#i am being a bit silly but seriously. recipe making is just taking the parts you like from different recipes and mashing them together

[naomiknight-17]

Oven-roasted sausage and peppers, tossed with some chickpea pasta I found hiding in the cupboard

Not a Hello Fresh for once, this is a Naomi Original

(Except that I got the sausage and peppers recipe online... but then I added chickpea pasta and parmesan so it's mine now)

[acrosstimeandspace]

Do all of them for Merlin /hj

(If you don't wanna, I can pick specific ones out)

abidienfjdn i actually did end up doing them all bc i do wanna talk about merlin so bad. he’s been living in my brain rent free, i have so many thoughts!

also i hope you’ve had a good day adrian!! and remember to take care! these are under the cut!

🍪 Cookie - What does your f/o call you?

i just know merlin’s a sucker for pet names, especially the really cheesy/cutesy ones. the more sugary sweet they are the better because a part of him loves the reactions he gets. but! he’d have some that are pretty consistent, particularly starting with “my” like my darling, my sweetheart, because they always get sasha to blush.

♣️ Clover - How would your f/o celebrate your birthday? How would you celebrate theirs?

partially loves and gets a bit of an crisis over birthdays in general. human life is so short, but also it’s a day to celebrate moving forward with life and having another wonderful year!

i think on sasha’s (my s/i’s) birthday, he’d prefer to do something private. cuddles in bed, a nice restaurant date and romantic stroll. it’s simple and sweet, but also personable. it gives them time to connect out of busy chaldea life.

on his birthday, i think sasha would prefer to treat him to lots of fun memories and experiences. after all, merlin’s only out of avalon for so long, he might as well enjoy what he’s been seeing in person! but, at the end of the day, being able to come together is merlin’s favorite part.

🖋 Pen - Would your f/o ever give you creative gifts? What creative form would they use? (E.g music, art, writing)

seeing as merlin’s an idol on his down time, i feel that he probably has a few creative talents! his favorite gift he’s gave is the plush fou, because sewing is so much time. and hey, he has quite the knack for it too!

🎤 Sing - Can your f/o sing? Is it a hobby or job? How often do they sing? (Bonus: do they have actual songs? What do you think of them?)

as much as i’d like to say no, i know that mage had pipes on him. he does so as a virtual idol, but also likes to sing little melodies when he and sasha are going to bed. that’s partially bc my dreams where he’s been there have featured on occasion him singing me lullabies >.>

also! he does sing in the stage play, and his va has done a few songs and covers. i’ve found there’s a few romantic songs. as of writing this i am so not well about this guy.

🎵 Music - Excluding any official songs of theirs, do any songs remind you of (you and) your f/o?

for some reason? i’m drawn to say paradise by george ezra. i don’t know why, but it makes me think of how merlin sees sasha as he’s beginning to develop feelings.

✝️ Lord - Are you or your f/o religious? What traditions would you share with each other?

i don’t think either sasha or merlin are particularly religious, but do enjoy sharing little bits about their own cultures with one another. i think mostly sasha loves to share family recipes!

🖤 Phantom - Is your f/o superstitious? Are they interested much in the paranormal or the occult?

considering merlin is the paranormal, you could say he’s interested! but mostly, he does love watching humans.

🌸 Blossom - Who fell in love first? How long did it take for each of you to realise your feelings?

oh merlin fell first! and while sasha is very bad at hiding their feelings and merlin likes to playfully tease, merlin was definitely in denial like sasha was.

sasha doesn’t really realize their feelings (they’re in denial) until merlin refers to himself as they’re partner seriously while on a mission with their master (they’re disguising as a couple it’s totally necessary$ and they internally lose it.

merlin on the other hand, while falling first, is deep in denial. he doesn’t know what love is, he can’t fall in love, he’s an incubus! but as he slowly grows closer and closer to sasha something stirs in him and it’s totally amusement, silly! and then he almost loses sasha and he’s like oh. oh. oh no.

🎰 Thrills - How risky is your f/o? Do they keep things safe or do they gamble their odds at whatever they feel like?

100% likes risk, but also he has foresight so is it really a risk? but in all honesty, merlin doesn’t care much for risking anyone or anything, not that he lets people know that.

🍳 Hungry - What is your f/o's favourite food? Favourite drink?

canonically merlin may not have a favorite food or drink but he does to me!!

emotion wise, his guilty please is happier emotions and memories, though he hates taking them away from people. he does enjoy more bitter flavors as well, as he believes there should be a balance to these sorts of things.

as for regular human food, he’s fond of sweets, particularly with slight bitter notes like dark chocolate and matcha based desserts. his favorite meals happen to be anything that can be eaten as a group.

as for drinks, he’s fond of the tea he and artoria would have together in camelot. he’s found though that he does enjoy a cocktail or two, especially with fun names! and bright colors!

🪽 Angel - How nice is your f/o to others? Are they different around you or act just the same?

he’s struck a balance between playful and polite with people, but also loves to tease those with great reactions, so he comes off as rather mean to people who he’s not close to.

and while he does love to tease those he’s close to like sasha and artoria, he does know there’s a line and respects it. he also is kinder in the sense that he tries to check in with people in his own way, but he’s not always sure if he should interfere, as occasionally he feels he knows too much about people. he’s gotten great at subtle guiding!

and merlin will be the first to admit he turns up the flirt factor with sasha. how can he not when ae always blush at him?

🕸 Widow - Does your f/o like spiders?

wouldn’t say merlin is fond of them, but he doesn’t dislike them, so to speak. pretty neutral, tbh.

🩸 Ouch - How would your f/o react to seeing you hurt (either mild or major)?

if it’s a small scrape, such as sasha falling and getting a scrape he’d probably tease them a bit, but i do think serious injuries would set off a protective bone in merlin. especially if he’s there fighting by their side.

😍 Obsessed - How obsessed is your f/o about you? What lengths would they go for you?

a normal amount of obsessed, i think? he’s navigating his more human emotions still and he knows he wants to stay by sasha’s side forever. maybe he’s looking for a way to sneak them into avalon with if they ever wanted to. but like, if they want a normal human life, he’d never deny them of that.

💔 Mine - How jealous is your f/o?

oooo merlin is a pouty jealous person. he doesn’t get so too often as he knows sasha loves him! but, he doesn’t like it that people would ignore that they say they’re taken. or if they don’t spend enough time with him (this a lot). he’s a needy man, but don’t you love him for it? 🥺

💋 Kiss - How would your f/o react if you gave them a random unexpected kiss?

you know he’s smug, i just know it. would completely ask for more too. but underneath it all he’s so giddy, he loves random affection like this so much! but be aware that sasha will be trapped by him just flopping on top of them asking for more kisses.

🔪 Dangerous - How skilled is your f/o in combat or murder?

in combat yes, but he will not let anyone know. after all he’s just a fragile guy! you wouldn’t put him on the front lines with his b strength right?

🐝 Buzz - Do any of your f/os know each other? (In canon or just a hc/au?)

yes!! tristan and merlin come from the same source, and of course there is fgo. i actually initially thought about using isolde to ship with merlin, but you know maybe there’s enough wife problems within the knights of the round.

⭐️ Star - Gush about your f/o! Or a s/i! Whatever you want!

both? both is good!

first i wanna say to me merlin is genderfluid! so i do end up using both he/she pronouns for her. and also demiro. but more gushy i do love merlin’s playfulness. it brightens things up and also can be really revealing about her. and also him in my dreams. ugh he’s so sweet?? and i’ve had so many?? mainly they’re cuddle sessions, and tbh merlin would be so good to cuddle with.

as for my si for him, their name is sasha! they’re a mage from the mage’s association that carries aer family’s curse so they look quite beastly (horns, claws, fangs, scales, the works so to speak). and funnily enough, ae’s fused with gabrielle-suzanne de villeneuve, who’s considered the first person to write down the beauty and the beast fairy tale. so ae’s a demiservant. and she sorta helps sasha out with self love!

[harfanfare]

How to win a heart of Floyd Leech?

a/n: Someone requested this; ask got deleted by accident! Hope you will like it, Anon!

Warning!

Once you start walking through the specific points of the guide, your life will be exposed to the presence of Floyd Leech. Interrupting the action at one of the stages may cause many problems; F. Leech categorizes stopping as "boring", which puts the user of this guide in great danger.

The only way out is to get to the very end. Or not to start at all.

You act at your own risk.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏‏‎ 

1.   Be an easy new target.

To one’s surprise, it is much harder not to catch his attention.

You can easily become another entertaining target of Floyd, mostly by doing silly things or him just considering them as ones.

And to automatically get labelled as “silly”, you just need to fall into one of his traps—he prepares them for someone else, maybe for goldfish, maybe for another person given a sea-inspired nickname, expecting to enjoy watching how familiar face twitches with terror as he jumps into the scene and tightly embraces passing student.

But no. You were the one who showed up in the wrong place and time as Floyd jumped out from his hideout, scaring you half to death. With a strangled yelp, you sharply backed away. After gaining a slight flush on your cheeks, you recognised who you just bumped into and quietly gasped.

However, he was much more bewildered than you were.

He had never encountered somebody who wouldn’t just freeze under his touch. Jumping away, gasping, muttering half-hearted apologies and flushing? That’s new.

That’s also entertaining.

Even after your quickly disappearance from the scene, his gaze somehow inexplicably started returning to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2.   Visit Mostro Lounge often.

“We’re looking for someone who would like to work part-time for Azul~” Floyd said, sliding poster across the table. He popped up in front of you unannounced, having your thoughts return to dark reality.

“Oh,” you replied quietly, packing your things faster. “Good luck with it.”

You got up from your seat, but the thought of letting you go just like that didn’t even cross Floyd’s mind.

“Ehh? Shrimpy, aren’t you going to try?” he asked, frowning. You winced a little at the nickname he called you, not sure how to feel about it. “You know, you won’t work there for free.”

Azul will grant your wish.

You fidgeted a little, questioning your response. You heard—who didn’t?—rumours that Octavinelle leader could fulfil any request for a certain price. Ones were working for it, others were paying, and lasts were trading their request with Azul’s one.

The thought of having anything just by working in some café made you consider the offer again—this time quickier.

“I will go,” you decided.

“Hooray!” Floyd smiled cheerfully, just as if he won some grand prize in the lottery. “But what could Shrimpy possibly wish for, to change your response so drastically~?” he wondered but didn’t get any answer in return.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3.   Be honest.

“Shrimpy...”

You passed Floyd, without sparing him a look. Anyone who has known you for a while would notice that your movements were a bit stiff and creaky.

Once you heard Floyd’s voice, a wave of tiredness struck you as if you didn’t get any sleep last night after working your shift in Mostro Lounge.

There were so many people to serve, so many things to do... and yet, you couldn’t help with anything, still not knowing how everything works, messing up with orders and breaking some plates in process.

Floyd buzzing around you, asking you some random questions (“Shrimpy, have you done it before?”). You answered them quickly, but each of them bumped you out of rhythm, making you forget what you were doing. It also didn’t help that Floyd certainly liked you being disoriented, replying with a shrug and grin on his face at your thundering glances.

So now, after gaining a little trauma from working in Octavinelle’s café, all you could do is ignore Floyd’s presence, silently accusing him of your infamous fiasco.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” he called you again, catching you up. “Are you mad?”

“I am not mad,” you snapped and took an unstable breath. “Look, I just started working, and on my first day I made already so many mistakes—”

“Yeah,” he replied indifferently. “And what with that?”

“...I couldn’t even correctly serve drinks—”

“Oh, stop!” Floyd muffled your mouth with his hand, an annoying look on his face. “I know where it is going. And no, you can’t quit a job, after all my efforts to get you there. It will get boring again!”

“But—”

“Stop, stop, stop,” he corrected his hand on your mouth, now not letting even a sound get through his fingers. “Azul knows that you tried your best. And for these plates you broke, he already added them to your paycheck. You need to practice! Not to give up, Shrimpy!”

You looked up at him, quite stunned by these words. Perhaps he quoted someone from the book or heard someone talking like that...

But it was encouraging. In some way, considering that you couldn’t protest, having your mouth covered. But still, it was encouraging.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4.   Take classes together.

You can have the power of controlling Floyd’s behaviour, making other students’ life easier. Or you two can be a walking disaster.

Turning alchemy lesson into putting random ingredients into a boiler and praying that the mysterious mixture won’t explode.

History classes started being a regular pinching ritual to keep yourself from falling asleep (you are being pinched more, even when you don’t feel sleepy).

In contrast, flying lessons are peaceful. Nor Jade, nor Floyd, nor Azul are fond of these classes. Floyd is much eager to stand both feet on the ground, watching you practice or having you sulking next to him about heights.

However, if you are a calm, shy, or tranquil person, exchanging little notes or drawings will be a little habit of yours. Handing them discreetly under the eye of sir Crewel is quite a challenge, but it also gives satisfaction once the note was given.

Floyd throws away most of your paper conversations, but the ones he really likes, he cherishes them by keeping them with him, stuffed in his pockets. He will be irritated if anyone would like to see what you two were writing about, even if the talk was about new strawberries delivery for the new recipe.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.   Being ticklish or not.

There are two possible scenarios, whether his new, lovely target is ticklish or not.

If is: prepare for being touched a lot. Observing how you quiver with surprise, when he lightly—he especially makes his touch less fierce, knowing very well that tickling isn’t violent—wraps his hands around your waist, making you hold your breath.

He would tickle you a lot, very often making you cry out of laugh and pain that follows sharp writhing and fidgeting, but never that much, to seriously upset you. That’s some luck in such unlucky situation.

If not: he will try to find other weak point. Or will try to make you ticklish—his hands are particularly cold and pressing them to your warm skin, might make you give him a reaction he would enjoy.

Albeit, if you also won’t return any expression even then, he will seriously search for some other weakness. Slightly biting an ear lobe, whispering next to your ear or anything that could make his smile appear, once he made you put him somewhere between “I despise you with each and every cell” and abstract mumbling with the heat on your checks.

Oh, he loves your reactions so much.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6.   Learn all nicknames he gave other people (you will unlock an option to slightly dish other people).

“Oh Lord...” you muttered to yourself, as your gaze followed scribbled list of names that Jade just passed to you. He willingly connected all student’s names with pseudonyms Floyd gave other people and handed the roaster over to you once you helped him with some kitchen cleaning.

“There are so many, right?” Jade replied with a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you already memorised some of them, being around Floyd that much.”

You nodded mindlessly as you tried to get names into your head. You mouthed them soundlessly one by one, motivated to learn them by the end of the week.

The chuckle that escaped Jade’s lips startled you, and you realised that he still was in the room. Or that you didn’t leave the Lounge even after your shift has already ended.

“My brother surely didn’t exaggerate anything about you,” he said, his tone a bit more buoyant than ever, although you couldn’t be sure as the thick air of mystery still echoed in his voice. “I wonder how it will finally end?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7.   Always share your takoyaki with him.

“What are you hiding, Shrimpy?”

You shuddered at a voice that you did not want to hear at this moment, not for all the world. Unless that the world included a chest filled with takoyaki, which you could give to certain somebody.

You felt that instead of a shashlik of tasty balls, you were holding a knife in your hands, a veritable proof of a crime you had committed. It weighed heavily in your grip, and Floyd's approaching footsteps did not make your situation any better.

It was a time to hide the evidence.

You pushed as much as you could into your mouth and swallowed a few balls without even gnawing them much. You almost choked on them.

“Me? I?” you asked innocently. You sincerely hoped that no sauce or a stray piece of cake was left on your face. “What could I possibly hide?”

"Hmm, hmm~," he drew closer, and you needed all your will gathered, to make yourself stay where you were. Even without looking in the mirror, you knew you were all pale on the face. “With my little eye, I spy something...”

His gaze went down, just to your hands, which you tried to hide behind your back.

Not giving him a clear look at your palms or wooden stick, you turned around on the heel and run with all your might. Your muscles felt somehow stiff as if they also didn’t see a chance to win this race.

Now Floyd was sure you are hiding something, and there is no chance he’ll let it go.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8.   Watch him at his basketball practice.

81:30 for the blue team!

“Floyd once again started playing wild,” Ace breathed with clear regret in his voice. He glanced your way, frowning at you. “It’s your fault. Please come at practices when Floyd is in my team, not otherwise.”

You laughed awkwardly as he walked away.

A moment later, Floyd reached for a bottle with water and a towel you bravely guarded through the whole practice. He smiled wholeheartedly, happy with the win, water, and your presence.

“How did you like the game?” he asked once he changed from PE clothes and you two started heading towards Octavinelle.

“It was really fun!” you admitted, a speck of amusement appeared in Floyd’s eyes. “The red team didn’t have much time to capture a ball before you got hold of it again.”

“Hehe~ I’m glad you liked it,” he said. “I really like to play basketball, even more than ever, when I know that you are watching! That’s why,” he added, sincerity well-heard in his voice, “you need to come even more often!”

You nodded happily.

You just couldn’t mind it, all that accompanying him.

It was... fun.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9.   Dance, dance, dance!

Heels tapped on the floor and the sound of these steps would probably have spread through the room, if not for the jazz music pounding through Mostro Lounge’s speakers.

Floyd pulled you closer, letting a playful smile on his lips stretch even more. You couldn’t help but smile back, before gasping as he spun you around your axis. You lost balance and would fall if not steady grip around your waist, as Floyd leaned on closer to you, making you bend on one leg more and entirely rely on his touch.

Last notes of melody faded, and you still were in that pose, facing each other. With each second, Floyd’s face was changing from some form of amazement to amusement, finally letting you properly stand.

“Ha... When did you learn to dance so smoothly?” you asked smiling in wonder.

“Hehe~ With legs you can dance a lot more than in the sea,” he answered. “On land, it’s super fun~”

You nodded at his words.

Floyd was a wonderful dancer.

But you can’t be sure if being a good dancing partner is the only thing that made you feel all warm and fuzzy because butterflies still didn’t leave your stomach.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10.            “Let’s do something fun!”

“Here is your paycheck,” Azul handed you a white envelope, sealed with a stamp with the Octavinelle logo. “And you, [Name], was also working for some request, right?”

You nodded as you stared at the envelope.

Somehow, knowing how stupid the lingering thought in your mind was, you couldn’t bear to look up. If you would, your gaze would probably ignore all the elegant furniture of the room, even the owner of the room, Azul, just to settle on Floyd.

If you saw anything more than his shoes, that stupid thought would make their way outside, turning plans into action.

And Floyd unknowingly did everything to make them come true.

“Shrimpy,” he cupped your face with his hands, judging by his voice he seemed quite... worried? When he made you look in his olive and gold eyes, you started holding your breath. “Are you okay?”

With that question, your strong will to wish for something expensive or practical was broken.

You started fidgeting more, not knowing how to express your thoughts in words. “I think I have a request... a question for Floyd, rather than for you, Azul...”

Azul nodded at first uncertain and the room has fallen into silence once again until you spoke.

“Well, Floyd,” you turned to him, trying your best not to wander your gaze away from him, “Please, take your time with answering, but I want your response to be, uh, honest.”

You were tripping onto your own words, embarrassment soaring in your body as you started to think that you should’ve kept quiet. But Floyd was patient with your answer, as well as Jade and Azul who observed the situation as if they predicted it before.

“I mean- Okay, just answer the question.” You took an erratic breath. “Would you like to—”

“Sure!” Floyd interrupted you before even hearing the whole question. “I would like to do everything with you.”

You stood there, all confused. But, by Floyd’s expression you knew that he guessed what you wanted to say. Face heating up, you forgot about Azul and Jade, who hid a chuckle by turning his head to the side.

“How fun,” he said as Floyd wrapped his arms around you, as if shielding you from other people in the room.

“I won’t share Shrimpy with you, Jade. Not a chance.”

[queenlua]

Ace Attorney case tier list

so, in the past year, i finished replaying games 1 through 5 for the first time in forever, and also played game 6 for the first time ever

so here’s where i ruthlessly rank each of the cases based on that most scientific metric of all, My Opinions:

OPENING CASES

S-tier: Turnabout Trump (4-1).  I already knew this case, and I still gasped with surprise when Phoenix showed up, and when Kristoph showed his true colors, and when Apollo realized OH SHIT OH FUCK I REALLY AM ACCUSING MY BOSS OF MURDER HUH... what a wonderful, splashy, shockingly concise case to open up the post-O.G. trilogy world.  Marvelous.

A-tier: Turnabout Memories (3-1).  Seeing Mia Fey (finally!) in action is a long-awaited delight; seeing Phoenix being a total dumbass was an unexpected-yet-perfect and fitting delight.

B-tier: The First Turnabout (1-1).  Solid lil’ case with some conventional-but-well-executed humor.  I’ve got a soft spot for Larry Butz.

C-tier: The Lost Turnabout (2-1), The Foreign Turnabout (6-1).  The former’s fine but a little forgettable; the latter has some fun gags (Payne’s ridiculous new outfit, dude absolutely shredding on the mandolin, etc) but is marred by how uh... kinda silly the game’s core conceit is, lol

E-tier: Turnabout Countdown (5-1).  The context surrounding this introduction is just sloppy (badly handled in media res + let’s lowkey retcon game 4 isn’t a great setup), and also the case itself is just. irksome. ted tonate is just fundamentally irritating to look at

FINALE CASES

S-tier: Bridge to the Turnabout (3-5), Turnabout Goodbyes (1-4).  No explanation needed.  God they fuck so hard

A-tier: The Cosmic Turnabout + Turnabout for Tomorrow (5-4 + 5-5), Turnabout Succession (4-4).

The former two cases are what makes AA5 worth it, and they make for a tremendously fun ride.  It fumbles the execution in some notable ways (Apollo’s sudden j’accuse moment feels a little forced/awkward/inadequately foreshadowed, and damn it sure would’ve been nice to know Clay Terran at all before he died, and also The Phantom’s final meltdown could’ve used a bit more emotional heft)... but okay let’s be real, I’m here for Simon Blackquill, and this case gives me so much of him so who gives a shit.  (And Aura!  Condescending obnoxious engineering queen!  I love her!)  

As for Turnabout Succession... while I earnestly wish the game had explored more of Klavier’s feelings about this whole setup, and some more emotional beats for Apollo, the case still makes for such a satisfyingly twisty and fun investigation overall (the poison stamp! what a ridiculous murder method! I love it!) that it’s a more-than-worthy finale.

B-tier: Turnabout Revolution (6-5), Farewell, My Turnabout (2-4).

The former does some cool stuff—I particularly like the opening half, where Apollo’s being real snippy and coping with Frankly Bizarre Dad Feelings, and giving Apollo a chance to finally throw down against Phoenix is a blast.  The latter half of the case starts feeling a little... ridiculous? cramped? idk? like, they didn’t do nearly enough foreshadowing about Nahyuta’s whole deal for me to care about his drama, this justice system is so obviously silly and the manner in which the revolution is playing out strains my already-suspended-sky-high disbelief... fun, and flashy, but more noise than signal in the last part, I guess.

As for Farewell, My Turnabout: of course I love Edgeworth rolling back into court goin’ through SOME kind of bizarre emotional arc of Hey I’m Totally Healed Now and obnoxiously preaching about Truth TM.  And it’s cool that the game set up a case where you want to lose.  But the net result is a bit strange tonally—it’s trying set up some kind of message about It’s Not Just About Winning, It’s About Pursuing The Truth, but it feels really muddled when that’s combined with Okay But Maya’s Literally Being Held Hostage Like Right Now, Surely A Reasonable Justice System Has A Process For Dealing With This Obviously Complicated Situation, Right?

but also Franziska takes a fucking bullet (how did I forget about that) and then gets to roll in like Ms. Save The Day so, really, lots of good shit here

FILLER CASES

S-tier: Reunion, and Turnabout (2-2), Turnabout Beginnings (3-4).  Look, the first one gives me all the Fey family drama a girl could ask for, and the latter gives me young Edgeworth being a total shit in an obnoxiously shimmery outfit.  The whole enchilada is here

A+ tier: The Magical Turnabout (6-2).  DELIGHTFUL!  MAGICIAN!  SHENANIGANS!  Like you get to guess the trick behind a magic act as part of the case, how fucking fun is that, and also the Apollo & Athena duo’s chemistry is perfect, the villain is a FANTASTIC bastard, and even the bit characters you meet during the investigation are total delights... Probably the best “standalone” case in the series, in that it doesn’t rely on any emotional connections to previous cases (unlike 2-2 and 3-4) to still totally and completely rule.

A tier: Turnabout Samurai (1-3), Turnabout Reclaimed (5-DLC).

For Turnabout Samurai, I remembered before this replay how delightful the TV SHOW STUDIO investigation and actor-fandom stuff was; I had TOTALLY forgotten Vasquez calling in her mob connections to try and wreck you.  What a fantastic villain; what a fun case.

Turnabout Reclaimed is just good solid goofy nonsense.  Probably receives a boost for me in particular because, yeah, Simon Blackquill.  But then again who isn’t giving cases a boost on that account; they are MISSING OUT

B tier: The Stolen Turnabout (3-2).  Ron and Desirée are so great sighs into hands

C tier: Listing roughly in order of preference: Turnabout Academy (5-3), Turnabout Serenade (4-3), Turnabout Sisters (1-2), Recipe for a Turnabout (3-3), Rite of the Turnabout (6-3), Rise from the Ashes (1-5).

Four of these (5-3, 4-3, 1-2, 3-3) are perfectly solid cases; I just don’t love them quite as much as “thievery hijinks” or “Hollywood hijinks” or other such particularly delightful flavors.  Everyone has a favorite flavor of Jolly Rancher and all that.

Rite of the Turnabout is interesting and connected with the larger themes of the game in a cool way, and makes good use of the divination mechanic.  However, the last bit gets twisty enough to actually be kind of confusing, and said larger themes of the game are... kinda hard for me to take seriously... which, yeah, leads to it feeling a little stilted when it really should be singing.

Rise from the Ashes landed awkwardly for me.  I know it was added well after the first game’s release, and it does a good job of continuing some of the cool stuff from that game—it’s neat, in isolation, to see Phoenix and Edgeworth working together (while still sniping at each other!), and some of the DS-specific mechanics are neat.  However, I just didn’t feel like I learned quite enough about Ema and Lana to care about them like I should, and retconning “(almost certainly true) rumors that Edgeworth was involved in Shady Shit TM” into “actually Edgeworth was totally ignorant of Shady Shit TM, like at worst his crime was willful ignorance / incuriosity, he was just been manipulated by the Police Chief”... makes Edgeworth less interesting to me!  Like, it’s cool to see Edgeworth caught off-guard and under pressure, but I wish the circumstances had been different?  Also Gant’s theme song is annoying as shit, which is petty but hey this is my blog post so

D tier: Turnabout Storyteller (6-4), Turnabout Corner (4-2), Turnabout Big Top (2-3), The Monstrous Turnabout (5-2).

Turnabout Storyteller has some fun gags with My Dude Simon and also Taka, but was heavily marred by Everyone Talking Down To Athena The Entire Fucking Case Oh My God Can You All Just Shut Up.

Turnabout Corner has... lots of fun elements but... look the fucking stolen-panties setup just grates ok

I don’t think I hate Turnabout Big Top the way most people seem to, but I did find the final murder setup more annoying that I remembered this playthrough—bro you were really sure the dude was going to conveniently stand right there and the heavy statue was definitely going to strike a killing blow and not just give the guy a concussion?  ok lol

The Monstrous Turnabout suffers mostly from poor puzzle/investigation design, being too hand-hold-y, and also having a core gimmick/setting that just wasn’t really my thing.  Alas!

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

Hello, Em! Would you be willing to help me find my type? I’m in my early 20s, if that helps. I’m pretty sure I’m an Fi-dom, but I also see a lot of myself in Si-dom descriptions. I’ve always been a very emotional person, but I almost never discuss it with anyone. Whenever I do get upset, it’s almost impossible for me to explain how I’m feeling, so I try to find ways to be alone, so it doesn’t come out as sarcasm. My two biggest conflicts at work are with one coworker, who seems really nice (1/7)

until she finds out that she can’t control you, and my manager, who’s super outgoing and honestly just too much for me in the morning (he’s better at the people side of business than at the actual business side). I care a lot about other people and have tried desperately to pick up hobbies that my friends and family were interested in so that we would have something in common, but I couldn’t force myself to enjoy something just to be liked more. I really don’t like conflict, but if it comes down to it and I don’t see a way out, I tend to cut people off because I don’t see the point in continuing the (2/7)

argument. Typically, my main method of staying out of arguments is only giving my opinion if someone directly asks for it, since I struggle to sugarcoat the truth to soften the blow. Some of the major things that will set me off are when I think that people are just saying things without actually meaning them and when I feel that someone is bulldozing someone else. I remember one friend who would just tell people whatever they wanted to hear to keep them happy and I could never take her (3/7)

seriously. My sister and I tend to butt heads since I’m one of the few people who will stand up to her and call her out. I’m always on time and considered one of the more dependable people in my friend group, because both of those attributes are signs of respect in my mind. If you say you’re going to do something, do it. I would say I’m decent with details, but often will find myself double checking what I think the answer is because I don’t have a ton of faith in it. Whenever someone places an order, I always read it back to them, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything, because (4/7)

I will forget if I don’t have it written down. When I’m baking at home, I still will read the recipe, lay out everything I need, and put things away as soon as I’m finished with them, so I don’t add something twice. Whenever I’m working with deadlines or am stressed, I will try to organize my thoughts with pro-con lists, diagrams, or charts, but I have to admit that it doesn’t really help all that much, I will almost always end up trying to justify what I wanted to do in the beginning. (5/7)

One of my strengths at work is that I’m observant and tend to pick up new skills rather quickly, though I will always double check the first few times to make sure I’m not actually screwing it up. I tend to take failures personally, even though I know I need to learn to see it differently One thing that I struggle with a lot is feeling like I’m always running out of time. I allow myself way more time than I really need to reach my destination and as a result am always (6/7)

early and almost never have an overcrowded schedule. I hope this is enough to go on, I tried to condense as much as possible! (7/7)

----------------------------------------

Hi anon,

From the initial two parts, I think you are likely an introvert, and my guess is not a high Te user; I tend not to like people who are nice until it becomes apparent they’re only interested in control but I also tend to confront them head-on. My guess is also that you aren’t a high Ti user, just based on your writing style and initial focus on emotions so at this point I’m looking at dom Fi/aux Fe, with an eye towards sensing given what you said about Si.

After reading through entirely, I think ISFP sounds right:

I think the part about hobbies could go either way with high Fe or Fi, and taken in context with the part about cutting people off I would say this sounds more like high Fi. I also think that your difficulty in sugarcoating, instead choosing to just not bring things up, is also more indicative of Fi, and in general your attitudes about authenticity cement that.

Editorializing a bit I am in fully agreement with you on punctuality - it’s a sign that you respect people (being late sometimes is understandable because life happens but being flaky outside of a dire emergency is not), and I tend to associate this more with sensing just because it’s a way of showing respect through real-world actions; I think love languages are kind of silly but I also must admit that showing vs. saying does have something of a sensing/intuition split.

The conflict between wanting guidance but also following your original intent feels very true to high Fi/inferior Te, and the choice to implement those external but concrete tools seems in line with Se.

Observant and quick to pick up new skills is a hallmark of high Se as well. Overall, ISFP fits you very well - I think you happen to fall on the more meticulous side, either because you are starting to explore your inferior Te or just because it’s been necessary or useful for you in work or life.

Finally I want to say that this did provide a lot of useful information! This is actually how a longer ask should be structured to get a good answer; you provided tons of concrete, meaningful, and as-objective-as-possible examples with explanations, and while you brought up some potential types you’d considered you structured it as “these are the functions I think I may have” at the beginning and then let the information stand for itself rather than pre-arranging it into arguments. Overall this is a great example of an ask!

[monstersandmaw]

Evening to ya, Ghosti✌️😆

Sorry if the wording sounds silly, but I wanted to ask if you know any rituals I could do for the New Years. 🤣 Christmas hasn't been exactly an easy time for me for various reasons and I tend to get the holiday blues pretty bad, and for a long old while New Years has felt very similar. I'm doing my best to feel hopeful and to have some faith for the new year, but it's turning out to be trickier than I anticipated. So I wanted to ask for suggestions as to do anything that could help feeling more hopeful, I dunno. :3

Though feel free to ignore this if you don't have the energy for it. I hope you had delightful holiday however you celebrated!!! 😊💖💖💖💖

Hey anon! (it’s now afternoon here in the UK, and it was morning when I started this! I got a bit carried away). I don’t know that I’m necessarily the right person to ask about this, but here are some ideas of things I’ve found helpful/centring/calming anyway which you could draw from. Other folks, please feel free to chime in with your favourite ways to put the old year to bed and welcome in the new one!

(first of all, I’m sending you lots of virtual ghostli hugs to help drive away those holiday blues. That sucks, and I’m so sorry it’s been so tough for you.)

Here’s a rundown of what’s below, and I’ll put in a ‘keep reading’ so that it’s not an incredibly long post! Some of it is more on the ‘spiritutal’ side of things, and others are just mundane and practical things.

Congratulate yourself on making it through the clusterfuck that was 2020

Make some tea and meditate on what’s been and what you wish for

Go outside, be still, and breathe deeply

Let go of negative events and thoughts by writing them down, then safely burning the paper

Disconnect from social media for a few days (or however long you’re comfortable with)

Start a bullet journal

Write lists of goals for 2021 and then refine/distill them down to 3 manageable objectives

Commit 100% to 6 months of positive change

Pick three dates/months in the year when good things will happen, and make them happen (including growing veg/fruit)

Light a candle on the full moon or New Year

Ok, so, first of all, you’ve made it through this year!! That’s no small accomplishment, given the sheer volume of absolute shite that has been flung at us from all angles, no matter where in the world you live. Celebrate that. Seriously, I’m not being flippant. Take a moment of stillness wherever you are, be ‘present’, and just think about the fact that you’re here, right now, reading this post. Not everyone is here any more for one reason or another, but you did it. Congratulate yourself and celebrate that. Treat yourself to a slice of cake (or something you really enjoy) specifically to celebrate making it through 2020.

Make a cup of tea (try a new blend or recipe perhaps, or stick with your absolute favourite), or make a comforting drink of your choice. As you pour the water into the cup, breathe in the steam and enjoy the scent of it. Try and imbue all the positive things - memories, achievements, moments etc. - that you encountered this year into the tea/drink, and think about them growing in strength as the tea steeps, and envisage them continuing on to next year too. When you drink the tea, you take the positive thoughts into yourself and they become a part of you. You could try it in the morning with a caffeinated drink (if you enjoy those) and let it fuel you for the day, or you could try a herbal tea at night to let the good vibes steep overnight while you rest. Make it part of your daily routine; a private meditation.

Go outside and find a quiet spot somewhere and either stand or sit and just soak up the atmosphere. If there’s a tree nearby, think about the way its roots are planted in the earth, its trunk stands tall, and its branches reach towards the sky. Feel that space inside you. Breathe deeply in and out, visualising your lungs filling to the deepest parts, starting at the bottom. Count to four for each inhale, and six out (or whatever you’re comfortable with, so long as the exhale is longer than the inhale). This will help to still you and calm you.

If you have something fireproof (can just be a ceramic bowl), take a piece of paper and make a moment to write down all the negative things about this year, using a pen that you’re comfortable with. If you’re not one for words, draw pictures. You can make it really beautiful or just scribble it all down - it doesn’t matter. Get that shit out. Look at it for a while and read it through, mentally letting go of each thing as your eyes pass over it, then light one corner (carefully!!!) and let it burn somewhere with good ventilation (a cooker hood is good for that, but outside is better). Visualise all that negativity being swallowed by the universe and let it go. My favourite line from the Seamus Heaney translation of Beowulf comes at Beowulf’s funeral when a Geat woman is singing her grief at his passing to the sky, and there’s the simple sentence: “Heaven swallowed the smoke.” How beautiful is that? The sky swallowed up her grief as she poured it out to the universe. The negativity might take some time to vanish from your life (it’s not going to disappear at the same time as the paper, sadly!), but watching it go can be the first stage of letting things go. I did this last year, and I’m only just letting go of the last things on that list, but it was a start, and it made me feel more at peace. 

Disconnect from social media. I know that with so much more happening online this year out of necessity, we’ve become even more dependant on our phones and computers, and it’s wonderful that we have this chance to connect with people when we can’t see them face to face, but social media can also act as a crucible for negative feelings. People usually post the best or the worst aspects of what’s going on for them or what they care about, so it leads to a skewed view of both the world and of what’s going on amongst our connections. It’s easy to start feeling insignificant next to someone else because of their achievements or their looks etc. and it’s also easy to start to get a bleak outlook when the news is full of terrible stories and people are reacting to it in a volatile and often knee-jerk way. Take some time off - uninstall the apps, or put the limiter setting on, or just step back - for a day, two days, a week, whatever you’re comfortable with. It doesn’t have to be forever. If you use those platforms to talk to people, tell them what you’re doing, and give them another way to reach you if they need. No need to isolate yourself completely!! Think about how you felt before you started it (write it down?) and do the same afterwards, and compare. If it didn’t work for you, then that’s fine too. 

Start a bullet journal! Now is the perfect time to start bullet journaling. I first started this year when I felt like time was slipping through my fingers and my life was out of my control, and it’s really helped me to get a sense of order back. It’s not the magic cure-all for procrastinators and time wasters, trust me, but it can help to organise your mind as well as your day, and keep track of your habits etc. It can be literally whatever tool you need it to be. There’s a trend on social media - particularly Instagram and YouTube - that shows off these gorgeous journals that are basically works of art in themselves, and while it’s absolutely fine to aspire to that if you want to, the essential point of the bullet journal is to be a tool. You can buy print-outs from Etsy if you don’t fancy doing your own spreads. But don’t get completely hung up on pretty spreads and layouts because you won’t use it fully then. If you’ve got ‘new book fear’, like I did, make your own! I literally started my journaling by folding a few pieces of paper over, slapping a few stickers on them to cheer them up, and writing some lists. I didn’t buy a ‘proper’ journal until July 2020 when I’d got the hang of what I wanted out of the tool, and how to use it. I adapted one or two things, and I’ll be changing one or two things for next year, but it was a good way to start.

Here are two ‘minimalist’ journals and styles that I found helpful when setting mine up. They focus on usefulness and practicality, rather than overwhelming, artistic spreads and cutesy designs. I’m about to do a ‘plan with me 2021’ journal video for YouTube, so I’ll put that up when I’ve finished it, in case that’s helpful. 

Elsa Rhae

Pick Up Limes

Write down the things you want to achieve for 2021. These can be more abstract concepts like ‘more organised’ ‘healthier’ ‘start a business’ etc. Then, when you’ve got as many things as you’d ideally love to achieve/accomplish/manifest (don’t hold back at that stage), take another piece of paper and choose a maximum of six from that first lot to focus on, and below that, choose just three absolutely essential things to focus on. Make those your things for 2021.  

Now, this one is a personal one for me, so it may not be applicable at all to you/others, but I’ll share it anyway. For me, I need to make some significant lifestyle changes for my physical and mental health. So, I’ve decided to commit to 6 months of really hard work to bring about those changes. Time is going to pass anyway, from January to June. Six months will come and go anyway. Where will I be in six months’ time? I could be physically and mentally exactly where I am today. That thought is super depressing to me. Or, I could devote 200% focus, commitment, and energy, and bring about those changes, and be the ‘me’ I want to be in six months’ time.

It’s like the adage of ‘given a week to write a speech, it will take you a week, but given a day to write the same speech, it will take you a day’ - your brain will tell you it takes the amount of time that you have at hand to accomplish the task, and that’s simply how long it then takes. Use those three things from the 2021 list above, and commit to making those three things happen.

As an aside, tell someone (whose opinions you value) that you’re going to do this. By telling someone, you’re helping to cement the idea in reality, and you’ve got a support to turn to if it gets rocky, someone to cheer you on, and someone to celebrate with who knew what a struggle and commitment this was to you in the first place. 

Pick three points in the year where good things will happen. Book yourself something nice, save up for something and have it delivered then, or tell yourself that you will have achieved [x] by May, or September, or December. For me, it’s a working draft of my novel, and certain health goals by October, but make it yours, and keep those points fixed in your mind. It will help 2021 not to be one amorphous mass of time, and will give it structure and form. You could also choose to grow something in a pot - lots of vegetables can be grown cheaply from seed in a pot on a windowsill, and you’ll have something tasty to eat at the end of it!!

Here’s a slightly gentler idea to finish with: 

On New Year’s Eve take a moment to yourself, go outside if it’s not raining or too cold etc., light a candle, hold it (safely) in your hands, and be still. It doesn’t have to be exactly at midnight, but it will help your focus if it’s dark. Otherwise, go to a quiet part of the house and turn the lights down so that the candle flame is your focus. As before, think about what you’ve achieved this year, and be honest, not just negative! It’s very easy to say ‘oh I didn’t achieve anything, it all sucks, it was all awful’, when there will be tiny victories tucked away in there, I promise you, even if it was the toughest year of your life. Then think about where you are at the moment, mentally and physically. Acknowledge that state of being. Look at it with honest eyes. This moment is not for anyone else, so you don’t need to colour it one way or another. It’s for you. If you’re finding it hard not to be negative, be neutral. Let those thoughts come and go, and then turn your mind to the future. Mentally feed those negative thoughts into the flame in front of you, one at a time. Say it out loud if that helps, but do what makes you comfortable. Let the light from the flame fill your mind and your heart, and think about your intentions for the new year.  

Tonight (30th Dec) is a full moon, so if that is significant for you, you may wish to do this tonight instead of tomorrow. 

I hope that some of that gives you some inspiration, and I hope that people will chime in with their own new year’s rituals and habits. Be honest with yourself but not harsh, and be positive but not unrealistic. This year has been one hell of a ride, and we’re not done yet... Here in the UK, we’ve got the highest numbers of Covid that we’ve ever had, we’re in the harshest lock down (Tier 4) and can’t visit anyone, and we’re also going through Brexit (which is proving a nightmare for everyone, especially small businesses...).

Control the things you can control, and learn and employ systems to ride out the things that are beyond your influence. And take heart - you have a family of folks on here, all across the world!

[pastelbrachypelma]

Blind Date

Requested by @swampythesweetsketch ! Thank you for your suggestion and I hope you like it!

~

“I’m so nervous,” Murray admitted, sitting in front of the mirror and staring at himself. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Dude, c’mon!” Sly retorted, barely looking up from where he was putting a top coat over Murray’s nail polish. “If he doesn’t like you, then I’m Santa Claus!”

“That can be arranged,” Bentley teased. “Seriously, though, Murray. Just be yourself. That’s how to be the most attractive.”

“Yeah,” Murray looked away. “I guess. But…”

“Hey,” Sly slid onto the vanity, gently pushing aside a makeup palette with his tail as he sat directly in front of his friend. “Stop worrying, okay?” He grinned. “You know this guy is into you. You’ve been talking for ages. It’s worth a shot at least, right?”

“Right!” Murray squared his shoulders like he was going into battle, and wasn’t wearing holographic nails and a smokey eye. “Thanks for doin my topcoat for me, Sly. And thanks for helping me with my suit, Bentley.”

“No problem,” his brothers said simultaneously.

Sly patted Murray’s shoulder. “Go get ‘im, pal.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Bentley promised.

Murray smiled, and headed out the door.

“All right, Sly,” Bentley said, “you know what to do.”

Sly grabbed his binocucom and cane. “On it!”

~

Murray was already nervous enough being in a sizable crowd with bounty on his head, but, just as Sly had assured him, Murray was the best at disguises out of all of them, and nobody would recognize “The Murray” with makeup on.

He liked his makeup look; just a foundation to match his skin tone, a little contour, blush, and a smokey eye. Sly had helped with his nails, and they looked good. It wasn’t like Murray couldn’t have done it on his own, but Sly wanted to help, and he was better at nails than at eyeliner. Murray chuckled to himself, thinking of the last time Sly tried to do a winged liner. He’d looked even more like a raccoon than usual!

He was sitting alone at the table, waiting for his date, like he had been for the better part of an hour. Every time the door opened, he would look up, expecting to see a handsome man looking for his table. But, it was just couples or families. He sighed. He was sure a blind date would’ve been better, seeing as nobody could turn him down just because of his weight, but maybe the guy had guessed, judging by how much Murray talked about recipes. Or maybe he thought Murray was a sissy, or…

The door opened again, to someone by themselves. Except Murray could recognize that tail in his sleep. Sly had a satin jacket over a button-down shirt, hair slicked back. He was wearing the dance shoes they’d stolen from India, and was looking a little lost. Murray was a bit worried for two reasons. The first was that Sly was here at all; had something happened? The second was that Sly could only handle big crowds if he was at a social event. Parties, he liked. There were excuses to mingle in small groups. He had never liked large throngs of people. If Sly has a panic attack…

But instead, Sly found him (after pretending to have been looking for him) and waved. Murray waved back, confused, as Sly strode forward confidently through the crowd.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Sly said, brushing dust off his lapels. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“You didn’t,” Murray said, a bit confused. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Sly demurred, giggling shyly. “Oh, don’t be silly! How could I ever turn down a hunk like you?”

Murray wanted to laugh. Sly liked playing the effeminate gay. The question was, why was he doing that in the first place? At that moment, the door to the restaurant opened again, and Bentley rolled his wheelchair inside. People who were waiting for a table stepped aside to give him room. He was disguised as well, a cloth hat matching the more casual dark wash denim jacket he was wearing over a black necktie. Murray could appreciate the aesthetic...but he was still confused.

Bentley made his way towards the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, pitching his voice deeper in contrast to the way Sly’s had been more high-pitched. “Hey! What’re you doing here?” He glared at Sly.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Sly pointed an accusing finger at Bentley. “I’m here for my date!”

“So am I,” Bentley said, and Murray smiled, starting to catch on. “One of us has the wrong table and you, buddy,” the turtle wheeled into Sly’s space, making the raccoon step back, hand splayed on his heart in dramatic offense, “are definitely at the wrong table. This gentleman is far too handsome for you!”

“I think he’s just the right amount of handsome,” Sly argues. “Just look at those bulging muscles,” he gestured, and Murray flexed, having a bit of fun now that he was in on the joke. “A man like that deserves the world!”

“Guys, you’re gonna make me blush,” Murray grumbled under his breath. Sly winked before sliding back into character as Bentley charged further.

“And? You still kept this gorgeous man waiting! Look at the poor guy’s makeup! All smudged because you were off…” Bentley waved his hand as he searched for an insult, “vaping!”

Sly gasped. “Do you think I would smoke around such a deceptively delicate flower?! The nerve!”

Murray looked over again as the restaurant doors opened. It was his real date, a buck with gold chains draped artfully around his antlers, dressed to the nines in a slimming suit to complement his slender body. Murray recognized the designer logo on his tie, and felt shame creep up his throat as he thought of his thrifted jacket and pilfered shirt. Even the silk skirt he was so proud of made him feel like a freak next to this guy.

“What’s going on here?” The buck spoke, his voice like molten chocolate, as he approached the table. “Which of you is Murray?” His eyes slid approvingly over Sly, and Murray hid his face. “I hope it’s you, handsome.”

“Sorry,” Sly slid in beside Murray, hooking his arm through the hippo’s. “I’m taken. Happily.”

“Me too.” Bentley took Murray’s hand, glaring at the buck.

The deer narrowed his eyes, then laughed. “Oh, thank god,” he said, relieved. “I could never be seen with such a,” he waved his hand derisively, “hideous beast.”

“Hey,” Sly said, voice sharp despite the different pitch. Murray recognized it as the raccoon’s “don’t fuck with me” voice, a rarely seen anger flashing in his eyes. “Murray is amazing! He’s funny and kind and always knows what to say!”

“His strength and skill can’t be matched!” Bentley agreed.

“And tonight, he’s my date.” Sly declared. “So fuck off.”

“No, he’s my date,” Bentley argued. “You fuck off!”

As his two friends bickered, Murray watched the deer walk away. He felt a little bit upset at the rejection, but his friends were nearby, defending him on what was technically their night off. He felt warm inside even so. It was good to be with his brothers again.

Once the deer was out of sight, Sly deflated. “Ack, my throat,” he complained. “I don’t know how you do those high-pitches voices, Murray. I feel like I’ll be raspy by tomorrow!”

Murray chuckled. “It takes practice.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Bentley suggested. “I think we’ve caused enough of a scene.” He glanced at the table. “Nothing needs to be paid for, right?”

“Nope. I didn’t order yet.” Murray replied.

“Let’s get Chinese,” Sly said, stretching as Murray got to his feet. “I saw a great place on the way over.” He locked his arm through Murray’s, hiding a yawn in the hippo’s bicep.

“Do you mean you saw it or smelled it?” Bentley asked, guiding Murray to the handles of his chair. That was about equivalent to hand-holding, Murray knew.

Sly laughed. “Both!”

“Chinese sounds fantastic,” Murray said, sighing in the fresh air. He was still upset about being stood up. He was glad for his friends, but…

“That guy was a complete jerk,” Bentley grumbled, going back to controlling his own chair as Sly let go of Murray. It wasn’t a sudden “no homo” sort of thing, though. It was more of a natural progression as they walked together on the sidewalk, with Bentley’s chair a half-step ahead. “What didjya day his name was?”

“Pierce Monogram,” Murray said. “Trust fund baby, I think. Works in the family business selling shoes.”

“That’s ironic,” Sly mused, swinging his arms up to rest behind his head as he walked. “He wasn’t wearing shoes.”

Murray laughed. “No, I guess he wasn’t. That’s a dealbreaker for me.”

“Murray, you don’t wear shoes either,” Bentley said.

“Exactly!” Murray went on, still laughing. “Somebody has to wear the shoes in the relationship!”

All three of them laughed, and couldn’t stop laughing until they reached the Chinese.

~

“Ah, the smell of sweet, sweet MSG,” Sly licked his lips as he set out the various cartons and bowls.

“This isn’t going to give me indigestion, is it?” Bentley asked skeptically, wrinkling his nose.

“No, no, I got your egg rolls and plain rice here,” Sly set out the food separately for Bentley before using a set of chopsticks to serve himself liberal amount of pork fried rice and vegetable lo mein, claiming one of the containers of scallion pancakes for himself.

“Man,” Murray grinned, slurping his hot and sour soup, “I forgot how good Chinese food actually is.”

“Right?!” Sly beamed. “Glad I thought of it. I haven’t had a good Chinese in months!”

“It’s delicious, I agree. Pass the wonton soup, Murray?” Bentley asked.

“What’re we watchin?” Sly asked between shoveling noodles into his mouth.

Murray blushed. “Are you guys gonna kill me if I say I wanna watch “Pitch Perfect” again?”

Sly swallowed noisily. “Nah, I like that one all right. It’s funny.”

“I’ve no objection,” Bentley said, taking off his glasses momentarily to clean them of the fog from his soup. “It’s date night, after all. You always pick the films for date night.”

“You guys still wanna call it date night?” Murray asked.

The gang had always jokingly held “date nights” for self care, movies, and video games. But that had been before Murray was officially out of the closet. His friends were straight. He thought they hadn’t had a date night in a while because his friends didn’t want to do that sort of this with him now that he was out as gay.

Sly leaned forward. “You okay, big guy?”

Murray sniffled. “I...I dunno, I thought you guys...didn’t wanna do this with me anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Bentley asked.

“I’m gay,” Murray confessed. “I like guys.”

“So?” Sly twitched his tail in confusion. “You’re still my brother. My friend.” He waved his tail in Murray’s face, making the hippo sneeze. “In case I haven’t made it abundantly clear,” the raccoon snuggled up properly against Murray’s side, chittering quietly, “I love you, pal.”

“So do I,” Bentley affirmed. “And...not to be too blunt about it, but...it was pretty obvious to me that you weren’t straight. But,” he cleared his throat, smiling. “That never mattered to me. You’re still my brother. And I still love you.”

Murray rubbed the tears out of his eyes. “Thanks, guys.”

“Sure thing, Murray,” Sly replied, butting his head against Murray’s shoulder before sitting up to properly shovel more food down his throat.

“I’ll get the DVD,” Bentley abandoned his food momentarily and rolled his chair over to set up the TV. Once he was done, he took his food and rolled closer to the couch, so Murray could enjoy his comfort, too.

Murray smiled warmly, happily chowing down on Chinese food and shouting all the words to the songs at the top of his lungs.

That was the best part about being home, Murray decided as he laughed at Sly nearly choking on a wonton and Bentley snorting soup out his nose. Being with the people who loved you unconditionally.

[yooleestruck]

in which lee rambles about how great writers are

I don’t really know what this is. I don’t know if now is the right time to do this, or a really bad time, or if it makes any sense, but I want to talk about it! I feel like a broken record saying ‘the writing matters most, the writing matters most’ but maybe I need to show what I mean by that? So, here is an attempt. 

I’m sorry not all of these are the same length and not everyone is here, because every time I see that someone is a writer I do try to follow but I don’t always know/remember! Also I am weird about this sort of thing and don’t want to tag people in a monster-long post, so I’m just going to link. I also don’t want to make this a producers vs writers thing, it’s not, it’s just, when I say I notice writer-stuff, an explanation of what, specifically, I mean. 

Writers have a style fingerprint. I’m sure someone with an actual creative writing or English background could describe it all academic-ly, but my ex-chemist ass is just going to call it a fingerprint. 

My first game in Lovestruck was Starship Promise - I love Firefly, I’m a bisexual disaster scientist by education, it fit. But I had been REALLY put off by GIL when it first came out (this was back when they released stories in parts? And the heroine, which I will get to) and though I’d glanced at AFK, I mistrusted it after GIL and Medusa, who was who I was interested in, wasn’t out yet. So I resisted a LONG time.  I finally picked up LS and SP and played it explicitly because a friend said, you need to give this another chance, for a list of specific reasons. 

And when Atlas’s route came out, I read it a stupid number of times. I must have re-read his season 1 & 2 at least eight times apiece (he is still my most read route, despite the fact I have not read his last season because I want to leave the story open-ended)  so when I read Neil Dresner’s route, I recognized the fingerprint. Not only that, when I was reading Jett and the episodes with the paint scene (YOU KNOW THE SCENE) came out, my breath caught with how lovely it was, a particular in-between moment and touch, and even though it wasn’t a phrase I had seen, the style of it, had me re-reading (because it was gorgeous) again and again from the log for like five minutes and I thought, “I bet Melissa wrote this” AND SHE DID. 

Physical touch! (& in-betweens)

Melissa-grey has a particular way of writing about physical touch in very emotional moments that is very real and grounded and ironically the effect is just magical. It creates these so skillful “in between” moments, those little things that aren’t dialogue and aren’t metaphor but SHOW you that this closed off person is cracking for their little ray of sunshine. They are SO subtle and so beautiful, like, the heroine noticing the scent of a pillow, or a softening of an aborted hand movement.  She sets up and executes these moments of physical touch as a conduit for emotional touch with characters who aren’t ready to admit he latter and it’s DELICIOUS. Those little in-betweens are what I live for in story - and it includes all the supporting cast moments, who swell up to make the world feel lived in, and balanced (I loathe love stories where no one else exists! That’s a recipe for disaster, people need networks) I noticed when she stopped writing, and because I missed it, I went and bought the entire Midnight Girl series, as well as Rated (I hope that is flattering and not creepy!) and that style of writing is so unique, that without KNOWING, I picked it up in four separate routes (noticed in Sev’s s1, too!) 

Pacing (& friggen heartache)

Another fingerprint! Ripping your heart out! Arthoure has had me in tears, MULTIPLE TIMES and I get very grouchy about it every time because I am the least sentimental and romantic person that I know (I once MOVED STATES to avoid an ‘I love you’ conversation. I once said ‘yikes’ in response to an ‘I love you’ and I once broke up with someone because I thought he was going to propose. I’m a bitch) but I think it’s because of pacing! I know that producers play a role in that, but that actually makes it more impressive, because making each bit of story feel like it fits precisely the amount of space it needs when you don’t really get a say in how much space that is has got to take a MASSIVE amount of effort. Every little hint, every emotional beat, every character tell, they drop at a consistent build so the emotional payoff is just brutal (in a good, cathartic way?) every time a route makes me cry I wait and see and YEAH ITS ALWAYS ARTHOURE. The sweep and sentiment of Remy’s season 2 is unparalleled. Across Time is gutwrenching, and I actually stopped reading Renzei at one point because I was so emotional over it I had to like, LEGIT TAKE A BREAK to recover. Pacing and heartache. I have to stop and wonder - is it because the routes themselves are so gut-punching? OR is it because she knows how to wring every last emotional drop out of whatever story framework is handed to her? Because, Ezekiel’s villain costume is a bit silly (there I said it, it is) I get the cobra helmet shape in theory but in practice, ooof, but POINT BEING despite being skeptical I’d be able to take his story seriously as a result, I was hiccuping from crying so much (and I am gosh darn adult, in my thirties, with three degrees and a high-stress job at pretty major company. I DON’T CRY EASY)

 Dialogue (& heroines!)

Xekstrin is the gosh damn master of dialogue. Clever, witty banter that doesn’t go where you expect it to, meandering but natural topic changes that are delightful to follow and feel real, and--special shoutout for this, okay--the navigation of viscerally important topics like consent, kink, self-worth, power in relationships, self-sacrifice, and apologies in a way that is not stilted or forced at all (listen, I know Viv & Lyris are the most recent and they are amazing but I remember this first hit me when I was reading Astraeus, and I spent half the route with my jaw on the floor going, oh shit,  oh shit. The communication! The navigation of the complexity of emotion going on, chef’s kiss! Casual isn’t the right word, but, natural, maybe?). I don’t actually take that many screenshots of the app--it’s usually single lines that get me--but when I do, they are almost always conversations from one of her routes, because they’re so damn good, and often so unexpected, and yet always make such perfect sense for the characters involved. Dialogue is SO HARD OKAY. Actually try and transcribe a conversation sometime, it’s nuts how people talk vs how most people write people talking. Xekstrin also writes some of my absolute favorite MCs, and going back to fingerprints, I was reading Lyris s1 and right there in the first tavern scene, as we were following along with the heroine’s thoughts I went, ah, yes, I know who you belong to and I am SO EXCITED. Being able to give the heroine unique thoughts and quirks, to make her genuinely relatable, without overriding the necessary template of the genre dictates, is a skill all of its own. But I love her MCs! There is a beautiful balance of compassion, competence, and dash of bratty, wild, fun mischief. I can actually cheer for them. I can actually get behind them. I WANT the love interest to flop at their feet for who they are, not just because the story says so. And that comes from how the heroine’s thoughts are written, from her phrasing in conversations, how she sees situations, not just a producer saying ‘she is a strong lead who is self conscious about her ears and she’s nervous in the council meeting’ or whatever. I AM REALLY STRUGGLING to articulate this if you can’t tell from how long I have been blathering. Maybe this - the heroine is the same across every route, presumably, yes? Everyone has the same base. I NEVER question, when xekstrin is writing, why the love interest falls in love with her. Side note - I had hard written off GIL after a bad experience with the standalone app. I only read Aurora BECAUSE I learned she wrote it, and I would have SO MISSED OUT otherwise.

A complete aside in which Lee grumbles about heroines and not writers!

(Complete side vent: Often, the heroine is, if not a blank slate, a sort of collection of assigned traits, and she often remains so unless the story demands she become otherwise. Which is fine! I don’t personally, but I know a lot of folks self-insert, and so erring towards that makes sense. Almost all the otome I’ve played were originally written for a Japanese audience. When I played original Voltage games, starting back in 2014, I always had to remind myself - different culture, different culture, different culture, and it was not possible for me to relate to most of the heroines. I still enjoyed the stories, but I rarely cheered for the heroine’s romance, especially in some of the slice of life stories. I understood her, but I rarely wanted her to get with the love interest, I wanted her success to come in other ways! Another game company, Cybird, tried to ‘Americanize’ their heroine to IMO disastrous effect - it was such a stereotype, and made no sense since they didn’t also Americanize the context, so she come across as, frankly, ridiculous. And frankly, Voltage’s GIL heroine REEKED OF THAT. When they first posted her on social media I was legitimately annoyed about it, like could you lean into this more? I think not. So when I talk about being able to relate to and cheer for the heroine, it’s a big deal, because my blatant mistrust of Voltage and their ability to craft a heroine I could tolerate was a BIG factor in how long it took me to give Lovestruck a try. I was willing to tolerate it in translated stories, I was so skeptical of -en only ones.) 

Metaphors (& balance)

literacouture writes beautiful metaphors for connection between humans! I’m really bad at keeping track of who writes what, but I purposefully kept an eye out on tumblr after reading Cal’s route, because there were some lines that were pure poetry, and I wanted to keep an eye out for more. It is HARD to spin metaphors prettily without delving into trite, painful, purple prose cringe territory, and it’s navigated beautifully in Cal’s route. There’s a balance between those spin-out moments and things that are tangible and anchoring and make it feel authentic and unique to the two characters involved, instead of just ‘I am trying to make this sound romantic and this is a romantic phrase so here it is’. That balance is really necessary. You NEED the mundane alongside the metaphor or it doesn’t feel authentic. Also. Trying really hard to write this without throwing any authors or producers under the bus, but...listen. I love Sin with Me. But the world logic (or LACK THEREOF) drives me up a wall. I don’t read Cal because of his character traits or sprite or (sigh) his story. I read him because literacouture writes a beautiful romance.

 So anyway...

There are more! When I am less tired and don’t have meetings, I will try and write them up (Please know there are so many routes I love, and so many things I do recognize across chapters! I don’t even HAVE words for what theivorytowercrumbles accomplished with Helena’s story not to mention how much I adore Cyprin,  SummerLightning’s handling of Onyx’s past relationship was so deftly done when it could have so quickly become ‘milk abuse for plot’ and joidecombat gave Sev a fresh, mischievous energy and navigated the dream/reality line with SUCH skill, and so on and so on.)

I’ve written a lot of reviews. And I try to give nods where I feel they’re due - sometimes, it really is obvious that the whole team’s work came together to makes something great, the world, the plot, the arc, the art, the words, and the music all fit into place in a  well-crafted tour de force. And sometimes one piece or another is lacking, and I’ll admit I’ve left some...less than kind reviews to that end (I try and soften it, because I know there are humans on the other side of everything, but I’ve been harsh more than once with my opinions).  I’ve read routes with plots that made me want to tear my hair out because I DO value consistency and logic to a degree, even if I’m going to accept at face value that, say, space travel is a thing or demons turn to sand when stabbed. 

In the end, these are romance stories. So I will let a lot slide when it comes to plot. What sells a story are the words - not the outline.

And if Voltage doesn’t believe that - just remember that Hamlet existed long, long before Shakespeare wrote it. His was the version that lasted, because the people liked it best. The plot, the world, the characters, they all existed a hundred times over. Even just look at fan translations of manga. Why do people keep translating, even if someone else has? Because the words someone else picked don’t do the story justice. 

I don’t know. I’m talking in circles because I don’t know my own thesis! 

Maybe it’s just - the worlds these stories in are nice. But when I say I’m a fan of something, the premise is like. 10%. The rest is the writing. 

[baekberrie]

☀️rooftop pt.3 ➣bbh☀️

☀️Genre: Romance, angst, fluff,  bakery & island! au

☀️Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader/ oc

☀️Previous  -  Next

☀️Updates every: Wednesday night🌙

Your eyes dig into me

Without anyone knowing My hidden heart was stolen

It feels like I’m walking on a path

In a faraway dream

it’s an emotion that has never Touched me before…

The following day was quiet, even in the frantic kitchen at 8 am in the morning. Although Mrs. Byun was yelling orders, as usual, everything seemed so far away, so quiet. The girl was kneading her dough next to Byun Baekhyun who was doing the same but while she made bread he had the task of making pastries since they were harder to succeed. Yesterday night’s events replayed in her head like a movie. The fact he was standing at such a distance from her although they were working on the same counter was extremely disheartening for her who only wanted to be his friend.

While glancing hesitantly at the boy from the corner of her eyes, she bit her lip, she had to say something. She never backed down, not even in this situation. It wasn’t just the simple fact that she wanted to be his friend that kept her insisting. It was the ice in his gaze, she knew it had to be broken, there was so much more to him than a quiet bakery boy. He was doing everything to hide it but she could see it in him. This strong pull in his regards, she wanted to drag him out of this lonely bubble he seemed to have built around himself. Maybe it wasn’t her business, maybe she was just being nosy, but she believed that everything happened for a reason, and if coming to this island let her meet Baekhyun, she knew she couldn’t let it be at that.

With her eyes tightly shut, she turned her body in his direction, parting her lips to speak;

“Baek-” And when her eyes shot open, he wasn’t there anymore, she could see him put pastries in the distant ovens. A frustrated huff left her pouted lips as a light blush crept on her cheeks, the whole situation making her feel extremely awkward although he hadn’t witnessed it.

“Do you need any help?” Came Mrs. Byun curiously, the girl reddened even more but nonetheless greeted the middle-aged lady with a grateful smile. “Could you explain this recipe for me again?” She said and showed her the one step that she hadn’t been able to get through. Mrs. Byun was genuinely happy to help. Whenever she got help from the lady, she couldn’t help but become extremely captivated by the passion burning in her eyes, how every inch of her body screamed how zealous she was about her work.

After a couple of moments, they were making small buns together, talking about anything that came to their minds. It was hard avoiding the topic of where she came from, she knew it would only worry the woman if she knew how and why she had come to this place. Though, she didn’t find it dangerous to give subtle answers.

“You know…” Mrs. Byun started softly, “Give Baekhyun some time, he’ll warm up eventually.” She smiled kindly at her while placing a bun on the tray. The girl let out a little laugh, wondering if she looked that obvious and desperate in front of the boy.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance” She sighed helplessly, somehow finding herself feeling extremely comfortable around the lady, letting her emotions flow without any worries. It was as if all the warmth that Baekhyun hid was completely unraveled in this lady, her eyes which resembled Baekhyun’s so much, they were the kindest she had ever seen, and she found herself succumbing to their motherly warmth.

“I just want to be his friend, but maybe I’m doing the opposite.” A frown twisted her lips as she eyed the bun in her palms with an unsatisfied expression, puffing out a breath as she started forming it from scratch.

“Aigoo! No, don’t say that!” Mrs. Byun was extremely fast to disagree, waving her hands in disagreement.

“You’re exactly what my boy needs, you know? Apart from Junmyeon and Jongdae, he barely has any friends. He’s mostly on his own, it’s bad for him-” Mrs. Byun spoke softly and kindly, but even in her affectionate eyes lingered a hint of sadness that she couldn’t decipher. “ I’ve done what I could, but I can only do so much. He wasn’t like this before, he’s hurt but he’s not letting anyone help him.” She bit her lip as her heart painfully clenched at the words of Mrs. Byun.

“He’s hurt?” She began, not being able to mask the concern and disbelief in her voice, “W-why?”

Mrs. Byun only gave her a solemn and saddened smile, by then she knew it wasn’t her story to tell.

“Please, don’t give up on my boy.”

The girl let a smile that turned her eyes into crescent moons spread on her face, a hopeful smile, one that gently soothed a mother’s broken heart.

“I will do my best.”

☀️☀️☀️

The next day, Mrs. Byun was as radiant as ever when she greeted her apprentice crew a good morning, telling them that they’d be splitting into themes for the various chores of the day. Before she knows it, the Kim brothers are ushered to the kitchen while she gets a long list of ingredients pushed into her face, which gave her the chills down her spine when she thought about her last attempt and how it had gone. She parted her lips to ask Mrs. Byun to change her task but the lady only winked at her playfully, as she called after her son.

“Baekhyun-ah! Come here!”

Once Baekhyun was there, Mrs. Byun nodded in her direction, the smile still as bright as ever on her lips. Seeing her in such high spirits made the girl grin as well.

“Please, accompany her to the market, there’s a lot of ingredients needed, plus she’s not good with orientation around here yet.” Ah, now she understood it, a little chuckle left her lips when she realized that Mrs. Byun was setting her up with baekhyun on purpose. She ignored Baekhyun’s questioning gaze on her and feigned cluelessness, pretending that she wasn’t aware of the fact that he was looking at her. The boy gave a polite smile to his mother, “Of course,” He said shortly before walking past her, muttering a soft let’s go behind her to which she happily complied.

Although the sun was the warmest, the sea was gracing them with a caressing and refreshing breeze, balancing down the overly hot temperature. She inhaled the salty air and heaved a long sigh.

“The weather is so nice,” She commented, directing her words to Baekhyun, wondering if he’d react since he was walking in front of her instead of next to her. It was a Baekhyun thing, it reflected the distance between them. He never walked with her, just enough to know she was there, but never with her. Though she was surprised when the boy answered with contently.

“Yeah, it really is,” The tone in his voice seemed so carefree, so gentle that she felt disappointed for not being able to see his facial expression, was he smiling? Or was it the typical blank face that he was sporting? Nonetheless, just that simple answer made her heart skip a little beat, she felt energized and couldn’t help herself when she started another conversation with him, even though 98% of it would be her talking alone, perhaps the boy was still listening after all.

“Where are we going first? To the supermarket or to the bazaar?” She wondered happily.

“Supermarket.” Baekhyun said.

“How do you know? You haven’t even read the list though?” The girl pointed out half curious half confused, knowing she hadn’t shown him the list since the moment they met in the lobby, it was still in her hands.

Baekhyun let out an exasperated sigh, “ It was me who wrote it.”

“Oh..” She breathed out, feeling a little dumb, she didn’t catch on the little glance that Baekhyun threw over his shoulder- biting his lip to suppress the tiniest hint of a smile at her flushed cheeks and pouty expression.

“Do you seriously only know how to give short answers!? You’re no fun!” She eventually burst, her voice a whine as she ran to catch up with him, finally sharing steps with him, and she was to be frustrated once more when baekhyun only shrugged his shoulders in response.

“If I’m no fun then don’t talk to me,” She gathered air in her cheeks, suppressing the groan that was threatening to erupt from her throat. Oh, so Byun Baekhyun wanted war? Okay!

“But like any normal person, I want to converse and make friends! Can’t you collaborate?” She begged, almost cried. At this point, Baekhyun was having a really hard time keeping in the chuckle bubbling in his throat, he didn’t know why her stubbornness was endearing him today, she sounded so silly and he couldn’t help but find her amusing.

“You’re not normal though, you talk way too much.” There was no hostility or coldness in his words as he spoke, he wasn’t realizing it himself, that he had let cheerful emotions flow through his voice, the girl’s lips split into a beam although he couldn’t see it.

“Baekhyun!” She whined, on purpose, this time. Her bright smile reached all the way to her ears while her heart burst at the chuckle that left his lips, shaking her head at the way he faked a cough right after as to conceal his actions. Nuh-uh, she thought, too late Byun Baekhyun, I heard you!

The rest of the day went smoothly. The girl’s heart wouldn’t stop beating joyfully in her chest, although Baekhyun acted as if he wasn’t willing to talk when she engaged him in a conversation, he wouldn’t back out. Even if his answers were the most minimal, she wouldn’t mind because the interaction was as precious as it could possibly be. Perhaps he was only temporarily in a good mood and she would never have this kind of interaction with him ever again, but that was why she was going to treasure this moment.

While Baekhyun paid the cashier, she occupied herself with stuffing the groceries in the bags, in total there were four. She was already on her way to take the fourth one when a soft and slender hand stopped her from doing that.

“Let me help you,” He mumbled, reaching out for her wrist and she cursed her body for tingling when his silk-like skin touched hers, an unexpected warmth seeping from his fingertips into her own. He slid a bag off her hold only to take it himself.

“Thank you, Baekhyun.” She smiled to which he didn’t reciprocate but simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Once back at the bakery they were greeted by a happy Mr. Byun by the cashier.

“Good morning! You didn’t get lost did you?” He joked loudly, his forehead glistening with a thin layer of sweat caused by the bright and warm sun shining down on the island. The girl, despite her blush, laughed along at Mr. Byun’s genuine ways, whining out a playful: “Oh, Uncle!”

Just a moment later, she and Baekhyun were sorting out the groceries by the things that go into the fridge and the ones that go into the storeroom. Baekhyun handed her a couple of things, most of them were dry products such as bags of sugar and flour. “Do you think you can bring these to the storeroom?” He asked, just in case she didn’t know where it was, but the girl did since she had been there with Jongdae and Junmyeon before.

“Will do, Captain!” She exclaimed playfully, setting her hand by her forehead before taking the things that Baekhyun had sorted out and made her way to the destined place. The boy only shook his head at her childish ways, but why does it make him smile?

The door to the storeroom had been quiet the hassle to open, she had struggled to open it for good five minutes before succeeding. She put all of the products on their respective places and clasped her hands contentedly, satisfied with her work. Just when she was about to turn around and head out, the door shut behind her back, making her freeze in her spot, heart ever so slightly picking up its rate. Oh no.

She sprinted to the door and pulled it by the handle, only to have it not budge the slightest bit. The girl could feel her calmness and rationality slip through the cracks of her fingers, sweat covering her skin and quick breaths leaving her lips as she knocked violently on the door. The light was automatic, thankfully, it was still on. She had always despised being closed in cramped places because of how it brought her back too many painful memories. She was screaming out the word help and banging on the door, bumping her body against it, hoping that it would magically open.

She was on her way try it again when the door swung open and it wasn’t there to meet her shoulder causing her to fly outside while gasping at the lack of contact. Her eyes shut to embrace the hurtful fall that in the end never occurred. She grunted as she hit against a hard chest. The scent that immediately sneaked into her senses was by now a smell that she could recognize anywhere. His arms so very tense and his hold feather-light around her waist as he held her into place, but to her dismay, it disappeared before she could even acknowledge it.

“Bekhyun-” She breathed out frantically, her view blurry and a lump closing up her throat. “ the door, it wouldn’t ope-”

“Do you seriously only know how to get yourself into trouble?” He hissed, a little too harshly for her liking, it wasn’t her fault that the door was bugging. Confusion surged within her at the contrast of his cold words and lack of iciness anywhere in his eyes. Nonetheless, she felt hurt by his insensibility. She pushed him away by the chest, “Yeah, sorry about that, and thanks.” She kept her eyes low before storming off, leaving Baekhyun slightly dumbfounded and guilty.

☀️☀️☀️

A loud scream echoed in the middle of the night and the girl bolted awake at the noise, fearful and barely realizing that it had been her own doing. Her heart in her throat as her chest heaved desperately for more air. Again, these nightmares kept following her around. This time, the tears on her cheeks weren’t merely dried stains, no, they were continuously streaming down her face and the blurry vision she woke up with intensified her panic. The sheets no longer on the bed as she had kicked them off in her violent sleep. On her skin were layers of cold sweat that dampened her hair. She had barely caught her breath when a few knocks resounded in her apartment, sending another wave of shock into her body. The girl was extremely adamant to open the door after such a nightmare- but she soon enough reasoned that it could very possibly be anyone of the Byun’s who heard her screams. As she pushed herself up from the bed, her legs almost gave out right there, her vision blackening ever so slightly. A cringe twisted her lips at the damp feeling of sweat down her spine.

Surprisment wasn’t the right word to describe what she felt when she opened the door and found a concerned Baekhyun at her doorstep, looking as if he had sprinted his way up the stairs from his family’s apartment to hers.

“Are you okay? We heard screaming from your apartment, ” Baekhyun was gasping out his words while his eyes danced all over her figure, trying to find anything that would tell him she wasn’t okay, but visibly relaxed when he didn’t see any injury. His voice was still incredibly faint, as if not wanting to scare her off. She bit her lip hesitantly, pushing a hand through her hair, and then settled with a slight nod.

She shrugged Baekhyun’s concern off, making space for the boy so that he could enter her little home instead of standing awkwardly by the door. He followed quietly as she led him to her bed where they both sat down, a noticeable distance between the two of them. His intense stare was burning like fire through her skin as she glanced at him but adverted her gaze immediately, not daring to speak.

Only when a soft breath tumbled out from his lips did she look up- a little startled, the hardness in his eyes had eased up a little when he spoke again, this time softer- letting his concern for her unfolding in the vibrations of his worried voice.

“Are you okay?” She didn’t say anything, but when he called her name in that serious manner, she couldn’t help but do so against her own will.

“I’m fine, it’s just a nightmare, it’s nothing big.” The answer made Baekhyun’s lips curve into a frown while his eyebrows met on his forehead. He hadn’t expected her to wave the issue away so easily, her who always seemed so positive, her who always wore her heart on her sleeve. Only now did Baekhyun realize how much more there actually was to this girl- who said she was fine although tears were slowly dripping from her eyes.

“I don’t think this means being okay,” He disagreed gently, almost a little hesitantly reaching with his fingertips to her cheeks, kindly catching a tear before it could trail further down.

“You had a nightmare, again, "He murmured, "and you’re crying, again,” He reminded her of the time he found her in the same state on the rooftop. She immediately dried her own tears and flashed him a smile- it was far too late for her to try and cover-up for the fact that her broken heart reflected through her teary eyes. Although it had just been a stupid dream, her senses had just been playing with her fears.

If it was possible, Baekhyun’s stare softened, even more. The boy gently latched his fingers around her wrist, tugging her up to her feet. She could only give him big questioning eyes.

“I’ll take you somewhere, come on,” Was all he said in the most comforting of murmurs. Millions of unanswered questions flowed through her mind. What was baekhyun doing? Why was he holding her wrist so casually as if he had never avoided close proximity? Why was her heart skip such wild beats? Why did it confuse her so much when he’d go from distant to incredibly warm, was baekhyun aware of it himself?

Baekhyun didn’t know what had gotten into him when he dragged her outside for a walk- this was so not like him. But those sorrowful eyes of hers, that desperate and lost expression she bore, those tears, he was cold yes, but not enough to ignore such an expression, much less when his heart had clenched so painfully.

Outside was way colder than during the day, but the girl didn’t have the time to worry because the first thing Baekhyun did was give her his sweater- in which she had tried to deny but ended up keeping when Baekhyun’s ice-cold glare was sent in her direction.

The walk was extremely quiet but somehow she found herself not bothered by it- it was a different kind of silence, it wasn’t making her fidget or feel uncomfortable, no, it was calm and healing. The sounds of Baekhyun’s quiet breathing in the still night caressed her ears as he walked a few steps before her. The streets were completely empty and silent, the sound of their shoes against the ground being the only noise.  She looked up to the sky, only to notice how the moon wasn’t completely full anymore, but not fully a crescent yet. Nonetheless, beautiful and bright.

Before she knew it, they had walked through the whole bazaar and reached the beach. Baekhyun was removing his shoes, picking them in his hand and then looking back at her, lifting and expectant eyebrow as if he was waiting for her to do the same. A certain spark exploded in her chest as she snapped out of her thoughts and met her gaze with Baekhyun’s. Quickly, she proceeded to do what he had done and eventually they were walking by the shore, the wet sand sticking under their feet. The waves reached the coast in its slow tempo, at times even tickling under their feet, its sound the most comforting melody that her ears had ever listened to.

She had no idea why Baekhyun had so suddenly brought her here, and no matter how much she tried to answer that question in her head, it always led to more confusion and she realized that he was indeed a puzzle. One of those hard sorts, a puzzle of one thousand and more pieces, and she wondered if it was her place to try and put them together. Though one thing was for sure, and that the night sky reflecting in the sea was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, the water under her feet soothed her senses that had been shocked by the nightmare. The imagines of the dream slowly but surely leaving her conscious. She sighed in the salty breeze, trying to forget about the cracks in her heart, otherwise- how would she be able to live this new life? If she couldn’t run away from her past one, not even in her dreams? Just how-

“I lost something very important to the sea,” Baekhyun’s voice suddenly cut through the silence and startled the girl, but eventually she relaxed, though a bit surprised that he had started the conversation. His words reminded her of what Junmyeon had subtly spoken about. “A very long time ago,” His voice was just a weak murmur as he spoke, eyes dazed as they stared into the distance of the sky, in his orbs reflected the starry night and its sun that was the moon. For some reason, she felt her breath hitch in the inside of her throat, nervous about what he was about to say.

“I lost my parents,” Parents?

“Wha- wait but- Mrs. and Mr. Byun…” She couldn’t help it when the question rolled off her tongue. On Baekhyun’s face displayed a weak and defeated smile. “They’re my aunt and uncle.” Her mouth hung open in shock, her breath not even hitched in her throat- it felt like she had completely forgotten how to breathe. What was that pain in her chest when she looked into Baekhyun’s orbs? Was it because now, she was actually able to decipher what that hesitation in his eyes had always meant?

A lonely, lost boy.

“I lost them to the sea,” His voice was a weak whisper as if he was doing his best to hide the huge lump in his throat, waiting for the layer of tears glazing on his eyes to dissipate.

“Baekhyun- I’m-” She said breathily, not knowing what to say, refusing to say the words sorry because the last thing she wanted for him to think was that she saw him as was pitiful. She knew how much it hurt to be looked at with that kind of feeling. Though before she could finish her sentence, Baekhyun had already cut her off, an understanding yet defeated look painting his face.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago,” He sighed, “But you know? Sometimes I have this feeling in my chest, and maybe I’m delusional, but I feel like it’s not completely over yet, like they’re still out there, finding their way to me.” The glint of hope in his voice, in his eyes, was like the brightest star she had yet to see on tonight’s milky way sky.

“Having hope is not being delusional, Baekhyun, If you feel it then it must mean something.” She eventually said, her voice so raw as she thought about how he was desperately yearning for his family while all she was trying to was running away from her own.

Baekhyun didn’t answer but from the comfortable silence, she could tell that he appreciated it.

“We’re the complete opposites…” She breathed out almost incredulously. Baekhyun snapped his head in her direction at her words, it hadn’t been anything he had expected her to say.

“What do you mean?” He sounded confused but the girl caught on the little glint of curiousness in the undertone of his voice.

“I am-” She never thought that she would ever be here, pronouncing these words. All she was trying to do was forget, forget and forget, to leave her past behind her.  But now, she didn’t know why she found herself exposing all the cards on the table. Maybe it was Baekhyun and the moon in his soft eyes, Baekhyun who had woken up in the middle of the night just to check if she was okay after a nightmare. Baekhyun who put his sweater on her shoulders over and over again, Baekhyun who always seemed to find her when she was in trouble, Baekhyun who she could trust.

Trust.

“I’m a runaway.” She finally said the words that tasted so extremely bitter on her tongue. Baekhyun’s eyes turned the size of two saucers and she could tell that he was barely holding in the loud “what!?” that would have echoed in the whole neighborhood. From shock, his expression morphed into confusion.

“But why?” His voice was a little hesitant, she could tell that he was being careful about the strings he was pulling. She didn’t know whether she was ready to talk about it- but before she could decide- her lips had already parted and she was talking.

“I lived in a foster family- and well,” She let out a shaky breath, even just having to speak about it made a lump form in her throat. Her vision blurred more and more for every second that passed. She let out a little embarrassed laugh while drying her tears with the sleeves of Baekhyun’s sweater that she was wearing. “Sorry- It’s just a bit hard to talk about it,” Baekhyun shook his head and before she knew it, he was there in front of her, eyes pooling with gentleness as he placed a hand on her arm, rubbing it comfortingly, drawing lazy circles. Calling her name made her finally meet his gaze, it shocked her when he gently held her hand in his to bring it down from her face. His hold so light- almost as if it was barely there- and yet she felt it like fire on her damp skin.

“You don’t have to force yourself to talk about it if you don’t feel like it.” He whispered tenderly but she shook her head dismissively, she had to be strong. She realized that only through this, she could really leave her past behind her and start this new life. She had to face her pains and fears, thus hiding from them wouldn’t make them disappear. “I’m okay,” She held her hand up, finishing to dry up the tears with the other. After taking a big and shaky breath, she cleared her throat and slowly tried again. The lump was still very much present in her throat, closing it up and forcing her not to speak, however, somehow, she managed to push through it.

“They… Let’s say I was accepted into their family at the wrong timing- I ended up becoming a punching bag for their anger and issues. I was the answer to all of their problems, and they hurt me. Physically. But I don’t want to blame them, you know? Because they still took me in and in one way or another they took care of me.” She confessed. “Don’t get me wrong, there were definitely happy moments too, I had two stepbrothers there, they were basically my best friends and- gosh,” The girl almost choked on a sob as she mentioned the ones that had been her only steady rocks during the hard times, she would be lying if she said they didn’t matter anything to her anymore.

“I really miss them- But I couldn’t stay in that house Baekhyun, I didn’t feel part of that family- I wasn’t and will never be. The beating had started getting worse and, I, couldn’t stay in there, you understand that, right, Baekhyun?” Before she knew it, fresh thick tears had started to spill from her eyes all over again and her voice had become a mess of loud sobs pushing past her throat. The guilt and desperation were eating her heart like insects to a corpse. She was speaking as if seeking reassurance, as if she was afraid that she could have handled the situation in a better way. As if she had done something bad to her foster family. “I wasn’t being ungrateful, right? I was wasn’t? I ran away after all they-” It was futile trying to form any sentences, her crying had gradually become uncontrollable and it sucked away all of her breath. Leaving her gasping for air, any sound became extremely distant, numbed by her own cries. Baekhyun who had until now been staring and listening to her intently felt completely powerless in front of this girl, his heart was breaking at the sight- but what was he supposed to do? Tell her it was okay? Touch her?

Not being able to stand another second seeing her suffer like that, Baekhyun took a big step closer to her and put his hand on the back of her head, the other snaked around her shoulders as he gently guided her to his solid yet incredibly comfortable chest. His scent that she loved so much enfolded her senses and her ragged breathing started calming down as the male caressed her scalp ever so gently, his cheek rested on her crown as he murmured the most reassuring words he could muster, just like his mother would comfort him.

“No, I understand you, You did what your heart told you to do, it’s okay to do things for our well being, whether it involves running away or any other crazy doing,” He whispered in her ear, somehow in the process he had started rocking their bodies gently to the rhythm of the ocean waves. “You’re not ungrateful, maybe, sometimes, the true us awaits us in another place- In another life- I think it’s just fair that we go look for it no matter how far it might be. It’d be worth it.” By then she had completely calmed down, though Baekhyun’s words were what had made her look up from his chest, his shirt by now drenched in her tears. Her eyes wide with shock but still she threw her arms around his shoulders and tightened her hold around him.

There was never going to be anything more precious to her than the words she had just received from the Beautiful blue-eyed boy embracing her, chasing her nightmares away.

“Maybe, sometimes, the true us awaits us in another place- In another life- I think it’s just fair that we go look for it no matter how far it might be. It’d be worth it.”

☀️☀️☀️

The following days and even weeks felt for the girl extremely different. But in a good way. She felt happy and unexpectedly light after having opened up to Baekhyun who had seemed so accepting of her past although it was something so undesirable. Hence, she felt as if there was a bond forming between them and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t being very excited about Baekhyun. The boy had started showing so many more emotions that she, in the beginning, had not known how to handle it. He had started greeting her good mornings when they’d first meet on their shifts in the bakery, not to mention the tightlipped smile that he so genuinely sent her, making her heart feel very weird things in the chest, something that she didn’t want to address just yet.

When they’d bake on the same counter he would every once in a while glance at how she was doing, popping questions such as is everything going well? or Do you need help? Being extremely thoughtful and good Lord, open? So open that it astounded her, could Byun Baekhyun really be doing this or was she dreaming? Was this what he had been suppressing all of this time? Although he sometimes was still very hesitant and reserved, Baekhyun had stopped acting as if he didn’t care, he started treating her more like… More like a friend and just that thought alone was valid enough for her heart to burst.

The time ticked twelve o'clock and oddly enough, the bakery wasn’t oozing with costumers as it usually would, that meant a calmer environment in the kitchen. Also, no nervous and frantic Jongdae spilling flour or breaking cups, no yelling Mrs. or Mr. Byun, no cramps in her poor fingers by all the dough kneading. There was a happy smile playing on her lips although there was a giddy sensation tickling her insides. She had no idea why, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop glancing over at Baekhyun’s waking figure. His whole being was like a huge magnet to which her eyes flew to before she’d even know it.

Her heart betrayed her with the wild skip upon her eyes for the first time taking notice of the way his serious expression made him look so incredibly mesmerizing, how his veins popped from under the exposed skin of his forearm as he had rolled his sleeves up. His ridiculously beautiful hands working the dough fiercely, the girl found herself swallowing a lump of saliva before settling her gaze back on the knife in her hand, resuming the cutting of strawberries. An incredible urge to talk with the boy surged from the deepest parts of her, an urge to hear his voice directed towards her being. She did not even know what to say.  

Just a few moments later, after a mental preparation, she dared herself to turn around and talk with the boy but found him already walking in the opposite direction. A long sigh of disbelief left her lips, defeatedly cutting the strawberries on the tray while keeping her eyes on Baekhyun’s back not too many feet away. With her attention solely on Baekhyun, it had only been a matter of time before she eventually cut herself with the big knife, a loud yelp erupting from her throat. Everyone’s head turned to her direction, worried looks on the Kim brothers’ faces, ready to sprint for her aid. Though Baekhyun was the quickest to react out of all, and before she knew it, the boy was already standing in front of her, inspecting the injury on her finger with concerned yet serious eyes. Mrs. and Mr. Byun were curiously watching the unusual view of a concerned Baekhyun, as well as Jongdae and Junmyeon.

The boy looked frantically around but found no sink or paper in the area to clean her cut on which a small bubble of blood had started to form. Not wanting the blood to overflow, Baekhyun gently led her finger to his lips, parting them ever so slightly before delicately planting them on her fingertip. She could feel how his lips lightly sucked on her skin to take away the blood, the heat under her skin had started rushing furiously to her cheeks. The beetroot red color spread all the way to her ears, her heart echoing in her head as she feared herself to faint at any second. Though she wasn’t the only flustered one in this kitchen, Mrs.Byun whispered a surprised yet embarrassed Oh My!  while hiding her face in her husband’s chest. Jongdae wore an amused smirk on his face, full of smugness, while Junmyeon’s eyes couldn’t believe a single thing that they were seeing, he gasped loudly, mouth wide open.

☀️☀️☀️

Here you all go~ In this not so small birthday update, the whole truth is revealed in its rawest (and my mediocre) angst!! And replaced with fluff, but don’t get fooled, there is more angst to come!😭 Anyways, thank you all for reading this story, I’ve really poured all of my motivation for anything in this story and it means the world to me that you guys are giving it your precious time. So thank you💕💞✨

[welllpthisishappening]

By City-Wide Decree

It's a crush.

And in any other situation, that would be it. He'd be able to keep going about his day in normal pining fashion. But nothing about this is normal. Because in the last few minutes Bellamy's complained about shredded cheese and Clarke's making jokes about Bleecker Street and apparently there's some city-wide rule about car services now.

Or: the last thing Bellamy Blake expected during a national health pandemic was being forced to kiss his neighbor.

----

Rating: Teen Word Count: Just over 5.6K AN: Hey there, internet. It was really only a matter of time until I wrote some kind of nonsense here. But I do want to say that this story does include COVID-19 stuff, so if that is not for you, I totally get it. That being said, this admittedly very silly nonsense, is very much just that and hopefully it offers a bit of a distraction for a few minutes. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

----

He almost drops the box of macaroni in his hand. 

The edge stabs his palm, a weird pain that's really more like the general sense of Bellamy’s frustration because just a few seconds ago he witnessed two grown adults glaring at each other over the final few rolls of toilet paper in aisle five. And there aren’t really that many other people in this grocery store, which he supposes is a good thing. Everyone taking social distancing seriously and staying home and he’s got every intention of doing the same, but first he’s got to deal with this. 

“Pre-shredded cheese,” he mumbles under his breath, glancing at the box. He’s bent the edge. He hopes he doesn’t break the box. There weren’t many left in that aisle, either. Just the one thing of shells Bellamy had been able to grab and four boxes of whole wheat linguine, which, really, almost offends him more than the idea of pre-shredded cheese. 

In a variety of flavors. 

And adjectives. 

“Cheese should not have adjectives attached to it,” Bellamy continues, and apparently he’s reached the crazy portion of his day. 

That also seems to be the standard for most of the world, though. He’d been very close to breaking up the toilet paper fight. So maybe he’s just catching up to everyone else. He needs to go home. He needs to—

“Pick a goddamn cheese,” he says. Whatever sound he makes at his own private conversation isn’t so much a sigh, but rather another round of frustration and possible resignation and taco-flavored cheese can’t be that bad. 

Right? Maybe. 

He can’t imagine what kind of preservatives are used in taco-flavored cheese. Like..are there even spices involved? There should be spices. When all of this is over he’s going to write a strongly worded letter to the Kraft family. 

Bellamy sighs again, drawing more than a few looks and a glare or too, and he’s going to give himself a headache if he keeps rolling his eyes at their current rate. He lunges forward, careful to account for the box of macaroni and the small thing of buttermilk that’s honestly starting to make his fingers go numb and—

An arm moves next to his. 

She’s also a little off-balance — a backpack that’s close to bursting and something that might actually be paint streaked across her left cheek, but Bellamy can barely register that when she’s already starting to stumble back, a package of margarine clutched in her hand. 

“Oh,” Clarke breathes, eyes going wide and what looks like the first hints of a smile tugging at the ends of her mouth. “Hey, Bell.”

His stomach flies into his throat. 

As per usual. 

That might be the most normal part of his day so far. 

To say that he’s been harboring a pretty monumental crush on Clarke Griffin since she moved into the apartment across the hall from Bellamy would be—

Accurate. 

It would be accurate, honestly.

In almost painful fashion. 

Six months ago, she showed up with a handful of boxes and paint on her jeans, and a smile that seemed to reverberate through him. In a way where that doesn’t sound insane. Maybe he wasn’t catching up to everyone else. Maybe he was just sprinting past them. Towards crazy. 

The kind of crazy that also means he’s stupid into his neighbor. 

She’d said hi first that day too. So he offered to help her carry some boxes and she’d promised she’d be ok, but he was stubborn and a little overwhelmed by the very specific color of her eyes and she really did have a lot of stuff and they’d ordered from the Thai place up the street after. 

And if that's not the basis for a pretty solid friendship, then Bellamy isn’t sure what is. 

Only that’s really all it is. Because, well—Bellamy isn’t sure. Octavia would say he’s being an idiot and to some extent that’s true, but he and Clarke are pretty good friends now and sometimes she curls up on the corner of his couch when she’s stressed about the arts budget of the high school she works at in the Bowery or he kicks on her door when he’s got some new pages he thinks she might like to read and it’s—

Good. 

Normal. 

In a world that is very quickly spiraling out of control. 

He hopes those people didn’t actually start yelling over toilet paper. He’s not sure his brain would be able to cope with that. 

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks, taking another step back and he hadn’t noticed she’s got another bag of art supplies in her left hand. 

“Glaring at cheese.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Glaring at cheese,” Bellamy repeats. He nods towards the minimal selection, Clarke’s eyes widening at his admittedly petty reaction to the cheese issue. It should not be an issue. “I—well, I’m running low on some food and I—” He grits his teeth, suddenly hopeful that he’ll be able to melt into the supermarket floor. 

That’s probably not hygienic. 

“Is it super top secret, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “No, it’s—ok, do you promise not to laugh?” “Absolutely not.” “You look like you staged a battle getting here.” “Nah,” she objects, but there’s a slight blush creeping across her cheeks and it’s probably wrong to feel some kind of victory at that. Just, like—with everything else going on. Flirting should probably be a low priority at this point. 

“Then…” “Why are you angry at the cheese?” “Mostly the selection of cheese,” Bellamy admits. “Because I’m supposed to use a very specific kind, so—” “—For what?” “My mom’s mac and cheese recipe.” She gapes at him. Which is not the reaction he was hoping for, really. He’s not sure what would be better, but he had been pretty partial to the blush and he’s positive this is somehow the paint streak’s fault. 

Clarke has a habit of getting paint everywhere. 

There’s still a stain on his floor from three weeks ago. 

“Did you think I was going to laugh at you making your mom’s mac and cheese recipe during an international health pandemic?” Clarke cries. It draws another round of curious stares and one set of incredibly narrow eyes from a woman with a cropped haircut and a cart practically overflowing with paper products. 

Clarke sneers. “I might actually fight someone for bulk-buying things. God, people are—” “—The worst?” “Is that why you’d thought I’d laugh at you being adorable?”

Bellamy forgets all about his stomach and its current location in his throat. He’s far more preoccupied with the matter of his exploding heart. Which is not nearly as painful an experience as he would have assumed. 

His smile threatens to take up most of his face, muscles unaccustomed to the movement when everything else seems to be going to shit. He hopes standing this long in the dairy aisle doesn’t adversely affect the buttermilk. 

That’s a key part of the recipe too. 

“Adorable, huh?” “Oh shut up,” Clarke grumbles, kicking her foot out of habit. She’s still a few feet away from him. That probably shouldn’t be disappointing either. In any situation, honestly. “Seriously, are you out here being weird about cheese because—” “—A quick detour out of adorable.” “Only because you keep interrupting me.”

He smiles wider. “When I was a kid, my mom used to make this mac and cheese for every major event. Birthdays, holidays, great grade on a test.” “Because you were a nerd?” “Look who’s interrupting the flow of the story.” “You should consider speeding up your approach” Clarke laughs. “The lady with forty-thousand paper napkins might come back and start pelting you with them for taking so long.” “You think she bought those paper napkins for reasons not related to eating food?” “God.” His shoulders shake a little when he chuckles — another threat to the pasta and his grip on any of the groceries he’s trying very hard to buy. “Moral of the story? I’m stressed out, people continue to be the worst, I saw a bunch of people, including actual grown adults, sitting out in Washington Square like nothing is wrong, so in an attempt to combat the general horribleness of the world I am going to make my mom’s mac and cheese recipe. Only apparently a lot of other people have had the same thought—” “—About your mom’s mac and cheese recipe?” 

“Bring the paper napkin lady back here so I can throw stuff at you.” Clarke grins, and the overall brightness of her eyes is probably just a byproduct of the lighting in the dairy aisle of Gristedes. Or so Bellamy will tell himself for the next forty-eight hours. 

“Taco cheese does not scream mac and cheese,” he continues. “But I’m also not willing to stage some sort of quest for the appropriate kind of cheddar. Or blocks of cheese.”

“It can’t be shredded cheese?” “Eh. I’m willing to make some sacrifices at this point.” “Wow,” Clarke drawls. “How gallant of you. And you wanted to make it yourself, then? No thoughts of take-out from Murray’s.”

“Don’t insult me like that.” “You have issues with a place that actually has cheese in its name?” “Murray’s Cheese Bar is an overpriced tourist trap that does not need my business to stay in business. I’m sure they’re perfectly fine.” “Murray himself?” “Or whatever corporate chain that place is owned and operated by. Plus, have you ever had their cheese plate? Like—just, it was gross. We got, maybe, half a dozen crackers.”

Clarke presses her lips together, but her laugh still manages to find its way into the six-feet of mandated space between her and Bellamy. “Did Octavia order the cheese plate at Murray’s once?” “And a bottle of chianti.” “Fancy.” “Gross,” Bellamy amends. “I can’t stand red wine.” “Why didn’t I know that you hated Murray’s so much? Do you feel that way about—” “—Most of the places on Bleecker?” Bellamy finishes, ignoring Clarke’s wide-eyed stare at yet another interruption. They have got to get out of this store. The processed air is obviously going to his head. Or, whatever. 

Maybe just the state of his heart. “Down with the establishment, huh?” Clarke quips. She absolutely, positively does not rock towards him. Bellamy is sure. 

He hums, and maybe his issue really lies in the overall state of his heart. Explosions cannot be healthy. In a biological sense. “Why are you here, then? I’m assuming it’s not just to share the very high opinions you’ve got about the restaurants on Bleecker.” “Ok, that is not what I said at all. I’m not advocating we start doing some kind of Bleecker restaurant crawl when this is all over, even if that one Gelato place on the corner is good.” “Tourist trap.” “Is the oxygen thinner on that high horse you’re riding?” Bellamy scrunches his nose when he makes a vaguely ridiculous noise in the back of his throat, part agreement, part unspoken suggestion to keep talking. “Whatever,” Clarke grumbles. “I am here because I needed butter to make cookies. But there’s only this garbage.” 

She brandishes the margarine, arm flung out in front of her and Bellamy refuses to be held accountable for whatever noise he makes at that. Just as ridiculous as the last one. With even more flirting involved. 

“I walked down here,” Clarke adds. “There are no other stores open and—” “—Walked from where?” Bellamy asks sharply. He doesn’t mean for the words to come out quite like that, but he’s also not entirely sure what feeling is shooting down either one of his arms. 

He’s very glad Octavia isn’t here. 

She’d make fun of him. 

More so than usual. 

“Relax,” Clarke mutters, jerking the bag at her side. “I needed stuff for class, but most of my supplies are still at school and it’s not like I can get into school any time soon, so I went up to Marmorino. Nyko agreed to open for, like, twenty minutes so I could get some new brushes and—” She shrugs, all nonchalance. Like walking twenty blocks to the art supply store in the middle of that previously discussed pandemic so she can keep teaching kids how to paint isn't equal parts absurd and wonderful.  “What are you going to paint?” Bellamy asks. “We’re doing life studies. Figured it’d be a good way to get parents involved too. You know, kids paint their mom or their dad or...whatever. Like I said, I just needed a brushes. And butter.”

“Those go hand in hand, huh? You know I have butter.”

Clarke blinks. And her grip on the bag noticeably loosens. “What?” “Butter,” he repeats. “That’s how this all started. I kept opening my fridge and the butter was sitting there, like it was taunting me and—”

“—Can the butter form coherent sentences?” “I’m offering you butter, princess. And mac and cheese. If you want it.”

Another blink. 

That’s...Bellamy doesn���t want to consider what that is. Because this is not the first time he’s done this. Or vice versa. Far from it. They both live alone and they’re friends and it’s not that far across the hall, after all. 

There’s just not usually an international health pandemic involved. 

“Yeah?” Clarke asks softly, like she’s waiting to shout surprise. Or throw paper napkins at them for standing in the dairy aisle for so long. 

Bellamy nods. “Yeah. That’s how humanity survives, right? We pool resources and seek out companionship in times of difficulty.” “Something like that, I’m sure.” “Ok, so you leave the gross margarine here and I’ll deal with the taco cheese.” “I have cheddar in my fridge.” Maybe this is a dream. Maybe the after-effects of his exploding heart have left Bellamy hallucinating in the middle of Gristedes. Maybe he got food poisoning from the cheese plate at Murray’s when Octavia visited three weeks ago and he’s only just now discovering it.

Clarke smiles. 

“If you want it,” she adds. “I—well, I’d had big plans for grilled cheese quarantines, but there was only block cheese at that point and I haven’t even opened it. Yours for the taking.” He nods slowly, trying to come to terms with all of this. It’s not flirting. No one flirts like this. They shouldn’t flirt like this. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “That’d be great. A, uh—COVID team, huh?” Idiot. 

Idiot. 

He’s sure Octavia knows about this. Somehow. A sixth sense that alerts his younger sister to his overwhelming idiocy and she’d been annoyed that he hadn’t invited Clarke to Murray’s with them. 

“Something like that,” Clarke says again. “Ok, then let me pay for a car back home. I don’t know if my shoulders can cope with this backpack and—do not offer to carry this backpack for me,” she adds as soon as Bellamy opens his mouth, “I’ll get the paper napkin lady back here, I swear to God.” “She’d probably call a manager on you.”

Clarke scoffs, but her smile hasn’t changed and Bellamy spends most of the next twenty-four minutes standing in the checkout line thinking only about that. Until Clarke tells the guy in front of them to “stop being a dick” to the cashier when he starts complaining about the lack of bread in aisle two. 

The guy doesn’t say anything else after that. 

And the cashier definitely mumbles “thanks” when Bellamy puts his slightly bent box of pasta on the conveyor belt. 

They don’t spend long waiting for the car — and Bellamy can’t imagine business is exactly booming, which is part of the reason he agreed to this and the rest is entirely selfish and possibly a little stalker’ish and he just likes spending time with Clarke. No matter the world’s collective health situation. 

“You two together?” the driver asks, hardly opening the window and it’s not easy to understand what he’s saying.  

Bellamy furrows his brows. “Excuse me?” He swings open the door, sliding across the backset and moving his feet so Clarke’s backpack can fit comfortably between them. And he’s not one to pass judgement, particularly not now, but the whole thing looks a bit like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. There are sheets of plastic wrap stretched between the front seats, the driver wearing gloves and casting impatient glances in his rearview mirror. 

Bellamy glances at Clarke’s phone — the driver’s name is Bryan. 

“C’mon man,” Bryan presses. “I need an answer.” “I don’t—” Bellamy starts, shaking his head and that dream theory is starting to make more and more sense. “What are you talking about?”

“The rules.” “Ok, that doesn’t clear it up. Can we just go?” “Nope. I need you to tell me. I don’t want my license revoked.” “What the hell are you talking about?” Clarke lets out a soft gasp, eyes going impossibly wide. “Shit. Are you kidding me?” “What part of nope are you guys having a difficult time wrapping your heads around?” Bryan asks. “Listen, I can’t break the law, ok? I—we’re living in crazy times and—” “—Seriously what are you talking about?” Bellamy snaps. 

Bryan takes a deep breath, shoulders moving with the effort, and Clarke hasn’t looked Bellamy’s direction in what feels like an eternity. He can’t rationalize the chill that slinks down his spine, a growing dread that threatens to tug him through the backseat or take up residence in between his ribs and he’s got to stop making so many sweeping biological assessments. 

There are no facts to back any of this up. 

And yet he can’t quite understand the look on Clarke’s face either, teeth digging into her lower lip while she refuses to meet his gaze. “Guys,” Bryan groans. “In or out, yes or not, just—prove it.” Bellamy opens his mouth again, ready to demand answers if need be, but Clarke is already talking and the words don’t process immediately — mandate from the mayor and I totally forgot and only real couples. 

She grits her teeth when she finally looks up, a pained expression that almost makes Bellamy shiver. It’s unnaturally warm in the city that afternoon. “Did you not see the press conference?” she mutters. He shakes his head. “I, uh—I totally forgot about it, but ride-share services are still cool and essential, they just...if you share, you have to be a couple.” “Real couple too,” Bryan adds. “That’s what the mayor said.” Clarke squeezes one eye shut. “He did, yeah.”

Bellamy has no idea what’s happening. That’s not hyperbole. He genuinely cannot keep up with the conversation or the events of the last few hours and he’s certain this is now somehow the fault of the paper napkin lady and those toilet paper people and— “So,” Bryan continues, “either prove it or lose it?” “Lose what, exactly?” Bellamy rasps. He doesn’t take his eyes off Clarke, can see just how tight her jaw has gone and the exact moment her tongue flashes between her lips and maybe it would just be better for everyone if he grabbed her backpack and sprinted the fifteen blocks back to their apartment. 

Apartment building. 

They don’t live in the same apartment. 

Seriously, screw the toilet paper people. 

“My services,” Bryan answers. “Seriously. I’m not getting fucked over by this. So prove you're a real couple or start walking.” “And how would you like us to do that, exactly?” “Kiss her.” It is several different miracles that Bellamy does not rip down Bryan’s plastic wrap wall right then and there. He considers it, fingers flexing and head at a sudden angle while he glares at the rearview mirror. But something keeps him from actually reacting and it might be Clarke’s soft ok a few inches away. 

They are no longer the appropriate six feet apart. 

“Wait, what?” Bellamy asks, only marginally disappointed when his voice manages to crack over both words. 

Clarke’s smile doesn’t waver, but it shifts slightly — a little cautious and a little nervous and, maybe, a little hopeful. She leans forward, ignoring the goddamn backpack and how straight Bellamy’s spine has gone, breathing quickly like he did run those fifteen blocks. “Just a kiss, right?” she mutters. “Couples kiss. That’s—” “—Real couples,” Bryan amends. Bellamy might strangle Bryan before they get out of this car. 

“Right, right, right. And that’s—it’s not a big deal.” Bellamy’s never going to blink again. 

“I don’t know how else to double check,” Bryan admits. 

Clarke hums, still moving and Bellamy doesn’t flinch when her hand lands on his bent knee. So, points or whatever. Her tongue flashes once more, a soft huff of air that barely reaches his cheek when she’s close enough and this can’t possibly be sanitary. 

God, he does not want to be thinking about that now. 

Bellamy doesn’t remember bending his neck, but it appears to have happened anyway, curls threatening to fall in his eyes. That’s not right. The top of Clarke’s backpack digs into his chest, what feels like an actual paint brush pushing against the side and he’s going to say something. He is. He’s going to promise that he can walk and he’ll carry the backpack and just meet her at home, but none of the words seem all that interested in coming out of his mouth and his lips pop softly when they part, another bit of movement and a direct violation of social distancing and—

His eyes flutter shut when Clarke kisses him. 

With Bryan watching intently. 

And it’s not...well, it’s not quite the way Bellamy had always imagined when he’d let himself imagine this. Far more often than he should. It’s stilted and awkward, weird angles and bumped noses. It’s chins jostling for position and that fucking backpack, both of them far too aware of the two bags of groceries at their feet. 

Bellamy does his best not to actually sigh — even more frustration, that does not belong in a situation like this, but then his eyes open and the tip of Clarke’s tongue finds his lips and everything kind of spirals after that. 

His hand flies up, curling into her hair and pulling her closer, a crunch that is absolutely the box of shells, but the shells can go fuck off for all Bellamy cares. He opens his mouth, lets his head tilt slightly until they find a rhythm that’s a bit like driving at seventy miles an hour on an open highway. That’d be impossible anywhere in New York. 

Even under quarantine. 

And yet. Bellamy feels like he’s rushing towards something, everything and anything and a variety of words that should be far more overwhelming than they are. He nips at Clarke’s lower lip, lets his nose drag along her cheek until he’s practically tracing that streak of paint and the sound that draws will be branded on every inch of him for the foreseeable future. They only break apart to catch their breath, the rhythm going almost desperate when Clarke’s nails scratch at the back of Bellamy’s neck and—

Bryan coughs. 

He might not tip Bryan. 

No, he’ll definitely tip Bryan. It’s a fucking pandemic. 

Bellamy’s not a total dick. 

Just…

“So, uh, cool,” Bryan says, already pulling out onto the street. “Thanks for the, uh—for the demonstration, then.” Clarke jerks back. 

And Bellamy feels like he’s been thrown in the East River. Specifically. Because that river is notoriously grosser than the Hudson. 

He’s gross. 

He twists, trying to put as much space between them as possible when they’re still in Bryan’s silver Toyota Camry. And he doesn’t actually count the minutes that it takes to get back to their building, but it’s awfully close because it seems to take a lifetime and happen far too soon, Clarke mumbling her thanks and hoping Bryan doesn’t have to drive too much in the future and Bellamy doesn’t want to think about the state of that box of shells. 

It feels far too literal. 

And they don’t rush up the stairs, both Bellamy and Clarke taking even steps as they do their mutual and collective best to stare at their shoes. But then he’s tugging his keys out of his back pocket and the air feels like it’s crackling around him, enough tension to power the island of Manhattan — especially when Clarke follows him inside his apartment.

“So, uh—” she starts, a click of her jaw when she notices the look on Bellamy’s face. 

His eyes have started to water, they’re so wide, standing in the middle of his exceptionally tiny living room. “Clarke, I—” “—Oh shit, I forgot the butter.” “Clarke.” “No, no, I should go get the butter, right? Yeah. That’s—shit, I didn’t even think. I...sorry, sorry, it’s—” She shakes her head brusquely, like she’s trying to shake away the awkwardness and Bellamy wishes there weren’t any awkwardness. He wishes he’d asked her out before the world started falling apart. 

He’s back in her space in a few more steps, fingers finding her flailing hands. She’s biting her lip again. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” “No?” “Absolutely not,” Bellamy promises. “I might, though. I just—I didn’t realize what was going on and then—” “I’m going to go get the butter,” Clarke announces, sounding almost disappointed at the idea. She pulls her hands back, a quick hiss of pain when she manages to elbow herself in the side in the process, all but running out of his apartment. Her backpack is still on his couch. 

Bellamy doesn’t move. He’s not sure he can, honestly. His legs feel like they’ve locked themselves in place, waiting with those same wide eyes for something he’s not sure he can have because it can’t possibly happen like this and Octavia is probably hysterical on the other side of the country. 

And he’s still not counting seconds or minutes, when he finally manages to get his feet to cooperate. So he can wash his hands. Like a responsible adult. Not one who hoards paper products. 

The footsteps that return to his still-open door a little slower than usual. 

“You didn’t close your door,” Clarke points out. She kicks back, a tremulous smile and Bellamy can’t believe this is going to happen while she’s holding butter. And at least two pounds of flour. He’s not sure what’s going to happen, exactly. “Did you even turn your oven on?” He shakes his head. “No.” “Real fond of that word all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

Bellamy doesn’t think he imagines the edge in her voice, narrowing his eyes slightly like that will help him pick up on certain conversational cues. It doesn’t — especially when Clarke breezes by him, marching into her kitchen like it’s hers or could be hers and that’s probably when he decides. What he wants to happen. “Do you want to make the cookies or the mac and cheese first?” she asks, and that question sounds more determined than any Bellamy’s heard before. Some of the tension in his shoulders disappears.

“Hey, will you talk to me?” 

“About something other than our cooking order?” “Yeah,” Bellamy nods. “Definitely about something other than our cooking order.” “I’m really hungry, though.”

His laugh has a certain strangled quality to it, but that may be a product of his heart, recently reformed and re-exploded. As soon as Bellamy realized what kissing Clarke was like. “I’m not going to let you starve,” Bellamy says. “Just—c’mon, look at me at least.”

She doesn’t. She pushes up on her toes instead, stabbing at the buttons on his oven. Bellamy sighs, doing his best not to start proclaiming things, giving voice to the sentiment that’s been bouncing around his soul for the better part of the last six months, and the flour that’s sitting on his minimal counter space is half open. 

The top’s rolling up, a haphazard curl to the paper, which only makes it easier to reach his hand inside without Clarke noticing. 

And immediately flick his fingers in Clarke’s direction. 

Her eyes flash, mouth dropping open, but Bellamy just grins, another flick that leaves flour clinging to Clarke’s cheek and the ends of her hair and she’d never washed that paint streak off. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands. 

“Got you to look at me.” “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Am I laughing?”

Clarke groans, trying to shake the flour off. All it does is ensure her hair shifts and the smell of her shampoo takes over most of the air in his kitchen. “You’re an idiot,” she sneers, “that’s what you are. I’m trying to feed us and—” “—You’re really very concerned about that. We’ve got to reorganize this conversation.”

Bellamy needs to get more flour before he can go for the third flick, but that proves to be his undoing. Clarke moves before he can, reflexes that he’d like to have a very serious discussion about eventually and she doesn’t flick. She slams her hand into his chest, a perfectly formed print in the middle of his shirt, twisting the fabric under her like that will make sure the mark stays there. 

Things are starting to feel a little literal again. 

At least he hopes so. 

So, it’s only reasonable and passably romantic to retaliate in kind — letting his flour-covered fingers flutter over Clarke’s hair and one of them gasps, but it’s difficult to figure out when they’re as close as they are, her hands dragging across his side and dangerously close to the top of his jeans and Bellamy’s definitely the one who groans when Clarke works her way under the hem of his shirt. 

Clarke beams. Bright and honest and her eyes are blue enough that Bellamy briefly considers getting lost in them for those minutes he’s still refusing to count, but then—

“God, I can’t believe I had to use some stupid marshall law bullshit to kiss you,” he mutters. 

“Is marshall law the right term there?” “No, not at all.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, hand staying exactly where it is. “I didn’t think so. And I—this was not some elaborate ruse, just for the record.” “Were you looking for elaborate ruses to make out with me?” “We’ve got to work on your vocabulary. Make out doesn’t seem right either.” “A work in progress.” “For the words, or…” She gasps again. Presumably because Bellamy’s ducking his head and his arm has curled around her middle and it’s easier to kiss her when there isn’t a backpack between them. Bellamy’s hand flattens against the small of Clarke’s back, a curve there that is quite suddenly the only thing he’d like to talk about for the remainder of the day. 

And they’re just as good at this as they were in Bryan’s car, but there’s something inherently different about the second go-around. An ease to the angles and the now-familiar rhythm, like they’d simply been waiting for the chance or the opportunity and—

“Maybe make out was an acceptable description,” Clarke mumbles against Bellamy’s mouth. He grins, dropping down so he can kiss her jaw and the side of her neck, only a little pleased with the goosebumps he notices there. “Oh, don’t get smug,” Clarke adds, “that’s not a good look on you.” “That certainly sounds like you’ve got opinions on my looks, actually.”

She clicks her tongue, leaning back to get in his eye line. “Maybe a few.” “A few?” “Bell, c’mon, that’s—” “—I have a very big crush on you.” Clarke blinks. Opens her mouth only to close it. Smiles. Scoffs. Blinks again. And then she’s kissing him and it’s good and great and both of those things feel wrong during a pandemic, but Bellamy assumes there's something to be said for the human spirit. Or whatever. 

“Makes for a good story, though,” Clarke says, eyes gone a color Bellamy’s never seen before. “You know, if you’re looking for something to write about.” “You want me to write about us? I write history books.” “Is this not historic?” “Oh, now who’s fishing for compliments,” Bellamy chuckles. Clarke blushes. Again, or still. “I would have liked to kiss you under less dramatic circumstances, but, uh—it also wasn’t the worst first kiss I’ve ever had.” “High praise.” “We’re very good at kissing each other.” “Yeah, I figured we would be.” “Did you just?” Clarke hums. “I’m pretty sure my friends had some kind of pool going. Especially now. When I’d finally give in and just like...attack you with my mouth or something. I talk about you all the time. At school. To Raven. Strangers on the street.” “Strangers on the street?” “I mean, Bryan assumed we were a couple.” “That’s because the mayor required him too,” Bellamy argues. “But, uh—I get the opinionated peanut gallery. O was convinced we were secretly dating when she was here.” “Before or after the chianti?” “Well before.” “Oh,” Clarke says, like that’s somehow surprising or good. Bellamy hopes it’s good. He’d like some good at this point. “You should probably change shirts.” “That sounds like a suggestion to take my shirt off.” “Wow, weird.” Her laugh turns into something far closer to a giggle when he kisses behind her ear, a fact he’s already stored for future reference, but then they’re moving and there are discarded clothes and kicked off shoes and neither one of them bothers to get up when the oven finishes pre-heating. 

“I have a crush on you too,” Clarke says, head propped up on her hand. In Bellamy’s bed. They’re in Bellamy’s bed. 

Her backpack is still on his couch. “Good,” he grins. “You want to eat, or…” “God, I’d thought you’d never ask.” And they do make both things, Clarke announcing that this is the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had while Bellamy does an absolutely terrible job of stealing cookie batter on the sly. She moves her backpack eventually too — into the corner of his living room. It’s easier that way, something about pandemics and limiting movement and if one of her students notices the change of scenery during their live-streamed class two days later, none of them say anything. 

[angrycowboy]

A couple weeks ago, I decided that for my birthday, I was going to attempt to put together some of my favorite things this fandom has created. I say *some* because this is an incomplete list. There are so many wonderful and talented creators in this fandom that this list would go on forever otherwise. If I have I ever reblogged something of yours, flailed in the tags, reached out to via DM or sent you a message, talked on discord or even Twitter, know that I love and adore not only the things you’ve created, but you yourself as part of this fandom.

And now, without further ado…

FIC

memento by @nielrian

I was obsessed with the idea of coming up with the backstory to the photo we see Michael look at in 1x02. When was it taken? Does Alex have a copy? Did Alex bring his with him to the other side of the world? How often do you think Michael looked at his own copy? And Nicki took a little prompt of mine, and wrote an achingly gorgeous piece about one photograph, and it’s significance to Malex in less than 700 words.

a little something to make me sweeter by @partsofthesamecosmicbeing

Camluca + D.E.B.S. is like a recipe for the perfect fic. I freaking love the movie, and when I saw this fic pop up on tumblr one day? I couldn’t even contain my excitement (seriously, the tags on my reblog were just me flailing wildly because it felt like Ly had reached into my brain and written something I wanted to read before I even knew it myself). Casting Alex as Scud and including Malex in the mix just made me love this fic even more.

And the Sun Rose Red by @michaels-blackhat

A Miluca Kissing Kate Barlow AU? SIGN. ME. UP. I adore Christi, and I adore her writing. One day she was like, “miluca kissing kate barlow au?” and the only appropriate answer to that is HECK YES. Michael/Maria is also a dynamic that just works for this AU, given their canon relationship, and Michael’s penchant for fixing things and Maria’s desire to have someone just be there for her. *runs off to re-read fic*

something broken in this town by @irolltwenties

Okay so, Meagn is one of my favorite people in this fandom. We kinda ramble at each other, and one day this happened where she started talking about the parents. About the relationship Jesse, Jim, and Mimi had as kids, as teenagers, as young adults. How they got sucked into aliens and government conspiracies. How they became the people we see and hear about in S1. If you’ve ever had the privilege of talking with Meagn, you know how amazing her mind is, how she takes these characters and the mere scraps we’ve been given in canon with some of them, and creates entire lives for them, and it’s beautiful.

open up my eager eyes by @haloud

It took me a while to get into Mylex, but apparently it was just because I hadn’t read Hal’s series yet. I’m usually terrible about multi-shipping, but once I find a writer that nails the characters down, I could probably read anything they write. And Hal writes all three of them perfectly. (I mean, Hal is just a phenomenal writer in general, but I digress.)

META

Michael’s bisexuality by @chasingshhadows

There’s been a lot said in the fandom about Michael’s bisexuality and how it’s been portrayed. While the show was airing, I was having trouble finding people who felt the same way I did about how it was being shown - that it wasn’t problematic, but that it was good and accurate. Not to mention that it made me feel seen. I tried writing out what I was feeling but nothing sounded right - until Chasing wrote this piece. It was everything I’d been trying to find the words to express, and it remains one of my absolutely favorite pieces of her writing.

Semiotics of Roswell by @hannah-writes

Hannah did this amazing thing where she took the camera work of RNM and analyzed the shit out of it. And in some moments of doubt, where I was still worried about Malex because of the direction the show had been taking, Hannah’s semiotics (or better known as “Why Malex is Endgame”) pointed out how the camerawork for Malex and Echo is very similar, not to mention deliberate as fuck.

Maria Can’t Catch a Break by @ober-affen-geil

I adore Maria Deluca. She has gotten such a bad rap in the fandom because of the “love triangle” business. But fandom in general has done her dirty in that without removing the shipper goggles it is very hard to see that the show has established Maria as a character in her own right, just as much as it has with Kyle and Alex. And that’s why I love Riley’s meta about everything that Maria is dealing with, what she’s going through, and what it’s been like for her to be the one left behind 10 years ago.

GIFSETS/EDITS

i would know him in death, at the end of the world by @vlamito

I don’t even remember now who told me I had to read The Song of Achilles - it was pre-RNM hyperfixation, but I absolutely loved it (I definitely cried while reading it). And then I saw this gifset, oh mah gawd. Mich just has this ability to find quotes from other media and fit them seemlessly into Malex. And the moments she chooses for her gifsets are utter perfection. I think everyone has probably seen this now, but it’s a gifset I just keep going back to over and over again.

Are you okay? by @maxortecho

So I adore Echo. There is something about their softness, the way they look at each other, the way they act around each other that is just beautiful. Mo made this set, and pointed out in the tags that Liz pushes her arms underneath Max like she’s going to hug him, and it broke me. Like, I thought that scene in the finale was heartbreaking enough, but pointing that out? It hurts and I loved it.

Leading Ladies Appreciation by @lsobelevans

Lucie does some amazing things with color that truly make her edits stand out, and stick out in your mind. And it’s one of the things I love about her gif sets especially - it makes them uniquely hers, her own signature if you will. And this edit is no different - the splashes of color, the texture used for the background, the highlighting of the leading ladies is stunning work. 

Same page/Different book by @bisexualalienblast

Let’s just say that picking ONE gifset of Amanda’s is an impossibility for me, okay? Amanda’s sets are the reason I wanted to learn how to gif - her gifs are beautifully colored, they’re crisp, she always picks the best fonts, they’re smooth, and her ideas are stellar. Anyway, she more recently made this set, which just so perfectly illustrates Malex’s issue IN TWO GIFS. That’s it. Their entire problem in S1, right there. Beautiful.

VIDEO

Juice | Women of Roswell by @isakvaltersnake

Katie is a wizard with the video editing. She’s going to be a force when we’ve got more than one season of footage to play around with. And this video is fun and hot and LOOK AT THE WOMEN. They are smart, they are kind, they are flirty, they have agency, and they’re all hella sexy.

Weird Science | Liz & Michael - Science Bros by @soberqueerinthewild

Hands down, this is one of my favorite videos from the fandom, and definitely one of my favorite things Christina has made (though I basically love everything she does). It’s silly and ridiculous and 100% fun. She found every bit of footage in S1 and matched it to the song perfectly. It’s impossible to watch this video and not smile and laugh - it will instantly brighten your day.

MISC

RNM Texts From Last Night by @audreyblanche

I am slightly biased here, because while Irena came up with the idea, I encouraged her to actually go through with it, promising her that the fandom would enjoy it. So because of that it’s next to impossible for me to pick a favorite out of all the ones she’s done for this series (though the one where we settled on the Camluca ship name, as well as one I specifically requested for Malex come close), and I’m hoping that with the new season (and when she returns from hiatus), she can pick this up again.

[chaotic-emo-pigeon]

Alright here’s part 3

Christmas Destiel guest starring Poppy Winchester pt. 3 :)

They arrived home at about 5 o’clock.

The group changed into some comfortable pajamas and lit another fire (or maybe the first one didn’t ever go out-it wasn’t quite clear)

“Alrighty” Poppy said “who volunteers to make dinner?”

Dean was sitting on the couch, arm around his angel “why can’t you just zap something up?”

She rolled her eyes “Oh, I don’t know, because that takes energy? Energy I don’t exactly have an abundance of, since Balthazar, you know, DIED”

Castiel was starting to get uncomfortable

“I’ll help” he offered

Poppy’s face lit up “really? great!”

Dean looked surprised “okay then”

Poppy and Cas started to make dinner (nothing fancy, just chili) and after about ten minutes Poppy started to feel like they were being watched.

She turned around slyly to see Dean in the doorway 

Cas hadn’t noticed, he was a little preoccupied with the different kinds of beans.

Poppy zapped over behind Dean and tapped him on the shoulder

“Hey you” she said “creep”

“Jesus christ Pop” Dean jumped “don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Don’t watch us cook” she laughed “what do you want?”

Dean blushed a little bit “nothing”

Poppy raised an eyebrow “nothing, huh.”

“Yep, nothing” Dean tried to change the subject “how about those mets?”

“I like the red sox” Poppy crossed her arms “now, what are you doing?” “Just…” Dean relented “can I help?” “Sure” Poppy linked arms with him “why are you guys so weird about everything? Actually, don’t answer that, I don’t want to hear it”

The two of them washed their hands and got Dean an apron

(the apron wasn’t necessary, but Castiel thought Dean looked cute in it)

They got to work, and everything was going great until there was a sound of crashing from behind them

“Sam?” Poppy shouted towards the living room “You okay?”

“EVERYTHING’S FINE” Sam replied, panicked 

Poppy sighed “you guys keep cooking, the recipe is right there, don’t burn anything”

She zapped off into the other room.

“What is a teaspoon?” Cas asked after a second 

“It’s a measurement tool” Dean said “there’s one somewhere”

He rummaged around in a drawer for a moment

“Ta-da!” Dean grinned and presented it to Cas

"That's pretty small" Cas studied the spoon "is it made to hold tea in?"

Dean shrugged "I have no clue." 

They continued on making chili.

20 minutes later Poppy returned.

"Everything okay in there?" Dean asked, stirring a bowl of something 

"Yep, or it is now. Sam's wrist is possibly sprained but everything should be fine" she waved a hand "no worries. How have you two been doing?"

"Almost done!" Said Cas excitedly.

Castiel didn't eat.

Mostly because he didn't have to, but he did love to cook. He liked the look on his friend's faces when they ate something he had made. It was a human pleasure of his.

Dean liked to eat.

There was no particular reason for it, it was just one of his things. He especially liked to eat things that Cas had made for him.

Poppy thought all of this was weird.

Cute, yes, but weird. 

Still, she liked seeing her brother happy.

Sam's arm really,

really hurt.

And unfortunately the menorah was slightly broken.

Oops.

Sam gathered them all for family dinner, and after a fair amount of bickering, they decided to watch the grinch.

“I don’t understand” Cas said, midway through the movie “why does the grinch want to take the tree?” 

“Because people are making too much noise” Sam replied, seemingly unsure 

“It doesn’t make a ton of sense” Poppy admitted “but I like the movie and it’s too late to stop.”

Cas was still confused.

Dean kinda liked it when Castiel was confused.

He was always the dumb one compared to his family, and even though Cas was still loads smarter than he was, filling him in on all the silly human stuff was one of Dean’s favorite things.

He pulled the angel closer to him and kissed the top of his head.

These past two days had been some of the best of his life. He had a nice family and someone who loved him. Dean knew that pretty soon he’d have to go back to the regular old grind of saving people and hunting things, but for now he could sit back, relax and be happy for once.

The movie ended fairly quickly and after a debate about the feasibility of the grinch’s heart growing 3 sizes, the group decided to turn in for the night.

Well, Poppy forced them to, but yeah.

Sometime in the middle of the night Poppy was awoken by her friendly neighborhood angel standing at the side of her bed. “You’re lucky I can sense you” she said, rolling over “what do you want?”

“I need your help” Cas sat down at the end of the bed 

Poppy sat up “at 3 AM? It better be important.”

“It is…” he trailed off 

“Are you going to tell me?” Poppy slipped out of bed “or are you just gonna sit there looking pretty”

“I need a christmas gift for Dean” Castiel turned to her “can you help?”

Poppy laughed “that’s it? Christ, Wings, I thought you were dying! Of course I can help”

The pair zapped off into the living room and got to work

“So,” Poppy took a seat at the kitchen table “it being christmas eve, and the middle of the night, our options are limited”

Cas’s face fell

“But!” she said “this just makes it more fun!”

“How so?” Cas asked

“Well, we can make it ourselves.” she declared “I have an idea”

“Done.” Poppy said, handing the gift to Cas “all you’ve gotta do is wrap it”

“Thank you” the angel replied, taking it.

“No problem” Poppy yawned “i should go back to bed”

She got up and stumbled back to her room.

The morning came with a bang.

Well, more accurately, annoyed groaning from Sam and Dean as Poppy and Cas dragged them out of bed.

“Who wants to go first?” Poppy said, gesturing to the presents on everyone’s laps

“How are you so peppy?” Dean stretched his arms “It’s unsettling” “Coffee!” Poppy exclaimed, a scary look in her eye

“O-kay” Sam said, scooching away “good to know…”

“Dean should go first” Cas unsubtly winked at Poppy

“Good idea” she winked back

“What just happened?” Dean looked at Sam, but he seemed equally confused.

Cas handed Dean his gift, and he hesitantly unwrapped it, keeping a wary eye on Poppy, who was giggling like a maniac. 

He revealed it and his heart stopped for a minute

“Do you like it?” Cas asked, putting a hand on Dean’s

“Ye-Yeah” Dean cleared his throat “I-I love it, thank you”

He looked down at the cassette,  the words ‘Dean’s mix <3’ printed across the top.

“Told you he’d like it” Poppy poked Cas

She turned to Sam “Looks like only one of us is boyfriend-less”

Sam’s eyes got wide as he backed away slowly from his sister.

While Poppy was preoccupied, Dean and Cas stepped outside

“Seriously, thank you” Dean said, cupping his angel’s face in his hand “this is great”

He pulled Cas in for a kiss.

Letting go, Dean pulled out a messily wrapped gift.

“Poppy helped me throw this together late last night” he said apologetically “here”

Castiel unwrapped it to find a cassette, similar to the one he had made.

“It’s not much, but-” Dean was cut off

“It’s perfect” Cas smiled.

“You are one sneaky kid” Sam remarked, chewing a bit of candy cane

“I know” Poppy grinned “It’s my specialty.”

“You’ve never tried that on me… have you?” “A couple times” she admitted “it’s not like you’re particularly easy to set up. Those two though? They were made for each other” “Yeah they are” Sam chuckled “they really are”

The end

[oliviaadamswrites]

Plus Signs - Chapter 10

[Part of Souvenirs Series] [Read via AO3]

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader Prompt: Chris and his new lady brought back a souvenir from Disneyland and now begins the fun of telling their families. Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut... all the things. Word Count: 7,086

[<<< Chapter Nine] [[<<< Chapter One]]

CHAPTER NOTES: This chapter has been years in the making. Literally. It has been through many iterations, many mood changes, many "this is garbage I'm completely starting over" hissy fits... and everything in between. I've been sitting on this version for over a year now, terrified to publish this much ANGST. But, it's past time. Chris and the Reader have so much more to experience and, I want to get there. To get there meant I needed to get past this hurdle. Maybe this could have been two chapters, or even three, but... I digress. THE HURDLE... If you are still reading this, after so long... I am so thankful! If you are getting into this fic series for the first time... I am so thankful! I just hope you won't have to experience multiple year long hiatuses, like your for-readers! HA Ok... please enjoy!

                       ________________________________________

Chris and I had spent Thanksgiving in Boston and would be spending Christmas with my family. The simple fact that Chris was worried about me traveling “so late in the pregnancy” had settled the deal, despite the fact that my doctor had given the go-ahead to travel much further along.

I had quickly found that when it came to me feeling the slightest bit of discomfort, in any way shape or form, it was simply easier to let Chris make the decisions. His constant worry was ever present yet, thankfully, adorable and hadn’t driven me crazy. On the other hand, figuring out a name for this child was going to drive us both absolutely bonkers.

“Please tell me you are joking,” I glared at Chris’s image on my phone.

“Seriously? You don’t like it?” he laughed.

“No, absolutely not. Our child will not be named Christopher Robin.” I propped the device against the decorative bowl on my kitchen table, freeing my hands to cut a piece of chicken in half.

“Fine,” he scoffed, taking a sip of his water. “How’s your chicken?”

“Delicious,” I mumbled with my mouth still full. “Yours?”

“I ruined it, I really did.” He shook his head, staring at the plate in front of him, just off camera. “I just can’t figure out what I did wrong.”

“I told you to be careful to not cook it too long,” I teased, taking a dramatic bite of food.

“You be nice!” He pointed at me with his fork, squinting his eyes. I smiled back mockingly, my lips tight across my teeth. “Don’t make me cut you off from date night!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” I pulled my napkin to my chest in mock horror. “You like this too much.”

“I do,” he conceded. “I definitely do. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world?”

“Except actually being here with me… right?” I raised one eyebrow to him.

“Of course! I’d give anything for that!” His eyes went dark as he pursed his lips.

“Hey,” I urged softly. “No crying on date night.”

“I’m not,” Chris shook his head, smiling. “I promise.”

“Good… because we have business to attend to,” I sighed out, pushing my plate away.

“You sound so excited,” he teased.

“I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” I sighed again.

“And?” he pressed.

“And… I’m worried that we’ll never agree on a name.” I felt my face twist in worry.

Hiding my emotions and true feelings from Chris was something that I failed at continuously. It wasn’t just that I was bad at it, it was that he seemed to read between the lines. Always watching the smallest of facial expressions, listening to my tone and inflection. He well and truly heard the things I said and even more so the things I didn’t say.

“We have time. We have so much more time,” he soothed my worries with his low voice.

“Not really,” I countered.

“Really? We have like…” he paused and looked up and to the side with his eyes. “… Seventeen more weeks? We will totally nail down a name before then. Way before then.”

“I guess we don’t really have another choice, do we?” I laughed at the realization.

“No, no we don’t,” he chuckled. “So what’s on the short list?”

“We don’t even have a short list!” I cried out, lifting my hands into the air, exasperated.

“Ok, ok!” He raised his palms to me in surrender. “It’s ok. It’s fine. What’s on the long list?”

I pulled my notebook around and flipped it open, settling on the page littered with scribbles, doodles, lists, scratched out names and notes about people we didn’t like and therefore couldn’t use their names.

“We have roughly sixty five million girl names that we love, forty million girl names that we like… and… exactly 3 names for a boy that we ‘don’t hate’…” I finger quoted the air.

“Well, maybe that means she’s a girl.” Chris was grinning at me from the screen.

“Maybe.” I smiled back. “But we still need to narrow down the girl names and get some more boy names on board.”

“I still say Christopher Robin.” His eyes lit up, knowing that he was pushing my buttons.

“Not only is that silly, but its way too close to your name,” I scowled at him.

“Well, if it is a boy… maybe we could name him after me?” Now his face twisted in an adorable questioning way, one eyebrow up, one scowled, his lips pulled to the side in a smirk.

“I am so glad we are having this conversation on facetime!” I nearly squealed at the sight of his face.

“What?! Why?”

I watched his face turn to innocent concern.

“Just to watch your face right now. In this moment. To see how you’re really feeling, behind what you’re saying, showing on your face!” I leaned forward, layering my arms on the table in front of me, inching closer to my phone.

“Don’t you start talking about my eyebrows right now! Don’t do it!” he play shouted, covering his forehead with one hand.

“I love you,” I laughed the words out. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he sighed back.

“You really want to name your boy after you?”

“I do,” he nodded, smiling.

“I can tell.” I took a deep breath to settle myself and continued. “So, we will name our son, if we have a son, after his father.”

“Really? You mean that?” His face lit up with joy.

“Of course I mean it, you silly man! I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Naming this baby is stressful enough, I’m not going to joke about something that clearly means something to you.” I looked down at my ever expanding belly and ran my hands over and over, smiling. “Tiny Christopher Junior.”

“Tiny Christopher Junior,” he repeated.

“Junior… or the second?” I looked back to the phone now.

“Junior, for sure. Our kid can’t walk around Boston thinking he’s some prince or something, with the second,” he shook his head roughly, chuckling to himself.

“Boston?” My heart fluttered at the thought of moving.

“I’m sure he’ll visit there, at least once in his life, right?” He winked at me, quickly easing my worries. I wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet and he knew it.

“Of course he will,” I agreed.

“Ok, so we have a boy name picked out,” he cheered. “Air high five!”

We mimicked a high-five between our phones and both erupted into a fit of giggles.

“We are going to be horrible parents!” I roared in laughter.

“No, no no no! We are going to be fun parents!”

“Well, that’s for sure!” I agreed, whole heartedly.

“Alright,” he popped a piece of chicken into his mouth and immediately made a sour face. He turned his face from the camera to swipe the offending food way into his napkin.

“That bad huh?” I pulled my lips between my teeth, attempting to maintain composure.

“Ugh, yes,” he grumbled. “I’m picking the recipe next time.”

“Oh come on! You can’t blame the recipe! Mine turned out just fine.”

“Yeah, well… I’ll pick something that I know I can cook for next time.” He fidgeted with his plate, obviously moving his chicken away from the rest of his food.

“That sounds fair. Just no barbeque. You know I can’t barbeque.”

“Deal.” He poked around his plate some more and then settled his eyes on the screen again. “I’m gonna see you in a few days anyway. Maybe I’ll barbeque for you while I’m there.”

“I like that idea.” I smiled at the idea of Chris cooking at my house. Moving around my house, like he belonged here. Because he does belong here.

He had started to leave things at my place, here and there. A shirt one time, left behind for me to sleep in. A toothbrush another time, after forgetting his own and needing to buy one. The next time he bought an entire set of toiletries to leave behind. I had surprised him by clearing out space in the master bathroom for his things to take up residence. Now, it seemed that each trip his luggage was getting smaller and smaller. He had a small selection of button down shirts hanging in my closet. A handful of t-shirts, some pants and workout clothes, were neatly folded in my dresser. One pair of flip flops, a pair of running shoes and a pair of casual shoes were lined up in the corner of the closet. A spare charger was permanently plugged in at the nightstand on “his” side of my bed. His toiletries now co-mingled with my own in the bathroom. He even had a favorite coffee mug, which I secretly used nearly every morning that he wasn’t there.

“So what is on the baby check list while I’m home?” he interrupted my thoughts with a quiet question. I smiled at the mention of “home” and his face lit up as he registered my delight.

“Well…” I started, turning pages in my notebook again. “Besides picking a girl name? Finish painting. Assemble the crib. Decorate. Pick out some bedding to put on the baby registry.”

“Ooh, do we get to use one of those beepy things at Target?” He was nearly bouncing in excitement.

“If you want to,” I laughed. “But if we find something that we like online, then we’ll just add it to the Amazon registry.”

“I say we check Target first. I really want to use one of those things.” He shook his head as his own ridiculousness.

“We can check Target first,” I assured him.

“When is your shower, again?”

“The first weekend in March.”

“So loooooong. I want to buy stuff now,” he whined.

“I do too… but they’re really excited about this. We should let them have their fun.” I really was so glad that my family was being so supportive. Mom had a not-so-secret stash of baby things, “hidden” in the guest room closet. Dad gave me updates each time Mom or my sister added to the stash. So far it seems that it was mostly clothes, for both boys and girls. Dad said Mom was going to save the un-needed clothes for the next baby. When Dad confessed all of this to me I laughed so hard that I cried.

“I know, you’re right,” he conceded. “We’re still doing the nursery decorations ourselves, right?”

“Yes, we are. So get your butt back out here so we can work on it!” I was suddenly sad, missing him so much it was nearly painful.

“Hey,” he urged gently. “I will be there in a few days. We will decorate and paint and I will cook for you and rub your feet and…”

“And cuddle in bed?” I raised my eyebrows to him, simply missing his touch. Missing his presence in the house. Missing his laughter echoing off the walls.

“And cuddle in bed,” he agreed. “And do other things in bed.”

I snorted a laugh in response.

“Hey now, the doctor keeps saying that these hormones are supposed to make you crazy for me!” His eyes went wide in exaggeration.

“I’m already crazy for you,” I argued.

“You sure about that?”

“Of course I am!” I cried out. “Are you complaining about the frequency? Or is the quality not up to your expectations?” I squinted my eyes at him.

“Neither!” He surrendered his palms again, laughing. “Neither, I swear. I was just teasing! I promise!”

“I was just teasing, too.” A smile broke across my face and I burst into giggles.

“Oh man, you got me… I swear. I’m so scared to make you mad. Supposedly these hormones are supposed to make you like…”

“Crazy?” I interrupted, still laughing.

“I didn’t say crazy!” He held up a finger in protest.

“No, I did.” I took a deep breath and sighed, calming myself. “I’m not crazy though, right?”

“Not at all, honey. Not at all.”

… … …  … … …

A few long and tiring days later Chris arrived, letting himself into my home with the key I had forced into his hand the last time he left. The argument was laid moot at my insistence that if something were to happen, he needed a key.

Nothing bad had happened, but I was thankful that Chris had his key when he found me snoozing at my desk in the studio

“Good morning sunshine,” he crooned as I blinked my eyes open.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” I groaned, lifting my head from the desk surface, a paper sewing pattern coming with my cheek. Chris chuckled gently peeling the paper off.

“Is it time to take maternity leave?” He joked and looked around the room. The clutter made my exhaustion obvious. On the cutting table, a pair of dressmaking sheers lay open, topping a pile of cut fabric, with scraps littering the surrounding surface. A new pattern lay nearby, only half taped together. Both serger and sewing machine stood proudly lit, still switched on. Piles of old and new fabric, haphazardly hanging from their shelves, bolts threatening to fall over, near ones that already had.

My eyes followed his gaze around the room, landing on my laptop that I had pushed to the side, still brightly lit with my webhost back end on the screen. I shook my head and clicked ‘save’, hoping that my edits hadn’t timed out. With confirmation of my changes I checked my phone, noting five missed calls. Three from Chris and two from Kate.

“I need to call Kate,” I rasped, before clearing my throat.

“To talk to her about maternity leave?” Concern was etched across Chris’ face.

“No… not yet,” I scowled as I clicked through my phone. E-mails from a fabric designer filled my inbox. I winced. “Remember that conference I skipped to come to New Mexico?”

“I do,” he nodded slowly.

“I was supposed to meet with a fabric designer…”

“A big one, right? Your sister told me.”

“Yes,” I sighed out disappointment in myself. “Basically, I lied and told her I was sick and needed to reschedule. Then later told her that I’m pregnant.”

“Ok… and?” Chris didn’t hide the confusion.

“She assumed the illness was morning sickness and was actually really cool about it,” I felt my eyebrows raise and I filled him in.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“It is! Yes… but… it pushed back the design. It was working out to be an exclusive fabric design for me. For my clothing line.”

“That’s amazing, honey!” Chris beamed at me, then scowled. “Wait, so what it wrong?”

“We haven’t found time to get together, so everything has been through email, which pushes back the timeline. With the fabric design pushed back, the clothing design gets pushed back and I just really want this line to AT LEAST be in manufacturing before the baby is born.” I rubbed my temples and closed my eyes. Chris was right, I needed a break, but there was no way I would enjoy maternity leave, knowing my company was left hanging. And to be fair, it seemed way too early for maternity leave.

“Ok… alright… we’ve got this. It’s ok.” Chris turned my desk chair toward him and knelt in front of me. “So, what do we need to do to get to that point… or to get to a point that you can leave it to Kate?”

“I can’t leave it all to Kate. This is my company!” Tears welled in my eyes. “I can’t do that. This is my design. This is what I’ve been waiting for! An exclusive fabric for such a small company… it’s so hard! I can’t just walk away! I want to enjoy this. I’ve worked SO hard for it!” I could feel my emotions taking over. These damn hormones.

“Oh honey,” Chris pulled me into a hug. “You will! It’ll be ok!”

“No!” I wailed. “It won’t! I have to take maternity leave at some point… I have to take a break! I’m losing my mind, I swear! I’m exhausted all the time and then when I sleep, I dream of sewing!”

“Let’s take a little break, get out of this room, go put that crib together!” Chris looked at me expectantly.

“I was dreaming about sewing the baby’s bedding, when you woke me up,” I nearly whispered, shaking my head slowly.

“Oh honey,” Chris whispered, pulling me into another hug.

“I don’t know what to do right now. I’m so tired, I can’t think.” I sniffled, wiped my eyes and pulled my head up to look him in the face, for what seemed like the first time since he woke me. “And I need a shower, so bad.”

“Alright,” Chris stood abruptly. “I’ve got this.”

“You do?” My face twisted in amusement and confusion.

“Yep. You need a shower, a break and some help. I’ve got this.” He straightened up, putting his hands on his hips and surveyed the room again. “Go get in the shower. I’m going to get Kate in here to clean up… AH!” He held up a finger when I tried to protest. “I will pay her for her time today and then I think we should maybe talk to her about either changing her schedule, or taking on more hours.”

“And then what?” I sighed, knowing he was right.

“Then, when you get out of the shower, you’re going to answer those emails,” he motioned at my phone. “Then we can eat something or you can take a nap, but you’ll decide that AFTER you shower. Alright?”

“Alright.” I agreed, succumbing to his help. “Let me get you Kate’s number.”

“You’re silly if you think I don’t already have it,” he chuckled, retrieving his phone from his back pocket. “Get in the shower, now. You smell.”

“I do not!” I protested, standing with the assistance of his free hand.

“You don’t,” he smiled, kissing the top of my head. “But, I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I hear it’s worse once the baby comes,” I teased.

“I won’t like that either, but I’ll do whatever I can to help. I can promise you that.” With a gentle push I was out the door and walking across my back yard. Simply being outside in the fresh air was already a welcome change. I glanced around, imagining playing with our sweet little girl that was yet to come.

“We should get a swing set back here,” Chris called from the doorway of the pool house studio.

“I was just thinking that,” I called back.

“Shower first. I can smell you from here!” His chuckle almost choked off his words.

To say I took a long shower would be the understatement of history. I started with the shower, steaming hot, standing under the cascade with my eyes closed. When my legs tired I longed for a bath and switched to the tub faucet, plugging the drain as I sat down to enjoy the bath.

Chris knocked softly on the door as he opened it slightly.

“Did you fall asleep in there?” His voice was low, as if he didn’t want to interrupt me, had I actually been sleeping.

“No,” I giggled. “Just reveling at how my belly sort of floats in the tub.”

“Just your belly?” I heard his tone change.

“Well, no, but… my boobs always floated,” my giggle bubbling into a laugh.

“I’m sad I never noticed that.” I could hear the smile in his voice before he peeked around the curtain.

“Cool, huh?” I smiled up at him, my hands running down my stomach.

“Very,” his smile turned and he tipped his head to the side. “Is she moving?”

“She’s movin,” I stopped my hand, attempting to feel her kicks from the outside. “Wanna try to feel again?”

“Eh… I’m kinda worried I’ll just be disappointed again.” He shrugged his feelings away and sat on the edge of the tub.

“I have a good feeling this time,” I grinned as I felt a tapping from my belly, on my hand.

“Oh do you now?” He shifted his weight and moved his hand to hover over mine, in a silent request for permission to touch me.

I took Chris’ hand in my free hand, sliding it under my opposite palm. We waited, our eyes locked. I felt a small bubble of movement, deep in my belly and frowned.

“I don’t know…” his face fell completely, dejected and disappointed.

“Shh, give her a second,” I scowled back at him. As if on cue, the tiniest of kicks made my eyebrows shoot up. “Did you feel that!?”

“No.” Chris exhaled through his nose as tears welled in his eyes. “I swear I’m never gonna….”

He was interrupted by jab, straight to his hand, as if to say “DAD! Shut it! I’m here!”

“HA!” I yelped. “You felt THAT!” My face split into a grin and tears spilled over with no warning.

“I did… I… Wow… Oh my god!” Another kick stopped his speech. “I swear, everything she does… it all makes me cry!” Tears streamed down his face, dropping into the tub.

“Well, you’re a daddy,” I spoke softly, my voice cracking with my own emotion.

“I’m a daddy,” he whispered.

“Now you’re really never going to take your hand off my stomach,” I smiled away my happy tears.

“Nope, never!” He straightened up. “Have you even washed yourself or have you just been enjoying the water?”

“Just enjoying the water,” I sighed contentedly, taking his free hand to place next to the one already on me.

“You’ll need to do that. I don’t want to hear any whining about tangled hair or being itchy from the water.”

“I will. As soon as you’re out of here,” I looked up at him through my eyelashes.

“OH, I’m not leaving!” His eyebrows lifted in a i-dare-you-to-tell-me-to-leave look.

“What? Then how am I supposed to wash myself?”

“Oh, don’t let me bother you. I’ll stay out of your way as best as I can!” With that, he grinned and abruptly barrel rolled over me, into the tub, landing between me and wall. Water sloshed out over the edge in a tsunami, soaking the rugs and bath mat.

“Christopher!” I yelped, trying to sit up.

“What?” He feigned innocence, then winked. “Like I said, don’t let me bother you… but I’ll wash your belly for you if you’d like.”

“Your clothes are soaked!”

“Uh… everything is soaked,” he nearly cackled, his hands still firmly on my round stomach. “Lucky for me, I’ve brought extra clothes!”

So there he stayed, while I drained the tub, stood and restarted the shower. I washed my hair and face, all while his hands stayed put. I poured soap into my loofah and eyed him, holding out the sponge, only to be met with a shake of his head and a laugh.

Once my entire body, minus my stomach, was clean, Chris took the loofah from me and began to wash my belly slowly, gently, almost as if I were made of glass.

“Can you still feel her moving?” I nearly whispered.

“I can,” he grinned, washing with the loofah as his free hand trailed behind it, never missing a spot or an opportunity to feel his little girl move.

“This has been simultaneously one of the weirdest and best days.”

“It’s only weird because you fell asleep on your desk,” he teased.

“Uh… and my baby daddy jumped into the tub with me, fully clothed,” I reminded him.

“Baby daddy,” he repeated in a sarcastic chuckle, scowling.

“Hey,” I called to him gently, blatantly ignoring his attempt at letting the moment pass. I lifted his chin with my fingers and felt my face twist in worry. “Hey…” I nearly cooed.

“It’s fine.” He shook his head from my hand and went back to washing.

“Not, it’s not. You’re not fine.”

“No… I’m not.” He stood and rinsed the loofah in the running shower behind me, one hand still on my soapy belly.

“Talk to me?” I nearly begged, standing on tip toe in an attempt to get eye level with him.

“I don’t want to fight.” His voice was low, pain dripping from every word, as he set about hanging the loofah, closing and putting away soap bottles, all one handed.

“I don’t either,” I was taken aback. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He’s tired of the baby daddy joke. Shit.

“Then we won’t.” He forced a smile and turned me away from him, to rinse the soap from my body. His hands moved as slowly and gently as before, with no hint as to how he was feeling.

“Chris, don’t…” I could barely get the words out. Would this be our first fight? Shit! “Please talk to me.”

“No, not right now. Not while you’re naked and we’re in the shower.”

“And you’re fully clothed in the shower?” I wasn’t sure if I meant it as a joke, to lighten the mood, or if I just didn’t know what to say. I knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say, when he recoiled from me, both of his hands coming off of my stomach.

“I said I don’t want to fight… not that I want to joke about it.” His body went rigid.

I spun around in his arms that still formed a barrier around me and reached for his face. He recoiled, again.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my hands falling to my sides. It didn’t seem appropriate to rest them on my stomach, no matter the fact that my stomach was still my body. It didn’t seem appropriate to put my hands where his had just been, in such joy.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was hollow, his eyes filling with angry tears, where there had just been happy tears. “I don’t want this conversation to go like this. Not now, not here, not because I got angry. Not like this.”

“What conversation!?” I was suddenly terrified that my worst fears were coming true. Shit.

“Let’s get out of the shower,” he proclaimed, pulling the curtain aside calmly and stepping out.

I exhaled sharply, my hands flying to cover my mouth. I tried to hide the sob, to hold it in, but it broke through. I surrendered to the desperate crying that took over and looked down, placing my hands on my belly. No, no no no no. Did I just screw things up THAT bad, THAT fast?

“Chris?” I choked through the tears, frozen in the shower.

“Out of the shower, please?” He reached in, twisting off the tap and held out a bath sheet.

That fucking towel. THAT towel? That huge towel you bought for me when I complained that my belly got so big that I could barely get my towel around me. That towel, that you surprised me with!? That’s the towel you’re going to hand to me right before you break up with me!?

I stood shaking, naked, wet and cold, staring into his eyes. I could read nothing. There was nothing.

“Y/N, please!” He thrust the towel towards me as a reminder of its presence. Yet, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t take the towel. Not THAT towel. Not any towel, from him. So I stood. He sighed in frustration and began to dry me off. Squeezing out my hair, gently pressing the terry cloth to my face, my neck, my breasts.

“Stop,” I pleaded through a sob. He continued, gently drying my arms and legs. He turned me from my shoulders, to face away from him, and dried my back and butt. I felt my body heave with emotion as he turned me back to face him. “Stop, please.”

“No,” his eyes stuck on my stomach. “I told you, I can’t do this with you naked, not here, not like this.” He took the towel to my stomach and gently dried my skin of every last drop of water.

“Chris!” I struggled to regain composure.

“Do you need lotion?” A single eyebrow raised on his face and I came undone.

“No, I don’t need lotion! I can’t do this, Chris! Don’t do this to me!” I sobbed, covering my face.

“You can’t DO this?” He nearly yelled, standing up. “What does that mean!?”

“I don’t need lotion! I need YOU!” I wailed now, with no care in the world of the fact that I was naked, no care of who heard me. I couldn’t do this.

“You need ME?” He nearly bellowed the words. “You NEED me? Then why can’t you do this!?”

“What!?” I cried out, nearly in physical pain from the emotion. “Yes, I need you! I love you! You are the father of my child! I need you! Why are you leaving me!? Over a joke!?” I was angry now, ripping the towel from him and throwing it on the ground. I eyed the linen closet, intent on getting myself a different towel.

“It’s not a joke!” He shouted back. I flinched away from his anger, startled and covered my chest with my hands and arms. His face softened and bent to pick up the towel, whispering with a shake of his head “It’s not a joke. It hurts.”

“So why didn’t you tell me? Instead you’re just going to break up with me? You’re going to leave me… you’re going to leave her!?” My hand went protectively to my stomach, forgoing my modesty.

“I’m not breaking up with you!” His face broke into a million emotions. “Why would you think that!? I promised you I’m not going anywhere! WHY would you think I’m breaking up with you?”

“You’re not… you’re… not?” I gasped for air. “I… you’re NOT!?”

“I’m not…” he stepped towards me cautiously and when I didn’t move away, he wrapped the towel around my shoulders.

“You’re not,” I shivered into the towel, feeling my body ready to give way. “I don’t understand… you said this conversation… and… you… you went so cold!” My breath quickened again, my heart racing.

“I just meant about us… about where we are and where we’re going and… I didn’t want to pose it as I’m tired of being called the baby daddy, no matter how much that hurts… I wanted to just have a conversation about our relationship.”

“I didn’t know it was hurting you,” I nearly whispered, holding back tears. “I really didn’t know. I’m sorry, Chris. I’m so sorry.” I gave in as he pulled me to his chest, sobbing into his already soaked shirt. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, please. Please, don’t. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I should have said something sooner. I realized that after I talked to my mom about it and…”

“You talked to your MOM about it!?” I cut him off.

“I talk to my mom about everything, honey… I… ” he trailed off, realizing his mistake.

“So, something that I was doing was hurting you… and I had NO idea… and instead of telling me that I’m hurting you… you tell your MOM that I’m hurting you!?” I was officially hysterical. Hormones be damned, I was angry and sad, furious and broken. Have I really failed him that much as a… a what? A girlfriend? A lover? A… baby mama? Damnit, that word really does hurt!

“I realize now how stupid that was… and I’m sorry.” He pulled me out to arm’s length and crouched to see eye to eye. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this got so bad.”

“She must hate me now!” I whispered, leading into screeching “Oh my god, she must HATE me! Chris!!! I’ll never be able to look her in the eye again!” I threw my face into his chest again.

“She doesn’t hate you. I promise.” He rubbed circles on my back, shushing me. “She told me to talk to you about it, that I was making a bigger deal out of it that it really was.”

“Not if I was hurting you! I don’t ever want to hurt you!” I mumbled into his chest, then pushed off to stare him down. “Damnit Chris! Your FACE, when I said it in the shower! I thought that was it, that we were done!”

“We are not done,” he reassured me.

“But you can’t DO that! You can’t let things get that bad, without talking to me!”

“I won’t. Never again. I promise!” He cupped my face in his hands, caressing my cheek.

“This sucked,” I began to cry again. “Now we can’t ever talk about where we are, without it being tainted by this… this…” I motioned at the shower and let my hand fall back to my side, pressing my forehead to his chest.

“It really did suck,” he sighed the words out, cracking with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” I couldn’t stop the tears.

“Can we try to talk though? Can you put some clothes on and stop distracting me with your naked body, so we can really talk about it?” I felt his impish smile against my head and couldn’t keep a straight face, even through the tears.

“You’re a brat!” I laughed, wiping my face.

“Your brat,” he grinned, drying his own eyes.

“Yes, my brat. Is that what you want me to call you?” I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile.

“Staaaaahp!” He threw his head back, his weight on his heels and came back with a true smile. “Come on, naked lady! I want clothes on you for this conversation.”

Chris led me by the hand, to my bedroom. There I found two loads of laundry washed, dried and folded neatly on the bed. The bed was made, with fresh tulips in a vase on the nightstand, coupled with a cup of tea.

“I assume that was still hot, before you jumped in the tub?” I teased, motioning towards the clearly room temperature mug.

“That is was,” he nodded and led me to the cushioned bench at the foot of my bed. With swift determination of someone that knew exactly where I kept everything, he set to bringing me clean panties, a bralette, tank top and leggings. “Socks too?”

“No, no socks. Thank you.” I smiled, unwrapped myself from the towel and waited, knowing he would not allow me to dress myself.

“No fight over who puts your clothes on?” He smiled down at me.

“No, no more fighting.” I lifted my arms and let him dress me. Each article of clothing was punctuated with a sad, slow, desperate for affection, please don’t ever leave me, deep kiss.

I smiled and fought back tears until I was clothed. When all was said and done, Chris asked if I wanted to lie down.

“No… I was told I have to attend to my emails before I took a nap,” I joked, poking him with an elbow.

“I’d like to talk first?” He smiled, his easy going nature back in full force. I nodded pointedly in agreement, blowing all of the air from my lungs to clear my head.

“You are everything to me and everything to this tiny girl,” I peeked down at his hand, already on my stomach. “I will call you… or not call you… anything you want. I don’t ever want to go through what just happened, ever again.”

“I think you took the words right out of my mouth,” he smiled. “But… before marriage and between dating… there is exclusivity, which usually means calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend…”

“Seriously? You think we’re not exclusive? I know I’m not seeing anyone else… and if you are, I swear to god, Chris…”

“I’m not!” He chuckled, moving his hand to gently cover my mouth. “I’d just like to call you my girlfriend and for you to call me your boyfriend, because I feel like that is the last step before being engaged.”

“I’m not ready to be engaged…” my eyes went wide at the thought and I grabbed at his hand.

“I know you’re not and that is fine. If you are not ready, then I am not ready.” He took my hands in his and squeezed. “I hope I know when you’re ready though… because I want to surprise you. I don’t want it to be a conversation that ends in a decision. Is that selfish?”

“Not at all,” my eyes squinted nearly shut with my smile. “I want to be surprised.”

“Ok… I think we are on the same page?” Those eyebrows, they danced with concern.

“So long as you don’t plan to ‘surprise’ me on Christmas or New Years,” I finger quoted the air and smiled.

“I do not. I promise. No major holiday proposals.” He kissed my knuckles and laid our hands together on my stomach. “And I promise that if something is hurting me or bothering me, I will talk to you about it first.”

“Unless it’s someone else bothering you,” I joked.

“Even if it’s someone else,” Chris smiled and shook his head. “It’s you that I should be going to for help. You are the number one woman in my life. My mom is my mom and I love that woman to death, but this… this is my forever and I need to treat it as such.”

“Don’t tell your mom that!” I giggled at my own joke.

“Ha… well… she knows. We’ve been betrothed since I was six, if you remember,” his smile went crooked as he cocked an eye at me.

“I love you,” I whispered, dropping my eyes to my hands.

“I love you,” he tipped my head up with his finger tips to kiss me gently. I smiled into his kiss at the groan of relief he emitted.

“No moaning!”

“That was a groan,” he insisted quickly, then slid his hand behind my neck to pull me in for a deeper kiss. My voice betrayed me and Chris chuckled. “That was a moan!”

“Do it again,” I quietly begged. And he did. Again and again, each kiss more feverish than the other.

“Why did I even get you dressed!?” he mumbled against my mouth, fumbling with my tank top in an effort to pull it over my head.

“Because I was distracting you with my naked body!” I slid my hands under his shirt, eliciting a true moan from the man before me.

“Distract me again,” he begged. So I did, first removing his grey thermal shirt, then assisting with my own shirt. His eyes went wide at the sight of my chest, nearly bare to him in the lace bralette. “I swear they grow by the second.”

“And get more sensitive,” I pouted.

Chris’ face feigned surprised innocence as he sat back on his heels, drawing a hand to trace the edge of my bra. His eyes met mine in question and I whimpered in response. I knew what he wanted to do. I wanted it too, more than I could describe, but feared for the possible pain.

I was not prepared for the searing pleasure as Chris pulled the fabric aside and took my breast into his mouth. With my gasp as an answer to his unasked question, he continued with fervor. As his right hand cupped my breast, his free hand was left to explore and explore he did, until neither of us could take the wait any longer. Our clothes were nearly ripped apart in the sudden fever of desire. We tangled to the floor, our bodies a writhing heap of passion. I cried out with each climax of pleasure rolling into the next, lost in a daze of lust until Chris met his end, roaring out his euphoria like I had never heard him before.

There we laid, panting and gasping for air, on the floor beside my bed. “Was that make up sex?” Chris mumbled, tucking a tendril of hair behind my hear.

“I think so,” I huffed, still regaining my breath.

“You ok?”

“Yep, just… I had no idea an orgasm included uterine cramps until my uterus got so dang big!” I shifted my weight, away from Chris, turning to my back.

“Cramps? Not like, contractions, right?” He was up on his elbow, peering down in concern.

“No… not real ones I don’t think. They’re just… tight. Really tight.”

“But no pain…” his hand went to my belly, sending those eyebrows up in Surprise. “Wow, that’s… that’s firm.”

“Right?” I laughed away the discomfort. “But no, no pain.”

“Good.” He pecked a kiss to my forehead. “We don’t have time for a hospital visit today.”

“Uh… ok. I didn’t really want to go anyway?”

“Liz should be here any minute… unless she’s already here…” He trailed off, sneaking a look over the bed, out the window, to the back yard.

“What!?” I yelped, struggling with my attempt to leap up into action.

“Slow down lady, you’ll hurt yourself,” he grunted as he got himself upright. “C’mon,” he rolled his extended hand towards me. “I doubt she heard us anyway.”

Our clothes were collected, mine being put back on after a trip to the toilet, and Chris’ hung over the shower curtain rod to dry. All the while, my eyes were leveled at him in judgement.

“What?” He chuckled, avoid my glare by carefully selecting a clean shirt from the dresser.

“You knew. You brat.”

“Maybe I did,” he pulled a black t-shirt over his head and grinned when his face reappeared.

“You DID!”

“I did,” he giggled to himself, slipping on a pair of khaki colored jeans. With his zipper and button in place, he strode over and held my face in his hands. “Are you mad?”

“No…” I smirked. “It’s fine, it wouldn’t be the first time she heard me with someone.”

“What!?” Shock streaked across his face. “Are you serious?”

“No, you crazy man! I just had to get you back!”

“Oh thank god,” he pulled me in for a hug. “Because you know there were NO men before me.”

“Of course not,” I giggled.

“Promise you’re not mad?”

“About Liz hearing us? No. But, let’s try to not ever do that again. Ok?” I spied Liz emerging from the studio, through the window.

“Ok,” he smiled with his cheek against my head before noticing Liz and promptly erupted into a fit of giggles.

[franklyshipping]

Day 11 ~ Christmas 2019 Ego Fanfics

WOOOP DAY 11 BABY LET'S DO THIS LET'S GET SOME FESTIVE COOKING UP IN HERE PEOPLE YAAASSSS LET'S DO THIIIIIS!

Cooking. Cooking is fun as hell, but cooking for other people? Now that is just a seriously fun time. Especially in this household, there was a lot of people being catered for, and I know for some people that can make the entire process of cooking and testing recipes all the more fun. That’s how the sweetest butler of all time, Benjamin, felt right now. He inhaled over an experimental pot of stuffing happily, humming with delight as the herby aromas washed over him. However….Benjamin was not alone in the kitchen. It was agreed that no tasks would be set to one person alone, and ah….well, let’s just say that Benjamin and Mad Mike had some different opinions when it came to the culinary arts.

‘It looks like bird seed mushed up with moss.’

Benjamin gritted his teeth, letting out a huff at the man who was leaning in over his shoulder with his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the pan’s contents. Benjamin muttered as he stirred it about, trying not to feel insulted by Mike’s comment.

‘It does not! And just because the texture is different from other foods doesn’t make it any less delicious!’

Mike let out a disbelieving grumble, wrinkling his nose a tad, to him it was WAY too herby and just looked like dumpster mush. Don’t get Mike wrong, he liked working on all of this with Benjamin, he was a real classy gent who was fun to talk to and had a ton of good ideas….but his mind just wasn’t open to the fun of culinary stuff! Sure, everything had to be done right, but it wasn’t like this was Christmas Day, this was the time for experimentation and fun and trying wackier ideas! However, and Mike meant this in the kindest way possible, Benjamin kinda had a stick up his butt.

‘C’mon now, this is a time for experimenting and shit! Can’t we at least add a couple things to your mixture to see what happens?’

Benjamin huffed, his stirring of the stuffing getting a little faster as he pursed his lips. Now, don’t get him wrong, Benjamin had a serious respect for Mad Mike. Benjamin secretly felt inspired by all his unique recipes and ideas (especially pertaining to ice cream), and the fact that he was so enthusiastic about everything made Benjamin feel so overjoyed. However, to Benjamin, getting everything spot on and perfect for Christmas was the most important thing here; to Benjamin, that meant sticking to recipes that were tried and tested.

‘This recipe is tried and tested and has been deemed perfect, I will not make any changes, and that’s my final word on the matter Mike!’

Mike blinked a few times, feeling a bit taken aback at how close Benjamin got to nearly….snapping at him. He went quiet and stepped away for a moment, leaning against one of the nearby counters. Before he could get too disheartened though, a certain adorable, globular being nudged his hand. Mike developed a soft, crooked smile.

‘Heya bud, what’s up?’

Mike cooed softly, which made Gooper yip and roll across the counter by a few inches, where Mike now noticed he’d organised all of the kitchen’s spices….in the order of a rainbow. Mike snickered gently and shook his head, damn he was a cute enigma.

‘Thahat’s beautiful buddy, has anyone ever told ya you’re an organisation master?’

Gooper wiggled and ended up letting out some bashful, giggling noises at the compliments; he also eagerly nuzzled against Mike’s fingers when he offered then. Mike wasn’t sure what it was, maybe Gooper’s affections, but he felt his disheartened state start to leave him in favour of a clearer brain.

‘Dang cutie….’

Mike whispered, coaxing out some more happy giggly gurgles, before Gooper shuffled off to go and organise more stuff. Mike let out a soft sigh as he rubbed his forehead, before glancing at Benjamin in his peripheral. The guy looked so…tense. Also, now Mike was thinking about it….one of the things Benjamin had said really started to stick out to him. Mike nibbled the inside of his cheek, before making his internal decision, and shuffling back over to the butler. Mike gently placed a hand on one of his upper arms as he cleared his throat and muttered.

‘Hey uh….c-could ya take that off the heat and turn the gas off for a minute? I want to ask you something…’

Mike had a theory in his head on why Benjamin was so adamant and why he was acting the way he was acting, but he had to be sure. Benjamin furrowed his eyebrows at Mike, particularly when he saw the concerned look on his face, but turned off the gas safely and moved the stuffing away carefully as he replied.

‘What is it?’

Mike took a deep breath, here goes nothing.

‘When you said that this recipe had uh…been “deemed perfect”…uh, deemed perfect by who?’

Mike’s suspicion, his theory…it was a pretty horrible one, and he was really hoping he was wrong…but when Benjamin exhibited a tremble and bowed his head, Mike knew he’d hit the nail right on the head.

‘M-My mas-…uh, f-former master…’

Mike’s eyes softened. He’d heard a lot about this previous master from the other egos, and frankly he sounded like an absolute shit stain. Mike sighed as he realised that, even after time and a new home and new company, Benjamin still hadn’t quite moved on. He hadn’t moved on from working to someone else’s high standards and being afraid to deviate for fear of reprimandment.

‘Benjamin…’

‘I-I’m s-sorry I just…I-I still think about h-how he wanted things, how h-he asked for things to be done. Soon, with everything, it just felt like th-there was only one method, one way, a-and anything other than that…’

Benjamin gulped and shuddered…he tried not to think of him, he always tried so hard, but sometimes the memories just wouldn’t stay tucked away, the fear wouldn’t stay tucked away.

‘…i-it just wasn’t an option.’

Mike clenched his jaw before pulling Benjamin into a tight hug, making his voice as strong and steady as he could as he spoke.

‘Now you listen to me. He’s gone. You don’t have anyone to answer to anyone, ever. You can do things however you want, and I swear to you, nothing bad is going to happen if you decide to do things differently. I promise.’

The butler’s eyes widened as he let out a shaky breath, but immediately wrapped his arms around Mike and nestled his face into his shouder….to be held like this was exactly what he needed. He stuttered softly as he nodded, replying to Mike softly.

‘I-I know, I-I do…I-I’m so sorry M-Mike, thank you…’

‘Shhhh shh it’s okay, it’s all okay.’

Mike rubbed the man’s back as they hugged for a few minutes, Mike relishing in how he felt the tension leaving Benjamin’s body gradually the longer he had the butler in his arms. When they finally did part, Mike smiled up at him broadly.

‘Now, will you say something for me?’

Benjamin nodded, wiping one of his eyes residually as he nodded. Mike then cleared his throat.

‘Okay, repeat after me: I, Benjamin…’

Mike grinned and paused, which spurred Benjamin to smile and mumble.

‘I-I Benjamin…’

Mike’s eyes gleamed playfully as he continued…with the most beautiful, sassy demeanour known to man.

‘…am a strong independent butler who don’t need no master!’

Benjamin spluttered and hid his mouth with his hand as he burst into giddy giggles, before clearing his throat and bowing his head….his smile not dying down for even a second as his voice gained strength with every new word.

‘A-Am a s-strong independent butler wh-who don’t need no master!’

Benjamin then carried on giggling, he generally wasn’t a sassy person, he was usually very measured with the way he spoke….but he had to admit he loved talking with that added drama. Mike cocked his head at the giggling man, and his grin became very fond.

‘Y’know you’ve got some cute giggles there.’

Mike mused as he playfully elbowed the butler in his side, since Benjamin’s giggles were very gorgeous with how unrefined and giddy they seemed. Benjamin of course smiled bashfully and went to thank Mike for the sweet compliment….and he’d have gotten through it coherently too, if it weren’t for that elbow.

‘O-Oh, well thank you I-EEP!’

There was silence. Eye contact. Gulping. Smirking.

‘…uh oh…’

Mike gasped with evil glee at his discovery, and felt particularly giddy when Benjamin started to instinctively back away from him, spluttering frantically.

‘U-Uh, w-we should r-really focus on the stuffing! O-Or in f-fact a new stuffing, y-you can t-take the lead if you like!’

He had to change the subject. Benjamin had to change the subject, he was too ticklish for words and with Mike’s wild demeanour he dreaded to think of how evil a tickler he’d be! However, he wouldn’t have to theorise for long. Mike was chuckling as he shook his head fondly at the butler; his number one priority, right now, was to coax out more giggles from the cute butler.

‘Fuck the stuffing, you’re all I can focus on now.’

Mike darted forwards with a cackle, wasting no time in delivering tickly scratches to Benjamin’s sides. Of course, Benjamin let out a series of squeaks before attempting to scamper away from the evil digits, nervous giggles pouring from him all the while.

‘D-Dohohon’t doho thahat! Mihike! Dohon’t tihickle!’

Mike only snickered, keeping up with Benjamin easily as he started essentially chasing him around the room, his fingers still scratching and tickling haphazardly.

‘Oh but you look so sweet! Sweeter than the strawberriest strawberry ice cream!’

Benjamin’s cheeks flushed as he pushed at Mike’s hands, stuttering indignantly at that frankly unnecessary teasing.

‘N-Nohoho I-Ihihi juhust lohook sihilly!’

Benjamin was trying not to let himself get distracted by the teasing, he was already stumbling enough as it is but god forbid what would happen if Mike managed to trap him in any way. Meanwhile, Mike had started strategically tickling Benjamin towards the nearest wall as he cooed.

‘So? Silly is cute! Silliness looks particularly cute on you I have to say.’

Benjamin’s jaw dropped as his blush creep down his neck, he was so unused to such teasy kindness that it was just flustering to no end! Then…he suddenly found Mike pinning him to the wall with a smirk on his face as he dug into his sides, making him cry out with mirth.

‘NOHOHOHOHAHA MEHEHERCY OHOHO!’

Mike snickered, relishing as Benjamin writhed between him and the wall whilst laughing his heart out. Mike had to admit, Benjamin looked pretty damn cute like this all mirthful and dishevelled. Mike purred as he leaned in close to the sweet butler.

‘Ahahaaaww, you just can’t take it can you? You’re just a ticklish little dear aren’t you?’

Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut as he batted at Mike weakly, bending almost double as Mike’s wiggling fingers just broke him apart; with the never ending teasing too, it made the poor man more and more desperate.

‘PLEHEHEASE MIHIHIKE! IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES!’

Mike cocked his head at Benjamin fondly, before crooning.

‘Awww I’m sorry, does it tickle too much here? Did you want me to go somewhere else? Why I’d be happy to!’

Mike chuckled, and let his fingers glide to Benjamin’s tummy where they scratched speedily. As soon as those tickles reached his tummy, Benjamin let out quite the squeal before crumpling to the floor like his entire system had just shut down on him.

‘EEEE NAHA NAHAT THEHEHERE!’

Benjamin had a frightfully ticklish tummy, and since it was on the leaner side Mike had no trouble in tickling every inch of it at high speed. Benjamin had his eyes squeezed shut and a grin across his face as he tried to curl up, but Mike was quick to follow him down to the floor….and lie on top of him. He was not giving up on this tickling so easily, he just thought Benjamin was so cute.

‘Aww but why not? I mean, since you’re laughing so much I figured you were loving the tickles!’

Mike crooned as he continued his scratching, and Benjamin just flushed beet red. He was overwhelmed with flusteredness as he shook his head, Mike’s suggestion was entirely uncalled for and had no real factual basis for it to possibly be accurate! Benjamin absolutely wouldn’t say that he was loving this…although…he didn’t dislike it, he wasn’t going articulate that though.

‘TH-THAHAHAT’S PREHEPOHOHOSTEROHOUS!!’

Benjamin cried as he threw his head back with his mirth, the corners of his mouth crinkling up with his wide smile. Mike snickered down at him fondly, before musing in a teasy tone in reply.

‘My goodness that’s a big word there! I must not be tickling you properly!’

Benjamin’s eyes snapped open and went wide as he looked up at Mike, who was smirking evilly; honestly he was just trying to grasp any excuse possible to carry on tickling the guy. Before Benjamin could even try to ask for mercy, Mike let all ten of his fingers vibrate against the butler’s lean belly, which made him cry out cutely.

‘AHAHAHA NOHOHO NOHO NOHAHAHAHA!!’

Benjamin was writhing as his laughter boomed out from him, and tears started to build in his eyes as his poor nerves were tormented. Currently he was wondering what on earth he did to deserve this and why Mike was so intent on continuing to tickle him, I mean, the whole thing was just beyond embarrassing! Mike meanwhile, as he tickled, was actually becoming quite….enthralled. Mike found himself looking at Benjamin with a hint of awe at how lovely he looked, especially with his wide, handsome smile.

‘Awwww who’s a ticklish little Benjabooo?’

Mike couldn’t help but coo down at Benjamin with a giggle, wanting to draw out more sweet smiles and reactions from the ticklish man…and he was well rewarded. Benjamin’s arms and legs flailed haphazardly as the man let out a rather dramatic, flustered wail.

‘DOHOHON’T CAHALL MEHE THAHAHAAAT!!’

Mike’s eyes lit up…so he was flustered by nicknames huh? Mike chuckled to himself, and decided to ease up on the tummy tickling. Not only did he do this to let Benjamin breathe….but this was also so that he could ramp up the teasing to maximum.

‘Don’t call you Benjaboo? Hmm, what about Benjabub? Oooor Benjabubby, or Benjabumpkin? What about Bennyboop?’

Benjamin whined as Mike got right into his face as he crooned, spurring him to hide his own face in his hands out of embarrassment from all the teasy, cutesy taunting. Benjamin always found that nicknames flustered him, especially if they were silly or playful, nicknames just sent him into a tizzy.

‘N-Nohone ohof thohohooose! Th-They’re soho embarrassing!’

Mike merely snickered fondly.

‘Well duh that’s the point! If you don’t pick one, then I guess I’ll just have to use all of them….in front of everyone…’

Benjamin let out a flustered squeak into his hands as he peeked up Mike…looking at him with his smirking and chuckling told the butler that Mike would certainly make good on his word if he didn’t pick a nickname. Benjamin whined as he hurried to think to himself, but all the options were just so embarrassing and gave him so many flustery butterflies! Benjamin nibbled his bottom lip for a few moments as his mind raced….then settled. It still made him blush, but one nickname was better than an infinity of them. He cleared his throat, and replied bashfully.

‘W-Well…I-Ihi suppose….Benjabooisn’ttooawful…’

Mike grinned broadly, practically lighting up with joy as he exclaimed.

‘Benjaboo it is! Cutesy and sweet, just like you!’

Mike booped Benjamin’s nose with a smug little giggle, making the butler scrunch up his face and lightly pout up at his teaser.

‘Why must you t-tease me?’

Benjamin’s voice was meek and flustered, which made Mike smile less evilly and more genuinely as he gazed down at him. Truthfully, there was only one resonating thought in Mike’s mind. The thought that had made him carry on teasing and carry on tickling….Benjamin was at his most beautiful, when he was happy. Mike cleared his throat softly, he couldn’t say his raw thought of course, so he stuck to being teasy.

‘Because you’re a cutie when you get blushy and all smiley, and especially since that sweet smile of yours is so rarely seen…’

Benjamin’s blush was practically creeping down his neck by this point…but now that the tickling had completely ended, his was gaining a glimmer of confidence back, as well as some coherency of thought. As he looked up at him, Benjamin found himself feeling quite taken by Mike’s broad grin and playfulness. So, Benjamin figured he’d bite back a tad.

‘I-I could say the same about you, you have a pretty darling smile…’

Mike froze, blinking a few times in surprise. All of a sudden, that domineering demeanour faltered and made way for a far more bashful Mad Mike. He ran a hand through his hair as he let out a light laugh, the compliment had definitely caught him off guard…and his cheeks had gone a pretty pink too.

‘Oh….heh….well uh, th-thanks…’

He muttered quietly, which made Benjamin develop a gleaming, cheeky grin as he murmured cheekily.

‘Who’s the blushy one now?’

Mike’s eyes widened, and he felt the heat growing on his face, he couldn’t have that! He was the tickler, the flusterer, the teaser! He narrowed his eyes down at the butler and leant down nose to nose with him, growling.

‘Y-You shut up!’

‘Why don’t you make me?’

Benjamin purred in reply, his heart racing as he felt Mike’s warm breath on his face; Benjamin nibbled his lip as the sweet scent of vanilla ice cream filled his senses. Benjamin’s breaths were shaky as they both went quiet, locking eyes with one another. Mike was frozen in place as he looked down at Benjamin, who was just so bold and beautiful and…perfect. Neither of them were sure what spurred them both to lean in, but the results made them both very, very happy. They kissed. It began haphazardly of course and a tad fast, but they soon slowed it down into a connection that was soft and warm and made them both smile. After a few moments they parted to catch their breath, and Mike whispered with a giggle.

‘Mmmm, maybe we should have you for Christmas dinner-’

‘Oh sh-shush!’

Mike chuckled warmly at Benjamin, who had his lips pursed cutely. Mike pecked them, once, twice, three times, four times.

‘I think you like my teasing though…’

Benjamin let out a whine, before breaking into a smile and muttering.

‘Mayhaps, but if you keep teasing me with pecked kisses alone then I may lose my marbles…’

Mike snorted, and happily obliged. This new flaming connection was glorious of course, though instead of it being hot it was more like a tender warmth. Also, I think we can all surmise that from then on there were far fewer conflicts in the kitchen…and infinitely more freedom.

WOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS NEXT FIC LEME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOO LUV YOUS XX

[basketofverbiage]

Hold On

This is my first writing post I’ve made. I had this in my head for a while and finally got it out. I have a part two, but it’s still being edited. I am so open to feedback!

Warnings: suicide attempt; hospitals; panic attacks

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

For the past few weeks, Seokjin has known that something is wrong, but has no idea what it is. And without knowing what it is, how the hell is he supposed to fix it? His entire life seems to revolve around the need to take care of the people he loves most, and he can see that Y/n is devastatingly hurt but has no clue how to heal it. It’s like a surgeon trying to operate on a patient in a dark back alley somewhere; he can’t see what’s ruptured, can’t stop the bleeding, and he has this sneaking suspicion that he might lose his patient.

It’s been three solid weeks since he first noticed that something seems to be affecting the woman he loves. She put on a brave face and a faux smile when she knew he was paying attention. But in quiet moments when she thought he was distracted, he could see the darkness wash over her features. He’s tried everything he could think of to draw out what is wrong, comfort her, cheer her up, but nothing has worked and he’s starting to get scared.

It all began on a normal Tuesday afternoon. He was finished with his schedule fairly early in the day and came home to find her sitting in the kitchen floor with her back pressed against the cabinet below the sink, her legs drawn up into her arms and her face hidden in her kneecaps, with dark swirly curls hiding the rest of her features.

“Baby, are you okay?” he called quietly, rushing over to kneel in front of her. Her head snapped up and she smiled the fakest smile he’d ever seen from her.

“Yes, Jinnie. I’m fine. I just haven’t slept well, and just sat down after washing dishes.”

He knew she was lying to him by the darkness swirling in her eyes and the way that the smile didn’t soften the pain in her features, but he decided not to push it. She really hadn’t been sleeping well. More than one night this week he’d woken up in the twilight morning hours to her thrashing about a bit in fitful nightmares, but she’d settle down a bit when he’d pull her in and hum softly into her ear. So, he reiterated to himself that it’s okay not to push it, and that she’d open up once she was ready. He’d scooped her up off the kitchen floor into a tight hug then they’d spent the afternoon curled up in bed with mindless tv shows and drifting in and out of dreams until he started to believe she was okay. She’d laughed at his silly jokes, so Y/n is fine, right?

After that, he noticed that she began sleeping so much more. Sure, she’d had a stressful few months at work with a major project she had been assigned for a high-profile client, but she’d completed that project well and the client had been singing her praises to the heavens. In doing so, she had spent as many sleepless nights slaving away as he had spent missing her beside him in their king-sized bed. It made him wonder how she survived the long months of him being away on tour, lying so tiny in the vast wasteland of a cold, empty bed. Seokjin is not tiny by any means, and without her, he felt so small and vaguely empty in satin sheets, surrounded by so many pillows. And no matter how many extra blankets he added, the bed was so cold without her. So once the project was completed, it made perfect sense that she’d catch up on sleep, right? There is nothing to worry about, right?

Y/n had also pretty obviously stopped eating and cooking. This was driving him insane. The love of cooking and feeding other people is one of the many things that brought them together, and they took turns showing their love to each other with food. She hadn’t baked a single item in three straight weeks. While Seokjin could not bake to save his own life, Y/n baked the most amazing creations and her favorite thing to make was bread. All different varieties of breads from simple, rustic loaves to delicate fruit-filled sweetbreads, she once told him that baking bread made her feel alive. Something about the way the dough responded and how much encouragement it needed to become something from nearly nothing. In fact, in the two full years they had been together, Seokjin had not one time bought a loaf of bread from the store. He forgot that store-bought loaves were even a thing. She kept her own sourdough starter and had to bake at least one loaf a week to keep it growing healthily without it taking over, so he would come home at least one day a week to the slightly sour, yeasty twang of sourdough bread wafting about as two beautiful loaves cooled on a cooling rack. One loaf was always for them at home, and the other for his brothers. Before they shared a home, she would regularly bring her bread experiments over to the dorm and the boys would all ooh and ahh over her creations; Seokjin and Namjoon had had to nearly break up physical fights between the maknaes over who got to eat the last of the loaves on more than one occasion. But it had been two solid weeks since a loaf had been baked in their apartment and he was desperately trying to squelch the worry that was building.

Seokjin realized that he might be out of his element with this. He’d tried everything he knew to do. They’d been on three fancy dates, and he’d sent her a gorgeous bouquet to work. Seokjin bought her the earrings she’d been eyeing subtly when they were shopping for his mom’s birthday present and left them on her pillow one morning when he had to be at an interview at 4 am. He had made love to her slow and sweet on a rainy Sunday afternoon like she loved; it had always been enough to bring her back to him before as he’d remind her of why he loved her both with words and with his body. But not this time. He had told her every joke he could think of, even the worst ones that sounded like they had come off the stick of a melted popsicle. He made her coffee like she liked in the morning, tea in the afternoon, and heady glasses of red wine in the evening. He’d even gone so far as to fly her best friend in for the one weekend he’d had to be away in Japan, knowing that if he couldn’t fix it, she usually could. He had asked if she was okay at least twice a day for more than a week, then given up already when she tried to keep her work mask on all the time and lied straight to his face that she was fine. Y/n was not fine, but he didn’t know what was wrong and nothing he had tried had even made a dent in the darkness, so Seokjin did the only thing he could think of and asked for help to the smartest man he knew.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Namjoon asked when Jin barged into his studio one afternoon without even knocking. The king of manners never forgot something so simple.

“I’m okay, but Y/n is not. I’ve tried everything, and I can’t bring her out of this funk she’s in.”

For the next few minutes, Namjoon asked pointed questions about her behavior and her responses to Seokjin’s attempt at cheering her up. After he had basically verbally vomited all over Namjoon’s lap in RKive for nearly 45 minutes, Namjoon said the most obvious thing.

“Jin-hyung, she sounds depressed. Like seriously, clinically depressed. She has all the classic symptoms. Exhaustion, lack of sleep then sleeping too much, not much energy, disengaging, giving up activities she loves…”

Of course, Namjoon and his sexy brain would identify the thing he’d been seeing wreck the love of his life in practically no time at all. The only thing is that he really didn’t have many solutions other than trying to get her to see a doctor to talk about it. Y/n is stubborn and hates doctors, so convincing her to go would take some doing, but he had an idea of how to go about it. Seokjin thought about it more as he walked down the hallway leaving from Namjoon’s studio and gathered a game plan in his mind. He was done for the day after having recorded all of his parts early in the morning, and it was just now 2:30 in the afternoon. He has time to put things in motion before Y/n should be home from work at 5; if he makes a special dinner for her, then maybe he can soften her heart enough for her to hear him out when he asks her to please either let him in to help or to see a professional. Preferably both if things went well.

Seokjin left the building in a bit of a hurry and drove to the supermarket closest to the apartment. It was a small, family run market that regularly got ingredients in that were difficult to find in other places. Y/n had made friends with the owner’s daughter-in-law as they were from the same home country and had bemoaned how difficult it was to find ingredients for certain dishes, even in a city as big as Seoul. Seokjin planned to make this one soup that Y/n called Comfort Soup that she’d taught him to make; it was the food her mom had made her when she was a child anytime she was sick, hurt, or even just sad, and it brought a piece of her home to her now when she felt homesick. He also wanted to bake a crusty artisan loaf to go with it using the one recipe that Y/n had taught him that he could usually bake without an issue. In fact, Y/n called it the Idiot-Proof Loaf, so surely he wouldn’t screw that up. The best part was that while it took an hour and a half from start to finish, the dough only had to rise once, and finished its growth in the oven instead of multiple risings like most of the breads Y/n made. He rushed in and got all the things he needed, then popped into the florist shop next door for those silly purple roses she loved. His final stop was to a little bakery nearby where their second date had been, and bought chocolate covered strawberries and two beautiful slices of the strawberry cheesecake that they’d shared on that date.

When he finally arrived at their apartment building, Seokjin was relived to see that he’d only used 45 minutes of his precious time and had still had time to bake the bread as long as he did that first. He could make Comfort Soup while the dough rose. After unlocking the apartment door, he kicked off his shoes by the door, then took all his ingredients to the kitchen. He put away the strawberries and cheesecake in the ice box then looked down at his outfit. Even with an apron, he should change so that he isn’t covered in flour and dough.

He didn’t notice it at first. Oh my god, how could he not have noticed? He had walked into the closet to change without turning on the bedroom light, so how could he not have noticed the light filtering under the bathroom door? The light he had turned off before leaving this morning. Y/n had left first since she had an early meeting at the office before he had to be to the recording studio, and there is no reason that she should have already been home. He didn’t see her keys on the hook by the door when he came in or her shoes on the rack where they belonged. Seokjin turned around as he pulled the white t-shirt over his head and stood there perplexed for a few seconds staring at the brightness on the carpet before striding over to open the door and turn off the light.

“Oh my god, Y/n!”

He opened the door to see darkening blood on the white tile of the bathroom floor, and Y/n slumped over against the tub. Her wrist was bleeding in her lap and the shining razor blade was lying beside her on the tile. While the volume of blood was disconcerting, there wasn’t as much as he’d ever thought there would be in a situation like this, so Seokjin knew he might have a chance to save her until he noticed the empty bottle of pills in the sink. Then, came the panic.

Seokjin ripped the hand towel off the drying rack and tied it around her bleeding wrist tight enough to put pressure on the wound while he full-on sprinted to the kitchen for his cell phone. He’d left it lying on the kitchen island when he went to change, and he grabbed it and dialed for an ambulance while running back to her. The dispatcher gathered their address and told him that help was coming, but Seokjin could barely hear her. He was shaking Y/n gently trying to get her to respond. He could just barely hear a pulse when he pressed his ear to her chest and her breathing was so damn shallow it barely grazed his skin when he hovered his hand in front of her face. Oh, god, she’s so pale, he though to himself before hanging up and dropping his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Y/n, baby, can you hear me? Please wake up, please. I need you to wake up.” He didn’t even realize he was crying until he spoke, just begging her to open her eyes.

He barely registered the banging on the front door as help arrived. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had to, so he ran to the door and flung it open for the paramedics and just left the front door gaping open and ran back to the bathroom. Luckily, they took the hint and followed him back to where Y/n was still limp on the floor. They worked quickly and got her all strapped onto a stretcher and told him that he could ride to the hospital with her.

As an afterthought almost, Seokjin grabbed the empty bottle out of the sink and took it with them. Once they were in the ambulance and the paramedics were doing their jobs, Seokjin finally looked at the bottle and immediately felt worse. The empty bottle had his name on it. It had contained muscle relaxers from a couple of months ago when Seokjin had pulled a muscle in his back overworking himself and the doctor had given them to him to help him relax the muscles around it enough that he could sleep. There had been around 10 pills left in the bottle, and Y/n is so much smaller than him in size. Seokjin didn’t know much about medications but he did remember that they were prescribed taking size into consideration, and for the second time in the last 20 minutes, he realized that she might really die.

“Please, Y/n. Please. Oh God you have to wake up.” Seokjin choked on a sob before he could say anything else.

Seokjin felt like the minutes that had passed since he found her were moving through molasses, thick and slow to drip through the hourglass. The ambulance stopped in front of the hospital and the doors flung open into bright late afternoon sunlight, and this nightmare kept going. The paramedics unloaded the stretcher and Seokjin chased them into the emergency room. He kept following them through two sets of double doors, not hearing any words that were being spoken to him until a nurse physically grabbed him.

“Sir, you can’t go any further. We need space to help her,” she said then guided him into a tiny private waiting room. “Wait here and I’ll come back to update you as soon as I can.” She had just made it to the door when he remembered the bottle that he’d been squeezing.

“Here,” he said shakily. “I found this in the sink when I found her. I know that there were at least 10 left in there.”

The nurse thanked him and left quickly, shutting the door behind her. After several seconds of being attacked by the silence in the room, Seokjin’s legs couldn’t hold him up anymore and he just collapsed. He couldn’t stop crying but found the strength to pull out his phone and called Namjoon.

“Namjoon-ah, I was too late. Oh my god, I was too late,” Seokjin sobbed into the phone.

“Jin-hyung, where are you?”

After hearing that Seokjin was at the hospital, Namjoon told him that they’d all come to him. Seokjin had no concept of the flow of time as he remained crumpled on the floor when all six of his brothers tumbled in the door, and he lost it even more when Jimin and Taehyung both wrapped their arms around him. They held him while he sobbed and told them about what he’d found when he’d opened the bathroom door. After a while, Seokjin felt like his chest was gaping open and all of his internal organs were falling out at once, but the tears slowed down as the panic flooded back in; his chest constricted in terror and anxiety and sharp, wracking pain.

“I can’t breathe. Oh, my god, I can’t breathe,” he gasped out as he looked up and met eyes with Namjoon.

Jimin and Taehyung backed up a little to give him some space as Seokjin started hyperventilating. The edges of his vision were starting to get blurry and almost sparkled a bit as his body seemed to reject every breath he tried to take. He barely registered the sound of the door opening as Yoongi ran out to get help. Seokjin struggled to breathe and tried desperately to cling to consciousness as the panic attack really set in.

An unfamiliar feminine face was in front of him then, encouraging him to focus on the sound of her voice. She spoke softly and calmly to him, but she might as well have been speaking to him in Greek because he couldn’t understand any of her words. For that matter, he could just barely hear her over this loud whooshing sound in his ears. The tone of her voice was soft and forced him to focus on nothing else to try to understand what she was saying, and after a few minutes the whooshing noise quieted down enough to hear her properly and he began to lose some of the tightness in his chest.

“Seokjin-ssi, that’s it. Keep breathing slowly and deeply. You are safe. You are just having a panic attack right now, and that’s understandable. Just keep listening to my voice and keep breathing in…then out…now in again,” she murmured to him.

After she was sure that he was calm and wouldn’t panic again, she turned to the other men in the room and asked them to help Seokjin out of the floor. Jungkook stepped up with Namjoon and they physically lifted him up and into a chair. Seokjin couldn’t help them because his legs had been substituted with lemon jello that hadn’t fully set up yet.

Yoongi held a cup to his lips. “Drink, hyung,” he said softly.

Seokjin sipped obediently a few times until Yoongi was satisfied and sat the cup on a nearby table. Seokjin was shocked when Yoongi wrapped his arms around him. Yoongi rarely initiated physical shows of affection, but he understood this entire scenario in a deeper way than he wanted to admit and he knew exactly what Seokjin needed in this moment.

“Yoongichi, I think this is my fault,” Seokjin whispered into his ear.

“No, Jin-hyung. It is not your fault.”

“But I think it is. I must not have loved her well enough. I wasn’t home enough. The pills she took were mine. If I had gone to Namjoon-ah for help sooner…” Seokjin’s voice cracked and he couldn’t finish the thought.

“It is not your fault. Trust me. Do you not remember where I was emotionally when we met? And how close I came to trying too? Do you remember what I said to you the night you walked in and stopped me?” Yoongi countered gently.

“You said that you didn’t want to weigh us all down and that you’d rather hurt yourself than hurt us. And that everything is all your fault.”

“That’s right,” Yoongi replied with a soft smile. “And what did you say back to me?”

“That just because you feel like it’s your fault doesn’t mean that it is. That leaving us that way would hurt more than any burden you handed us. And to let me be your tether when you needed something to hold you down to the earth.”

“Yes, So, now I get a chance to say part of it back to you. Just because you think this is your fault doesn’t mean it is. You saved her, Jin-hyung. You are the reason she’s still breathing now, just like you are the reason I am still breathing now. Yes, she got a little closer to the fire than we’d like, but she can still come back to us. And when she does, Y/n is going to need a tether on the hard days, yeah?”

Seokjin couldn’t speak at that. He still felt like everything was his fault for not realizing what was happening sooner, but Yoongi was right. He had to stay strong because Y/n needed that right now, so he squeezed Yoongi a little tighter then let go before he started to cry again. Yoongi moved from kneeling in front of him to plant himself in the chair beside him. Now that his panic attack had stopped, Seokjin felt like someone had buried him under the weight of about 100 tons of brick. Everything was so heavy, and he was too tired to try to climb out. He finally looked around the room and took it in for the first time.

The waiting room was small but big enough for all of them. Namjoon was in the corner speaking quietly into the phone, presumably updating their managers on what was happening. Seokjin hadn’t thought to call anyone except Namjoon since Namjoon was the only person he’d spoken with about this. Jungkook was standing by the door with his arms crossed, almost as if he was standing guard over his brothers; his stance portrayed his worry a bit in that his first instinct when one of his hyungs was hurting was to cry with them, then protect them if he could. Hoseok was sitting on a small couch on the left side of the room smashed in between Jimin and Taehyung, both folded into Hobi for security and comfort. Hobi had both boys tucked under his arms and was trying to help them stay calm. Both Jimin and Taehyung were empaths and this scenario had them both on edge from the emotions in the room. Jimin still had tears running down his cheeks from the fear of Seokjin’s panic attack and worry for his friend. Taehyung was staring at Jin with wide eyes, seemingly trying to decide if he was okay and what he should do to help.

“I’m okay, Taehyungie,” Seokjin said softly. “I’m just scared.”

Taehyung got up and moved to sit at Seokjin’s feet and wrapped his arms around Seokjin’s legs. It was a small gesture, but somehow it helped to settle some of the remaining anxiety in the pit of Jin’s stomach, and he knew that the physical contact would help Tae relax a bit.

Time seemed to stop moving. Seokjin had no concept of how long they had been in this room. It could have been seconds, or it could have been 10 years, but not knowing what was happening with Y/n was making him crazy. Just when he thought that he couldn’t handle another minute of this stretching unnerving silence, there was a knock at the door, then the doctor stepped in.

“Kim Seokjin?” he asked.

“That’s me. How is she?” Jin stuttered out.

“She’s still alive, but in critical condition. She had lost quite a lot of blood when you found her. We had to give her three pints just to stabilize her. We also did have to pump her stomach for the pills she had taken. We wouldn’t have known about that if you hadn’t brought the bottle in. Honestly, if you had found her 5 minutes later, the outcome may have been very different. As it is, she’s still very weak and unconscious. Hopefully, she will wake up in the next few days, but we still have to wait and see.”

“Can I see her?” Seokin asked.

“Yes, but just be prepared. Her color is still really pale, and she’s hooked up to quite a few monitors. We have also inserted a ventilation tube to help her with breathing for tonight. We hope to remove it tomorrow morning, but we can take it out sooner if she wakes up before then. It’s not standard, but due to the scenario, you may want to bring someone with you,” the doctor advised then smiled softly. “I really think she will be okay, but I can’t be 100% sure.”

Seokjin looked around the room at each of his brothers, meeting eyes with Yoongi last. “Come with me?” he whispered. Yoongi nodded then stood. Taehyung unwrapped himself from around Seokjin’s legs and allowed the two men to follow the doctor out of the room.

The doctor lead them down a seemingly endless hallway before they arrived at a set of double doors. The doctor waved his name badge in front of a keypad and the doors swung open to another hallway. They walked past 4 doors before the doctor stopped and knocked on a door on the left side then let them in.

“Just let me know if you have any questions. I’ll be in to check on her in a couple of hours,” he told them before leaving and closing the door.

Seokjin watched the door close before he finally looked at Y/n lying in the bed. It was like he was standing in his worst nightmare and couldn’t wake up. She looked so small lying there, and so, so pale. There was an IV coming out of her right arm that connected to a couple of bags of fluid hanging limply from a pole beside the bed. There was a plastic mask over her mouth connected with the ventilator at the bedside, and wires that connected from cathodes on her chest to a large beeping heart monitor on the left side of the bed. At the shock of seeing Y/n like this, his knees almost buckled. He would have hit the floor if Yoongi hadn’t grabbed him. Yoongi guided him over to the chair beside the bed and helped him sit down.

“She almost looks dead, Yoongi. Oh my god…” he whimpered.

Yoongi didn’t say anything, he just grabbed Seokjin’s hand and held it tight. It had been nearly 5 years since the night Seokjin had walked in on him with a knife in his hand standing in the bathtub of their shared bathroom. Seokjin had talked him down that night and 3 more times since. Yoongi can’t help but think that while he has recovered so much, this could have been him at some point, and his chest ached. He hurt for his friend lying in the bed, and he ached for his brother who loved her so much and he was upset with himself for not being able to help either of them. He settled on being as comforting to Seokjin as he possibly could and released his hand just long enough to drag an empty chair up beside him, then grabbing his hand again.

Seokjin gently held Y/n’s hand in his right and Yoongi’s in his left. He tried to take the comfort he got from Yoongi’s hand and pour it into the gentle grip he maintained on Y/n’s hand. Tears were dripping silently down his cheeks as he watched the machine take breaths for her and listened to the beeping of the heart monitor. The heart monitor’s sound was comforting somehow as the steady beating reminded him that every beep was a beat of her heart. Seokjin just sat and stared at her motionless form in the bed, and after a while, the beeping of the heart monitor lulled him to sleep without him realizing he’d drifted off.

A loud frantic alarm went off and Seokjin jarred awake, taking a second to remember where he was and why he was there. When he jerked upright, Yoongi’s head fell off of his shoulder where it had landed and Yoongi woke up too. The heart monitor was beeping loudly and erratically now.

“Oh god, Yoongi get help. Something’s wrong.”

Yoongi ran out into the hallway, and Seokjin could vaguely recognize his voice calling for the nurses to come help. Y/n’s eyes hadn’t opened, but she looked paler than she had been and Seokjin couldn’t help but to panic.

“Y/n, no! Please wake up! You can’t leave me like this,” Jin cried, shaking her gently.

The nurses ran in just before that same alarm that shocked him awake sounded again, and they shoved Seokjin out the door and out of the way to have room to work.

“No, please! I need to be with her! Please! Y/n! Y/N! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME. PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” Seokjin started screaming and crying trying to fight off the arms that were holding him back.

Yoongi spun him around to face him then and pulled him into a hug. “Hyung, you have to let them work. You have to let them help her.”

Seokjin felt like he had lost all control and he wasn’t sure he could just stand here when his entire world was behind that closed door dying. At the same time, he didn’t know what he could do to help, and he was so angry that he couldn’t just fix this. Seokjin let Yoongi lead him a few feet away from the door so they wouldn’t be blocking the way if anyone needed to come in or out. After an eternity it seemed, the nurses opened the door and called Seokjin over.

“I’m sorry for shoving you out the door. The alarm you were hearing was the heart rate monitor. Her blood pressure was dropping, and we had to give her a big shot of some medication to correct that. She has stabilized a bit and you can go back in and wait with her if you’d like.”

Seokjin just nodded and walked back in and headed back to his chair at the bedside. Yoongi grabbed his hand and squeezed it for a moment before speaking, “Hyung, I’m going to go update everyone. I know they are all worried about what’s happening. I’ll send someone else to come back with you for a bit so that they can visit Y/n too. They love her too.”

“Okay,” Seokjin whispered. “Would you send Joon-ah?”

“Of course I will.”

After Seokjin heard the door click closed, he took a closer look at Y/n. She was still so pale and looked like she was so breakable. Even through all of that, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he couldn’t just sit there by the bedside anymore. He needed to hold her in his arms, so he gently navigated all of the wires and tubes to climb in the bed beside her and wrap his arms around her as gently as he could. The bed was so small, but his entire body relaxed a bit when he was able to feel her beside him. Seokjin kissed her gently on the temple before speaking softly into her ear.  

“Baby, I hope you can hear me. I love you so much. I am so sorry that I didn’t realize what was happening with you sooner. I tried so hard to help in subtle ways and not to force you to open up about what was going wrong. I should have pushed even if we fought. I’d rather live with the knowledge that you are angry with me than for you to not be alive at all. Please. Please, don’t leave me.” Seokjin couldn’t stop himself from sobbing into Y/n’s hair, and he was so exhausted with worry and fear. After a few more minutes, he had cried himself back to sleep.

As Seokjin’s sleep addled brain woke back up a few hours later, he had difficulty remembering where he was, but then he opened his eyes and reality bitch-slapped him in the face. He glanced down to see Y/n still unconscious beside him. He needed to visit the restroom and something to drink. He had cried so much that his entire body felt like it was drying up from the inside out. He slowly sat up and maneuvered out of the bed so that he wouldn’t disconnect any of the vital tubes and wires connected to her and got out of the bed. When he did, he saw Namjoon slumped over asleep in the chair he’d vacated the night before and smiled a bit to himself before slipping into the connected bathroom.

Seokjin stared at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. While he still was as handsome as he’d ever been, his eyes were swollen and a bit red from crying and sleeping in his contacts. His hair was sticking up everywhere too from sleep, and there was a big brown streak of dried blood across his white tee from where he’d found Y/n. He looked like hell. He splashed some water on his face a bit then came out of the bathroom. As much as he didn’t want to leave her, he wanted to check on the others down the hallway. After exiting the restroom, he sat down beside Namjoon and lightly shook him.

“Namjoon-ah, wake up.”

Namjoon startled awake a bit, looking around to see what was happening. “Wha…What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing has changed. I just want to walk down the hall to check on the others and get a cup of coffee. Will you stay with her please? I don’t want her to be alone when she wakes up. I just feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I stay still in this room for another second.”

Namjoon agreed immediately, and Seokjin rose and left the room as quietly as possible. He wondered down the hallway and back to the double doors. There was a sign beside the door that notated a 4-digit code so that he could get back in without a doctor’s name badge upon his return, so he committed that to memory before heading back into the room where he’d left the others. He walked in and saw Yoongi and Hoseok curled up on the sofa, cuddled up together asleep. The maknaes were all three curled up in the floor together using cushions they had removed from the chairs around the room as pillows, but they were all touching. Jungkook was in the middle, with Taehyung draped around him. Taehyung had one arm and one leg thrown across Jungkook, and Jimin was holding his hand. Jimin was lying with his left side pushed against Jungkook’s side and his head tilted so that it touched Jungkook’s shoulder. Seokjin chuckled a bit at the sight, glad that he had these men as his family. At the sound of his laugh, Hoseok looked over at Seokjin where he was standing just inside the door. Hoseok had always been the lightest sleeper of the group, and any sound would disrupt him.

“Hyung?” Hoseok asked, “Is Y/n awake?”

“No, Seokie, she’s not. But I felt like I was going to spontaneously combust from not being able to help her, so I came out to get some coffee.”

“Oh.” Hoseok’s face fell as he learned that Y/n was still not awake. “Sejin-hyung brought you a change of clothes and a toothbrush in the middle of the night. Joonie told him about how you…about your shirt.”

Seokjin found the bag in the corner of the room, so thankful at how much like family their managers were with them. They had always looked after all 7 as if they were their own children, so when something happened to 1 member, it happed to the entire staff too. Seokjin stepped into the small bathroom connected to the waiting room to change and brush his teeth and immediately felt a bit calmer. There had been black sweatpants, a white tee shirt and an oversized blue sweater in the bag. The sweater helped immensely. It was the one that Y/n had stolen to sleep in the other day, so her scent was still woven into the fabric and it helped him to stay calm and hopeful. He stepped out into the waiting room to see that the maknaes were starting to stir a bit.

“Jin-hyung, I’m going to get coffee and breakfast for everyone. Can I bring you something?” Jimin asked.

“Just coffee, Minnie. I don’t think I can stomach the thought of food at the moment. I’m going to head back to Y/n, so just call when you get back and I’ll come out and get the coffee.”

Seokjin then headed back towards Y/n’s room in the intensive care unit. He heard Namjoon screaming for someone to come before he got back through the double doors and his heart nearly exploded in fear. What if she’s crashing again, he thought to himself as he was running down the hall. He nearly collided with Namjoon midway there. Namjoon grabbed both his arms to keep from falling backwards, before he said two words that made Seokjin’s heart flutter from relief.

“She’s awake.”

[takingcourage]

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 1,800

Summary: Arden decides that her fiancé needs some assistance in his efforts to repair their home. 

Note: This story follows The Girl Next Door and will probably make more sense if you’ve read that story first. 

It had all started with her potted plants.

"Jinx just won't leave them alone," Arden had told him seriously. "They'll do better here anyway. You've got more sunlight than I do at the apartment."

He'd complied, giving her permission to put the pair of planters anywhere she liked.

Next, her clothes had started cropping up everywhere -- socks in his laundry basket, a set of pajamas in the nightstand drawer, and a pencil skirt and blouse that had staked their claim at the extreme end of his closet.

Jaime smiled every time he saw them -- these tangible reminders that she’d said yes -- that soon, this would be not just his house, but theirs. Besides, the slow infiltration just meant that there would be less work for them to do on moving day. 

When he arrived home from work on Friday evening, it came as little surprise to find her car parked in his driveway. The sedan had caught his eye as soon as he turned onto Sycamore Drive, messy as usual and looking for all the world like it belonged there. 

That's because it does, he thought as he parked his truck beside her in the doublewide drive. Or it will soon. He engaged the emergency brake and left the vehicle, already feeling the weight of the day begin to lessen. 

Leaving his keys in his pocket, he rapped a couple of times before he pushed open the front door. “I’m home!” he announced, voice a quiet singsong in his uncertainty where to direct the greeting. 

Any remaining tiredness evaporated the moment his eyes fell on Arden. 

She popped out from the hallway, an easy grin splitting her face. "I know I said I was working late tonight, but we finished everything and decided to start the weekend early." Bounding into the entry, she hopped up on her toes to receive the kiss that she knew was waiting for her. "I thought I'd come by and do some work on the house."

Jaime's eyes widened at the suggestion, and he finally looked beyond her happy face. Far from the professional attire she’d probably driven over in, she now wore a pair of threadbare basketball shorts and a T-shirt that still had the remnants of some long-forgotten art project staining both sides. Her short hair was tied up with a blue bandana that was knotted just above her left eyebrow. 

He knew at once the look that she’d been going for, but couldn’t help snickering at the full effect. 

Brown eyes flashed, and one finger raised to a point. The finger -- along with the rest of the hand, he noted -- was unnaturally red. “Stop thinking about me being cute. I’m here to do work,” Arden protested, wagging the finger she held out toward his chest. 

Jaime’s lips straightened at the appraisal, but his thoughts changed very little. She was always irresistible, but this style was completely new. “What work are you getting done?” he asked once suspicion had gotten the better of him. 

“Follow me,” she told him coyly, turning on her heel to travel back down the hall. 

When they reached the dining room, he couldn’t help taking stock of everything before he followed her movements. He knew Arden’s intentions were good, but what she’d tried to pass off as home repairs in the past typically included mass amounts of Gorilla Glue and duct tape. He breathed more easily on seeing that all was as he had left it, save for a bucket of soapy water that stood in the corner. 

"I've been cleaning the walls," she informed him proudly, retrieving a dripping sponge and squeezing the excess water with exaggerated finesse. “I was reading up on how to prep walls for painting and I came across this recipe for making a solution that removes leftover wallpaper adhesive and...”

Arden’s words trailed, brows furrowing as her eyes swung back to him. “Why should I have let you do it?”

Jaime hiked a hand through his hair. The thought hadn’t been conscious until he’d heard it from her lips, and now there was no way of taking it back. It didn’t even seem sensible from any objective metric, but he couldn’t help his instinct. 

“I...” he struggled, bringing the hand down to scratch the ridge behind his ear. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Arden. I promise it’s not that. It’s just... I kind of wanted to do all of this for you. Maybe that’s old fashioned of me.” 

The protest felt silly, but it was true. The changes he’d already made had been some of the most satisfying work he’d ever done. He’d imagined her bare feet padding along each panel of flooring, smiled over the thought of her towels joining his on the bathroom wall, and dreamed of their future with every single swipe of sandpaper and drop of paint. Letting someone else do part of that work felt like cheating. 

She tossed the sponge back into the bucket and wiped her wet hands on the legs of her shorts. There was no anger when her eyes met his, but the confusion he read there clenched his heart. 

“I thought you’d be happy that I was taking initiative. You’re always joking about how lazy I am when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

Jaime took a step toward the wall, contemplating the work she’d done while he’d been away. Arden was right, her help up to this point had rarely been anything more involved than holding the end of a tape measure. With a shake of his head, he called to mind the many times he’d tried to include her in his work without success. I should probably be grateful that she wants to help.  

Arden’s pensive tone put an end to his preoccupation. “I mean, I’m here for selfish reasons too.”

As she moved toward him, he extended a hand to cup her face, fingertips resting on the band of fabric that spanned her head. She surveyed him solemnly, her chipper excitement having fizzled out in the wake of their misunderstanding.

“I’m just so ready to live with you.” Her lips formed the words slowly, and Jaime had to work not to lose focus on what was being said. “I thought I would do anything I could to help speed along the process. And I love this house, Jaime. I’ve been imagining living in it for -- well, years, actually.” 

He traced the thick layer of cloth, his thumb resting on her temple thoughtfully. “I have too. And I can’t tell you how much I look forward to having you here all the time. But I want everything to be ready when it’s time for you to actually move in. I don’t want you to have to live somewhere with half-finished floors or tacky paint.” Please understand, Arden. 

The corner of her mouth tipped upward. “I think I do. But won’t it be ready faster if I help?”

Her simple question should have had a simple answer, but Jaime struggled to accept it. I just want it to be perfect for you.

Arden considered the words curiously before her eyes crinkled further. “It already feels perfect to me.” 

Jaime sighed faintly. “You know what I mean.” 

“I guess so. But doesn’t that mean we have work to do?” she surmised with a pointed glance at the walls.   

“Okay,” he told her, removing his jacket. Once done, he rolled the sleeves of his work shirt several inches. “Here’s my new plan. The jobs we can do together, we do together. If there’s something that takes a lot of training or experience, I’ll do it by myself. How’s that sound to you?”

Arden’s smile returned in full force. “It’s a deal.” She held out a slender hand and he shook it, noting her pruny fingers. 

“But we’re going to start by finding you a pair of gloves, okay?”

Her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink. 

“Come with me to the garage,” he beckoned. 

On reaching their destination, he quickly located the box of gloves on top of his workbench. He withdrew a pair and held them out for his fiancée’s approval, but her back was turned and her interest focused elsewhere. 

“I love this color even more in person,” she told him, brushing a finger over the small sample drop on top of the paint cans she’d found. “It’s going to look amazing in there, especially with the new stain on the floors.” 

Jaime’s chest flip flopped at the enthusiasm in her tone, and he resisted the urge to pinch himself awake. “Let’s finish one step at a time,” he encouraged, stretching the gloves toward her in a second attempt. 

She retrieved them and tried them on, distracted. “What I’m really looking forward to is the primer. It’s like painting, but you can get a little crazy with it,” she told him intensely. “Doesn’t really matter what it looks like in the end.” 

He bit back a groan at the suggestion. The idea of Arden with anything resembling a paintbrush was vaguely disconcerting. 

“I’m kidding,” she assured. “At least partially.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” he offered, sliding open a drawer to find his stash of clean rags. “I think I’ve got what we need. Let’s head back in.” 

He followed her into the house, chuckling again as he caught a fresh glimpse of her ragged appearance. Any frustration or uncertainty he’d felt before was quickly melting away to leave little but fondness behind. I may not always understand you, but I sure am lucky to have you. 

She glanced back at him with a sly wink. 

“And I still can’t believe you finished a full week of work and wanted to come scrub walls instead of going home to binge Netflix. You’ve changed, Arden.” 

“They say love will do that to a person.” 

He rolled his eyes at her cheesy rejoinder and pretended to struggle to stretch the gloves over his palms. 

“And besides,” she admitted, “that wasn’t the only reason I came. I had some things I wanted to bring over too.” 

"Sneaking in more of your clothes?” 

Arden's nose wrinkled at the accusation. “You’ll just have to wait and see.” 

“I can’t wait to find them -- whatever they are.” He pushed a second sponge into the bucket, compressing it until it had been thoroughly saturated in the cleaner. 

“And I can’t wait to move in.” 

“That makes two of us.” He kissed her forehead and held out his sponge, motioning for her to do the same. “Let’s get to work.”