawa calls out as he ascends the stairs. He sees that her bedroom door is slightly open, but knocks before entering as per usual. When he hears a mumbled approval, he enters and goes to greet D/N, only to pause at the sight.

D/N was sitting on a small stool, a paintbrush in hand as she performed delicate strokes on the colourful canvas portraying a sunset at a beach. He assumed it to be a photo from the details he saw, but watched as D/N corrected something on the painting with her tongue stuck out in concentration.

"That looks amazing," he finally says, resting a hand on her shoulder with a subtly - but evident considering Aizawa's usual stoicism - surprised expression. She smiles faintly, looking up at her father's reaction. "Thanks, Dad. I was actually thinking about selling some. You know, some extra cash," she shrugs.

Aizawa smiles, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Do I not pay you enough?" When she rolls her eyes at his teasing, he shakes his head and assures her that he's kidding. "In all seriousness, that sounds like a great idea. But, why didn't you tell me you could do this? This is something to be proud of."

D/N blushes faintly, muttering out a "thank you." She explains that she didn't want to excite herself (or her parents) of a talent she was only just starting to capitalise on, in the event that she failed her pursuit. As she did, Aizawa internally beamed with pride at his daughter's maturity and recognition of opportunities.

"Can I commission you?" He asks, making her laugh. "No seriously, I'd love to have something of yours up around the house."

"You already have about ten things of mine stuck up," she pointed out, causing Aizawa to roll his eyes (a mutual habit of theirs, it seemed). He pinches her nose with a small tut.

"I don't see how one more could hurt."

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

[pupficz]

william afton headcanons 'n stuffz :^)

. after the divorce of william and his wife, william wasn't necessarily adverse to the idea of remarrying... it just wasn't his first priority out of all of his priorities.

. the divorce with his ex wife was rough, and messy. so getting into a relationship right afterwards was just a tiring idea.

. william isnt exactly easily attracted to people either. so when he learns that henry hired another mechanic, it just gained an eye roll from him. i mean, why would they NEED another mechanic? william thinks hes perfectly fine.

. hes whipped the moment he finds you elbows deep inside of fredbear's chest, complimenting his impressive use of hydraulics and automated clockwork movements.

. he basically assigned you as his assistant from there on, i mean, it was pretty impressive that you even knew how animatronics worked.

. dont tell william but you probably worked at a showbiz pizza before fredbear's. you just wanted to be apart of something. . . more lol.

. you and william would constantly swap ideas. you were the one who actually told william how to make the hydraulics less... loud. considering they animatronics were VERY hissy. william begrudgingly took the advice.

. william is kinda awkward and doesnt understand that staring is bad so dont be surprised if you just feel him staring at you for abnormally long periods of time, just for you to turn over and have him give you a nice toothy smile.

. doesnt really know how to ask you out. he has to consult with henry for weeks and then freaks out on henry for giving him advice because he's sooo perfect [sarcastic tone here]

. don't let him introduce you to the kids because then he might subconsciously guilt trip you into not leaving him 😭 hes a natural manipulator dont mind him.

. dont get married to him he'll spend millions of dollars on a fancy wedding at some big venue out of the town and will probably invite his ex wife as a "fuck you". (she'll come. dont tell william but you and his ex wife might just become best friends. if he finds out he might freak)

. he is like a middle school girl and probably has millions of doodles of you and him kissing in his journal thats meant for animatronic design and note taking in really chalky crayon 😭

. has at least (1) unused animatronic design based on you and definitely didnt draw springbonnie kissing it why would he do that

. william is Not good at showing physical affection. he thinks its kinda weird. you have to initate it, he won't. his love language is more gift giving and acts of "service" (i would say quality time too, but he probably shuts himself in his office constantly so theres not much quality time there!)

. he gets pissy VERY easily. hes either the sarcastic type of angry or the verbally violent type of angry, depends on his day.

. you have to calm him down so that he doesnt borderline verbally abuse his kids ☹️ ... he isnt very nice to them. you notice this quickly.

. it takes michael a VERY long time to get used to you. like abnormally long. he just kinda isnt used to the concept of having another parent, because even when his mom was still with them... she was pretty distant.

. evan is the most attached to you. he NEEDS a caretaker figure desperately and will latch on however possible.

. elizabeth is just happy to have someone to have tea parties with :^) she isnt the most self aware tbh. too hyperfixated on her clowns and parties to really notice the tenseness around the family.

. welcome to the dysfunctional afton family hopefully you can make it less dysfunctional! woohoo.

[wizkiddx]

I lovelovelovelove ur writing. Was thinking if u could do one where readers relationship w tom exposed bcos someone recognises her but she isnt famous? And its all backwards and caught out sort of thing

thanks for being so kind! also I feel like me narrator-y voice has gone WAY too far, what do u guys think? I won't be offended promise I just think it sounds so fucking annoying rn

Tom Holland x reader

summary: you run into possibly the most infuriating family members the one time u and ur boy are showing PDA

warnings = none I think :)

///////////////////////

It was a late late evening, on the last train of the night towards manchester, the British countryside plunged into darkness that appeared as a blank, black canvas out the rounded-rectangular windows. 

And although the serene surroundings were calming, the regular and rhythmic movement of the carriage on the tracks - you were more on edge. Your relationship with Tom had yet to be revealed to the world - though you’d travelled as part of his extended entourage before under the guise of a ‘family friend’. So now it just being you, Tom, Harry, Andrew and Rachel - you felt more exposed. Of course, you were incredibly grateful that Tom had planned this weekend away for the two of you (after a work commitment, hence the presence of his manger, makeup artist and Harry). But it was scary.

Coming out of Euston station, the earlier time meant the train had been more of a hive of activity. Kids running up and down the aisle, inevitably recognising Tom and then asking for a photo. Enough that you’d had to move a few seats down the carriage, so no one would associate you travelling with the a-lister. 

But after you’d past Birmingham and the clocks past eleven pm, everything had quietened down and Tom convinced you to come and sit next to him on the table of four.  Andrew and Rachel were taking use of their little duo seat across for you to catch up on some well needed beauty sleep. They’d all been working with Tom doing promo for his most recent movie in London so it’d been pretty 24/7.

That left you, with all the energy, contrasting greatly with the two flagging Holland boys. 

“Lets play heads up!” You announced to the much less enthusiastic faces round the tables. 

“You can’t play that quietly and the whole carriage dont want to listen to you screeching.” Harry rolled his eyes whilst slightly ripping into you, then picking up his phone - thinking that would shut you up.

“I can play quietly!” You huffed, looking for Tom for backing… which never came. He didn’t even need to try and defend himself before you whacked his chest in false-annoyance. 

“ It’s not a bad thing, just passion.” Tom murmured, desperately attempting to sweet talk your round - which of course, was not going to happen. 

“No way! I’ll prove it to you!” 

“Nonono darling, look I’m tired.” He straight refused, wrappings his arms round your shoulders to try and cage you in. He ended up with his back pressed against the window and your back against his chest. “Lemme just relax with my best girl.”  You huffed in reply, worming round in his clutch before eventually giving up and relaxing your head onto his collar bone. For the reasons previously mentioned, you did not for a second believe he was serious with this PDA. Just sitting next to each other was risky enough,  now he was very clearly hugging you in a public place. Arching your neck back, you were shocked he already had his eyes shut - looking perfectly contented and relaxed. 

“T, are you serious?” You whispered, making him crack one eye open with a questioning look. Instantly he knew what you meant, I mean, it was him that was most worried about people finding out about you - for your sake. His horror stories of previous relationships hadn’t helped, to the point now only your mum dad and siblings knew about your relationship to Tom - mainly for the sole reason your nan was the biggest gossip in the world and could NOT be trusted. 

“Course love, it’ll be fine no ones around and I got my cap on. No one will notice us.”

Foolproof. Or so you both thought. 

And honestly for an hour or so you relished in the fact that in a public space, your boyfriend was showing you physical affection. It was exciting, which meant as Tom’s arms grew lax round you as he slumped slightly in the chair your energy only increased. No one else was being any use either - Harry had his head in his arms on the table and similarly neither Rachel nor Andrew were conscious enough to keep you company. Finally you settled on playing a game on your phone whilst also ever so softly wiggling round on Tom’s chest, purely because you enjoyed the little huffs and the way he’d squeeze you tighter as he snoozed. 

You were engrossed in shitty little iPhone game when a person who was walking down the aisle slowed down, drawing your attention away from the phone. And then your heart literally dropped because you instantly recognised your uncle and cousin, who was 12. Worse though, they had most definitely clocked you. 

Of all people, your uncle and boy cousin too. Possible the best (or worst depending on your point of view) at winding you up, at messing  with you, for genuinely causing all chaos and mischief with you. They were most certainly not going to be discrete. They’d rib you till your dying day. 

“Y/n?” Your uncle spoke first, noticing the that the group you with all seemed to be asleep, so at least trying to be a bit sensitive. Not that it mattered on Tom’s part though, you instantly bolted up and away from him, making him groan as he slowly woke up. 

“Er yeh, I-um  fancy seeing you guys here. Why were you in London?” Because yes half your family did live in manchester - a fact you felt slightly guilty about, considering you couldn’t fit in a quick and explainable reason as to  why you were in that area of the UK during a ‘pop in’. So you’d chosen to keep the whole trip a secret too.

“We’ve been at the footie, could ask you the same question.” Your uncle smirked, noticing toward Tom, who now was blinking his eyes heavily - looking with furrowed brows between the two of you. 

Because yes, the cap had been great to stop people recognising Tom. Neither of you were to expect it’d be you that’d be YOU stopped by someone who noticed you. 

“Oh um… well er this is my friend Tom, he’s got a work thing in manchester so thought I’d tag along. What was the score?” Yes you described your boyfriend of 9 months as a friend, when it was clear to everyone you were more than that. Though frankly, you still felt sick introducing him as ‘boyfriend’ - that itself was cringe as hell. The reference to football was an in-vain attempt to distract them with the most-boring-sport-in-the-world talk. If only Tom had kept his mouth shut. 

“Sorry mate” His voice was a little hoarse, making him force a cough before stretching his hand out. “I’m Tom”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ritchie and this is Matt” Your uncle motioned to his twelve year old son who was smiling politely but his expression seemed to drop as he made eye contact with Tom. Blissfully unaware, Tom shook Ritchies hand your a soft smile. 

“How do you guys-“

“I’m her uncle. Tell you what, didn’t imagine bumping into my niece on the 11:30 train to manchester.” 

Tom’s face fell and he froze. You’d both been caught out. Massively. It couldn’t get worse, till it did. 

“Y/n is that Spiderman?” Because yes, Matt was prime Marvel fanboy age. And yes, of course his favourite hero was Spiderman. And yes, this would probably be the most exciting day of his life. And the most embarrassing of yours. 

It was at this point Harry was sufficiently disturbed, enough to make him sit upright whilst also backing away into the corner of the booth, watching from afar.

“I-uh” You didnt really want to say it, for the sake of that meant he was revealing this secret you’d guarded with your life. But at the same time, you had this overwhelming sense of pride for Tom because “yeh, yes he is spiderman.” Matt started jumping up and down like an overexcited boyband fan which made you laugh, heart swelling as Tom chuckled along beside you.

Yes by no means was this ideal. And yes you were now forced to tell your family (so ultimately the world) about your relationship. Maybe that wasn’t so bad though?

hope u enjoyed + thank you for reading <333

tagging: @hollandfanficlove @hallecarey1

[basalt-squirrel]

A/N: So uh, asked for a prompt on a server, I did not expect to write this much, especially since its my first time writing fanfiction type stuff but,, thought I might as well share it (also it was too long to share on discord so I needed to post it somewhere so I could actually share it), but without further adu, have fun reading. (also if there are any TW that I should put on this please let me know)

prompt: explosion of L'manburg

(god save anyone who reads this)

To my left stood Tommy, uncharacteristically silent as he watched Wilburs reactions to Dream threatening their nation. Fury and passion burned in his eyes, however for the first time in recent memory he did not speak out of turn.

Next to Tommy was Wilbur, our brave leader. His words were fueled with a belief in his dream, not that he believed he could build a nation from the ground up, but that he knows he can. And we all held the same faith in him.

To Wilburs left Tubbo stood, nervous but determined not to show it, his hands gripped in loose fists as he tried to hide their shaking. Though it was still plainly obvious that he was scared, he didnt once back down from the gaze of our foes.

To my right, Fundy. Though he wore a crayola suit that may have seemed childish to others, he was just as much of a part of this nation as all of us and anyone who thought he would be a weak spot? They wouldnt last long.

And finally, there was me. I stood as tall as I could, though that didnt even come up to Fundys shoulder, however this didnt matter much to anyone, for the Dream Team, I was a threat, and for L'manburg, I was a friend.

"Independence or death, if we get no revolution then we want nothing." Wilbur steadily said, drawing my attention back to the matter at hand. "We would rather die than give into you and join your SMP Dream."

At these lines the tension, which was already thick grew to nearly unbearable levels. So strong that if one suddenly walked past unprepared it could crush them. And with this even the forest fell silent, not even a rustle of the leaves could be heard.

With Georges bow aimed in a path directed at his head, Wilbur continued, not a single note of fear in his voice. "You can blow up one piece of TNT in our door all you want it means nothing to us."

With that said, Dream motioned for George and Sapnap to step back as he himself stepped forward, drawing back his bow, aiming a lit arrow at the fuse and firing it less than a moment later, lighting the fuse.

As the fuse slowly burned away Wilbur told us to step back, not wanting us to get hurt by a "Piece of TNT" he said in an almost mocking tone. We all obliged taking a few paces backwards, though I chose to stay as up front with my bow as Wilbur would allow, intent on protecting my friends, looking behind me I had to hold back laughter as Tubbo bumped into the tree that was behind him.

We all stood watching as the TNTs fuse came to its end, it was almost laughable how they thought this could destroy the nation we had all worked for. L'manburg was too strong to fall to a simple box of gunpowder and sand.

Thats what we thought at least, but the TNT exploded, revealing more that were buried underneath the soil.

As soon as the others saw this they began running to the safety of the water and after a moment of hesitation, I followed suit. Sprinting as fast as my body would allow I watched as the others made it to safety, relieved, until my foot sank into loose soil.

They watched in horror as I struggled to free my leg, fear making my movements shaky as I looked up, tears trailing down my face as i watched Fundy being held back, trying to run back to help me. I offered him a grin, the tears falling faster as I realized escape was hopeless, the water was too far to reach even if I got free now.

Relizing this, I almost laughed, to think after all this time, all this work, id die because of a sloppily filled hole. Not quite the death befitting the hero I tried to be. Not the death of the soldier, the friend, that I had been, I thought as I recalled the fun I had here.

Training with Tommy, him beating me countless times, knocking me down, bruise after bruise, scrape after scrape, how he had to force me to take breaks because even Tommy wasnt too dense to realize id never stop training, before finally, I caught him off guard, knocking the training sword out of his hands, making him stumble forward, allowing me to pin him down and win. And how proud of me he was, grinning from ear to ear, how he and I listened to his discs that night, eating cooked pork, a rarity for us but Tommy said it was okay, that this was a special occasion.

Searching for chickens with Tubbo, how we stayed out all night because we got lost, how angry Wilbur was when we got back, but how we were okay with it because we knew he was just worried, and at least we had found our new friend Oliver our chicken. The look of Tubbos face, lighting up when we found him, as he watched me run up to the chicken in pure joy, soon following suit.

Snuggling with Fundy on the cold nights, he was always like an older brother to me, constantly making sure I was okay, holding me close and comforting me whenever I had nightmares. How he would mess up my hair as I passed him on guard duty. How he would always have that same proud, yet concerned expression on his face when he saw me. How he was always there for me.

How Wilbur taught me how to play the guitar. after I begged him for days he had finally caved, though he never seemed annoyed at my persistence, always trying to hide a grin as he denied my request. How when I finally got to learn id practice the chords on his guitar for hours on end until I got them just right. How his gaze softened as I played him my first song, the one I had written especially for him. How tired, yet happy he looked as he gave me my very own guitar, one that he had collected the materials for and made all on his own to suprise me.

And Eret, Eret who I suddenly realized wasn't there with us, Eret, who always looked on edge after I first heard him leave L'manburg during the night a few weeks ago. Eret who always held a guilty look, as if he wanted to apologise for something, but never did. Eret, who had helped me go mining my first time, when I was scared out of my mind. Eret who had saved me from a swarm of mobs when I first arrived on this land a year ago, a small 14 year old, just trying to stay alive in a world full of danger. Eret who always seemed to be there when I needed help the most.

'Where are you Eret, please, can you save me again?' I thought, already knowing that even if he was here, there was no hope for me, it was too late.

As i stared at the faces of my friends, all of them screaming for me to run, though they knew it was futile. I could tell that much from the pain in Wilburs gaze, wishing he had made me back up further with the rest of them.

From the guilt in Tommys eyes, wishing he had dragged me with him when he ran, he had been the closest to me when the TNT exploded after all.

From the distraught in Tubbos face as he called out for me, more scared than he had ever seemed before.

And finally, the tears running down Fundys fur as he still desperately struggled to reach me, his ears layed back, proving he knew it was useless but wanting to try anyways.

Seeing all this, I hoped they could get over my death, that they wouldn't blame themselves for my death, though I knew somewhere deep down that they would.

And as I heard the TNT behind me explode, though unusually muffled of a noise, it was far too close for comfort, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time. Removing my hat with a sad smile, tears still dripping down my face, I looked at my friends, tossed my hat in the air and whispered my final words as I watched it fall.

"Long live our L'manburg."

And with that, the world came back into full focus, the noise unbearably loud as the TNT planted directly under me exploded, my entire body bursting into pain as I was shot into the air, the final thing I saw was the shocked look on everyones face.

And then the world went dark.

[peaches-writes]

party night

prompt 2: “But it looks like it’s enjoying itself!”

member: minho / lee know wc: 1.9k genre: fluff, bakeneko au, neighbor au, the crackiest fic you’ll ever read in a while warning: explicit language note: finally it’s done it took a while and it’s not even good it’s so trippy sldjflskdf but i’ve been slumped with work rawr + idk i didnt do my research im so sorry this was quick bc i still hav hw lskdfjsldjk

“Swswswswsws...” You hiss continuously as you point your flashlight into the darkness of the forestry ahead, turning your head to your neighbor after. “Ji, what’s your pet’s name again? It might respond if we called it by its name, you know. It’s been five minutes since we’ve been looking for it.”  

“P-Pet? I don’t—”Jisung briefly stops walking and squints his eyes at you, accidentally pointing his own phone’s flashlight to your face when you turn around to face him at immediately noticing his pause. You hold your free hand up to your face in instinctive response to his accidental action, wincing in pain of the bright light to which Jisung guiltily heaves a sigh at. That was close! “A-Ah, I mean!—L-Lee Know! His...yeah, the cat’s name is Lee Know!”      

You furrow your eyebrows and bring your hand down once Jisung apologizes and points his flashlight elsewhere, a confused frown settling on your lips. “Lee Know? You named him?” 

“Y-Yeah?” He raises his own eyebrows curiously, jogging up the remaining distance to you when you beckon for him to continue walking deeper into the forest with you. It’s time like these when the eco-friendly agenda our village has going on is such a hassle, Jisung groans internally to himself, Minho could be anywhere in this forest...that idiot. “Why’d you ask?” 

You shrug, flinching when a distant rustling faintly goes through your ears. When you point your flashlight towards its direction, however, you only see, much to your disappointment, a raccoon scurrying away. “It’s just—and don’t get offended!—Lee Know sounds a bit of a choice for a cat’s name.” You explain sheepishly, looking away in case he does get offended. “I actually thought Minho named him...given his generally weird tendencies. Maybe he got tired of naming pets cutely like Soonie, Doongie, and Dori or something so I thought, you know...”

Jisung snickers under his breath as you explain, frantically shaking his head and waving his hands when you surprisingly hear and ask him about it. Tell that to him when you see him, he so badly wants to tell you but he opts to quietly continue looking for his roommate instead, mirroring you and pointing his flashlight towards every inch of the path. 

“It’s that ridiculous, huh?” He jokes, to which your eyes widen at. When he peers over your shoulder and notices this, he immediately lets out a hearty laugh. “Don’t worry, it’s cool. I think it’s ridiculous for a cat too.” 

Your shoulders unintentionally relax at this and you muster up a laugh as well. “It sounds like a stage name.” 

“It’s swag, apparently.” 

After five more minutes of walking (and not much progress in finding clues as to where the cat went but misleading footprints of foxes and more raccoons), you stop right under the warning sign your village’s Homeowners Association, placed right before the forest’s restricted area. “Nothing.” You turn around on your surroundings twice before concluding against the stillness of the night and the distant cricketing, facing Jisung again with a disappointed expression. “We can’t go beyond the subdivision limits, Ji. I’m so sorry.” 

Jisung glances between you and the angry ‘No Trespassing’ sign in thought, biting his lip down as he ponders on what to do next. It’s either he risks having you see more than one supernatural creature tonight and drag you with him past village limits or he pretends to go back to the village with you then run all the way back to the other side of the forest and continue looking for his escaped roommate. Then why did I ask Y/N to help me look for Minho in the first place? Jisung asks himself as he scratches his head in the hopes that his last functioning braincell could make a quick decision. 

“Ji?” You elbow him gently when he takes too long to think. Only then does he notice that you’ve already taken a step back from the village limits, body twisted and facing the path back. “Let’s go back, maybe it’s better looking for Lee Know in the morning.” 

“A-Ah, but—” Jisung raises his free hand, as if reaching out to you and tugging you back. Before he could finish his thought, however, he sees a brilliant white light reflect back in your eyes and when he turns around, his eyes widen at colorful lanterns approaching from the trees. “Oh, shit...” 

“What the fuck is that?” You ask in a whisper, instinctively going back to Jisung’s side in fear. When the lanterns draw nearer, you start making out figures of raccoons, foxes, rabbits, and cats dancing on their hind legs. “What the hell?” 

Jisung slaps a hand up to his forehead and purses his lips, gritting his teeth hardly in frustration. Too late, he thinks to himself as he turns to you, eyes wide and mouth agape in bewilderment. “Y/N, listen to me—” 

But again, he’s cut off by a certain orange and white cat catching your attention, waving at you with its paws. “Hi, Y/N!” Minho waves at you casually in his cat form, his smile peeking out of the rainbow towel on his head. “We’re doing a conga line around the forest if you want to join!” 

“I...” You freeze, leaning back in confusion. “T-That’s...Lee Know?” 

“Um...” Jisung turns to you, meeting your unreadable expression. You look simultaneously shocked, horrified, and curious but with a small smile threatening to slip into your features. “I can explain!” 

“He sounds like—” 

“My roommate, Minho. Yeah, um...” Jisung scratches the nape of his neck again, instinctively stepping in front of your view to block the sight of dancing forest animals. “Listen, it’s not what it looks like! Minho, he’s...” 

“Jisung—I mean, wilder things have happened in college—” 

“Yeah but—” Jisung stops halfway, staring back at you as if you’ve grown a second head. “You’re not—you’re not freaked out?” 

“So you are admitting that your roommate is half-cat?” 

“He’s a bakeneko...” 

“Bakeneko, sure, okay.” You repeat, rolling your eyes. “As I was saying, you dragged me out here at 2 AM to look for ‘your cat,’ knowing there’s a slight risk of me finding out who the cat actually is, then you react like this when it does happen? I’m surprised, of course, but you really should’ve thought about that.” 

A part of Jisung heaves a sigh of relief but another part of him panics even further which is only amplified with the music growing louder behind him as more animals pass by. “Yeah, well, I did thought about that but I really needed help looking for Minho because he left without a note and I didn’t expect that he’d be out here partying tonight!” 

This time, it’s you slapping a hand to your face. “Jesus Christ, and here I thought you guys were at least sharing one braincell.” You sigh, to which Jisung immediately protests at. You ignore, him, however, and gesture for the growing line of dancing animals. “So, should we stop him? But, then, it looks like it’s enjoying itself! “But it looks like it’s enjoying itself!—I mean, Minho! Minho looks like he’s enjoying himself.” 

Jisung opens his mouth to speak but, for the second time tonight, he’s accidentally cut off again by Minho, this time by said roommate suddenly materializing on his shoulders. “Are here to pick me up?” Minho asks him, the way his normal human voice comes out of his cat form momentarily surprising you from the corner of his eyes and catching his attention. “Oh, hi, Y/N! Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see me like this! Ya, Han Jisung, why did you bring Y/N along?” 

“Because you just left the house without telling me where you’re going, dumbass! How would I know if you weren’t suddenly kidnapped or something!” Jisung complains in response, flicking Minho’s forehead. “And get off my shoulder, fatass, you’re so heavy. Have you been eating spirits food again?” 

You clear your throat awkwardly, waving at the two boys before they could engage in a full-on argument. “Yeah, I’m still here, guys?” 

Minho and Jisung glance back at you then to each other, as if in contemplation. You raise an eyebrow nervously at this. 

“Hyung, is it okay that Y/N saw you?” Jisung asks Minho in a hushed whisper. 

“Do I really look fat tonight?” Minho frowns, to which Jisung groans at. 

“Dude, come on, I’m asking you a matter of your security and you ask me if you’re looking fat.” 

“Because Y/N saw me!” 

Jisung sighs. “Fine, then, yes you do...you look like a really really fat cat tonight.” He answers reluctantly, to which Minho pouts even deeper at. “It must be those brownies that other cat, Felix, is always baking at these parties.” 

Minho then immediately hops off of Jisung, walking over to you and encircling your ankles once. “Alright, then, I guess, Y/N, you should see me like this on another time, when I’m looking cuter! You’ll have to forget everything you saw tonight, okay? I can’t have my crush seeing me as a fat cat!” 

“W-What?” You try stepping away from Minho’s circling movements but before you could even get a foot out, you already start feeling lightheaded until your vision’s fully clouded in nothing but white. 

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!” Minho’s voice echoes in your ears before you. 

- 

Jisung is waiting for you by the fences separating your houses the next day, a seemingly rehearsed smile on his face. From what you can hazily remember of last night (which is oddly few, you’ve noticed), you last saw him banging his head against the pillars of his host family’s front porch at dinner time because the Internet connection at his place won’t let him pass his homework. 

“Good morning, Ji?” You greet him as you water the plants in your front garden, unintentionally coming off as questioning. “You look...happy. Did you get to pass that homework of yours?” 

The boy nods happily as he organizes the recyclables he’s supposed to take out. “Yep, passed it on time.” 

You nod, opening your mouth to speak only to be interrupted by an orange and white cat emerging from your garden’s potted sunflowers. “Oh, hi!” You greet the cat, instinctively crouching down to scratch its ears to which he purrs positively to. You don’t catch it but Jisung heaves a sigh of relief when you don’t seem to recognize Minho or have any recollection of last night. “And who are you supposed to be, hm? You’re so adorable!” 

From the corner of your eyes, Jisung frowns at Minho before shaking his head and answering you, “O-Oh, that’s—Lee Know, the new house cat! My host family brought him in just—just last night.” 

“Just last night?” You ask, briefly looking up at Jisung and catching his frown turning into a sheepish smile. You try catching his reaction to your question but the cat brings a paw up to your hand and regains your attention again. “Didn’t they come home at like 4 PM yesterday, though? I even greeted Mr. and Mrs. Lee and I don’t remember seeing them with this cat.”     

Shit, Jisung curses himself, glaring at Minho again who only sticks his tongue out discreetly at him, I was doing so well! “W-Well, Mr. Lee went out at around 9 PM, I think, when you were already inside, then he came back with the cat. It’s a stray, basically.” 

You nod at this, smiling at the cat again. “Aren’t you too cute to be a stray cat, though?” You coo, making Minho smile and nuzzle his whiskers more into your hands. “And you remind me a lot of Ji’s roommate, Minho, too. Have you met him? He’s a bit of a weirdo but he’s...cute too, I guess.” 

Minho so badly wants to open his mouth and protest halfway when you called him a weirdo but he puts up the facade anyway and goes around you once again. He’ll have to bring it up to you next time, when he’s human. 

“Look, Ji, he likes me!” You point out excitedly to which Jisung only musters up a small smile. You then pet the cat’s head once more before standing up to continue watering your plants. “Speaking of, Minho’s okay with this? And Soonie, Doongie, Dori?” 

“Yep.” Jisung reluctantly nods, kicking Minho gently with his foot when he comes back to his side of the fence. “Very much so.” 

on a night much like tonight (drabble game) 

@skzwriternet 

[thedreadvampy]

please don't tag people's art with "i hate it when people HALF MY AGE make something i could NEVER MAKE"... its exactly the same annoying self-deprecation as "WOW i didnt know you could DRAW i cant even draw a STICK FIGURE" like every single young artist who is really good is good for the same reasons that older artists are!! lots of practice!! and it gets really, really tiring to see stuff like that in the tags. especially on smaller, original content, works.

yeah that's fair. to be clear I don't mean it as self-deprecation or some sort of 'wow you're so Naturally Talented' it's just that there are certain thing I personally as someone who's been working on my art for 28 years just Cannot nail down that I get really excited about seeing. like fluidity and confidence of line and a strong stylisation without sacrificing grace or a sense of weight and movement.

also I do understand that this is an annoying comment for younger artists but like. obviously it's about practise that's why people express surprise about younger artist's skills bc objectively the younger you are the less possible time you've had to practise in. like esp stylised confident art is about a) practise and b) long term observation of what you want to get across, and it takes much less focus and work to have got there at 30 than at 14. you have to be very committed and skilled imo to be doing confident fluid stylisation effectively with like. less than a decade of serious drawing under your belt (as in post-early-childhood drawing)

again like. fully get how it can be annoying, self-centred and condescending and I'm sorry about that. don't really get how it implies a failure to understand that practise is important though. if you can do more after 15 years of life and practise and observation than I can do after 28 (and I have been working on this as a career), then evidently you're committed to practising and developing what you want to do, and That's What's Impressive.

[maybe-its-micheal]

George is laying in silence, his blank eyes hiding behind his clasic white glasses. Though they look they fail to see the dark night sky, and his ears are deaf to the patter of rain all around him. He can feel that his clothes are caked in fresh mud, but he doesn't get up off the ground. He lays there, glossy eyes staring at nothing and expression unreadable. He is motionless.

Footsteps approach him, but he ignores them. If his mind weren't already full he may wonder whether the creature creating the racket were a zombie or a creeper, but he let's the thought hang there, refusing to explore it. As they draw closer, however, they become clearer, and the distinct clang of netherite boots tell him its something far worse than the monsters that crawl through the SMP at night.

"Hello Dream," he says in a low, tired voice. God, he felt so nauseous.

"George! There you are, I've been looking for like an hour. What are you doing out here?"

He doesn't respond right away; he can't bring himself to say it. Not yet. And so when he does speak his words are false and dismissive, and he forgets them as soon as they leave his tongue.

"Oh, ok. Well you shouldn't be out this late with no armor. Do you want my chest plate?"

"No."

Dream could sense a problem, but wasn't sure he wanted to address it- it'd been a long day. He couldn't do it properly so late at night, anyway, he reasoned. "What, are you gonna join L'manburg next?" He asked with a small laugh, hoping if he distracted George with humor everything would be fine. "Here, I can give you some sticks to run around with while you're waiting for your drugs to finish cooking."

George's face was still, and his lips were silent. Dream waited for a response- a laugh, anything- but it never came. The only movement was the subtle rise and fall of his chest between breaths.

"Look George-" he said, sounding exasperated but quickly fixing his tone. "Just tell me whats wrong."

George's lips curled slightly as he sat up. Tell you what's wrong? How can you be serious? Look around. He took a deep breath to still his thoughts and turned his eyes to Dream. "Forget it. How was the wedding?"

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Dream asked tenderly, kneeling down to sit next to him. "Fundy means nothing to me, I still love you. It's just that if L'manburg-"

"L'manburg! L'manburg! L'manburg!" George snapped. "It's all politics now. Tommy this, Tubbo that, your stupid obsidian walls. I'm sick of... I'm..." Just as quickly as it took over the passion left, and he was weak and tired again. His shoulders slumped and he looked away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't yell." His muscles were sore, and his head was pounding.

Dream frowned, and then offered a sad smile as he placed a warm hand to George's cheek. "Its ok, George. Its been stressful lately, I feel it too."

His throat closed up, his lungs felt empty, and his head was hot with fever.

"But with Tommy gone we'll have nothing to worry about soon. Things will be like they used to, I promise."

George felt so sick he could die. Disgust contorted his face, and he pulled away from Dream's hand. "You..." he forced out, hardly able to speak. "You don't get it."

Dream got closer to him, putting his hand back in place. "Then tell me. I want to listen to you, I love you."

George accepted his touch this time, or maybe he just didn't have the energy to pull away again. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, as if that would make his hands stop shaking. "I just-"

George took in a steadying breath. "I'm fine. Its just been a long day." His head felt as if it were full of cotton, and he couldn't seem to keep himself balanced properly. "I just want to go to bed." I just can't be around you right now, you're making it worse.

"Of course!" Dream said, standing up. He took George's hand and helped him to his feet. Before they turned to walk back Dream kissed George's lips- gently and quick.

George pulled away, and freed his hand from the other man's grasp. He felt as if a massive magnet were pulling him back to the ground, and the edges of his vision had gone black. Dream had already started walking, but turned around to face him. "Are you ok?" He asked, but the words were so far away. George felt disgusting- he looked down at his muddy clothes, and felt his rain-soaked hair sticking to his glasses. The filth clinging to his body was nothing, though. Not compared to what was inside. He felt vile- he was repulsive. He was a monster.

Dream walked back over to him, calling his name. He put his hands on his shoulders, afraid he may fall over. "George, look at me." He placed a careful hand under the other man's chin, tilting it up. "I'm going to take you to lie down, and I'll get you some healing pots. Youre going to be ok." And then with concern in his heart he moved to pick George up, ready to cary him all the way back.

"No..." George used his remaining strength to fight back, as his emotions swirled around inside him like a storm. "No! You look at me!" He shouted. "Look what you turned me into! Tommy got exiled because of my house, I ruined the L'mantree, you just-" his voice broke. He took off his glasses and looked Dream in the eyes. "You just kissed me. And you got married today. You're- you're a monster. And so am I..."

Dream took a step back. M... monster? He could see how hurt George was; and as he realized that the pain was all his fault he knew it was true.

"No..." he said more to himself than to George. He didnt want to be responsible for all this pain- he didnt want to have blood on his hands, but no matter how hard he tried he knew it would never wash out. "I didn't mean... I never wanted this to happen! I dont want to hurt you, I love you!"

"Stop! Stop saying that! You don't, you- look what you've done! You've made life a living Hell for everyone on this server, and- and then you come and stand next to me. You've made me your accomplice. Im just as responsible, I-"

Their eyes met. George started to sob. "I can't... I can't keep living like this. You tell me you love me, we kiss, and laugh, but... we're monsters. You take, and kill, and... and I let it all happen. Is this what you wanted? To make me a monster?"

"I only want... to be with you. To love you, George."

"Dont lie to me. You ruined me. Im just as broken as everything else you touch... you hate this server and everyone on it. How else could you do this to us?"

Dream was silent, guilt tearing him apart from the inside. How could he let this happen? No... how could he make this happen?

"Say it. Say that you hate me."

And though he couldn't get his lips to move, his throat to open, or his voice to come he knew it had to be true. To hurt him so bad... he knew he must hate him.

[katsukikitten]

A/N look if you didnt even tear up. All I'm saying is I didnt do my job right.

Part 1 ××× Part 2 ×× Part 3

Bakugou sits at the long table in the dining room in his usual spot, Mei and Haru nod his way as others begin to file in. 

The children look a tad older than usual as they sit a bit straighter this year, Uncle Sozen seems to have aged over night as he sits to Bakugou's left. He offers a wide smile to which Bakugou returns.

"DADDY!! DADDY!" A shrill voice rings out, little feet slapping harshly against the hard wood as a little girl slams down into his lap. Ash blonde hair dutifully braided but coming loose from all of the horse play skillfully climbs onto his legs. 

She looks up at him with wide eyes that mirror your eye color. His heart melts as he smooths down some of her hair. 

"Where's your brother?" He asks softly before a young boy comes rushing in. Feet falling hard enough to shake the dishes at the table. Your hair and his burning ember eyes greet him with a shit eating grin. 

Neither could be older than six or seven. 

"Told you I'd find you!" He brings up a bright palm to slap his older sister only for his wrist to be grabbed by you.  Leveling him with a glare the child shrinks away. Trying to hide behind both his sister and father. Bakugou looks up at you, your fierce gaze, your glowing features and swollen belly. His heart melts, pooling in his stomach and threatening to dip lower still. He swallows thickly adding his own sharp voice to the mix. 

"Sit and behave." The children cling to Uncle Sozen or Aunt Mai. Climbing into their laps eager to be spoiled once more. Summer crickets echo into the dining hall before they are drowned out by both the thunder of the approaching summer storm and the roar of the dining table. 

Dinner goes on without a hitch. Happy conversation as Sobo takes it all in. She sits stick straight, her once silver hair long since turned moon white and adorned in her normal plain kimono. When dinner is over, everyone begins to clear the table, excited for tomorrow's birthday and celebration that is bound to take place. Bakugou goes to what has become his normal duty, standing by Sobo to help her up and back to her study. He knows she wants to see the moon flowers bloom. 

He is gentle with her now fragile stature, never able to forget how easily she wielded an old weapon on his first dinner at this estate. The thought makes him smile as they enter her study. He settles her onto her cushion, about to leave to finish clearing the table. But she doesn't let go so Bakugou sinks into the cushion beside her, the summer storm faded as quickly as it came and as the clouds clear  the closed tight buds slowly begin to unravel, mirrored moonlight nestled on delicate petals. Silence envelops the two as they stare at the beautiful metaphor that is the moon flower. Her grip tightens on his strong bicep.

"Thank you for humoring this old woman." Sobo breaks the silence causing scarlet eyes to slide to his elder. 

Except she no longer looks old, instead she looks young. As she did in the picture with All Might. Hair as dark as night and adorned in her crane kimono. Bakugou swallows thickly. 

"I'm glad you've made up your mind, mago."She smiles, squeezing tighter and somehow this feels more like a good bye than anything else. 

He doesn't like the feeling, he goes to open his mouth to ask what she means but lightning suddenly strikes outside. 

The thunder comes as the sound of the sliding door to your room. Bakugou lifts a palm glowing hot as an ember aimed at the figure who dared to enter in the early hours of the morning. 

Mei stands in the doorway disheveled as you slowly rise, you hold eye contact with Mei's watery eyes and just…know. 

You jump to your feet, throwing off the blanket as you rummage in your bag for any sort of clothing. Mismatched as you shove your body in the fabric as you head for the door. Sprinting down the hall as if called on a mission. Bakugou rises, noticing Mei's tear stained cheeks, questions are plastered all over his tired features. 

"Its...Sobo…" A hiccup leaves Mei's frame reminding Bakugou just how small and young she was, "She's...she's." 

"I'm glad you made up your mind, mago." 

It clicks as her voice echoes in his head from the dream, soles of his feet burning as he runs aimlessly through the estate until he finally finds where people are gathered. 

There was not a single dry eye as he huffs. 

"Where's…" He asks but Aunt Mai just points, clinging to Uncle Sozen who seems to be frozen in time. Bakugou slowly walks towards you as you sit with wide eyes. Clasping onto Sobo's cool hands. 

When he sinks down next to you is when he realizes that you're shaking. 

He fights his gut, to reach out for you, to pull him to you so you can cry to your heart's content but instead you look to great Oba. 

"I'll help sort her things. Please allow me a shower first." You say monotone, eyes glazed over and Bakugou isn't sure which would be worse. You unfeeling and cold or you crying until you were sick. 

Either way his heart was sure to split in two. Your eyes come back to Sobo. You lean in close, pressing a soft kiss to her fast cooling cheek. 

"I'm sorry we lied. Bakugou is barely my roommate Sobo." You whisper so lowly that even Katuski strains to hear you. 

You rise, trying to walk calmly out of the room. Telling yourself over and over that this was just a mission or worse yet just a nightmare and to allow yourself to feel an ounce of fear or grief would be your downfall. 

"Its all Uncle Shoji's fault! If he hadn't come and riled Sobo up or hadn't made that damned drug Sozen would have felt her vitals weaken." Haru yells, tears falling in fat droplets as he slides a forearm over his face.  You snap then, yelling as you reach for the first thing you can grab, a book that you hurl at your cousin as you scream. 

"SHE HAD AN ARRYTHMIA! WE CAN'T BLAME SHOJI FOR ALL OF OUR FAMILY'S FUCK UPS." 

The book hits Haku square in his face, a letter flutters from the yellowed pages before it slams onto the ground. 

All eyes watch the letter that's addressed in big bold letters. 

To my family. 

Eagerly you swoop for the letter, snatching onto the parchment and last tangible thing from your grandmother. You rise to your feet, eyes frantic as you look around the room. 

Bakugou knows that face, you're about to make a bad decision and before he can stop you you've set a harsh pace to follow. 

He rises and gives chase as does half of the younger generation. But none of them can keep up. 

No one but Bakugou, which you had expected. 

It would be more than easy enough to lose him in this house. 

Or maybe it wouldn't be so easy. With each turn he comes closer but you can't be caught yet. 

Whatever it is your grandmother has to say you know you have to read it first, but most importantly, alone. 

You want the chance to say goodbye and to grieve in private. 

You plan to lose him in the secret room in your grandmother's study rushing into it with just enough time to disappear. 

But suddenly you cannot, too overwhelmed by the sight of her favorite little room, decorated with all of her accomplishments but more importantly her family. Memories over lapping one another as you stand frozen. Bakugou bursts into the room, skin popping with heated explosions as he grabs for you. Grip gentle on your wrist. 

"We should go back." His voice is feather soft, as if he's scared you'll break and it makes you angry. 

It makes you sad. 

Because he's right, you will break. Now there was no one to look forward to seeing in your favorite season, no one to celebrate summer with. 

No one to lose horribly at Go to, no one to teach you the art of a deal and no one to explain the beauty in the world no matter how small and insignificant it seemed. 

Fat tears fall down your face as you cry like you never have before. Like you hadn't since you were a child. A small whine comes from your throat that has Bakugou's heart imploding, his brows furrowed as he reaches for your other wrist. Trying so hard to support you without making you feel weak. You push yourself into him, clutching at his shirt as his burning sugar and firework smell tingles your nose, summer incarnate.  He wraps his arms around you tightly, pushing you closer to him in an attempt to hold you together as best he can as you fall apart in his arms. 

"What are we gon..gonna do Katsuki?" You sob, shoving your face deeper into his chest, "H..How are we gon..gonna live without Sobo?" 

Bakugou's eyes sting from your defeat, staring out into the background as he thinks of anything he can say or do to help you, all he draws is a blank. He was the worst at shit like this! 

Movement catches his eye, a crane flies across the sky, his eyes fall to that damn plant noticing one final bloom persisting through the harsh morning sun.

"We aren't." He says, thinking of his dream, "She's always with us." 

His words bring you comfort, resolve forcing your back stick straight as you look him in the face. That odd magnetism between the two of you returns. Licking your lips you do the unthinkable, following your gut as you stand on your tippy toes to softly press your lips to his. 

"Thank you." A whisper, before stepping past him to face your family head on. 

The ash blonde stands in the study for a moment, reliving the feeling of your lips against his. Of the electricity that surged through his body harder than any shot Denki had ever taken at him before. 

The tips of his fingers brush over his lips, the bloom finally closing and he feels as if he sees a smile. 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He returns just in time to see the family all gathered around, you having finally settled the bunch. Breaking the wax seal of the letter. Eyes rimmed red, the ink blurring beneath your gaze but you needed to be okay, you needed to be strong. Someone was meant to read the letter outloud and today that someone was you. 

“To my loving family, if you’ve found this letter then I know what you all are going through. But I do not want you to shed tears over this little old woman. I have lived a long and wonderful life. Blessed with each of my children, and their children’s children. I want you all to celebrate my life and more importantly celebrate our family. As this is all we have and should treasure above all else. Life is hard enough as it is on our own so we must not forget where we come from and who truly supports our love and our dreams.  Surely there is no pain worse than hunger and loneliness, so eat with each other often to ease your troubles. One day Shoji will come back into our lives and I may not be around when that happens but when he does please welcome him back with open arms as we all can lose our way from time to time.  Let him join you all at the dinner table and help him to remember what family, what our family, is all about. Make sure that he eats  as I am sure he will be hungry and I know he will be lonely. Help him ease his pains, help guide him back onto the right path in life. I end this letter to remind you all how much I care and love for each and every one of you. Good things will come as does the crane that flies over the bloomed lotus. 

With all of my love, forever and for always I give to you,

Sobo.” 

Silence settles over the large estate with nothing more than sniffles and sobs echoing down the hall. Bakugou places his hand on your back, surprisingly having a hard time keeping his own eyes from watering. 

In such a short time he had made a friend, he made family. 

His skin burns through your shirt as tears fall from your cheeks, like a movie star. Eyes clouded, nose a bit red but eyes set hard. 

"Sobo was right. Family is all we have and we can all become misguided. I…." You look to the blonde, squaring your shoulders, "I lied. Bakugou is not my fiance. He isn't even my boyfriend. I lied for Sobo, thinking that this would make her happy. But now…now we must make things right." 

You pull an outdated iPhone from your pocket. 

"I found it after Shoji left. Maybe we can contact him and when he comes back…" Your voice is hard and yet threatening to crack all at once. Eyes roaming over your large family. 

"We will eat." Great Oba says, "Ladies, if you would prepare the food for celebration.  I will retire to her study and call friends and family. We will lay Sobo to rest when the sun sleeps and the moon rises." 

Everyone nods, wiping tears and comforting their children as they move to their duty. You give Bakugou a sympathetic look before rushing off to call uncle Shoji. 

Bakugou suddenly finds himself a bit aimless once again before the sharp bite of a matriarch's voice rings out. 

"Bakugou, you will come with me." Great Oba turns while Katsuki follows without question. 

A certain item weight extra heavy in his pants pocket. 

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

"Fuck!" Shoji growls for the thousandth time, unable to pack his things and leave the near by hotel. Finally he rises forcing himself to gather various items that he has half a mind to leave. 

Fresh tears pricking his eyes as he wishes that old bag would just….would just fucking love him. He knows he's the black sheep, the unwanted baby but still. 

He still is trying to live up to the image Sobo had of him. His phone rings and he answers it with a snobbish attitude, crying long gone from his voice. 

"What do you know, Princess figured out my random passcode. I knew you were smart but why are you so damn persistent I'm not coming bac… " 

"Just shut the fuck up." You cut him off, sounding like Sobo with your harsh tone but you with your cussing. He runs his hands through his hair. 

"Sobi is gone Shoji. You need to come back. You need to say goodbye." 

"She...she what?! That old hag is immortal." 

"Watch your tongue." A startled chilll runs down his spine before you add your own flair to Sobo's best threat, "Or I will have to watch it for you by taking it for myself." 

"And before you start your bullshit pity party we want you here. We need you here. You're family. You need to eat with us. Laugh with us…" Your voice threatens to crack, "Cry with us Shoji. Find your way back home….please." 

Nothingness stretches on between the two of you before you sigh. Hoping he will prove you and everyone else wrong. That he is not a lost cause. 

"We lie her to rest tonight. Under the watch of the full moon near the lake." 

You hang up the phone, crushing it in your hand by accident as salt water streams down your face. 

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

The hot head has never found himself in so many uncomfortable and vulnerable spots during this trip than he has in his entire lifetime. 

He sits across from Great Oba-san who really only wanted him around to keep any eye on him. A war rages in himself, over the game of Go, over his dream and more so over these new blossoming feelings he has for you. 

Was this going to be worth a few bowls of spicy ramen? 

He fucking thought not. Sobo's voice echoes in his head as the small object burns a hole in his pocket. 

Better to return it now before they think him a thief. 

He withdrawals the stunning single set diamond ring that is surrounded by a ring of off tiny circular onyx. The diamond the moon suspended in the dark night of the onyx. 

A breathtaking piece truly, he sets it atop the paper work Great Oba is sorting. Her facial expression seems to change in slow motion as it adjusts to her rapidly changing emotions. 

"How did you…?" 

"I couldnt sleep and she called me in to hustle me over a game of Go. She said she knew that she...that we lied." Bakugou continues to tell her about the game and dream. All the while Oba stares with wide eyes, fixated on the ring waiting for him to finish. Her face sets hard, her eyes a mixture of emotion. 

"Bakugou, you know what you must do." As if it's a mission, a task. He thinks he must leave immediately. He goes to stand. 

"No. Sit." Controlled rage, pushing the ring back towards the young man, "You must propose now. No one has had Sobo's full blessing like this before." 

He stares at her hard, shocked even before he growls out. 

"We aren't even dating!" 

"In my time, in Sobo's time we didn't know our husbands name until we were wed." She continues to sort, filing things away avoiding taking the ring.  He sucks his teeth, dumbfounded. 

"We dont even like each other!" His forearms pop with his mouth and temper. Great Oba rolls her eyed. 

"That's debatable. I've never seen someone so quick to break down her walls before. Besides only a man would have stayed during this family crises. A boy would have left on the first night."  Bakugou mulls it over, the dream, was it just that or had he really pictured himself here. In this house. 

In this estate year after year as it ebbs and flows of faces with your family. 

Here with you? 

His heart races and slows all at once, his palms sweat as his feet tingle to move. He inhales deeply trying to collect his thoughts and calm his thoughts. 

"What if she says no?" His main worry, his only worry now being rejection. Still unsure if this is his future but it was true if given the opportunity to lay down his life to ensure yours he would do it. 

No hesitation, no doubt to keep you smiling. To ensure you become your own matriarch to protect this house and Sobo's spirit. 

"She wont say no. That ring isn't just any ring. That ring was passed down from our mother and from her mother." She swallows thickly, the thought of most her family having now passed pangs her heart but Oba must go on with big shoes to fill. 

Her elder sister a force of nature. 

Suddenly Bakugou stands, rage mixed in his scarlet eyes. 

"Then it ain't fucking right for me to have this! I can't have this!" 

"But. You. Will." Her tongue a knife. Ripping him to ribbons and all he can see is another version of you. Another strong willed woman, another force to be reckoned with. 

"Besides, I know she will not. Once she sees that ring she will know. Sobo was a great judge of character despite being quirkless. I heard my son Sozen tell the story but only partially. My sister's husband was a great man who sadly was inflicted with a disease, Alzheimer's hit him hard in his old age. And an in home nurse took advantage of that.  She looked much like s younger version it my sister, taking him to casinos and pretending to be his wife. She spent the family fortune, she thought a child would secure her wealth but she had tapped the well dry. When she realized that, she left Shoji on the front step, dirty and naked as if he were garbage." 

Bakugou slumps back onto the amethyst cushion from the weight of the story, still worry is written all along his face. Great Oba sighs. 

"At the end of the day, it is my niece's choice and if she says no at least you can say you tried. You honored Sobo's wish with an attempt and she'd be more than happy with that." Great Oba smiles and he can see a ghost of Sobo's wide, wild smile in her. 

He swallows thickly, gently grabbing the ring. He turns it over and over in his hands. 

This was crazy. 

This was stupid. 

This was crazy fucking stupid. 

But maybe his fate in love was meant to be crazy fucking stupid.

[cassette-taps]

i met the angel of death three times that year.

somehow, i remember the first the most clearly. it was a thursday, late at night. 10pm i think maybe 11. i was tired, i was stress-baking, and i had run out of flour. i made my way to the store, leaving behind my cane, promising myself it would be a short trip. and in fairness, it was. about 3 feet from my door, i slipped and fell, hitting my head hard on the concrete. and then. darkness. warmth. quiet and a suspicious lack of pain.

opening my eyes i found myself in a small grey room, with no clear entrances or exits, but open to the sky. shafts of early morning light danced around me as i pulled myself off the ground, and into a chair. a chair, that quickly morphed into a couch before i could finish thinking that i wanted to lay down. a couch set across from a chair, soft and grey as the rest of the room. in the chair, a person.

even this first time, the clearest time, i cannot conceive of them. at first, a cowled figure, then a crow's beak poking from the hood as they settled to address me, a slim dark hand brushing curls from their face. curls that morphed into bees flying from their now hive shaped form. and on and on it went.

they cleared their throat. smiled, i think. and spoke. "hello. im death. you have a decision to make." their voice. their voice was rich and singing, full of love, and yet. distant. an echo cut off from its set. but they continued. "you are very near death my friend. you will soon have to chose."

i. i had figured that something strange was happening. but i thought maybe. hallucinations? i remembered pain and bright lights, maybe some pain killer was making my dreams more exciting than normal? but no. pain meds never affected me this way. and. there was something incredibly ancient and ephemeral about this place, this person. so. i took a breath and asked to live. they smiled at me again, pressed a clawed hand to my face, and i was in a hospital bed.

the months following were hard, as they tend to be after head trauma but even as my life and vision stabilized, i couldn't forget that. vision, that figure that called themself death, the room and the morning light.

i cast it from my mind- i had to heal, and to work and to visit my friends. until of course, i was walking home, crossing an empty street, and headlights from out of nowhere bore down on me.

i woke in the same room, a small sapling growing in the center that i hadn't seen before.

before they could speak, i stood up and paused for a moment shocked by the ease and grace of the movement, and turned to pace.

"why do i have to chose? and what choices even are there? im not gonna just chose to die, i left that part of my life. i got out. why do i have to keep chosing? i just want to rest," i spoke without fully realizing it. i slumped back down into the couch and stared at the figure, who while not having a face at that moment did look, curious. their form shifted giving them a mouth and they hummed for a moment.

"its a choice to stay or go. but its not just death. you could go to live, go to die or simply stay here and rest. your body will die but you will remain in these places."

"and do, what, nap until im ready to actually die?"

a shake of their head that sent leaves spinning across my vision, "no. you would join me. us i suppose. you would ask others to choose, and help those without a choice left move on." i opened my mouth to speak, to ask more but they cut me off, "our time is short today, choose, please."

and so i woke up. i made it through without many injuries, though my cane was upgraded to a walker, and when i went back to work, my boss with tears in her eyes told me i had been fired. they provided me with enough to live until i could find a new job, but i didnt really look. my friends came by again and again, and i took up gardening. my brother came to live with me, and before long it was summer. i rarely left the house except to tend to my plants and try to draw the room that haunted my every step. summer passed into fall, and with every leaf i caught, i thought of them. their voice. somehow, i didn't seek them out. i hadn't lied, that part of my life was gone and i would keep it gone. but i wondered. i wondered of the warmth, and stillness of that place.

and then, i broke my leg. badly. i feel, and a shard of bone severed my artery. i was in the room, and i could feel how little time i had.

" what is it like to stay." i barked out the question before i had fully opened my eyes.

"you will be part of a greater whole. you will never be alone or cold or in pain. you will comfort those around you."

"can i leave?"

"whenever you want, but you cannot return from death if you go."

my mind was full to bursting. i did not want die. i did not want to abandon my life. but. the warmth. their voice. the echoes i could hear missing- the living proof of more than the one. but still. my brother. my friends. a job offer. a piece of legislation to better care for me as i healed.

"let me live," and as they moved to send me back, i grabbed their hand. "but ill see you and stay, i promise."

warmth. light. my brother's face so relieved to see me awake.

many, many, many years of life and i never saw them. i was strong. i survived.

and then. i was returned.

the sapling was giant and towered above the parlor that was prepared for me. they sat, with their face turned to the light through the many leaves, and extended a hand. i took it and i was a leave and a grain of sand and star exploding and a shrimp and a sea bird and the beginning and end of time.

i am warm. i am clothed in grey. i am never alone.

[queen--kenobi]

ngl... the hunter/hunted jed ficlet satisfied a need that i didnt know i wanted, so maybe G with jed? kinda curious about your take on how physical they would get with eachother 🤔

*winks* That’s what I’m here for! Making people realize “huh, actually, I’d never thought about that, and it’s kinda hot”

Minific Letter Prompts

G. A fistfight. with our favorite arrogant bastard, Jed Olsen

Warnings for physical violence (it’s not domestic abuse because they’re both into it, but it also wasn’t discussed beforehand???) and bloodplay

“You know.” You chest heaves with each breath. You can feel blood trickling out of your nose. Without looking away from Jed, you wipe the blood away with the back of your hand. “I get the appeal now.”

Jed laughs. He’s laying on the living room floor, an arm slung over his face. Despite the fact you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s watching you, cataloguing your every movement. He’s laying down, but he’s still poised and ready. His feet are planted on the floor. His shoulders are tense. He’s not laying down because he’s tired; he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security. 

“I knew you were more like me than you wanted to admit.” You can see his grin. It’s a pleased, toothy smirk. “Sight of blood gets you all hot and bothered.”

You decide to take the bait. You go over to him and crouch down just far enough away that he can’t easily grab you. You study him for a long moment. He lifts his arm away from his face and lays it at his side. He’s got the beginnings of a bruise developing on his face. He looks far too pleased with himself.

“I know what you’re planning.” He lilts. “You want to grab me by my hair and lift my head up to get a better look. Maybe poke the bruise too.”

You hate that he can read your mind.

You move forward. You don’t think you’ve moved that far, but it’s enough. Jed is on you faster than you would have thought, grabbing your arm and pulling you down. He bites into the exposed juncture of your neck and collarbone. Not enough to draw blood but enough to make you yowl. You retaliate by lashing out, smacking him hard in the solar plexus. He grunts, moving his mouth away from you but not letting go of your wrist. You wriggle. His grip tightens, and he flips himself over to get a better angle to grab you. You go to hit him in the face again, but he stops you. The two of you wrestle around on the floor for several seconds, but Jed gets the upper hand.

Jed manages to get you under him and pin you down. He looks as if he wants to say something, but you headbutt him before he can. The sound of his nose breaking is satisfying. That throws him off balance, and you’re quick to use it to your advantage. His back his the floor with a ‘thump,’ and you straddle him. You expect him to headbutt you in return, but he grins up at you.

You’re struck with the sudden urge to lick the blood streaming from his nose down onto his cheek off his face. So you do. To your surprise, the noise that comes from Jed is more of a pleased rumble than anything else. You pull back and look at him again.

“I should take a picture of you like this.” The taunt comes out of your mouth without thought. Jed looks at you and then starts chuckling. He lifts his head up a little.

“Do it, then. But know that I get to take a picture too.”

[sanstropfremir]

ok alright alright alright kingdom episode two

kinda disappointed that they only showed half the stages, but that's just an editing thing to draw out the content so you can air for longer, i'm not super surprised about that. i would have liked to evaluate them all at the same time, but at least this gives me time to go more in depth for all of them since they're full stages this time and I wrote 3000 words for last episode when they only had 100 secs. so this format will probably keep me sane for longer, i think. 

solid stages all round for them, none had especially glaring flaws on the whole. i'm not gonna do a full ranking for this episode since we haven't seen them all, but i will say that btob’s was my favourite from this set and both ikon’s and tbz’s stages were about equal; they both had things i liked and disliked in equal measure so i'm tentatively giving them the same ranking. full opinions and analysis on each stage below the cut, plus another section of general notes because hey what the fuck did you do to that stage mnet???

and for anyone that’s wondering yes i do have the qualifications. also seriously grab a drink or something because this is LONG.

some general notes

and here i thought this section wouldn't be as big as it was last time because mnet was going to get their shit together about the stage design, but noooooooooooo they had to go and make it worse! thanks mnet i hate it! remember how i said you shot yourself in the foot last time? well ya fuckin kneecapped yourself AND all your idols with this one ya dumb fuckin idiots. alright folks welcome back to stage design 101, my recurring segment where i explain the different types of stage layouts and their effectiveness for kpop idol survival shows, i guess.

ok so last week i covered the basics on theatre in the round and traverse staging, which i’ll link here if there’s anyone new or just wants a refresher. i mentioned that its likely that mnet will switch to an in the round style staging because it offers a lot more freedom for camera movement and also for directional blocking. well, i was wrong. so i'm gonna give you a quick rundown of prosceniums. a proscenium, proscenium arch, or just prosc, is an architectural feature that sits around the front ‘opening’ of the stage that delineates the stage from the audience. if you've ever been in or seen any pictures of old european style theatres it can be quite ornately decorated with scrolling, but it's almost always there in most western theatres. it basically provides your ‘wings,’ which are where you exit off into to get offstage, they provide cover from the audience sitelines. pretty much any theatre where the audience is directly opposing the stage across the 180 degree line is a proscenium stage, even if it doesn't physically have the arch. hell, movie theatres are prosc stages. now, there's a secondary architectural feature/device called a false proscenium, where you set a second, smaller archway inside the first prosc, usually done for a specific effect. think of it like a literal framing device; it's often used to visually signify that ‘this is a play, we are telling a story, please be aware that this is a play thank you.’ but sometimes, it can be a semi-permanent structure that’s set in place to narrow the prosc opening. we had this at my university, there was a false prosc set just inside the actual prosc because the stage had a hilariously big prosc opening for a university that never had casts larger than 24 people. so they set false prosc in to make the stage slightly narrower and to widen the wings, because it doesn't matter what size theatre you're in, you always need more wingspace. makes sense? ok, now here’s a very quick drawing of what i'm pretty sure the kingdom stage looks like:

before you get lost: stage directions are oriented to a person standing on the stage, hence SL and SR being reversed. a quick tip for remembering which way is upstage and which is downstage: if you go too far downstage you fall down (most stages are raised between 2-4’ from the floor, so if you step off the end you will actually fall.) the arrows on here signify the entrances i observed during the performances, which is not necessary in this explanation but i just thought it was interesting to note. still not entirely sure what the surrounding architecture is but it appears that the stage is a raised platform inside a room, and not actually built as part of the building. the ‘house’ is just a technical term for where the audience is, and in this case it's where it looks like most of the film crew and the producers/staff are. there’s pretty clearly a platform upstage centre, and i think there may be some others but i don't care about those right now. what i want to talk about is this dumbass false prosc they set IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STAGE. now i suspect that they did this to solve some problems that they could have had that i don't know about, since i don't know who the stage designer was and what the actual limitations of the space are. but basically they've built two stages and stacked them on top of each other to create one very deep stage, and then separated it off with a false prosc in order to control the size of the space a little better, and possibly to add some visual interest. this stage is functional for its purpose, absolutely, and i think, if mnet actually gave a shit about point of view and camerawork, it could produce some really interesting performances. however, because this stage is so deep, it kind of has the same properties as the traverse stage from before, but just with some big led screens in the middle for reasons. you extra have to pay attention to the directionality because you have all the staff and cameras concentrated in one specific cardinal point, so you have to get creative if you want to crossover between the two sides frequently. again, this is not necessarily bad; restrictions often produce some of the most creative decisions.  but! we have not seen a lot of consideration for camera and sightlines and audience pov, hence why i think this setup is dumb: it’s not facilitating the best performances it could.

ok now to the actual performances

btob

this is my favourite of the group because it's very clean lined and utilizes a few simple devices to pretty good effect. i realize these reviews are making me sound like i only like simple performances but i promise this is not at all true i'm just very critical and very picky. let’s start with the costumes, because why not. 

costumes

i like these very much, i love modernized traditional clothing in all forms, and these are very well tailored and well coordinated. they do the bulk of the work establishing the theme for the performance, along with the costumes on the backup dancers. personally i would have liked them to be a bit more colourful, à la the teal detailing that was on minhyuk’s final look. i'm getting a bit tired of the whole trend of having groups only wear all dark or all white, or maybe sometimes red if they're feeling spicy. obviously uniform colour is the easiest way to tie a group together visually, but on a show like this i think the groups would actually benefit more from looking distinct from each other internally rather than establishing the group as whole.

i liked that minhyuk had a costume change but i didn't really care for how it was how it was broken down. this is a very personal quibble because i literally have spent years prepping quickchanges but the method it broke down wasn’t the most visually compatible with the garment and felt kinda clunky. please ignore this anecdote it's just me being picky.

set

i loved the forest! a very excellent way to divide the stage area and obscure the weird stage lines/architecture that mnet has made. plus the snow, flowers, and fog? makes a really sharp and immediately indicative atmosphere, a very good use of visual shorthand to establish place.

i didnt love the screens, they reminded me a bit too much of rolling whiteboards from grade school, but they are thematically relevant. also, i feel like we didnt actually get to see about half the choreo for them? fuckin mnet and idiocy again. fun use of rear projection with the dancers’ shadows, and also good use of them to direct traffic, if you will. 

personally i think that the sheet gimmick from tbz’s performance would have been a better fit here instead of the screens, especially since the fabric motif was already established at the very beginning of the performance. plus you can do some really fun shadow work with a stretch fabric screen. 

personally i think there could have been a little bit more integration between the forest area and the screen area, or they could have done the whole thing in the forest space, but that would require a bit more consideration of camera and choreo maneuverability

sound

really liked this arrangement, obviously the song is iconic but they added a more traditional instrument sound. has good structure for the loose narrative that they had and they were well to label this as ‘theatre’ version because this did follow very closely to a traditional musical theatre sound and style

lighting

no complaints. the overall theme for this episode is apparently blue and red? again with them i like their dedication to a limited colour palette and i especially like the blossoms at the climax

staging

there was pretty clear camera choreo and a minimum of nausea inducing moves. i think some of the effectiveness of the staging got chopped by the editing but that’s not really btob’s fault.

i was just saying i wanted them to give minhyuk some time to shine, i was not expecting to get it so soon! this is a very smart choreo that proves you can be interesting without doing a lot of tricking. minhyuk obviously did a lot of practice and work with that sword, his movements are very fluid and he knows how to handle it. and it looks like its either a blunted proper blade or a correctly weighted replica. a lot of the times when sword choreo looks fake it's because the person either hasn't had enough practice or the weapon is not weighted/weighted incorrectly. only complaints are that you would never hold your fingers/palm that close and un-anchored over the edge of the blade, which is just a safety thing. also you would never scrape your blade on the ground like that, nor toss the thing like dead fish but that's a respect thing with a live blade and this is clearly done for dramatic effect so i’ll forgive it. please ignore this anecdote also it’s just my third dan getting uppity.

ikon

costume/set

smart thematically to go with the sort of miscellaneous 30s-40s (western) aesthetic because it's the fastest way to make it look like you built a theme with mnet’s weird pseudo art deco nonsense they've inexplicably got going on in the set dec. however, they should have stuck the theme all the way through, it would have been more visually cohesive and more interesting. we expect more hiphop/electronic sounding songs to come with these kinds of 4th gen costumes, it would have been anachronistic in a fun way to have them do that second half in 40s style suits. here’s a performance from sdc3 that uses that kind of anachronistic play (this was a combo stage with two ballroom dancers and it has a 20s aesthetic but close enough.) also here’s another routine from sdc3 that does a similar effect on a much more abstract scale, and also it’s a fucking incredible performance and it got slept on by the captains. also yes i know these are incredibly experienced career dancers but they way they construct narrative within their routines and their stage presence is SO GOOD. 

do not speak to me about the backup dancers costumes, holy shit i hate them. i hate them so much. how do you manage to hit too shapeless AND too fitted in the same fell swoop? i'm so mad at these. i'm neutral on bodycon dresses on the best of days but these were absolutely the wrong choice for this stage. generally kpop has abysmal costuming for female backup dancers on the whole but this is just like.....especially lazy. the point of the costume are to help give an indication of where and when you set your performance. they started off with a vaguely 40s theme and then jumped abruptly modern. why? also skirts like that are the literal worst choice for dancing in, hello?? the men’s looks are just sloppy, when you have a garment that big you want it to serve a purpose within the choreo, whereas with this it's just hiding the dancers’ movements.

as for ikon themselves, see everything ive said about black on black on black styling in the previous two reviews. 

the actual set is minimal and that's tragic. i mentioned mnet’s weird art deco theme and it was smart of them to try and play off that with a lack of stuff. definitely a mismatch of stuff pulled from yg’s prop storage, but they made it work as well as they could. no other meaningful comments i’m just kinda sad about it.

sound

the arrangement is fine, no complaints from me. they keyed up the old hollywood style musical theatre sound in the beginning which i really liked. i didn't mind the song/tone switch, i think they pulled it off.

staging

same as btob they learned more towards a theatrical style, which is smart for this particular format of show. i think this was the smartest staging of these three, and also i think the only ones to not get the crew in shot.

despite seemingly leaning into a more old hollywood style the narrative was a bit too loose for my taste. i'm not sure what i would have done to make it clearer at this moment since they had so little to work with, but i did get by on my previous knowledge of the songs. that shouldn’t be the only indication of narrative though! all elements need to support it!!

also like btob they had a pretty intentional point of direction and there weren't a crazy amount of spins. they also used the camera cuts the most effectively that i've seen so far. the first half is actually all in one take!!! incredible!!! thank you!!!! this is how you do it!!

the lighter flick gimmick was well pulled off and a good example of how to use a couple of simple tricks to good effect.

ikon as a whole has really great stage chemistry with each other, and they're extremely cohesive performers. this is a really strong physical performance from them, the dance was very solid and clean. good use of levels without verging into acrobatics. this might be the best group choreo i've seen so far, but we’re not very far so that's not a very high bar to clear.

it's a shame they had the budget of 1 banana.

tbz

i liked this stage better than their intro stage, but i still think they have a long way to go and they're still over ambitious. personally i find stages based on specific pop culture properties to be kind of twee and ineffectual, because it requires a specific knowledge of that pop culture property to work. sometimes the specificity can help with a narrative but you're at risk of alienating a larger portion of your audience out of sheer non-knowledge than anything else. 

costumes

again, interesting garments physically, but not much clarity of relation to the theme other than the colour. also the backup dancers???? another case of backup dancers being from an entirely different stage, what is up with those coats/dresses? looked more like they belonged in either sweeney todd or a vampire movie. 

hands in front of the camera again, but these were used much more effectively.  i'm not the biggest fan of mixing metals and i’m partial to silver on the whole so i didn't love the jewelry, but at least it was vague and stereotypical enough to denote ‘fire magic’ even if it does rely on a derivative middle eastern shorthand.

set

the stage set itself is fine, although definitely feels a bit haphazard to me. doric columns and frozen rocks and whatever that cover for the pyrotechnics was at the front, combined with the candles and the chaise lounge? like ikon, it felt a bit like they were pulling out of the props/set storage. not that all these things do not work together, it's just that you need a thread to tie them together, and this didn't have that for me.

sound

it's a crime they have a song called ‘no air’ and its not a jordin sparks cover. just saying.

i didnt really like this arrangement, again like their intro stage it didn't have a strong structure that suited the narrative, because they were pretty clearly trying a narrative on this one. also were most of the adlibs playback? they were singing live but there were so few shots of anyone specific singing. 

lighting

probably the weakest of the three. the projection design was a bit too tacky for me, and although i appreciated the small amount of variety in colour, it felt way too concert-lighting for me.

staging

the editing on this stage is wack and did no one any good. the hands leading/pov was a really smart device and they should have stuck out the one takes like ikon did, it would have made the whole stage feel a bit more cohesive. a lot better directional camerawork from them this time around, well done. again with the hands in front of the camera gimmick which i actually preferred this time, since they were a part of the narrative. the stretch/silhouette fabric i think they pulled off quite well, even if it didn't really fit thematically with the piece. i actually worked on a show a very long time ago that used this exact same effect with dancers and also rear shadow projection, and it requires a lot of rehearsal and trust to pull off well, so props to them. i think it was the wrong choice because there isn't an established motif for the fabric, so it kind of appears out of nowhere for one specific visual moment and then disappears, and i think that time could have been better served for something else narratively relevant.

again, these 4th gen groups are overly focussed on gimmicks as a way to make up for the lack of experience. personally i think this will be detrimental in the long run, and a reliance on gimmicks means that you don't trust your performers. tbz have the manpower to be doing some pretty cool collective dance work and i dont think its being trained or utilized correctly. they are suffering from a lack of cohesive stage presence right now and that can be fixed with training and time.

this might be because the group sizes are so different between these three but this choreo is very directionless. mnet is also providing to be absolute garbage at editing and i feel like i can't see the choreo at all.

this is a thing i've noticed with kpop camerawork in general, there’s very little regard for actually viewing the choreo as a singular work. and for some reason the camera always needs to be moving???? people do actually want to see what’s happening on the stage. the choreographer can only see from one spot, so from that spot is how they are intending it to look. you wouldn't need to upload full cams of every music stage if you just filmed the choreo properly in the first place. if you watch the two sdc3 clips i linked you can see a clear difference in maintaining the integrity of the choreo, even though both shows use several cameras and a lot of cuts.  obviously for kpop you want the money shots of idols’ faces but i definitely think there’s a healthier middle ground than what we have now.

ill wait for full subs but i want to know where in the fuck in sk you can rent a tank thas clearly been custom made for underwater photography, because that’s extremely cool even if it was absolutely unnecessary to the actual stage itself. i can think of several ways off the top of my head that would have achieved that same freezing effect without any of that wasted time and effort.

mnet decided to drop full cams while i was writing this and despite watching those my opinions are the same.

in conclusion, some more general thoughts:

i think ikon and btob got it right by leaning more into the theatrical than the cinematic, if that makes sense. i might be talking up my own ass here but these are theatre performances, and they should be treated as such. trying to do things that you can do on film isn't going to do you any favours in the long run, and it makes it harder to make a cohesive performance. i’m harping a lot about narrative but it is so important to performance. although it is not technically necessary, when doing big theatrical performance stages like this it does help with clarity of intent and general success. humans have brains structured around storytelling, it is literally the way our history has been passed down for tens of thousands of years. the atlantic published an article recently on narrative and memory, and it's a really excellent read for maybe after you've taken a break from this behemoth, oh dear god. 

tldr: the stages were good but disappointing in their own ways. mnet continues to sabotage via weird stage design decisions and bad editing. see you next week! (or in my ask box if you have questions)

[offtopicoverload]

Hope Dumps Noah

I have no logical explanation for what this is, but @bubblybabynailpolish had an anon bring up Noah + Hope = Jade + Beck from Victorious a while ago, and it’s been living rent free in my head for weeks so here’s some bullshit. It’s loosely based on that one episode where Jade gets Tori to win back Beck except gayer and more litg and exists purely to appease the gremlin that is early 2010s me yelling in the back of my mind. And thanks to Anne for answering my weird asks, this is what they were for lmao

T Rating (fluff and angst, some elements of the show kinda? i tried at least)

Hope x MC (Rosie)

~10k (got super carried away but didnt wanna make multiple parts so take it as you will. on the bright side, it'd be longer if i edited properly but im tired so no)

Rosie’s front door shakes on its hinges, a pounding, thundering sound echoing from the other side, berating the wood as it quivers and quivers. Her head flies up in surprise, half expecting an army to spill into her flat, battering ram in hand as they shout orders. But no such event occurs, and she leaps up from the sofa in the corner, pocketing her phone and hurrying across the room before yanking the door open. She immediately freezes in place, meeting bewildered, watery eyes standing on the other side of the threshold.

Tears are streaming down splotchy cheeks, a throat bobbing as it fights to maintain some sort of composure, even as bones tremble beneath skin, shivering regardless of the heat of the building. “Um, uh, hey?” Rosie tries awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway and gripping the knob with pale knuckles.

“Can I come in?” the words waver as they leave messy, tear-muddied, brightly stained lips, pouring out like broken shards, creating their own trail alongside tears. Red eyes glance down the hallway, paranoid as they search for something, even in the late night, “I don’t - I don’t want to be out here where -” a sniffle “- where people can see.”

Rosie blinks a few times, her mind still slowly working to process the situation that’s just presented itself to her. But dark eyes are glimmering with shed and unshed tears, pleading beneath lashes and shadows from poor corridor lighting, and she startles into action, “Yeah! Yeah, er, yeah,” she mumbles, moving aside and holding the door open in invitation.

The threshold’s crossed, hurrying inside the flat with arms crossed, making a beeline for the upholstered sofa backed against the wall and dropping down onto it. Rosie closes the door, locking it carefully, neurotically, slowly, just to give herself time to think, to make sense of what to do with one of the last people she ever expected inside her flat: Hope.

Hope’s sitting on her sofa, curled in on herself to take up as little space as possible, cheeks covered in the remnants of despair that Rosie can’t even explain, let alone prepare herself for. Hope’s sniffling in her living room, palms running up and down her biceps to calm herself, her throat struggling to stifle sobs she’s ashamed of. Hope’s crying in her flat, gaze pinned to the floor to avoid the world, makeup streaked and smudged on all of her features, features wracked with inexplicable pain.

Rosie turns from the door, brushing her clammy palms on her sweatpants over and over again, a distractionary stimuli to calm the nerves slowly bubbling beneath her skin. Nerves she hasn’t felt in months, and was determined to never feel again, not after weeks and weeks of the constant feeling of insects crawling beneath her skin, burrowing and biting and squirming. She glances up, finding Hope’s eyes trained on her, hesitant and terrified from across the room, the flat’s lights reflecting in them, her damp cheeks shimmering in the warm colours.

Rosie forces her lips to curl in a tiny smile as she approaches, somewhat slow and cautious, until she can fall into the cushions beside Hope, bloodshot eyes never straying from her movement. Rosie risks a hand on her back, gently skating up and down her spine, an attempt at comfort she doesn’t have a reason to provide. But she provides it anyway, praying it’ll help, it’ll keep the tears from dripping down Hope’s jaw and dampening her top.

Only it doesn’t, only Hope begins to crumble, falling against her and burying her face against Rosie’s shoulder, sobs shaking her shoulders, trembling like the door on its hinges. Rosie wraps her arms around the quaking body clinging to her, murmuring a few quiet assurances, an offer of a lifesaver in the raging sea drowning her. Her hands draw circles on Hope’s vulnerable back, shapes to distract herself with, to ground herself with.

Hope bawls and whimpers and sobs and shakes for what feels like forever to Rosie, a forever that’s odd and uncomfortable, a forever that she doesn’t know what to make of. It’s not that she’s necessarily upset with it - she’s done this for girl friends in the past, she knows how to help a heartbroken woman - it’s just who she’s helping. She hasn’t seen Hope since the finale, since she walked away with her hand clasped in Noah’s, since Rosie split the money with Arjun, just to appease the audience.

He was sweet, sure, but they just didn’t fit. She didn’t feel like he was her other half, her perfect match, a missing piece in the puzzle that constructs her life. She didn’t see herself sacrificing things for him, didn’t see herself working for her relationship with him, didn’t see herself with him, point blank. And Rosie doesn’t do things she can’t see, can’t envision, can’t rationalise.

Which is exactly why she has no idea what to make of the woman dampening and wrinkling her sweater, face pressed to her shoulder and hands fisted in her shirt. “Hey, it’s okay,” she murmurs against Hope’s head, her breath hot where it brushes skin, a shiver running through Hope at the exhale.

This is unfamiliar territory to Rosie, unknown ground as she slowly steps into no man’s land, wary of land mines sitting beneath the dirt. Land mines of glares and scoffs and dismissals, land mines that sat in every corner of the Villa. Maybe in another life this would be normal, be commonplace, but not in this one.

Not in the world where Rosie kissed Noah in the Villa’s lounge that fateful day, that day that she’s regretted ever since. It wasn’t meant to mean anything, it was only supposed to help Priya and Bobby. It wasn’t supposed to cause the end of the world or hurt Hope as much as it did. It wasn’t supposed to confuse Noah as much as it did or leave him dragging things on for ages. It wasn’t supposed to be anything at all, anything but a blatant mistake.

But it was, it was so much, and now here they are, months and months later. Hope hasn’t spoken to Rosie since the finale, and Rosie didn’t even mind. She’s barely kept in touch with anyone, the only people she speaks to being Chelsea and Priya, since they’re always first to reach out. Even in the Villa, Hope would barely speak to her, and it hurt for a while. It hurt that they had been so close and were suddenly so far, but she always forced that hurt away. It was her own fault, it was her actions that led to Hope hating her guts.

Except, maybe she doesn’t hate Rosie’s guts. Maybe she doesn’t want her dead or wish she was never born. Maybe she still thinks about when they were friends like Rosie does. Maybe there’s a reason she’s crying in Rosie’s arms in this moment, that she showed up at Rosie’s door, that she sought out something only Rosie could presumably offer.

Hope swallows thickly, her head turning until her cheek’s resting against Rosie. “We broke up,” Hope croaks, stifling another sob as she forces her voice out again, “I - I dumped Noah.”

“Oh, um…” Rosie fumbles, her hand tracing the length of Hope’s spine beneath her heavy, navy, patterned sweater, “I’m sorry,” she whispers, the words still warm as they settle on Hope’s skin.

“It’s my fault,” she whimpers, turning her face back to Rosie as another tremble courses through her, a barely suppressed noise of anguish dying in her throat.

Rosie resumes her reassurances, her small whispers into Hope’s scalp, her tight hold on Hope’s quivering body. She cycles through every calming technique or phrase she can think of what must be a hundred times over, until Hope quiets, until Rosie stops feeling tears on her neck, until steady, even breathing fills the flat.

She swallows to stabilise herself before asking the all important question, one she’s a little nervous to hear the answer to, “Can I - Can I ask why you’re here? And, uh, so upset? If it was your decision?” she trips over her words, a flower of nerves blossoming in her stomach, and she wants to stamp it out, to stop it from pulling her in once more.

Hope pulls away from, her face set in malleable stone even with tears glistening on her cheekbones, sparkling in the overhead lights Rosie had on, diamonds tumbling down her skin, soft enough not to cut. “I didn’t know who else to go to. I - I didn’t know what to do,” she confesses, her head bowing and eyes staring into her lap.

“Okay,” Rosie nods, a palm still skating up and down the length of Hope’s upper arm, “That’s okay. You don’t have to know. You can just stay here if you want?” she offers uneasily, shifting awkwardly in her spot.

Hope’s eyes flicker up to meet Rosie’s, a cautious hopefulness in them, “I can? It’s not, like, weird?” she mumbles, averting her gaze once more.

“Not if you don’t think it is,” Rosie counters as coolly as she can manage.

Hope shakes her head adamantly, “No, no, I’d… I’d rather not be on my own right now.”

Rosie smiles in what she hopes comes across as encouraging, “That’s cool. You want me to stay out here? We can watch a movie?” she proposes with pinched brows and squinted eyes.

A gentle, hesitant smile quirks Hope’s mouth, “Yeah.” She pauses, contemplative and nodding distractedly, “That’d be great, thanks.”

Rosie rises from the sofa, crossing the living room to flip off the lights and grab the remote and a pile of blankets sitting in the corner. She drops them beside Hope in a heap, crashing onto the opposite side of the sofa a second later. She flicks through streaming services until Hope points out some random romcom, Rosie turning it on as Hope relaxes into the sofa with one of the blankets.

Rosie doesn’t pay much attention to the film, playing with her box braids distractedly and only having a loose grasp on the cheesy plot, but she notices every time Hope laughs, the sound becoming more and more relaxed as time goes on. Rosie sinks into the cushions, her legs folded and arms wrapped around her torso, head lolled against the back of the sofa.

It’s hard to tell when her eyelids fall shut, or when the movie ends, or when Hope moves, but Rosie wakes up to a dark screen flickering through backgrounds and ads for streaming exclusives. She wakes up to Hope’s head resting on her shoulder and a blanket splayed across her lap, as if Hope was worried she’d be cold without it.

She blinks a few times in the dark, taking in the scene around her and slowly processing what her night has become. She only wanted to sit on her phone before going to bed early after her long day at work. She didn’t expect a crying woman to show up at her doorstep or to watch a bad movie until too early in the morning, or to fall asleep in the living room. A sigh shakes her chest, and she reaches for the remote, turning off the telly and settling back into the sofa, Hope shifting beside her with the adjustment.

---

Rosie wakes up to sunlight pouring into her flat and a deserted sofa, blankets the only remnants of Hope’s night spent in the living room. She slumps forward, head in her hands as she adjusts to the too-bright sun and the noise of London already filtering inside, honks of car horns and a hum of people on the streets providing a familiar soundtrack to her wake up.

“I want to get him back,” a voice declares, the words wavering slightly as they fall from lips set in a frown.

“Hmm?” Rosie hums groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she lifts her head, blinking to clear her vision. She finds Hope standing across the room, arms crossed and expression determined as she meets Rosie’s gaze.

“I want to get Noah back, I want to tell him I’m sorry for the breakup,” Hope repeats, her voice sturdier now.

Rosie nods, her mind still foggy but the haze slowly clearing, “Okay. That’s good,” she rationalises slowly, rising from the sofa and stretching her muscles; she’s made a point to avoid sleeping on the sofa normally. She stalks into the kitchen, falling into her usual morning routine easily.

Hope follows behind her, eyes widening, “It is?” she sounds surprised, stopping a ways away from Rosie, feet on the wood.

“Yeah, if you were happy together,” Rosie nods again, turning to her kitchen appliances. She starts with coffee, collecting beans and supplies meticulously as always, setting them out in a particular pattern beside the fridge.

Hope crashes into a barstool at the counter behind Rosie, her voice coming out softer now, “We were,” she confirms.

“Okay,” Rosie shrugs. “So go get him back,” she turns, forearms dropping to the counter beneath her to support her weight. She watches Hope curiously, expecting some explanation or excitement or something of the like, but Hope’s gone silent, her lip slipping between her teeth to worry the skin. Her gaze is trained on the pale countertop, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Hope?” Rosie asks gently.

Dark eyes fly up to meet her own, snapping up too quickly, “Yeah?”

“You okay?” Concern wells in Rosie’s gaze before she can prevent it, her upper body unconsciously leaning forward to inspect Hope and find what’s suddenly irking her.

“Yeah,” Hope nods.

Rosie isn’t quite convinced, her brows knitting together, “You sure?”

Hope’s eyes flicker around the kitchen for a minute to avoid the deep eyes watching her before her shoulders slump, defeated and exhausted, “No,” she mumbles dejectedly.

“What’s wrong?”

A heavy sigh lifts Hope’s shoulders, twitching them lightly “I don’t think he’ll talk to me, not after yesterday.”

Rosie pauses. She hadn’t really considered that, just assumed Noah would be as torn up about the breakup as Hope had been, that he’d been jumping in place if Hope said it was a mistake. Her fingernails tap at the counter as she considers, weighing her options before diving right in, “Do you want me to try?”

Hope’s eyes dart to Rosie again, still just as surprised as earlier, as if everything Rosie does is entirely unbelievable, “You’d do that?”

“I guess?” Rosie gives an awkward shrug, averting her eyes and turning around to continue making coffee. She grabs milk from the fridge before finishing the process, pouring everything into a mug, “Yeah, sure,” she mumbles when she faces Hope again, swirling the dark liquid in a whirlpool.

It’s a long, almost painful amount of time before either of them utter another word. “Thank you,” Hope whispers the words, a tiny break in the quiet of the flat, of the bubble that’s formed in the kitchen.

---

The next day, long after Hope leaves her flat, long after Rosie made eggs and coffee for the both of them, long after Hope gave Rosie a quick hug in thanks, Rosie grabs an Uber to the other side of the city, to the library Noah works at. She strides into the building with her hands knotted in the pockets of her jacket, nerves clamming her palms as she scans the open area she’s found herself in. It’s relatively empty, only a few people sitting and working or browsing shelves idly in the middle of the day.

She searches a few aisles, glancing down empty passageways and passing shelf after shelf loaded with books. A few patrons give her odd looks, some outright glaring at her for her behaviour, but she eventually finds Noah in a back corner, restocking a few shelves in practiced motions, a cart loaded with books parked beside him.

“Hey,” she greets from down the aisle, waving slightly with an uneasy smile when he glances at her in surprise.

He adds the books in his hands to the shelf before turning to face her properly, his expression slightly stunned, “Hey,” he greets back, his tone puzzled as one hand falls to the book cart to lean against.

Rosie ventures further into the aisle, her eyes darting around as she attempts to figure out how to broach the tender subject of a breakup from only two days ago. She stops before him, folding her arms and rolling up and down on her toes, “So…” she starts, looking up at him from beneath her lashes in hopes that he’ll understand what she’s getting at.

He doesn’t, only blinking as he looks at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation for her presence. She sighs, one hand fiddling with the tips of her braids nervously, rolling them between the pads of her fingers, “You and Hope broke up?” she eventually asks, meeting his gaze with as much confidence as she can muster.

His eyes go wide, his jaw falling open, “Um, yeah, but I - Look, you’re really amazing but I think I need a little time, you know, and if you’ll wait, that’s great, but I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything, but again, you’re amazing, I just…” he trails off as he takes in the confusion on her face, a blush growing on his cheeks.

Then it clicks, “Oh!” she startles. “No, no, I - mate, I didn’t come to hit on you,” she clarifies, somewhat taken aback by the conclusion he so quickly jumped to. “I’m not here to ask you out, no,” she reiterates.

He nods swiftly, muttering a few apologies under his breath before clearing his throat. “So, um, why are you here then?” he asks, careful and wary of saying something else wrong.

Rosie shifts on her feet, hands falling back to fidget in her jacket pocket’s, “Well… I kinda got the impression that Hope regrets the way things went down and wants to try again,” she forces, drawing herself to her full height, still a few inches shorter than the man before her.

Confusion flickers on his face, “How’d you get that impression?”

“I talked to her.”

The confusion grows, a crease splitting his eyebrows, “She talked to you?”

“She showed up at my flat,” Rosie answers casually.

“Why?”

She shrugs, mumbling out an “I dunno” in response.

“And you’re fine with that? And you’re helping her?” his arms cross over his chest as he asks, staring down at her intently, intimidatingly.

“Yeah,” she shrinks under his gaze, drawing her jacket tighter to block out the sudden chill coursing down her spine.

Noah’s lips twist, though in frustration or anger or upset, Rosie can’t tell. “Why?” he repeats.

Rosie sighs, shrugging again at the lack of a better answer, offering her best explanation, “She was really torn up about it.”

“She dumped me,” he states calmly, matter-of-factly, dismissively.

“I know.”

He watches Rosie carefully for a moment, taking in her appearance as she shuffles on her feet, unable to conceive of where this conversation is going next. “Do you know why?” he finally asks, Rosie stilling at the question.

“No,” she admits reluctantly.

“I got lunch with Priya, alone.”

“Well, yeah, that’s not great,” sarcasm soaks her words, coating her throat as the syllables escape.

Noah blinks at her, still stern and calm, “Because Ibrahim and Marisol had to cancel.”

“Oh,” Rosie freezes, her body tensing uncomfortably. That changes things. She swallows thickly, eyebrows raising and curving together, “Does she know that?”

“I tried to tell her.”

“Maybe she’ll listen now.”

“She never does,” Noah shrugs, his demeanor unchanged and unaffected.

She looks to him in disbelief, “That can’t be true.”

He heaves a heavy sigh, his guard finally cracking as his arms fall back to his sides, disappointment radiating from him like warmth from a fire, “For my birthday she got me The Old Man and the Sea,” he looks at Rosie as if he expects her to understand what that means.

“Okay…” she squints. She knows enough about literature to know it’s a classic, that most students have to read it at one point, herself included. “Why’s that bad? You’re a librarian.”

Noah’s lips curve in a slight frown as he straightens impossibly taller, “I hate Hemingway,” he nearly spits the name, a frown splitting Rosie’s own lips at his obvious displeasure.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

---

Hope shows up at Rosie’s flat again that night, her features fraught as she hurries in, hugging herself tight with her coat. She drops onto the sofa after she enters, Rosie following a beat behind and folding her legs on the cushions, Hope nearly vibrating in her skin as she watches Rosie expectantly.

When Rosie only meets her gaze, she sighs exasperatedly, “Well? What’d he say? He didn’t text me or anything,” she leans forward, eager to learn.

Rosie shifts under the excitement presented to her, excitement she knows is about to die, “He, uh, he wasn’t really on board with you guys getting back together,” she mumbles, avoiding shining eyes.

Hope visibly deflates in only a heartbeat, her bottom lip poking out as tears well in her eyes, every part of her depressed and hurt, “He wasn’t?” Her voice is small, painfully so to Rosie’s ears.

She forces herself not to cringe at the tone, at the way Hope’s fighting tears once more, “No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, you’ve done a lot,” Hope sniffles, wiping at her nose and blinking back tears to calm herself, to prevent another onslaught of sobs on Rosie’s sofa. “You’ve done a lot,” she repeats, eyes trained on the fabric of the cushions beneath them, staring intently just to have something to focus her energy on. “Did he say why?” she finally asks after a minute, breaking the brief silence that had settled over them.

“Er -” Rosie squirms, fidgeting nervously, “He said he didn’t think you really listened to him,” she draws out the words, not wanting to speak them.

Hope is absolutely appalled, her jaw falling open in horror, “That’s - That’s not true!” she eventually manages the words, her mouth fumbling them.

“I know, but -”

“I listen!” she insists, hands flying up to grip Rosie’s forearm desperately, in search of confirmation that she’s a good person, a good partner, “Why would he say that, Rosie?” she’s panicked as her grasp tightens, falling away only a second later, “Why would he say that?” she repeats, softer now, a whisper.

“He said for his birthday you got him a Hemingway book,” Rosie chances.

Hope’s arms fold over her chest protectively, “He didn’t have any Hemingway.”

“‘Cause he hates Hemingway,” Rosie explains as gently as she can, Hope immediately slumping again, any retorts or defences forgotten.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet, Hope staring at nothing and Rosie staring at Hope, waiting for something to change, waiting for her to get sad or angry or maybe just leave all together. But she doesn’t, meeting Rosie’s eyes with a fire inside her own, “I need something else.” She’s determined as she sinks into the cushions, thinking raptly of some solution. “What if I get him a gift?” a lightbulb seems to explode above her head as she sits up again.

Rosie blinks at the quick change in mood, taken aback at the grin sitting on Hope’s lips. “Like what?”

“He likes Greyhounds?” Hope proposes with a tilt of her head and a quirk of an eyebrow, “He always said he’d love to have one.”

“You’re gonna buy him an entire dog?” Rosie asks in shock, her tone stunted and sharp.

Hope scowls at her in irritation, “He likes them!” she defends, “He’s talked about them a lot, and it’ll show I listen, right?”

“I guess?”

“What do you mean you guess?”

Hands fly up in self-defence and attempted placation, “This is your relationship, I don’t know him or what goes,” Rosie gestures in the air separating her from Hope, working to diffuse the tension.

Hope huffs, crossing her arms and collapsing into the cushions behind her, “Fine.”

---

Hope spends the next few days looking up shelters and breeders, trying to decide on a puppy or an adult or even an elderly dog, researching proper care for a Greyhound and what they need. Rosie doesn’t see or hear from Hope until her phone’s ringing incessantly as she gets out of the shower, scrambling to answer it and silence the buzzing, “Hello?” she asks without even reading the Caller ID, fumbling to turn on speakerphone.

“Hey!” Hope’s voice crackles through the speaker, bright and energetic. “I found one!” she announces, clearly pleased with herself and her findings.

“Hmm?” Rosie questions distractedly, tightening her towel wrapped around her body and grabbing skin and hair products to set them on the bathroom sink.

“I found a dog! I went to a shelter!”

Rosie nods, only realising afterwards that Hope can’t see her, sighing as she coats her face in moisturiser. “That’s great,” she hums again.

“Can you come over tonight? And we bring him to Noah’s flat? Please?” her voice is begging as it rings through the phone, Rosie glancing to it as Hope draws out the vowels of her plea.

“Uh, yeah, I think I’m free,” she mumbles, her mouth twisting as she applies products.

She’s reaching for the end call button after a long silence when a quiet murmur surprises her, “Thank you,” Hope whispers into her phone from the other side of the line.

A small smile curves Rosie’s mouth, “No problem.”

---

“You’re the worst,” Hope groans as she tugs on a leash, glaring at Rosie and her amused smile beside her.

“Says the one that dragged me into this,” Rosie grins, popping her eyebrows for effect. She’s refused to assist with the dog the entire time, forcing Hope to try and wrangle the full grown animal.

It darts forward down the street, yanking Hope along, “Hey!” she chastises, Rosie laughing unabashedly from behind her, jogging to catch up. “You could help, you know! He listened to you earlier!”

Rosie smirks, “Oh, I know. This is much more fun, though,” she teases, falling into another fit of laughter as Hope digs her heels into the pavement, working to pull the dog back.

He doesn’t listen, carrying on in the direction of the library. Noah wasn’t at his flat, so they’ve been forced to take a short detour to find him without waiting. “At least he knows where he’s going,” Rosie comments, still grinning.

Hope shoots her a scowl, “How lucky,” she spits through gritted teeth, her jaw tight as she uses all her strength to keep the dog from running off into London’s streets.

Rosie sighs as Hope nearly trips over her own feet, crouching down and whistling sharply. The dog turns, bolting for her, nearly tackling her to the ground until she grips his fur to keep upright, cooing over him the entire time. Hope’s gaze is a mix of disappointed, annoyed, and mildly impressed as Rosie grins up at her, scratching the dog behind his ears.

She pops back to her feet, stealing the leash from Hope in one smooth motion, “You’re welcome,” she hums, setting back off on their path, the dog following obediently on her heels.

She hears Hope groaning about it behind her until she catches up, muttering a ‘thanks’ under her breath, much to Rosie’s enjoyment. The rest of the walk is relatively quiet, only a few good natured ribbings from Rosie or complaints from Hope filling the space as they work their way to the library, street lamps illuminating much of their path in the dark evening.

Noah spots them before they spot him, the pair distracted as Rosie laughs at Hope’s grumbling, Rosie nearly walking into a post as she struggles to stay upright. “Stop it!” Hope chides, slapping her shoulder, which only makes Rosie laugh even harder.

“Um, hi?” Noah calls out to them, earning their gazes simultaneously. Hope stiffens, Rosie sobers, and the dog slobbers onto the pavement beneath their feet.

Rosie passes the leash back to Hope, taking a step back and away from their reunion, much to Noah’s confusion. “Hi,” Hope greets back, his eyes settling back on her.

“What are you guys doing out here?” he asks, his tone slipping into something adjacent to wariness, maybe light caution.

A bright smile curves Hope’s mouth and she sticks her hand out, offering the leash and the dog attached to it, “I got you a dog!” she announces eagerly, “I know how much you’ve always wanted one, so…” she trails off at his expression.

His eyebrows are drawn tight, lips working to form some words, “You got me a dog?!” he balks, his expression soon slipping into anger, almost a snarl, with his eyes blazing. Hope taking a step away from him, blinking rapidly as her mind audibly whirs.

“You always said you wanted one!” she explains, a spark igniting in her own dark eyes, threatening to start a fight.

“That doesn’t - What were you thinking?!”

Hope’s jaw sets tight, but it’s not enough to hide the shimmer in her eyes, “You like them, I know you do! And you don’t think I listen, but I do, so I’m proving that to you!” she counters, her voice raising.

Noah looks baffled, his hands flying and mouth opening and closing as he searches for words, “He won’t fit in my flat, Hope! He’s big and - and has a ton of energy!” he gestures wildly to the dog that’s found his way to Rosie, sitting in front of her as she scratches behind his ear.

“I thought that’s what you liked about them!” Hope’s own arms are waving, in both exasperation and irritation. One hand rises to fidget with her braids, tugging on and fiddling with a few.

“Yeah, for when I’m in a house, not a tiny flat!” Noah shouts back, “I can’t have him! I don’t want him!”

Any fire that had been blazing in Hope’s dark eyes dies out at that, at the way Noah’s glaring at her, at the way he’s dismissed her peace offering, her attempt to fix things between them. “But -”

“You can’t just -” he huffs sharply before trying to school his expression into something calmer, “You can’t just do these things without asking, it’s like you don’t even care what I think.”

Hope looks horrified, like her world is turning to ash right before her, and maybe it is, maybe this is the end of everything for her, “That’s not - I care! This is how I care! I - I pay attention and try and do things for you!”

“I don’t want you to do things for me!” Noah counters, hands balling into angry fists at his sides.

“Why not?” Hope asks indignantly, head tilted back to meet Noah’s gaze directly, her chest puffed out in a show of confidence.

Noah flounders, his jaw snapping shut, visibly rolling with tension as he searches for a reason, exploding when he can’t find one, “I just don’t! I can do things myself, Hope, I don’t need you railroading me like you always do! I’m tired of it, it’s not worth it!” he accuses, his last words effectively severing any chance at reconciliation.

Hope slumps, her shoulders sagging and face drooping, every muscle in her body going lax, as if she’s melting from heartache. Noah exhales sharply, his own shoulders dropping, losing some of the tension keeping them upright as he drags a hand through his hair, playing with it to calm himself further.

Rosie keeps to the side, not sure of her place, not sure if she’s meant to intervene, and only watches Hope stand with her head turned to the ground, braids blocking her face from view as she remains frozen, unmoving, her feet stuck to the ground and her body tense. “I’m sorry.” The words are barely audible, fractures of the typical strength in her voice, before she turns on her heel, dropping the dog’s leash and running away with tears in her eyes.

Noah deflates as she leaves, his hands balled up tight to steady himself, his face scrunched up in thought and frustration and likely a dozen other emotions as he struggles to process them. He slumps forward, his previous fight and irritation dissipating into the air, the dog still sitting at Rosie’s feet, tongue lolling and a whine echoing from him.

All the while, Rosie struggles for words, for a reaction, for something appropriate, but all she can think about is the way Hope collapsed before him, like the sight is imprinted on her mind. “Come on, mate,” she finally breaks the quiet, “You didn’t have to be that harsh,” she comments, deep creases in her own forehead and between her brows.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Noah mumbles, head down in shame as he stares at the ground, blank and empty save for the rise of his chest with each breath.

Rosie steps closer as the silence drags on, scooping up the abandoned leash and glancing over her shoulder and finding Hope long gone as she does. Her hand rises to his shoulder, gripping it loosely, “I know,” she shrugs weakly, squeezing the muscles beneath her palm. “Sorry about the dog,” she offers.

Noah laughs a little, but it’s splintered on the edges and lacking any real joy or amusement, “It’s fine. My mum’ll love him, I’m sure.”

Rosie nods sagely, retracting her hand carefully before gesturing over her shoulder, “I’m gonna, uh, go after her,” she mutters, turning on her heel and hurrying after Hope.

She finds her slumped against a wall half a block away, staring at nothing with tears streaming down her face as her lip quivers with barely restrained sobs. Rosie skids to a stop beside her, earning Hope’s attention momentarily, before she turns back to staring at nothing. She’s hollow, her gaze empty, barely there as she drifts through her mind and the storm that must be filling it like a hurricane. Rosie doesn’t say anything, only leans against the wall beside the destitute woman, eyes trained on the glimmers coating her cheeks, lit by street lamps around them.

“I just,” Hope finally begins after a long, painstakingly silent moment, “I don’t get it.” She sniffles, “I - I know we weren’t perfect, but I just… I thought we meant more than we must have.” Her voice falls apart on the last few words, cracking and splintering into a tiny, fragile whisper.

Rosie nods in understanding, pulling Hope into her arms without uttering a single word, holding her close and letting her fall apart once more, shaking under the weight of Rosie’s arms around her, burying her face in her shoulder. Her hands fist in the fabric of Rosie’s shirt, an anchor to attach herself to as the hurricane blows and wrecks and destroys her insides.

Hope’s tired of letting go, of giving in or giving up, of letting her world dissolve in her hands because fighting’s too much of a risk, a hazard, a danger to her. She’s tired of ignoring the things that rub her the wrong way, that send a cold chill down her spine, that fill her skull with a swirling mass of dark and awful thoughts. She’s tired of all the hurt and the fighting, of the way her skin turns a sickly green every time someone gets too close, of the headaches and nausea that accompany one of his unbothered shrugs.

She’s tired of it, she’s done with it, she’s not going to fight anymore, not when he doesn’t fight for her. Not when Rosie is the one she’s been leaning on, not when Rosie is the one that’s been consoling her, not when Rosie is the one that’s been nice, and caring, and sweet, and gentle, and there.

Hope shifts, freeing her face from Rosie’s top as the tears come to a stop, but keeping her head resting against her shoulder. “Why couldn’t it have been like this?” she whispers into the air, a quiet pondering that’s directed more to herself than the woman wrapped around her.

“Hmm?” Rosie hums, pulling back to look down at Hope, finding her gaze distant as she stares into the space before her, eyes piercing into the street stretching before them. “What do you mean?” Rosie murmurs down to her, finally drawing dark eyes to her own.

They’re averted just as quickly, Hope pressing her cheek even further into Rosie’s shoulder, and Rosie swears she sees some colour rush to Hope’s face. “I dunno,” she mumbles, gaze trained on nothing in particular. “It’s just… easier. Comforting. You let me do this and you’re sweet about it.”

“Noah seems pretty sweet,” Rosie mumbles awkwardly, still unsure where the line is, how Hope feels about him, how she wants to feel about him and their relationship.

Her shoulders raise in a miniscule, half-hearted shrug, “Yeah, but he doesn’t really get it. He doesn’t get it when I’m upset or mad. He’s too calm,” her lips twist at the statement, displeased at the memories.

Rosie snorts, above her, Hope’s eyes darting upwards, “What, and I’m a raving madwoman, is that?” she grins, the tension of the moment falling away with ease.

Hope’s mouth curves at the edges as she slips from Rosie’s grasp just enough to slap her arm, a common reaction to the older woman’s antics, Rosie feigning pain and rubbing at the spot instantly. “No!” Hope chides, “But you get it,” she settles back against Rosie, “Or at least you get what to do. Noah would try and fix it or tell me to ignore it or whatever, but you just let me be.”

Rosie shrugs, some heat rising to her cheeks as she glances towards the empty street beside them, fumbling for a response. She defaults to finding somewhere that will bring Hope some sort of solace, “Okay, let’s get you home,” she sighs, ignoring the heat on the back of her neck to the best of her ability.

Hope removes herself from Rosie’s hold entirely this time, stepping back and folding her arms while shifting from foot to foot. “Can I stay at your place tonight?” she asks with a twist of her lips, looking to Rosie from beneath her lashes.

“Sure,” Rosie grins, slinging her arm over Hope’s shoulders to guide her through the streets to her car, Hope leaning into her with ease as they trade some small conversation.

---

A day later and there’s a knock on Rosie’s door from across the flat, a short, sharp knock. She sighs, grabbing a dish towel and dusting off her hands before exiting the kitchen and the mess of ingredients within it. Another knock sounds on the wood, impatient as it continues on and on, Rosie hurrying to reach the door.

She jerks it open to find Hope on the other side of the threshold, beaming with her fist still poised in the air and a bottle of wine in her other hand. “Hi!” she greets, stepping past Rosie into the flat and scanning the open area curiously.

“Hey?” Rosie tries, shutting the door behind Hope and leaning against it, arms crossed and towel in hand. “Should I have been expecting you?” she asks, cycling through her day in her mind to double-check.

“Nope!” Hope turns, still grinning, “But I brought wine!” she offers the bottle proudly, swinging it for emphasis.

Rosie nods, one brow raised, “I can see that.”

Hope’s smile dims, slowly falling away as Rosie doesn’t say anything more, evidently a sign of annoyance. “Sorry,” she bows her head. “I shouldn’t have come, should I? I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to do tonight,” she confesses, her words rushing in a hurry to explain herself.

Rosie pushes herself upright from the door, stepping away from the threshold and closer to Hope, “I take it you usually spend evenings with Noah?”

Hope only nods in response, head still down in embarrassment and resignation. Her arms are slack at her side, the wine bottle dangling loosely in her grasp as she awaits Rosie’s harsh words telling her to leave and not come back.

“Well, I’m making dinner right now and I always make too much,” Rosie states, no edge in her voice, no malice in her words, “Take your shoes off and it’ll be done in about a half hour.” Rosie turns, striding back into the kitchen and leaving Hope to collect herself.

She joins Rosie a few minutes later in her socks, her smile repaired as she drops into a barstool across from Rosie, placing the wine bottle on the counter, a glimmer in her eyes as she presents it, pushing it across the counter. Rosie laughs in response, nicking it and pulling out wine glasses. She pours a drink for each of them, Hope draining hers rather quickly as she talks about her day, Rosie stealing a few sips as she cooks.

Rosie presents the finished dinner with a flourish to Hope, earning a laugh as she takes the plate. Rosie rounds the kitchen, dropping into the stool beside Hope and taking a swig of her wine. “So what’d you do today?” Hope prompts curiously, cutting into the chicken Rosie made and taking a bite.

“Usual stuff. Trained today, the new player’s are adjusting pretty well, and then ran a few errands. Usual stuff,” she shrugs, taking a bite of asparagus.

“That’s fun,” Hope hums encouragingly, smiling wide when Rosie glances to her. She nearly chokes on her food at the sight, coughing and laughing at the same time as Hope watches in confusion and concern, “What’s happening? Are you okay?” she turns in her seat to face Rosie directly, hands hovering, unsure of where to land.

Rosie waves her off, still working to catch her breath and stop laughing, something made infinitely more difficult by Hope hitting her on the back to presumably help her dislodge something. “I’m fine!” she croaks, working to suck in deep breaths.

“Are you sure? What happened?” Hope asks again, hand on the back of Rosie’s seat, just in case.

Rosie chuckles briefly before pressing her lips together, forcing neutrality that barely holds together, “You were just very serious in your excitement over groceries.” She bites her tongue to keep from laughing again.

“Is that really it?” Rosie nods to confirm, suppressing more giggles. Hope’s eyes roll, a groan escaping from her throat, “You’re the worst.”

Now Rosie can barely hold it back, dissolving into giggles as Hope scowls, picking at her meal as Rosie struggles to find air. “Says the one eating my food,” she grins when she finally catches her breath.

“What’s that mean?” Hope turns with a glare.

Rosie draws herself taller, even sitting down she’s got some height on Hope, “It means you showed up at my door unannounced and stole all my hard work,” she accuses coolly.

“I brought you wine!” Hope frowns, gesturing to the bottle in her defence.

Rosie raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile on her lips, “Who’s the one drinking it all?”

That shuts Hope up, Rosie earning a scowl as they turn back to their dinners, Hope staying quiet until Rosie brings up her job. Then she’s beaming and telling every detail of her workplace she can think of, every coworker that’s weird or mean or nice or funny, every aspect of career that she loves.

The conversation flows alongside the wine, until the bottle’s empty and the pair’s slouched on the sofa, facing each other on opposite ends. Hope fumbles for her phone, pulling it out and wincing at the time, “I need to go home.” She turns, standing up what must be too quickly because she drops back to the cushions.

Rosie shifts forward too, folding her legs before her, “Did you drive here?”

Braids jangle as Hope nods, her eyes falling shut as she slowly leans back into the cushions again. Rosie sighs, finding it much easier to stand than Hope, and grabs a blanket, draping it across her lap, “Just stay here.

Hope’s eyes squint open, looking up at Rosie with dilated pupils, “You sure?” she mumbles, her words slurring together from the alcohol that had coated her tongue.

“Yeah, you’re not getting in a wreck on my watch,” Rosie hums, collecting their glasses and the empty bottle before striding into the kitchen. She puts the glasses in the sink and the bottle on the counter beside it to deal with tomorrow, then retraces her steps to the living room.

Hope’s curled up on the sofa already, the blanket tucked under her chin, and Rosie smiles at the sight and absurdity of a drunk Hope asleep in her flat. She shakes her head, turning to her bedroom and stalking inside, collapsing on the bed as soon as she can, passing out as soon as her head hits the pillow.

---

Hope continues coming to Rosie’s flat a few times a week, sometimes with an offering of wine or takeaway in hand, sometimes with nothing more than herself. They watch movies and talk and laugh about stupid things from the Villa or stories from their lives until their tired from long days or it’s three in the morning and they still don’t stop talking.

Sometimes Hope sits in an armchair and responds to emails while Rosie paces the length of the flat with her phone pressed to her ear, talking down one of her players or fighting with managers. Sometimes there’s not a single word spoken between them, sometimes all they do is talk, sometimes Rosie makes dinner, sometimes it’s late enough that they’ve both already eaten, sometimes Hope shows up after Rosie has already gone to bed, sometimes Hope even beats her home in the afternoon.

There’s no pattern to any of it, there’s no rhythm, nothing concrete to Hope’s appearances, but Rosie soon finds that she doesn’t even mind. It’s actually kind of nice, to have someone around without any expectations. It’s kind of nice that Hope brings her soup when she gets a cold, or how Hope somehow always has wine on hand for when they need it, or how Hope tidies the flat when she’s especially busy.

It’s a casual night tonight, popcorn and drinks sitting on the coffee table as a movie plays across from them in the dark. Rosie picked tonight, a drama about a hockey team one of her players always recommends, since she couldn’t think of anything else but was not definitely not watching another of Hope’s romcoms twice in a row. They’d been snacking all night, splitting a pizza in the evening as Hope worked on some project and Rosie scrolled her phone, a silence seeping into the flat.

Rosie watches the film in a similar silence now, watches the flickering of light as it reflects and refracts off every available surface in the room. A contented sigh vibrates in her throat as she settles further into the sofa, pulling the blanket she’s enthralled within tighter. She sinks into the cushions, shifting her legs and letting her knees brush against Hope’s thighs.

Speaking of, she can see the other woman watching her in the dark, eyes trained on Rosie’s features, inspecting them carefully as blues and yellows and reds and dozens of other hues play in her dark irises, glinting off and mixing with them. Rosie glances over, finding a crease between Hope’s brows as she stares at something below Rosie’s eyes that she can’t quite place. She smiles softly in the dim lighting, teasingly, “What?” she asks, “Something on my face?”

Only she doesn’t get the chance to ask the second question, because suddenly there is absolutely something on her face, something that she doesn’t think should be there and was not at all anticipating, but honestly doesn’t entirely mind. Hope’s lips are on hers, soft and nice and there.

Hope’s kissing her. Hope’s kissing her, and it’s tentative and cautious and careful, like Hope’s gaze was a moment ago, and it all makes sense in an instant. She blinks, stunned and shocked, until her lashes flutter shut and she’s kissing Hope back. She melts into her, a hand rising to cup Hope’s cheek and draw her closer, a hand fisting in the front of her shirt to close the space between them.

When they finally break for air, a sigh slips past Hope’s lips as their lips separate, still brushing against each other, their breath mingling in the small gap. “Um, what…?” Rosie whispers against the lips on hers, unable to find a conclusion to the question.

“I - I don’t know,” Hope whispers, just as quiet, “Sorry,” she murmurs, pulling back.

Rosie watches her go, hurt welling inside her gut at the regret evident on Hope’s face, “Why?”

Hope shakes her head, like she’s frustrated with something, though Rosie doesn’t know what. “Didn’t ask,” is all she says, leaning away and turning back to the film still playing.

Rosie’s following her retreat without even realising, chasing after Hope unconsciously. “Didn’t mind.”

“Really?” Hope’s eyes snap to her, wide with clear surprise at the admission.

“I mean, maybe a little warning next time, but…” Rosie shrugs, unbothered.

Dark eyes glimmer, lit by the films rainbow of lighting, “Next time?”

“If you want.”

Hope shifts, facing Rosie head on, “Do you want a next time?” she asks carefully, emphasising the importance of the question with wide eyes.

A smirk lifts the corner of Rosie’s mouth, “First time was pretty good, so yeah.”

“Only ‘pretty good’?” Hope teases, leaning closer again, close enough for Rosie to see faint specks sparkling in her irises.

“Yep,” Rosie nods, resolute as her face solidifies into sharp stone. “Not about to stroke your ego.”

Hope groans, “You’re the worst.”

“Says the one that kissed me first,” Rosie teases right back, her smirk only growing at Hope’s annoyance, however played up it may be.

“Shut up,” Hope whines.

“No thanks,” Rosie grins, ready to start a spiel about everything she’s learned annoys Hope in the past few months, everything that earns a groan or a sigh or an eye roll, everything that makes her glare or scowl or slap Rosie’s arm even though it doesn’t hurt. “I think I’m -”

Hope’s kissing her again, only this time it’s deeper, filled with fire as Hope’s hands slip around to cup the back of her head, pulling Rosie ever closer and holding her there. Rosie’s own hands slide along Hope’s body, landing on her thighs and tugging her forward on the cushions, until their bodies are pressed together, with lips locked together. A groan slips from Hope’s throat, Rosie humming at the noise and sending her hands exploring in search of more sounds, palms grazing Hope’s exposed navel, muscles twitching beneath skin.

Hope splits them apart, her forehead pressing against Rosie’s gently, her panting breaths sending a shiver down Rosie’s spine. “What are we now?” her words only amplifying the effect.

“Whatever you want us to be,” Rosie answers easily, the question seeming unnecessary, “You’re kinda taking the reins here.”

Hope pauses, her hands clasped behind Rosie’s neck and thumbs brushing her skin idly. “Are we already dating?” she asks after a long moment.

“What do you mean?”

“We do a lot of coupley stuff,” Hope shrugs a bit, her lips twisting in contemplation, “We hang out all the time and I stay over and you make dinner and we watch movies,” she lists off.

Rosie pulls away, putting enough space between them to take in all of Hope, “Do you wanna carry on like this?”

Hope blinks, like she wasn’t expecting that question, “Yeah,” she answers, a little indignantly.

“Okay,” Rosie nods along, “Do you wanna call it dating?”

Hope stalls, eyes falling away as she considers, her voice coming out smaller than before when it finally does, “...Yeah.”

“Then we’re dating,” Rosie smiles sweetly at her, Hope’s expression softening at the sight.

Until it sharpens quickly, determination building in her eyes, “We have to go on a date,” she states evenly, matter-of-factly.

“Does that make it official?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Rosie shrugs, falling back against the arm of the sofa casually, a wicked grin splitting her lips, “But you’re taking me out,” she warns.

Hope’s brow furrows at the declaration, the surety of it, “What? Why?”

“You started this, now it’s your problem,” Rosie smirks as Hope frowns, her eyes narrowing into a glare in the dark of the flat.

“You’re the absolute worst.”

“Says the one taking me on a date,” Rosie wiggles in her spot, falling back further and slipping her feet into Hope’s lap, Hope harrumphing and shoving them off with a scowl, much to Rosie’s amusement.

---

Hope drags Rosie out to a cafe in the morning, grinning the entire time she avoids telling Rosie where they’re even going, laughing at all of Rosie’s off-base guesses and humming ‘warmer’ when she gets something right.

She holds Rosie’s hand the entire time, occasionally swinging their interlocked digits between them or fiddling with Rosie’s fingers, as if they’re the most fascinating thing Hope can conceive of. And maybe they are. Maybe the way their hands fit together is strange, maybe the way they’re so close in size is odd, maybe the way Rosie squeezes her hand or traces circles along her knuckles idly is puzzling.

She pulls Rosie to a stop at the mouth of an alley, earning a confused expression in turn as Rosie looks around, “What are we doing here?” she spins in a slow circle, taking in the desolate street around them, a backroad with a small boutique, a pawn shop, and an auto body place. “Are you going to mug me?” she asks with twisted lips when she faces Hope again.

A laugh bubbles out of Hope and she swats at Rosie’s arm, a pleased smile curving Rosie’s mouth. “No!” Hope chastises, before pausing, her jaw clamping shut. “Close your eyes,” she demands a beat later.

“Okay, you’re definitely mugging me.”

“Just do it,” Hope whines. “Please?” she smiles, sweet as candy, Rosie immediately giving in with a roll of her eyes. “Perfect,” Hope squeezes Rosie’s hand tight, gently tugging her further into the alley.

“This is a very elaborate ruse to mug me, you know,” Rosie comments, eyes still squeezed shut, a hand on her lower back leading her.

Hope huffs exasperatedly, “Would you stop it?”

“Just saying. You already know where I live and when I have work, you don’t have to mug me.”

“Stop it or I really am gonna mug you.”

Rosie grins victoriously, reveling in the way she doesn’t even have to see Hope’s face to know how irritated she is, that she can tell from voice alone, “Knew it.”

“Shut. Up,” Hope’s teeth are gritted as she glares at Rosie with her dopey smile and closed eyes.

“Fine, fine,” Rosie concedes, “Just leave my money alone.”

“Just your money?”

Rosie faces Hope regardless of sight, “What’s that meant to mean? You want my phone, too?”

“Just checking if you’re available then,” Hope teases playfully, still gently leading.

Rosie pauses to consider, “Depends,” she finally lands on.

“On what?” Hope challenges.

“What you want out of me,” Rosie answers carefully, “I’m not mugging people with you.”

Hope barely suppresses an eye roll, “You’re the worst.”

“Aw, you really care,” Rosie coos, her hands clasping above her heart dramatically.

“I care about your money.”

Another victorious smile, “Knew it. Golddigger.”

“Arsehole.”

“Says the mugger.”

A sigh’s Rosie’s only response as they come to a stop somewhere, Hope’s arms draping around Rosie’s shoulders and her lips pecking Rosie’s. Her hands instinctively land on Hope’s hips, “Okay, open your eyes,” Hope hums.

Rosie obliges, blinking a few times to adjust to the sunlight, smiling down at Hope as her vision clears. “This it? Lotta theatrics. Coulda just stayed in for this view,” she teases.

Hope shakes her head exasperatedly, but it’s not enough to hide the smile on her lips, “Look around.”

She does, lifting her head away from Hope and finding them on a busier street the alley emptied onto. There’s a little café right in front of her, somewhat secluded from the rest of the street, with fogged windows and blurs of colour inside. No one’s moving in or out of the building, and it’s small enough that only a few patrons could possibly be inside.

Rosie’s eyes fall back to Hope and her smile, “What is this place?” she asks softly, bewonderment lessening the edge of her tongue at the quiet little escape she’s been led to.

“My favourite café. It’s really small and has the same regulars and everyone’s super nice and wonderful.” Hope bites her lip, as if she’s hesitating or nervous about something, “I found it after the show, when there was so much attention everywhere I went, and no one even knew me, so I started coming all the time.”

Rosie nods along, staring into Hope’s eyes intently to ground her, to show she understands. And she really does. She understands how hard it was with the editing and the pressure of the show. She understands how bad the backlash online was at times, when people would shit on them for anything. She understands how necessary it was to find a place to withdraw, to have people that didn’t care and just let her continue on with her job.

“Well, let’s go,” Hope’s arms retract from around Rosie’s shoulders, hands sliding down to grip Rosie’s and pull her along to the café. She swings the door open with a grin, a bell ringing above their heads. Not a single patron glances their way, most typing away at laptops or scrolling their phones as they sip drinks and slowly pick at food.

Only an employee takes notice, waving at Hope with a welcoming smile as he wipes down a countertop. She gently leads Rosie to the till, immediately falling into a conversation with the man as Rosie scans the menu and the shop. There’s booths on one wall, most empty, small tables filling the front, and a mural of different climates and natural environments on the wall opposite the booths.

“What do you want?” Hope asks, turning to Rosie as the employee stands waiting, his hands on his hips and a slight smile curling his mouth.

She smiles back before glancing at the menu and the dozens of items written across it. “Um,” her eyes scan over drink after drink, the letters whirring together. “Iced vanilla latte for now?” she tries, meeting the employees eyes.

“Ooh, me too!” Hope chimes, squeezing Rosie’s hand excitedly.

The employee - Chris, on his name tag - smiles even brighter, “Coming right up.”

Hope tugs Rosie away before Chris has even turned all the way around, pulling her along to a booth and collapsing into one side. Rosie follows, settling across from her, their hands still loosely linked together on the table, Hope’s thumb tracing the lines of Rosie’s palm.

Something sparks in the back of Rosie’s mind at the contact, in the pit of her stomach, in the thump of her heart, and she can’t quite place it, but she knows she likes it. She knows she likes this moment, too, the way Hope looks so at ease and relaxed, the way Hope brought her to her hidden spot, the way Hope tried to make breakfast before opting for the café. She likes the way this is going, they way they work together, even from before they realised there was something more to them than platonic movie nights. She likes how casual it was, how easy it came about, how relaxed she is as long as Hope’s there.

And she likes the way they just fit. They fit like one another’s other half, their perfect match, the missing pieces in the puzzles that construct their lives. And she can see herself sacrificing things for the woman sitting across from her, can see herself working for this relationship and all its inevitable flaws, can see herself in this moment forever, without a doubt in her mind. And Rosie doesn’t do things she can’t see, can’t envision, can’t rationalise.

But she can see Hope’s smile, can envision countless Sunday mornings spent at this little café, can rationalise the way her heart flutters at every laugh. This makes perfect sense, every detail and every second is reasonable and real and means so much more than Rosie ever thought they’d mean.