#maybe i’m on the wrong side of tiktok & twitter

[akuikami]

sukuna🤝satoru : two of the most mischaracterized people in jjk

[forlix]

𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘁𝗲𝘅𝘁・l.f.

— in which you forget that your hot housemate follows you on twitter.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・1.1k 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・roommate!felix x gn!streamer!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, flirting, kind of an smau, implied friends to lovers, humor if u count jeongin being a piece of shit

𝗮/𝗻・saw this tweet the other day and it was so painfully lix coded that i knew i had to write something asap. contains a tiny bit of gaming jargon but is hopefully comprehensible. ENJOY ♡

y/n ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ @ y/nxx

if someone brings you fresh cut fruit to your table when you're gaming, they either like LIKE you or it's your mom

11:23 A.M.・Oct. 2023・220.2K Views

bokkie 🐣 liked your post.

“My tweet?”

You read aloud the newest text in your chatroom, and your face brightens when you remember the one in question.

“Oh, about the fruit—no, it’s so true though. And I love my mom, don't get me wrong, but I have an inkling she did it to guilt trip me." You change your posture and adopt your best motherly tone of voice. "‘This is your tenth consecutive hour wasting your young adulthood in front of that damn screen. I am now going to hand deliver apple slices straight to your mouth.’ That kind of vibe, y'know?"

A slew of messages follows your anecdote, but it is a comment from one of your moderators that catches your eye first:

je0ng1n: what about the other option tho 👀

You groan at the sight of his username. “Man, why are you always here? Don't you have a job?"

je0ng1n: i’m on break je0ng1n: taking a dump je0ng1n: ungrateful bitch

You brandish a middle finger to the camera. “Hope the dump sucks."

je0ng1n: HEY je0ng1n: don’t even joke about that :(

An involuntary cackle precedes your next words. “If you’re actually wondering, though, the only person who’s brought me fruit while I’m playing video games is indeed my mother. Heartbreaking, I know.”

At this, the steady flow of messages morphs into a gallery of depressed cat emoticons; your audience never fails to impress you with their way with words.

“But if someone other than your disappointed parent is bringing you fruit,” you go on, “they might as well get on one knee in the process, honestly. That's such an adorable, loving thing to do.”

Suddenly, the words MATCH FOUND splash across your monitor, and you move your cursor to accept the game invite—only to be met with a pop-up window and a familiar error sound that grates on your ears like screeching tires.

You know how this story ends: the lights in your mouse go dark, and you look on in dejected silence.

je0ng1n: LMFAOOOOO je0ng1n: bro’s mouse definitely just exploded again

“You guessed it," you sigh. “Hang tight for a sec, guys."

Half an hour ago, you could’ve sworn you heard sneakers being kicked off, a set of keys falling against plastic. Now, you pull one side of your headphones off and roll your chair a few feet backward, calling through your half-open door: “Lix, are you home?”

You pick up on a soft clunk that sounds like metal hitting wood—the cutting board, maybe?—and then your housemate's low, accented answer bounces off the walls of your shared hallway.

“Yeah, you alright?”

“The mouse,” you say helplessly.

“Ah.” It’s not the first time you’ve summoned him for this. “Be right there.”

A few seconds later, you remember to tack on a hurried disclaimer: “I’m live, by the way!”

“I know.”

This brings a bashful smile to your face, though the expression quickly turns to one of pure dismay when you return to your desk and witness the disastrous state of your chat.

Felix has become a regular guest on your stream by now, always popping in to show you a TikTok or ask for your opinion on a new pair of jeans or simply give your camera an awkward wave—but he may as well own your channel with how completely and unequivocally he has captured the hearts of your viewers. They’re convinced he’s the sexiest person to ever grace the earth, with his chiseled features and coffee-colored eyes; with a grin that could set entire estates on fire and a voice that could scrape the nadir of the Grand Canyon.

Do you agree? Absolutely.

Do you have any intention of voicing this sentiment, so long as you’re splitting rent with him? Absolutely the hell not.

Another of Jeongin’s messages—GET ME HIS NUMBER OR I GET VIOLENT—inspires you to minimize the stream window before Felix gets here. It’s for the best.

A few moments later, the door opens, and the air shifts inside your room. A hand comes to rest on the top of your head; a familiar silhouette appears in your periphery. There is a fond grin plastered across your face and a bright greeting sitting readily on the tip of your tongue.

But then, Felix places a plate of freshly cut fruit in the empty space to the left of your keyboard—here, he hums, the sound falling against the shell of your ear like a drop of melted chocolate. And the gears of your brain grind to a complete stop.

There is no further acknowledgment; no supplementary explanation for what he's just done. He simply picks up your mouse and gets to work.

The words of your tweet swim dizzyingly before your eyes, not unlike those halos of stars and birds that revolve around disoriented cartoon characters. And you’re suddenly, achingly aware of your roommate's arm nudging against yours as he tinkers away; of the aromas of vanilla and laundry detergent that always come with his proximity; of the heat that’s risen to your face, and the plethora of questions that have surfaced to your mind.

A soft huff of laughter follows a gentle utterance of your name, and you snap out of your trance. Felix’s eyes are glinting with amusement when you meet them.

“It’s been recalibrated,” he says, handing back your mouse. “Just give it a few minutes.”

Your fingertips brush over his palm when you accept the object, and even this blink of contact has your heart performing an elaborate hopscotch routine across the plane of your chest.

It’s either your mom, or…

“Thank you,” you mumble, finally retrieving your larynx from the bottom of the Atlantic.

“Anytime,” Felix returns, and you know he means it. “You need a duo, by the way?"

“Yes, please.”

He gives you a warm smile at this, and there’s a hint of something else—something new—in the curve of his lips. “Give me two.” And he’s gone as quickly as he'd come.

You will never know how Felix slips his phone out of his pocket the second he emerges from your room, his pulse hounding his ears as he turns a nervous gaze upon his screen.

There is now a supersonic blur of messages saturating your chatroom, a colorful cacophony of moving emotes and capital letters, but he is focused wholly on the person in front of the camera and how you slowly lift a hand to your mouth, deathly silent despite your every viewer demanding your comment on the matter, your sanguine cheeks visible even through the gaps of your fingers.

That is all he needs to know.

Felix sinks into the leather of his gaming chair and bends to power on his computer. Only after a deep breath blows past his lips does his smile start to stretch into a grin, every bit as embarrassed as it is relieved.

je0ng1n: no way je0ng1n: no fucking way je0ng1n: my heart fluttered je0ng1n: wtf je0ng1n: how’d you pull HIM??

y/nxx has removed je0ng1n as a moderator of this channel.

𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘅 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[barmans-fault]

You made a good point of how this staged photoshoot will lead to increased exposure and ticket sales esp ahead of the US tour, because correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think all their US dates are sold out? They’re not as popular in the states and it’s been a couple months since I checked but I only saw a handful of shows that showed sold out. All this just reminds us of a curated version we have of him. Someone who likes privacy and wants to be lowkey doesn’t date attention seekers consistently and calls the paps on themselves. He just lost all credibility he had

Words of wisdom here from a lovely anon and thank you for sharing these thoughts, i agree with every word 💘

I think people generally get very caught up in the whole "alex is a romantic little prince too busy with his mind on clever lines he's innocent and private and not like other celebs and his privacy has been violated" narrative and tend to forget how much of a business this whole thing is.

The primary purpose of any business, be that show business or not, is to make money. The band is an asset that needs to generate revenue. American market has huge potential for that, alas, as the anon above correctly pointed out, very few of the US shows are sold out at this point, just a month ahead of the tour and the sales need to be boosted. The best strategy would definitely be to hype it up a little. American audience seems to be really into the whole straight dominant greaser bad boy persona (where do you think all those endless alex/your name fics with that shitty 50 shades of grey vibes come from?) and the target audience must be catered for. Both parties benefit: Alex gets the publicity of a cool rockstar kind of tired of his fame with a beautiful gf by his side on an expensive posh Italian resort. The pictures will now be all over insta/twitter/tiktok igniting interest in new fans and rekindling the old ones. The girls will fantasise about taking Louise's place in his arms (oh to be a girlfriend of this rich handsome millionaire musician who is also intelligent and talented and famous and who will fuck you like a whore then treat you like a princess!) and the boys will be jealous of him and his beautiful French girlfriend, wanting to be like him (oh to be this rich handsome millionaire and get all the girls!). Some more tickets will be sold, some more records, some more merch, and a couple of tens (or hundreds) of thousands of dollars will be made. Louise on the other hand, will get more followers and will have more ads, which will also lead to more revenue for her and hence whoever is managing her. Not bad, no?

Alex is usually perceived as a poet with his head in the clouds, an ethereal creature, a poetic and storytelling genius, vulnerable, autistic woodland creature, too exquisite for earthly problems, fragile and defenseless. He is, however, in no way disconnected from reality or too naive not to know how the business works - after all, he's been in it for almost twenty years. And I am supposed to believe his privacy has been violated when it has hardly been violated for the 5 years he was hiding from everyone and no paparazzi whatsoever gave a fuck about him? Oh give me a break. His net worth is estimated to be millions of dollars, same as the band. He is one of the richest rock stars of the generation. I am not saying it is a bad thing - well deserved, he is a genius after all, - but money, even for geniuses, has to be earned. Their music is a product that needs to be sold, and their public image is one of the means to increase those sales.

I do not think that Alex or Louise called the paps themselves last minute - I am pretty sure the whole thing has been set up by the management in advance, with Alex's explicit consent. Again, it is just a marketing strategy which the sales and marketing department decided to go with in order to maximise the revenue. Why would Alex refuse? And please spare me the argument of 'he doesn't need any more money'. Maybe he doesn't (although i am not sure), but the band and the whole machine working for them definitely does as it employs hundreds of people who need to get their paychecks from this whole thing. Mr. Schwarz is staying strong for them, remember?

Once this is all over, the tour is over, the contracts are done and he disappears without a trace, we'll remember this and count how many times paps will ever try to take pictures of him or his gf (zero, mark my words).

Thank you for coming to my ted talk (or thesis defence, more like)♥️

[nekoannie-chan]

Ruined anniversary

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader.

Word count: 610 words.

Summary: You have plans to celebrate your anniversary, but would change.

Warnings: Little angst.

A/N: This is my gift to @talia-rumlow​. HAPPY BIRTHDAY FREYA!

@saiyanprincessswanie​

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

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Tags: @sinceimetyou​ @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​ @navybrat817​ @angrythingstarlight​ @shield-agent78​ @charmed-asylum​ @hallecarey1​  @nana1000night​ @mylifeispainandiloveit​ @writingshae​ @alexxavicry​  @azulatodoryuga​ @daemonslittlebitch​

You felt Brock's hand caress your cheek as you took a nap after the mission. That mission had been one of the most exhausting, even though it didn't take many days.

Back on the ship, you decided to take some rest, but Brock had inadvertently woken you up.

“Is something wrong? “Brock asked you when he saw you looking thoughtful.

“I just remembered how we met," you answered.

“On the first mission after we left the Academy," he remembered, for the first time in his life he felt nervous, in fact, he wanted to ask you out since you were at the Academy, but he never dared, however the adrenaline he felt on that first mission pushed him to ask you.

“You almost shot me on that mission," you commented.

“I thought you were from the enemy team," Brock excused himself.

“If you wanted a kiss you should have asked me instead of pointing a gun at me," you teased.

“Oh, come on, well, maybe if I had asked you, our first date wouldn't have been ruined by the Chitauris. "

You snorted, everything was going so perfectly, you were about to kiss when one of the damn monsters walked past you, that's when you realized you had several messages where S.H.I.E.L.D. required your presence, but you had been ignoring your cell phones until you saw the monster.

Your anniversary would be next month, and you were planning to go to the beach that weekend, but maybe your plans were going to change for the next mission.

You were collecting all the information you could from the computer you found.

“T/N, status," Brock asked you over the intercom.

“Getting information from a computer in the south wing," you replied.

A few minutes later Brock was running to where you were, he had heard you arguing with someone, whose voice he didn't recognize, then some explosions and screams.

He wasn't going to lose you, he knew you usually didn't need to be rescued, but he wasn't going to let anything bad happen to you, let alone lose you.

When he got to where you were, he found you unconscious, the person who had attacked you was gone.

The next couple of days, Brock did not leave your side, he would stay with you, he did not want you to wake up and he was not there.

It was on the third day that you opened your eyes, and he immediately called the doctors. Everything was fine, but you had to stay a couple of days more in the hospital.

“I'm sorry, I don't think we will be able to go to the beach," you apologized, a little disappointed, you had let your guard down and that's why you had been attacked.

“The only thing that matters to me is that you are well, we’ll celebrate later. "

“Brock, tomorrow is our anniversary," you commented, he nodded. "Do you think they'll let me out tomorrow so we can celebrate? "

“I'd rather you follow the doctor's orders," Brock said sternly.

“Oh, come on, I bought some lingerie, especially for the occasion," you commented seductively.

“Well, we'll celebrate later, but that day I'll make you scream so much until your voice is gone and you might not be able to walk after what I'll do to you," he got up to go to the door, he would go to buy something to eat.

“Brock, hey, no, come here, I want us to celebrate right now. Brock, hey, don't ignore me!"

But he had already left the room, you snorted, the day you celebrated, you would get your revenge and enjoy it.

[chevelleneech]

For taennie i was always like 50/50 till the day that video from paris dropped. at first i was like it's just ppl making up things when first pic from jeju dropped. There's actually too many pics of them that dropped as you might have seen now in tiktok. and even then i was still 50/50 cause no picture was enough clear. But then the video dropped i was like holly molly, but i still was waiting for something and then the pics of tae and their manager dropped and whole army twitter accepted it except #THAT group of ppl of course, although some armys still wanted someone to say it's false they even were making tweets asking help from Tkkrs to debunk it 😂 in the pics Tae posted from Hawaii he posted a video with a dog and Jennie has the exact same dog. back in days in Feb 2023 from where those pics are there were tumours on k-side seeing TK together nd there was a girl so some assumed it was Jennie but ppl didn't let it spread much so you might not hear it that much.

Now walk with me for this one a bit, again rumours are the woman with jk in his apartment in that video is Jennie's model friend Hyunji shin. she's got the exact same hair length and Height as the woman in the video. now idk how much truth it holds but there's threads ppl made on that and although there's no significant or like striking proof of that's being her just them at same place n all which can be coincidences but if we consider all coincidences together there's a chance of that woman being her. And "IF" that's her then one can say Jennie might have introduced them? The increasing TK hangouts in last year can make sense...??(Apart from the fact that they genuinely wanted to hangout together of course). it wouldn't be far fetched would it? i believe jk has no girlfriend atm but if they resume (if that's a the same woman) Whatever they had going on there might be increasing TK hangouts in the future. you know double date or could be triple dates cause the actor frnd of Tae (seojoon if that's his name) is dating a youtuber and she's friends with Jennie too. so you never know......

I know things i mentioned might seem far fetched but thing is we don't know what goes in off cam. if you watch thai bl dramas you might know bright and win and how they had sooo many shippers turned out one of the guy was dating the girl who was right in front of them but shippers never once noticed it lol. Things like this happens so i just thought...

This is the first time i said these thoughts out loud...what do you think? like take it as hypothetical situation.

I keep deleting what I want to say, because I’m honestly at a loss for words. You expect me to believe you’re asking me a genuine question, when you start of saying “I didn’t accept Taennie right away, but JK being seen with a woman who Tae’s girlfriend’s fans say is maybe his girlfriend’s friend, is possible.”

Yes, it’s possible that a person JK knows could hook him up with someone, but it’s also possible JK is dating his own friend. The only reason your hypothetical is a possibility to you more than Jikook, is because you want it to be. We all have our biases, but unfortunately for Tkkrs and anyone who I guess just doesn’t like the idea of JK being with Jimin, JK himself seems very fine where he’s at.

As such, I’ll say again, if Jungkook had a girlfriend or a hookup last year, I would imagine Jimin knew, no matter what their relationship status is. I can’t say what it is, but given they were still flirting and traveling together and ended the year with a joint enlistment, I genuinely think they’re fine. Therefore, although my assumption of what their relationship is may one day be proven wrong, I’m not going to sit here chewing my nails over JK interacting with a woman. Especially if he’s still flirting with and choosing Jimin.

So you’re right, we don’t know what goes on off camera, but you guys repeatedly build your own narratives about their lives, then present them to others as if it’s not equally or often times more of a reach than JK dating a guy he’s known for years. I mean truly. You don’t even have confirmation of who the woman is, yet it’s believable JK could get back with her if she’s Jennie’s friend? Okay. You do you and I’ll do me, if that’s cool with you.

[meaningtotellyou]

a girl who went to a secret session said “no i am sick of this parasocial relationship bullshit because ultimately taylor did make her relationship with fans different than other celebs with their fans. she sent us christmas presents and invited us to her house and hung out with us on tumblr (a platform she was on solely to hang out with the fans). obviously we aren’t her FRIENDS but we did have something different than the typical fan-musician one sided relationship” what do you think about it? imo i think these people are being dramatic and taylor will probably never invite fans again to her house because some are truly saying weird shit about her. thank god you’re normal and don’t feel superior. i don’t think y’all should be mad at taylor for focusing on her PRIVATE LIFE AT THE MOMENT and about the tickets, taylor can’t control who buys it! it doesn’t make sense for y’all to be mad AT HER just because locals are getting them and true fans aren’t 😭

i mean she’s not wrong though? like having been here since fearless, taylor DID make it her entire brand that she’s close us, she DID do things that no other celebrity has done or will ever do to be this close to us. she started this, we didn’t ask for this treatment from her. BUT as we’re seeing now, that clearly was going to stop at some point. and i guess that some point is now. errr actually, mid-lover era really if we’re being truly honest here. and like everyone is saying too… she’s older now, private life is thriving, steady relationship, and she’s just been through so much i feel like her time being That Celebrity is just… over? and maybe i’m biased and not the right person to comment on this because i HAVE been lucky enough to have the one in a lifetime moments with her, but i just don’t have it in me to scream about it anymore. if she doesn’t wanna be here anymore because some people criticize her, fine. that’s her own problem. and i just don’t see her ever doing sessions again in general. those simply just couldn’t last forever. but like the twitter and tiktok shit, if she wants her online experience to be curated so perfectly that all she sees is praise and funny videos/tweets from her fans, whatever. i just think our time with her as we once knew it is up and we just have to accept it instead of crying ourselves sick and screaming at brick walls. idk though.

[where-pain-is-so-pretty]

December Project 09

- The Boy In The Black Dress

Pairing: Joonas x Reader

Category: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

TW: Angst, Self-Hatred, Homophobia, implied/referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Bullying

Word Count: 1847

Request:

"Hello again this can be for the December thing. Joonas reaction to you ( partner) staring to quite drastically change how they look due to people not believing that they are a good fit. The partner being the complete opposite of joonas in style and how they are???? You can either make it into fluff/angst/smut. What ever you feel like ❤❤"

Requester: @biancathecool

Note: I loved the request so much you have no idea! I rewrote the story about 3x and originally didn’t want to make it into something so personal, it just happened 😔❤️‍🩹

I’m actually a bit sorry for hijacking your request to cope with some of my own struggles, but I needed that 🥺😅

Hope you still enjoy! 💜

~ male reader ~

Tears streamed down your face as you scrolled through the comment section of your boyfriend's latest post. Only days ago you had decided to make your relationship public. You had been with him for almost a year now. And he was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

The photo he posted showed the two of you, his arms wrapped around you as he kissed your cheek. You stood in front of him, happily smiling wearing a plain black dress, phone in hand to take a photo of your reflection. It was shot a few months back, in the dressing room before their show, you two wore matching make-up and nail polish. The caption simply read: "My love 🖤"

There was nothing wrong with the photo itself, but with you, at least that was what people made you believe. You were a guy, wearing a dress, make-up, and nail polish. And for some reason, it was okay that Joonas and the guys wore make-up and nail polish themselves, but it was not for their partners, at least not if they were male. It should not be that much of a problem in 2022, but it was. The comments under his post went from insults, like "faggots" to "He should have chosen a girl instead". And these were nothing compared to the disturbing headlines going through the finish rainbow press ever since you made it official. "BLIND CHANNEL GUITARIST GAY?!" "WHO IS THE GUY IN A DRESS NEXT TO BAND HOTTIE JOONAS PORKO" "WAS JOONAS PORKO FORCED INTO THIS RELATIONSHIP?"

Each comment and caption increased your self-hatred and your wish to simply eraser yourself. The post was supposed to take the weight off both of your shoulders and end the hide-and-seek. Show the world how much you loved each other. But sadly most fans did not take it well and the press made a big fuss about it to generate more clicks and views. Of course, none of this came unexpectedly and you two were prepared to get some hate and backlash, but you thought it would not hurt that much.

And maybe today was the right moment to put the black dresses down forever and start dressing like a decent man. To show those haters, that you were a good match for Joonas. You wiped away a single tear as you threw your black dress into the closet. …………………………………………………………………………

This was about a month ago, and oh you wished you were over it! You still got insulting messages or even death threats almost daily. And Joonas had people swiping into his DMs telling him to break up with you. There were weird edits on TikTok, rumors spreading over Twitter, people leaking personal information about you, and so on.

On the outside you remained strong, not wanting to make Joonas worry or feel bad or even guilty for coming out and making your relationship public. In the past weeks, he had found you more than once in bed, crying your eyes out and you were sure he was already sick of your whining.

Honestly, you were incredibly proud of him for taking the step and not making a big deal out of it, and you were even prouder to be on his side. His bandmates were supportive as well, they also were the reason why you two started dating in the first place, but was another story to tell. You were glad for him having such great friends and for you they had already become a family as well. And with these guys having your back you almost could ignore all the hate being thrown at you. That was until one day some girl attacked you at a bar, spilling her drink over you when you and Joonas were out for date night. That's when it simply got too much for you.

All this bullying made you relive your darkest memories from your childhood and school days. You had always dressed more femininely and loved to play dress up with your mother's clothes and make-up. You had been expelled more than once for violating the school's dress code. While growing up various people told you that boys were not allowed to wear dresses and skirts and that make-up and nail polish was for girls. You had been bullied over your bold outfit choices, and you could not count the times you were beaten up or had your clothes ripped and ruined.

You thought you had left these memories behind the day you moved out of your parent's house, but all this recent hate had opened up old wounds which you thought had been healed years ago.

Now you found yourself in front of your closet, searching for an outfit. You held back tears when your fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your newest dress, the one you were supposed to wear for the award show tomorrow night. Instead, you took out a suit jacket and a white buttoned-up shirt, hanging them next to Joonas' outfit. You had not worn a dress or skirt in weeks now, hoping people would stop commenting about your looks, sexuality, and relationship, but it did help, in fact, it made you feel vulnerable because now you felt like walking around without your armor.

"What's that?" Joonas appeared behind you, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, blond curls still wet from the shower he just took. "My outfit for tomorrow." You said, trying your best to sound happy while you searched for a matching pair of pants for the jacket. "What happened to the black dress we bought?" He sounded slightly concerned lifting his brows. Him mentioning the dress brought new tears to your eyes and you swallowed heavily, trying to get rid of the knot in your throat. You two had found the dress in your favorite vintage store, the day after you two had made your relationship official. Originally you had bought it to provocate people and show them an imaginary middle finger, but now you felt more like burning it, together with your whole existence. "I felt like it wouldn't fit the occasion…" You mumbled the answer into the closet, not wanting to face him and hoping he would just stop to ask questions. "Sweetheart, are you okay?" He stepped closer, lightly touching your shoulder. You did not react, still pretending to search for the pair of pants, although you had already found it. "Y/N, please look at me!" Reluctantly you turned around to him, looking at his feet instead of meeting his gaze, hiding your tears. Joonas cupped your cheeks, forcing you to lift your head, his blue eyes full of worry when they locked with yours. It broke your heart to see him like this and you wished you could pull yourself together, but a sob escaped from your throat, new tears following seconds later. Joonas brushed a few of them away, before pulling you into a tight hug. You could not hold back longer, all the negative thoughts now crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You collapsed in Joonas arms, sobbing into his naked chest, barely noticing that he carried you over to your shared bed and pulled you into his lap. His hands drew soothing circles on your back as he patiently waited for you to calm down.

You held on to him, the contact of his warm soft skin slowly helping you to get back to reality, as you buried your face in his chest. Soon your sobs turn into even breathing again. He kissed the top of your hair, causing you to slightly lift your head. His eyes were gentle on you but you could see the worry in them. And you could not help but feel pathetic for your breakdown, you should not have let it out on him. Joonas shifted and sat up against the headboard of the bed, his hands not leaving your back as he loosened the embrace to examine your face better. "Wanna talk about it?" His voice was soft, still, you could feel it vibrate in his chest. You swallow heavily, trying to find your words. "I just can't do this anymore…" He looked down at you in shock, realizing what you had just said. "Are you about to break up with me?!", the sadness in his voice almost made you tear up again. "No…I…I don't know, wouldn't you be better off without me?" you stammered out. "Hell no! It's still about what these dumb people said about us online, isn't it?" You nodded silently, not capable of answering without starting to sob again. You did not want to break up with him, but you felt you were the main reason for all his troubles and he deserved so much better than this. Joonas took both of your hands in his. "Y/N! Is that also the reason why you changed your clothing style?" He lightly squeezed your hands. "I…I didn't want to embarrass you. I didn't want to cause any more trouble." You looked down at your intertwined fingers, exhaling sharply. "You are not causing any trouble! Fuck those people and their opinions! I love you for who you are and I don't want you to change for these idiots!", one of his hands found your cheek, wiping away another tear with his thumb. "I saw how happy you were the day we bought the dress for the gala, and in these clothes, you don't look happy." He went on, gesturing to the clothes you were wearing as well as to the jacket and shirt hanging next to his. "But…" you wanted to disagree again, telling him that the press would have their eyes on you two tomorrow night, and you did not want his band's success to be overshadowed by another wave of weird headlines about his sexuality and relationship. "No buts! We are going to prove them all wrong tomorrow!"

Your vision was still blurred from tears when Joonas leaned in for a kiss, to prevent you from talking back again. Lost in the kiss, your eyes closed and you finally felt yourself relax. One last tear rolled down your cheek as you realized how much you loved him.

He broke the kiss after a while, his hand still lingering on your cheek.

"Do you think I could pull one off?" he suddenly broke the silence.

"A dress? Absolutely!", you told him instantly. Joonas was the type of guy who could wear almost anything without looking ridiculous; although Joel strongly disagreed with that.

"Can I borrow one for tomorrow?" He had a sly grin on his lips and you needed a second to understand what he had just suggested. His question made you smile, probably for the first time in a week or so, and you could feel happiness spark in your chest. "I love you so damn much!" Was all you managed to say before you pulled him in for another, more passionate kiss.

"I love you more…And now let's get you out of these clothes…"

[caitiewantstobeavadakedavrad]

6, 7, 10, 16 and 24 for the ask game (i'm greedy)

Ask me something from the choose violence questions!

6. Which ship fans are the most annoying?

Oh god, so many. The first ones that come to mind are jegulus and dramione shippers. Obviously not all of them but the amount of times I see these shippers just show up and bring up their ship when the topic isn’t even related to said ship is insane. I once saw someone make this drarry edit on tiktok and so many of the comments were just “dramione is better!!!” “Ew this is toxic”. Which is incredible ironic.

7. What character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because of how the fandom acts about them?

Probably Remus and Hermione. I never really liked hermione in the first place but seeing the fandom treat her like she’s perfect and can do no wrong really aggravates me. And remus well….he is suffering from the ocification like the rest of the marauders characters. And the oc they’re making remus into is just incredibly boring and stereotypical yet they’re claiming he’s dimensional.

10. Worst part of fanon

Can I just say everything that came from marauderstok and marauders twitter? Because it’s all of that. The main one that stands out is Remus being the “Casanova of gryffindor tower”. This hc is so fucking stupid because it was literally a line that was said sarcastically yet people took it incredibly literal. Remus is a LOSER, I can guarantee he was not pulling everyone. I also don’t like the bimbofication, babygirlification, and teenager girlification of sirius but idk if that counts as fanon because it’s actually incredibly niche but the fans seem to think it’s a fact. But anyways, it makes sirius incredibly ooc and downright obnoxious.

16. You can’t understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc.)

Oh maybe this would be a better place to talk about what the marauders fandom is doing to sirius, but I already kinda talked about that (although I’m always up for complaining about it) so I’ll move on to something else. I don’t understand why Hermione is the fandom bicycle? Maybe it’s just because I don’t like her but she quite literally doesn’t mesh well with a majority of the characters she’s paired with. It feels like people are just using her as a self-insert. And it also would make more sense for Harry to be the bicycle but the people who like the Hermione bicycle thing just seem to want everything to be het. Which like, fine, but just write ‘x reader’ fics.

24. Topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

I actually don’t know? Maybe any snape discourse? I feel like that causes the most arguments and it can get kinda ugly because no one is listening to each other, they’re just calling the other side horrible people. This is coming from a snape anti/sometimes tolerater.

[therewerenorelevanturlsavailable]

Tl:Dr different sites have different needs and I’m tired of people dismissing the utility of short tone indicators out of hand.

I’m maybe risking getting a little annoying but all these posts about how useless tone indicators are getting annoying 2 me. On tumblr yes they are less useful than just putting ur meaning in brackets but they were implemented on Twitter and tiktok. This is because Twitter and tiktok (at least the comments sections) have a character limit.

So if ur tweeting some long stream of consciousness and get worried people might take u the wrong way you will run out of characters before you can finish the indicator of (not addressed to any of my followers) or (I’m being sarcastic) or (this is a good thing). So having 4 character indicators like /nbh [no body here] or /s [sarcastic] or /pos [I mean this in a positive way] is helpful. Yes expecting everyone to memorise a million indicators is foolish. No they’re not that hard to look up if you are confused.

That being said they are no help for tumblr because you can write whatever the hell you want on tumblr and there is no character limit and there is no staff to interrupt you and there is no god so you can write whatever the hell you want and you will never run out of time. Put a million tone clarifying brackets in your sentence who gives a fuck. Now to demonstrate my point about a lack of character limit I will ruin your dashboard. My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister,—Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, “Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,” I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine,—who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that universal struggle,—I am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of existence.

Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things seems to me to have been gained on a memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dikes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond was the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip.

“Hold your noise!” cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from among the graves at the side of the church porch. “Keep still, you little devil, or I’ll cut your throat!”

A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared, and growled; and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.

“Oh! Don’t cut my throat, sir,” I pleaded in terror. “Pray don’t do it, sir.”

“Tell us your name!” said the man. “Quick!”

“Pip, sir.”

“Once more,” said the man, staring at me. “Give it mouth!”

“Pip. Pip, sir.”

“Show us where you live,” said the man. “Pint out the place!”

I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the alder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from the church.

The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When the church came to itself,—for he was so sudden and strong that he made it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my feet,—when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high tombstone, trembling while he ate the bread ravenously.

“You young dog,” said the man, licking his lips, “what fat cheeks you ha’ got.”

I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my years, and not strong.

“Darn me if I couldn’t eat ’em,” said the man, with a threatening shake of his head, “and if I han’t half a mind to’t!”

I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn’t, and held tighter to the tombstone on which he had put me; partly, to keep myself upon it; partly, to keep myself from crying.

“Now lookee here!” said the man. “Where’s your mother?”

“There, sir!” said I.

He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“There, sir!” I timidly explained. “Also Georgiana. That’s my mother.”

“Oh!” said he, coming back. “And is that your father alonger your mother?”

“Yes, sir,” said I; “him too; late of this parish.”

“Ha!” he muttered then, considering. “Who d’ye live with,—supposin’ you’re kindly let to live, which I han’t made up my mind about?”

“My sister, sir,—Mrs. Joe Gargery,—wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir.”

“Blacksmith, eh?” said he. And looked down at his leg.

After darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he came closer to my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he could hold me; so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine, and mine looked most helplessly up into his.

“Now lookee here,” he said, “the question being whether you’re to be let to live. You know what a file is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you know what wittles is?”

“Yes, sir.”

After each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me a greater sense of helplessness and danger.

“You get me a file.” He tilted me again. “And you get me wittles.” He tilted me again. “You bring ’em both to me.” He tilted me again. “Or I’ll have your heart and liver out.” He tilted me again.

I was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to him with both hands, and said, “If you would kindly please to let me keep upright, sir, perhaps I shouldn’t be sick, and perhaps I could attend more.”

He gave me a most tremendous dip and roll, so that the church jumped over its own weathercock. Then, he held me by the arms, in an upright position on the top of the stone, and went on in these fearful terms:—

“You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles. You bring the lot to me, at that old Battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your having seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate. Now, I ain’t alone, as you may think I am. There’s a young man hid with me, in comparison with which young man I am a Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That young man has a secret way pecooliar to himself, of getting at a boy, and at his heart, and at his liver. It is in wain for a boy to attempt to hide himself from that young man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may think himself comfortable and safe, but that young man will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him open. I am a keeping that young man from harming of you at the present moment, with great difficulty. I find it wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside. Now, what do you say?”

I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in the morning.

“Say Lord strike you dead if you don’t!” said the man.

I said so, and he took me down.

“Now,” he pursued, “you remember what you’ve undertook, and you remember that young man, and you get home!”

“Goo-good night, sir,” I faltered.

“Much of that!” said he, glancing about him over the cold wet flat. “I wish I was a frog. Or a eel!”

At the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in both his arms,—clasping himself, as if to hold himself together,—and limped towards the low church wall. As I saw him go, picking his way among the nettles, and among the brambles that bound the green mounds, he looked in my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands of the dead people, stretching up cautiously out of their graves, to get a twist upon his ankle and pull him in.

When he came to the low church wall, he got over it, like a man whose legs were numbed and stiff, and then turned round to look for me. When I saw him turning, I set my face towards home, and made the best use of my legs. But presently I looked over my shoulder, and saw him going on again towards the river, still hugging himself in both arms, and picking his way with his sore feet among the great stones dropped into the marshes here and there, for stepping-places when the rains were heavy or the tide was in.

The marshes were just a long black horizontal line then, as I stopped to look after him; and the river was just another horizontal line, not nearly so broad nor yet so black; and the sky was just a row of long angry red lines and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the river I could faintly make out the only two black things in all the prospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of these was the beacon by which the sailors steered,—like an unhooped cask upon a pole,—an ugly thing when you were near it; the other, a gibbet, with some chains hanging to it which had once held a pirate. The man was limping on towards this latter, as if he were the pirate come to life, and come down, and going back to hook himself up again. It gave me a terrible turn when I thought so; and as I saw the cattle lifting their heads to gaze after him, I wondered whether they thought so too. I looked all round for the horrible young man, and could see no signs of him. But now I was frightened again, and ran home without stopping.

Chapter II.

My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I, and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbours because she had brought me up “by hand.” Having at that time to find out for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a hard and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her husband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were both brought up by hand.

She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a general impression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joe was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth face, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue that they seemed to have somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow,—a sort of Hercules in strength, and also in weakness.

My sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailing redness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible she washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall and bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened over her figure behind with two loops, and having a square impregnable bib in front, that was stuck full of pins and needles. She made it a powerful merit in herself, and a strong reproach against Joe, that she wore this apron so much. Though I really see no reason why she should have worn it at all; or why, if she did wear it at all, she should not have taken it off, every day of her life.

Joe’s forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of the dwellings in our country were,—most of them, at that time. When I ran home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting alone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, and having confidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me, the moment I raised the latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it, sitting in the chimney corner.

“Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip. And she’s out now, making it a baker’s dozen.”

“Is she?”

“Yes, Pip,” said Joe; “and what’s worse, she’s got Tickler with her.”

At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoat round and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Tickler was a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickled frame.

“She sot down,” said Joe, “and she got up, and she made a grab at Tickler, and she Ram-paged out. That’s what she did,” said Joe, slowly clearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and looking at it; “she Ram-paged out, Pip.”

“Has she been gone long, Joe?” I always treated him as a larger species of child, and as no more than my equal.

“Well,” said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, “she’s been on the Ram-page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She’s a-coming! Get behind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you.”

I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open, and finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause, and applied Tickler to its further investigation. She concluded by throwing me—I often served as a connubial missile—at Joe, who, glad to get hold of me on any terms, passed me on into the chimney and quietly fenced me up there with his great leg.

“Where have you been, you young monkey?” said Mrs. Joe, stamping her foot. “Tell me directly what you’ve been doing to wear me away with fret and fright and worrit, or I’d have you out of that corner if you was fifty Pips, and he was five hundred Gargerys.”

“I have only been to the churchyard,” said I, from my stool, crying and rubbing myself.

“Churchyard!” repeated my sister. “If it warn’t for me you’d have been to the churchyard long ago, and stayed there. Who brought you up by hand?”

“You did,” said I.

“And why did I do it, I should like to know?” exclaimed my sister.

I whimpered, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t!” said my sister. “I’d never do it again! I know that. I may truly say I’ve never had this apron of mine off since born you were. It’s bad enough to be a blacksmith’s wife (and him a Gargery) without being your mother.”

My thoughts strayed from that question as I looked disconsolately at the fire. For the fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, the mysterious young man, the file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was under to commit a larceny on those sheltering premises, rose before me in the avenging coals.

“Hah!” said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to his station. “Churchyard, indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two.” One of us, by the by, had not said it at all. “You’ll drive me to the churchyard betwixt you, one of these days, and O, a pr-r-recious pair you’d be without me!”

As she applied herself to set the tea-things, Joe peeped down at me over his leg, as if he were mentally casting me and himself up, and calculating what kind of pair we practically should make, under the grievous circumstances foreshadowed. After that, he sat feeling his right-side flaxen curls and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about with his blue eyes, as his manner always was at squally times.

My sister had a trenchant way of cutting our bread and butter for us, that never varied. First, with her left hand she jammed the loaf hard and fast against her bib,—where it sometimes got a pin into it, and sometimes a needle, which we afterwards got into our mouths. Then she took some butter (not too much) on a knife and spread it on the loaf, in an apothecary kind of way, as if she were making a plaster,—using both sides of the knife with a slapping dexterity, and trimming and moulding the butter off round the crust. Then, she gave the knife a final smart wipe on the edge of the plaster, and then sawed a very thick round off the loaf: which she finally, before separating from the loaf, hewed into two halves, of which Joe got one, and I the other.

On the present occasion, though I was hungry, I dared not eat my slice. I felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadful acquaintance, and his ally the still more dreadful young man. I knew Mrs. Joe’s housekeeping to be of the strictest kind, and that my larcenous researches might find nothing available in the safe. Therefore I resolved to put my hunk of bread and butter down the leg of my trousers.

The effort of resolution necessary to the achievement of this purpose I found to be quite awful. It was as if I had to make up my mind to leap from the top of a high house, or plunge into a great depth of water. And it was made the more difficult by the unconscious Joe. In our already-mentioned freemasonry as fellow-sufferers, and in his good-natured companionship with me, it was our evening habit to compare the way we bit through our slices, by silently holding them up to each other’s admiration now and then,—which stimulated us to new exertions. To-night, Joe several times invited me, by the display of his fast diminishing slice, to enter upon our usual friendly competition; but he found me, each time, with my yellow mug of tea on one knee, and my untouched bread and butter on the other. At last, I desperately considered that the thing I contemplated must be done, and that it had best be done in the least improbable manner consistent with the circumstances. I took advantage of a moment when Joe had just looked at me, and got my bread and butter down my leg.

Joe was evidently made uncomfortable by what he supposed to be my loss of appetite, and took a thoughtful bite out of his slice, which he didn’t seem to enjoy. He turned it about in his mouth much longer than usual, pondering over it a good deal, and after all gulped it down like a pill. He was about to take another bite, and had just got his head on one side for a good purchase on it, when his eye fell on me, and he saw that my bread and butter was gone.

The wonder and consternation with which Joe stopped on the threshold of his bite and stared at me, were too evident to escape my sister’s observation.

“What’s the matter now?” said she, smartly, as she put down her cup.

“I say, you know!” muttered Joe, shaking his head at me in very serious remonstrance. “Pip, old chap! You’ll do yourself a mischief. It’ll stick somewhere. You can’t have chawed it, Pip.”

“What’s the matter now?” repeated my sister, more sharply than before.

“If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip, I’d recommend you to do it,” said Joe, all aghast. “Manners is manners, but still your elth’s your elth.”

By this time, my sister was quite desperate, so she pounced on Joe, and, taking him by the two whiskers, knocked his head for a little while against the wall behind him, while I sat in the corner, looking guiltily on.

“Now, perhaps you’ll mention what’s the matter,” said my sister, out of breath, “you staring great stuck pig.”

Joe looked at her in a helpless way, then took a helpless bite, and looked at me again.

“You know, Pip,” said Joe, solemnly, with his last bite in his cheek, and speaking in a confidential voice, as if we two were quite alone, “you and me is always friends, and I’d be the last to tell upon you, any time. But such a—” he moved his chair and looked about the floor between us, and then again at me—“such a most oncommon Bolt as that!”

“Been bolting his food, has he?” cried my sister.

“You know, old chap,” said Joe, looking at me, and not at Mrs. Joe, with his bite still in his cheek, “I Bolted, myself, when I was your age—frequent—and as a boy I’ve been among a many Bolters; but I never see your Bolting equal yet, Pip, and it’s a mercy you ain’t Bolted dead.”

My sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying nothing more than the awful words, “You come along and be dosed.”

Some medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine medicine, and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard; having a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness. At the best of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a choice restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling like a new fence. On this particular evening the urgency of my case demanded a pint of this mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greater comfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot would be held in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to swallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching and meditating before the fire), “because he had had a turn.” Judging from myself, I should say he certainly had a turn afterwards, if he had had none before.

Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy; but when, in the case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates with another secret burden down the leg of his trousers, it is (as I can testify) a great punishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe—I never thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of the housekeeping property as his—united to the necessity of always keeping one hand on my bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered about the kitchen on any small errand, almost drove me out of my mind. Then, as the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the voice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me to secrecy, declaring that he couldn’t and wouldn’t starve until to-morrow, but must be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if the young man who was with so much difficulty restrained from imbruing his hands in me should yield to a constitutional impatience, or should mistake the time, and should think himself accredited to my heart and liver to-night, instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody’s hair stood on end with terror, mine must have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody’s ever did?

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with a copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it with the load upon my leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with the load on his leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring the bread and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped away, and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom.

“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; “was that great guns, Joe?”

“Ah!” said Joe. “There’s another conwict off.”

“What does that mean, Joe?” said I.

Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly, “Escaped. Escaped.” Administering the definition like Tar-water.

While Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put my mouth into the forms of saying to Joe, “What’s a convict?” Joe put his mouth into the forms of returning such a highly elaborate answer, that I could make out nothing of it but the single word “Pip.”

“There was a conwict off last night,” said Joe, aloud, “after sunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’re firing warning of another.”

“Who’s firing?” said I.

“Drat that boy,” interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work, “what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.”

It was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should be told lies by her even if I did ask questions. But she never was polite unless there was company.

At this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost pains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a word that looked to me like “sulks.” Therefore, I naturally pointed to Mrs. Joe, and put my mouth into the form of saying, “her?” But Joe wouldn’t hear of that, at all, and again opened his mouth very wide, and shook the form of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could make nothing of the word.

“Mrs. Joe,” said I, as a last resort, “I should like to know—if you wouldn’t much mind—where the firing comes from?”

“Lord bless the boy!” exclaimed my sister, as if she didn’t quite mean that but rather the contrary. “From the Hulks!”

“Oh-h!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!”

Joe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, “Well, I told you so.”

“And please, what’s Hulks?” said I.

“That’s the way with this boy!” exclaimed my sister, pointing me out with her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. “Answer him one question, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships, right ’cross th’ meshes.” We always used that name for marshes, in our country.

“I wonder who’s put into prison-ships, and why they’re put there?” said I, in a general way, and with quiet desperation.

It was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose. “I tell you what, young fellow,” said she, “I didn’t bring you up by hand to badger people’s lives out. It would be blame to me and not praise, if I had. People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob, and forge, and do all sorts of bad; and they always begin by asking questions. Now, you get along to bed!”

I was never allowed a candle to light me to bed, and, as I went upstairs in the dark, with my head tingling,—from Mrs. Joe’s thimble having played the tambourine upon it, to accompany her last words,—I felt fearfully sensible of the great convenience that the hulks were handy for me. I was clearly on my way there. I had begun by asking questions, and I was going to rob Mrs. Joe.

Since that time, which is far enough away now, I have often thought that few people know what secrecy there is in the young under terror. No matter how unreasonable the terror, so that it be terror. I was in mortal terror of the young man who wanted my heart and liver; I was in mortal terror of my interlocutor with the iron leg; I was in mortal terror of myself, from whom an awful promise had been extracted; I had no hope of deliverance through my all-powerful sister, who repulsed me at every turn; I am afraid to think of what I might have done on requirement, in the secrecy of my terror.

If I slept at all that night, it was only to imagine myself drifting down the river on a strong spring-tide, to the Hulks; a ghostly pirate calling out to me through a speaking-trumpet, as I passed the gibbet-station, that I had better come ashore and be hanged there at once, and not put it off. I was afraid to sleep, even if I had been inclined, for I knew that at the first faint dawn of morning I must rob the pantry. There was no doing it in the night, for there was no getting a light by easy friction then; to have got one I must have struck it out of flint and steel, and have made a noise like the very pirate himself rattling his chains.

As soon as the great black velvet pall outside my little window was shot with grey, I got up and went downstairs; every board upon the way, and every crack in every board calling after me, “Stop thief!” and “Get up, Mrs. Joe!” In the pantry, which was far more abundantly supplied than usual, owing to the season, I was very much alarmed by a hare hanging up by the heels, whom I rather thought I caught, when my back was half turned, winking. I had no time for verification, no time for selection, no time for anything, for I had no time to spare. I stole some bread, some rind of cheese, about half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in my pocket-handkerchief with my last night’s slice), some brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a glass bottle I had secretly used for making that intoxicating fluid, Spanish-liquorice-water, up in my room: diluting the stone bottle from a jug in the kitchen cupboard), a meat bone with very little on it, and a beautiful round compact pork pie. I was nearly going away without the pie, but I was tempted to mount upon a shelf, to look what it was that was put away so carefully in a covered earthenware dish in a corner, and I found it was the pie, and I took it in the hope that it was not intended for early use, and would not be missed for some time.

There was a door in the kitchen, communicating with the forge; I unlocked and unbolted that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools. Then I put the fastenings as I had found them, opened the door at which I had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for the misty marshes.

Chapter III.

It was a rimy morning, and very damp. I had seen the damp lying on the outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief. Now, I saw the damp lying on the bare hedges and spare grass, like a coarser sort of spiders’ webs; hanging itself from twig to twig and blade to blade. On every rail and gate, wet lay clammy, and the marsh mist was so thick, that the wooden finger on the post directing people to our village—a direction which they never accepted, for they never came there—was invisible to me until I was quite close under it. Then, as I looked up at it, while it dripped, it seemed to my oppressed conscience like a phantom devoting me to the Hulks.

The mist was heavier yet when I got out upon the marshes, so that instead of my running at everything, everything seemed to run at me. This was very disagreeable to a guilty mind. The gates and dikes and banks came bursting at me through the mist, as if they cried as plainly as could be, “A boy with somebody else’s pork pie! Stop him!” The cattle came upon me with like suddenness, staring out of their eyes, and steaming out of their nostrils, “Halloa, young thief!” One black ox, with a white cravat on,—who even had to my awakened conscience something of a clerical air,—fixed me so obstinately with his eyes, and moved his blunt head round in such an accusatory manner as I moved round, that I blubbered out to him, “I couldn’t help it, sir! It wasn’t for myself I took it!” Upon which he put down his head, blew a cloud of smoke out of his nose, and vanished with a kick-up of his hind-legs and a flourish of his tail.

All this time, I was getting on towards the river; but however fast I went, I couldn’t warm my feet, to which the damp cold seemed riveted, as the iron was riveted to the leg of the man I was running to meet. I knew my way to the Battery, pretty straight, for I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and Joe, sitting on an old gun, had told me that when I was ’prentice to him, regularly bound, we would have such Larks there! However, in the confusion of the mist, I found myself at last too far to the right, and consequently had to try back along the river-side, on the bank of loose stones above the mud and the stakes that staked the tide out. Making my way along here with all despatch, I had just crossed a ditch which I knew to be very near the Battery, and had just scrambled up the mound beyond the ditch, when I saw the man sitting before me. His back was towards me, and he had his arms folded, and was nodding forward, heavy with sleep.

I thought he would be more glad if I came upon him with his breakfast, in that unexpected manner, so I went forward softly and touched him on the shoulder. He instantly jumped up, and it was not the same man, but another man!

And yet this man was dressed in coarse grey, too, and had a great iron on his leg, and was lame, and hoarse, and cold, and was everything that the other man was; except that he had not the same face, and had a flat broad-brimmed low-crowned felt hat on. All this I saw in a moment, for I had only a moment to see it in: he swore an oath at me, made a hit at me,—it was a round weak blow that missed me and almost knocked himself down, for it made him stumble,—and then he ran into the mist, stumbling twice as he went, and I lost him.

“It’s the young man!” I thought, feeling my heart shoot as I identified him. I dare say I should have felt a pain in my liver, too, if I had known where it was.

I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right man,—hugging himself and limping to and fro, as if he had never all night left off hugging and limping,—waiting for me. He was awfully cold, to be sure. I half expected to see him drop down before my face and die of deadly cold. His eyes looked so awfully hungry too, that when I handed him the file and he laid it down on the grass, it occurred to me he would have tried to eat it, if he had not seen my bundle. He did not turn me upside down this time to get at what I had, but left me right side upwards while I opened the bundle and emptied my pockets.

“What’s in the bottle, boy?” said he.

“Brandy,” said I.

He was already handing mincemeat down his throat in the most curious manner,—more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a violent hurry, than a man who was eating it,—but he left off to take some of the liquor. He shivered all the while so violently, that it was quite as much as he could do to keep the neck of the bottle between his teeth, without biting it off.

“I think you have got the ague,” said I.

“I’m much of your opinion, boy,” said he.

“It’s bad about here,” I told him. “You’ve been lying out on the meshes, and they’re dreadful aguish. Rheumatic too.”

“I’ll eat my breakfast afore they’re the death of me,” said he. “I’d do that, if I was going to be strung up to that there gallows as there is over there, directly afterwards. I’ll beat the shivers so far, I’ll bet you.”

He was gobbling mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie, all at once: staring distrustfully while he did so at the mist all round us, and often stopping—even stopping his jaws—to listen. Some real or fancied sound, some clink upon the river or breathing of beast upon the marsh, now gave him a start, and he said, suddenly,—

“You’re not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?”

“No, sir! No!”

“Nor giv’ no one the office to follow you?”

“No!”

“Well,” said he, “I believe you. You’d be but a fierce young hound indeed, if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched warmint hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched warmint is!”

Something clicked in his throat as if he had works in him like a clock, and was going to strike. And he smeared his ragged rough sleeve over his eyes.

Pitying his desolation, and watching him as he gradually settled down upon the pie, I made bold to say, “I am glad you enjoy it.”

“Did you speak?”

“I said I was glad you enjoyed it.”

“Thankee, my boy. I do.”

I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food; and I now noticed a decided similarity between the dog’s way of eating, and the man’s. The man took strong sharp sudden bites, just like the dog. He swallowed, or rather snapped up, every mouthful, too soon and too fast; and he looked sideways here and there while he ate, as if he thought there was danger in every direction of somebody’s coming to take the pie away. He was altogether too unsettled in his mind over it, to appreciate it comfortably I thought, or to have anybody to dine with him, without making a chop with his jaws at the visitor. In all of which particulars he was very like the dog.

“I am afraid you won’t leave any of it for him,” said I, timidly; after a silence during which I had hesitated as to the politeness of making the remark. “There’s no more to be got where that came from.” It was the certainty of this fact that impelled me to offer the hint.

“Leave any for him? Who’s him?” said my friend, stopping in his crunching of pie-crust.

“The young man. That you spoke of. That was hid with you.”

“Oh ah!” he returned, with something like a gruff laugh. “Him? Yes, yes! He don’t want no wittles.”

“I thought he looked as if he did,” said I.

The man stopped eating, and regarded me with the keenest scrutiny and the greatest surprise.

“Looked? When?”

“Just now.”

“Where?”

“Yonder,” said I, pointing; “over there, where I found him nodding asleep, and thought it was you.”

He held me by the collar and stared at me so, that I began to think his first idea about cutting my throat had revived.

“Dressed like you, you know, only with a hat,” I explained, trembling; “and—and”—I was very anxious to put this delicately—“and with—the same reason for wanting to borrow a file. Didn’t you hear the cannon last night?”

“Then there was firing!” he said to himself.

“I wonder you shouldn’t have been sure of that,” I returned, “for we heard it up at home, and that’s farther away, and we were shut in besides.”

“Why, see now!” said he. “When a man’s alone on these flats, with a light head and a light stomach, perishing of cold and want, he hears nothin’ all night, but guns firing, and voices calling. Hears? He sees the soldiers, with their red coats lighted up by the torches carried afore, closing in round him. Hears his number called, hears himself challenged, hears the rattle of the muskets, hears the orders ‘Make ready! Present! Cover him steady, men!’ and is laid hands on—and there’s nothin’! Why, if I see one pursuing party last night—coming up in order, Damn ’em, with their tramp, tramp—I see a hundred. And as to firing! Why, I see the mist shake with the cannon, arter it was broad day,—But this man”; he had said all the rest, as if he had forgotten my being there; “did you notice anything in him?”

“He had a badly bruised face,” said I, recalling what I hardly knew I knew.

“Not here?” exclaimed the man, striking his left cheek mercilessly, with the flat of his hand.

“Yes, there!”

“Where is he?” He crammed what little food was left, into the breast of his grey jacket. “Show me the way he went. I’ll pull him down, like a bloodhound. Curse this iron on my sore leg! Give us hold of the file, boy.”

I indicated in what direction the mist had shrouded the other man, and he looked up at it for an instant. But he was down on the rank wet grass, filing at his iron like a madman, and not minding me or minding his own leg, which had an old chafe upon it and was bloody, but which he handled as roughly as if it had no more feeling in it than the file. I was very much afraid of him again, now that he had worked himself into this fierce hurry, and I was likewise very much afraid of keeping away from home any longer. I told him I must go, but he took no notice, so I thought the best thing I could do was to slip off. The last I saw of him, his head was bent over his knee and he was working hard at his fetter, muttering impatient imprecations at it and at his leg. The last I heard of him, I stopped in the mist to listen, and the file was still going.

[phantomnostalgist]

Hello, I haven’t logged in here ages. General life collapse, family things, a bereavement, generalized psychic collapse and need to rebuild myself from core basics, etc.

I wasn’t at all in right state to follow things around the Broadway closing, and I’m still not remotely in a state for fandom tbh, but had an urge to check in,

Also, the way the world is, sometimes you’ve gotta end up exploding and saying things, because social media, algorithms, propaganda, manipulation, and everyone’s utter conviction that they’re right all the time is fucking ripping everything apart. As well as doing the opposite of creating safe spaces. Based on an imaginary system of marginalisation points that everyone says isn’t how it works but still knows who they do and don’t count.

Whatever modern "feminism" is, or leftism, or progressivism, became unhinged from reality years before I woke up to quite how horrifically bad it had gotten. Particularly with tiktok, youtube, and the echo chamber of commercialized bullying disguised as leftist content. Which, when you're struggling, and broken, and alone, and in any of those groups the left pretends to care only in so far as to wave you as a shield when it serves their needs... leaves you the exact person the most vulnerable to end up in deeply toxic levels of blind extremism, twisted into the conviction you're on the right side of history. Not unlike how right-wing pipelines and echo chambers work. And just as evil.

So, ever think, maybe we are the baddies?

I mean, I've been on the wrong side plenty of times, and updated my opinion (and gotten attacked, of course). Yet still failed to see how literally brainwashed I remained on others.

This has nothing to with Phantom per say, except the social pressure and mass scale harassment extends into all areas, including social media from tiktok to twitter to youtube to twitch. And holy god, the algorithm boosts the absolute worst, and they can be very good at coming across reasonable and fair and informed and oh so very feminist, and you trust them - until lying shit after two-faced hypocrite is exposed- and you finally believing a word they say. And look at what the people they keep smearing as evil are actually saying. And then maybe you'll discover you were wrong on several more things.

But right now, one issue at a time, and my most recent discovery on the learning path, I'll leave for now. It'd help if people would wake up from their cult of antisemitism and propaganda from Qatar, funders of Hamas, through Al Jazeera, who are only based if you really hate gay people, women, Jews, and want to live in a fundamentalists right wing caliphate.

[shotorozu]

hello! i love ur writings <3

wanted to request a hc of todoroki, deku, and bakugou and their reactions to the tiktok trend where those two girls are laughing and ppl put their friends/family members in the camera thinking it’s their friend or something 💀 (here’s a link to one of the videos https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMe6oFVx5/ )

once again, love ur work and hopefully i did this request correctly 😩🙏🏽

s/o’s friends laugh at them

character(s) : bakugou katsuki, midoriya izuku, todoroki shouto (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, quirk’s not specific

headcanon type : crack, fluff (x reader)

note(s) : i always say that i’m going to upload more, since i haven’t in a day but i’m going to keep my promises this time. and maybe after my content dump, that’s when i’ll fix my masterlists

»»————-　♡　————-««

bakugou katsuki

this prank was very risky just like the other pranks you’ve pulled on him but that doesn’t stop you at all

you decided to do this prank after seeing it on the fyp— and also because of the prank’s simplicity since all you needed to do was download the tiktok

you called katsuki over when he finishes working out, and it all seems innocent “katsuki! come over here.”

katsuki, irritated— as he had just finished his exercise, he marches over to where you’re seated “what now, dumbass?”

“i want you to meet my friends!” katsuki only raises a brow, because he’s PRETTY sure that he’s met all of your friends

“now??” he sighs, “i thought i met all of your stupid friends.”

“not all of them,” you grin “c’mon please, katsuki?” and it’s over when your eyes twinkle, and he can only sigh— sitting next to you

“okay, let me meet them” he asks, and you pull up with your phone (that’s now filming, and with the video playing) and show him your ‘friends’

“this is katsuki! my boyfriend,” you introduce him to your ‘friends’

and he’s SO offended when your friends burst into laughter, “WHAT THE HELL’S SO FUNNY, EXTRAS??”

man was really about to explode your phone into pieces— and i’m serious about that part 🧎‍♂️ his hands were creating mini sparks out of anger

you had to coax him that it was just a prank, and they weren’t actually your friends

katsuki’s just 😐 “what did i expect from you?”

promise him that the video won’t go viral, and it won’t be seen by thousands and thousands of people.

you were wrong, and the video AND the audio ended up going viral. and katsuki had to hear his voice on tiktok for WEEKS.

“YOU TOLD ME IT WOULDN’T GO VIRAL DUMBASS” he fumes, red irises zeroing in on you.

“WELL SORRY— I DONT CONTROL THE ALGORITHM, but at least you’re famous!”

“fuck off,” he doesn’t mean that. but he just needs to learn how to not fall for your shit again, despite being really whipped for you

midoriya izuku

you’d feel bad because izuku’s ALWAYS at the receiving end of your pranks 💀

similar to bakugou, you decided to prank him because of the simplicity of the prank— and he wouldn’t get TOO offended by the prank’s nature, right? wrong 💀

izuku swings the door open, a couple of snacks held in his arms, “hey Y/N! i brought some snacks— what did you need me for?”

“oh, i want you to meet my cousins!”

he immediately goes red, setting down the snacks he brought to your room “your c-cousins? oh no no no, Y/N why didn’t you tell me? i could’ve showered before hand— i could’ve fixed my face and wore something different—”

poor izuku. he’s gesturing to his post workout state, since he was in such a hurry to get to your room with snacks.

but you brush his concern off “don’t worry, izuku! it’s through call. they won’t be able to smell you anyway.”

he calms down, and this when you decide to start the tiktok. “i’m going to call them,” he only nods, quickly hurrying over to your side— to meet your ‘cousins’

“say hi, izuku!” he nervously smiles, showing his face to the camera and waving his hand— totally oblivious of the intentions

he’s stammering on the introduction, and that’s when the rather hysterical laughing starts

he blinks, the feeling of defeat courses through his entire body— the green haired boy immediately moves away from the view

why exactly is izuku genuinely sad from your ‘cousins’ laughing at him? well,, it was always a thing for him to try his very best to be likeable to your relatives

your parent(s)/guardian? they adore him. siblings (if there’s any) they’re also very fond of him. so while you say that they’re your cousins— it still means a lot if he made a good impression

“i,, should’ve changed!” he sulks, the fact that the laugh was quite hysterical didn’t aid the issue, “your cousins will never like me,,”

his mind is put at ease when you tell him it’s a prank— and they’re not actually your cousins. so he doesn’t need to do any redeeming, regardless of the fact that he ‘just met’ them

he sighs in relief, actually glad that it was all just another innocent tiktok prank (that did make his heart race 10x faster)

the video blows up, his distraught reaction being splayed across the fyp, it eventually getting onto twitter— his face being used as an reaction video

“you’re viral, izuku!”

he’s content, despite his distraught reaction being spread across the internet. but he just wishes that your actual cousins don’t see it 💀

todoroki shouto

is most likely aware of your tiktok pranks— but please 💀 this one looked realistic to him, so how was he supposed to tell??

anyways, you decided to do this prank because you wanted to see how he’d react to your ‘family members’ laughing at him. his reactions are golden though

it’s harmless, in a way— it’s mostly a harmless prank. shouto knows how to not take things too seriously, but you just wanted to see his reactions.

“shouto, could you please come over here?” you call for him to sit right next to you, patting his usual spot next to you.

“what is it?” he asks, getting comfortable next to you, kissing your temple— and that’s when you pull out your phone

“i want you to meet my siblings!”

shouto’s puzzled, because one— he always prefers to meet your family members in person, and two— he didn’t know you had siblings (or more siblings)

“we’re not meeting them in person?”

“oh wait! i forgot to mention that they’re working abroad. so we can’t really schedule a meeting in person.”

shouto’s skeptical, but you reassure him further “it’ll be quick!”

the dual haired boy chooses to believe you which was honestly really wrong of him, “alright, i’ll meet them.”

he moves next to you, peaking at the screen “say hi to shouto!”

he was expecting a few things but,, them breaking out into hysterical laughter was just something else

shouto’s so confused 💀✋ someone please help him, it’s like you spoke to him in simlish. that’s what his reaction would be like.

and he’s just thinking things like— why are you guys laughing? is there dirt on my face? i didn’t even say anything funny??

“why are they laughing? love, i didn’t even say anything funny??”

oblivious shouto. he’s not even aware that it’s all just a tiktok prank. but he must say— he’s a little bit disappointed that he already has a bad impression on your ‘siblings’

it’s your turn to laugh, making his thinking at a vague state— shouto’s trying to think of pieces of dialogue he might’ve missed

“it’s a prank, shouto— look,” you replay the tiktok of the girls laughing, and it comes clearly to him now

“oh.” 🧍 honestly, why is he so shocked? it wasn’t the first time you managed to prank him in such a similar nature.

he’s not mad though— rather, shouto’s impressed. “love, i adore you— but i’m not sure on why i got surprised.”

“right? i’d think that you’re used to this but i guess you’re not!” nah, he just believes you a little bit too easily.

but that doesn’t mean he WON’T be suspicious when he actually has to meet your siblings.

“these,, are actually your siblings? no pranks this time, right?” he just wants to make sure. he won’t fall for your potential pranks again!

also, the video does well, the comments being filled with “LMAO HE LOOKED GENUINELY CONFUSED” “shouto todoroki being confused for 20 seconds straight 🤠❓❓”

shouto is very confused on why the girls were just laughing, putting everything aside— he just doesn’t know the context of that tiktok 🧎‍♂️

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission

[ray-the-fanatic]

seeing leosagi trend on twitter makes me so happy though at the same time i kinda avoid it cuz a majority of it is yu/ichi usagi that's with leo and i don't wanna ruin the fun of the people who enjoy the samurai rabbit show, i tried getting into the show a month ago but it just... did not catch my eye the same way rise did

maybe it's cuz the show's not technically about the og usagi or the fact that i struggle to care about cast and story itself cuz it feels... boring to me? idk, it's just hard for me to get into shipping rise leo with yu/ichi when i'm not really interested in the character or show (yu/ichi i mean), esp when i'm more attached to everyone's version of rise usagi

sorry if this seems a bit ranty ^^;;;

Okay  1. I was answering another ask when I saw this and deiced nope I need to answer this! 2.no so yes let us talk about this because i see you I feel you and get what you mean as well.3. Sorry this is gonna be a lil long.

Okay so I recalled when they originally announced doing the samurai rabbit show and I was excited cause Usagi content. Forgot about it till finally getting back into tmnt after being convinced to finally watch rise cause o didn't when it originally aired. Which sent me down a rabbit hole obsession on usagi in time for the Samurai Rabbit show coming out. And to make this easier when I say Usagi I’ll be talking about Usagi Miyamoto and Yu/ichi for Usagi Yu/ichi yes I know they have the same first name that's the point it’s just for clarification here.

Now I do not mind the show it’s fine for what it is and I think Yu/ichi is cute and interesting but I have a love hate thing for the show. I spoke to a mutual on tiktok about this and I know I made a post on my thoughts about the show. I like the concept of Usagi descendant  Yu/ichi trying to become a samurai in a future time period when Samurai aren’t around, because he idolizes Usagi. Only to find out Usagi is a bad guy so he tries to clear their name. Despite that set up its not really what we get and Yui/chi didn’t really clear their name im still annoyed about that. I do still enjoy Yu/ichi mostly the design I even drew some inspiration from it for my own rise usagi because I liked the bangs. And I do find he and rise leo could be fun buuuuuuuut He is not the Usagi I want.

See as I have gotten more into Usagi’s own series I have just really come to love the character even more and love the idea of him in rise compared to a cross over with samurai rabbit. I just love the idea of the conflict in personality I just want him to be a grounded samurai who is emotionally in touch. Like especially with Leo going into his role as a leader I just love the idea of that being when he meets Usagi because of how special that friendship is in the 03 series. Besides I enjoy the Lore of Usagi Yojimbo and would love tidbits of it in rise uwu

Well I will still share and enjoy ship art of both cause i’m greedy and like Leosagi I do agree with people that the two should have different ships names. I saw seabunny mention for rise leo and yu/ichi and thats cute. But yeah well the sudden boom on twitter been nice to see and I have a friend who prefers that version simply cause yu/ichi is cannon over a rise usagi is. Thats fine though I also feel there another reason for the push on yui/chi i’m just being skeptical though so i wont say that in this. I just personally perfect Usagi myself over yui/chi. Again theres nothing wrong with him it’s just well I feel hes getting more praise than what is earned really. Based off the show am I a fan of it? eh I like it i don't know if its something i’ll re-watch I wish the writing was better I kind wanna do a fix it fic for it but that's a lot of work compared to one shots lol

TL;DR: Well I dont mind yu/ichi as a charater when it comes to the leosagi thing esp for Rise I’m in the side of Usagi Miyamoto over Usagi Yui/chi. And feel they should have different ship names also 03/2012 usagi > over any other usagi uwu

[duuhrayliegh]

grilled cheese

pairing: seb stan x singer!reader

warnings: none really, its super fluffy, implied hate toward the reader

a/n: this was a request! i really hope i did it justice! i love you babes

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!

full m.list

You don’t really know how it happened, but it did. And now you were curled under the blankets of the bed you shared with Sebastian, hiding from the world. Your phone was silenced, face-down on the table beside the bed. The room was quiet, save for the incessant buzzing of your phone. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears leaking down your face.

“Honey?” Sebastian emerged from the door, entering the dark room. He went to flip the switch, but was stopped by a weak no coming from the heap on the bed. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, nonetheless he made his way to your side. The mattress dipped under his added weight, offering you a smidge of comfort. “What’s wrong?”

As soon as the tweets about that fucking Daily Mail article started flooding in, you distanced yourself from him. You sunk further into the bed, gripping the ends of the duvet closer to your body to prevent him from seeing you. You were no stranger to cancel culture, and you usually gave no stock to the things that it produced, but this time… well you just couldn’t ignore it.

“Y/N, baby. Talk to me, please?” You felt as Sebastian’s hands searched for you over the covers. He completely understood what it was like to get hate, especially from people who you thought supported you. The world can be cruel and opinions change on a dime. Sebastian was always impressed with how well you handled yourself when it came to being a media presence, but he knew there were going to be ups and downs.

“Go away, Bas, please.” Your voice was small and shaky, but Sebastian knew you needed to come to terms with things yourself. He needed that some times and he was lucky enough to have an understanding partner who would back off when he asked. So, he bent to your will, but not before swiping your phone off the table. Sebastian headed for the door, leaving at your request when he heard a weak i love you emit from under the covers.

“I love you too, Y/N. I’m here when you need me.” Sebastian took off to the living room, preparing himself for when you were ready. In the meantime though, he turned off your notifications for Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok. There was no reason for you to put yourself through more pain, not until your head cleared up a bit. He left your phone on the kitchen counter, stepping away from the infernal thing. Sebastian plopped on the couch, looking around the room, little memories popping up, triggered by certain things. He picked up a book, waiting for you to come out of your cave.

In the dark, you waited with bated breath for the constant buzzing of your phone, letting you know that more and more people were judging you, but it never came. Tentatively, you peaked your head out from beneath the white duvet that covered you. Eyes searching the table near you for your phone, hoping that maybe it stopped. Instead, you came face-to-face with an empty surface, void of your electronic torture device. You silently thanked Sebastian for taking it, closing your eyes and drifting into a dreamless slumber.

It was about two hours later, that the door to the bedroom opened again. Sebastian’s eyes immediately drawn to the noise. His head tilted and a sympathetic smile fell on his face as he took in your dishevled appearance. You were still covered in the white duvet from your bed. It was pinched just under your chin as you wore it as a cape. Sebastian shook his head at your antics, opening his arms as he sat on the couch. You shuffled over to his embrace, shoving your face into his stomach. His hand slipped under the duvet to stroke your hair, something he knew you loved.

“How you feelin��, Y/N?” His voice was low, trying to keep a calm demeanor when really he was bits and pieces inside. He worried for you. Sebastian listened as you snuffled, the audible retreat of snot back up your nose made him laugh once.

“I’m okay.” Sebastian’s hand trailed down your face, tilting your chin up to face him. His eyes drank in your puffy features, the streaks running down your cheeks made his heart hurt for you.

“You don’t have to be.” His thumb wiped away the tears gathering on your lashline. Sebastian could tell you were about to break down again, so he pulled you into his lap. Your legs dangled on either side of him as you straddled him. You buried your face in his neck as he stroked your hair with one hand and rubbed your back with the other.

“I just don’t get how they can be so mean.” You spoke through the tears, but Sebastian caught every word. He wondered that himself from time to time. There is an unrealistic standard set for celebrities to be perfect and act perfect all the time, when the reality of it is, they’re human too. Celebrities are going to make mistakes, they’re going to have slip-ups, and they’re not always going to be perfect. He kissed the side of your head, making shh-ing noises.

“I don’t get it either. I’m so sorry, draga.” He pulled back, trying to get a look at your face. “But, I do know that I’ll always be there for you.” He pushed your head back into his neck afterwards, letting you cry some more. Eventually, he let his hand drift to your waist, to the bit of exposed skin from where you shirt had ridden up. His thumb began tracing random patterns into your skin as he listened to your breathing even out, reducing your sobs to mere hiccups.

“Thank you, Bas.” You kissed his cheek, sitting back. “I shouldn’t even care, but ya know.” Your voice cracked at the end causing your still glassy eyes to roll. He watched as you bit the inside of your cheek. Sebastian shook his head, cupping both sides of your face.

“Don’t feel bad for experiencing your feelings.” His tone was light layered with seriousness. This was something he felt strongly about. He’s seen celebrities break when they finally allowed themselves to feel, he didn’t want that for you. “I’m not going to lie to you,” He shifted to move you off his lap, but stopped when you let out a low whine in protest. Sebastian gave you an almost imperceptible nod, picking you up with him as he traveled to the kitchen. He dropped you on the counter across from the fridge, the white duvet billowing around you.

“This is going to happen to you.” He let go of your for a second, retreating to grab a cold water from the fridge. “You’re in the public eye now, you’re expected to be a certain way.” He turned back to see you making grabby hands at him, waiting for his return.

“I know.” You snuffled again, rubbing your nose with the sleeve of your sweater. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Sebastian shook his head, standing back from the counter that you sat on. Your brow furrowed, legs kicking against the cabinets below as you opened and closed your hands for him. He smiled at you as he leaned forward, squeezing the outside of one of your thighs.

“You’re right, it doesn’t, but it does get easier. You learn how to tune it out.” He turned away from you and smiled when you let out a low whine again. “You need to eat something, you haven’t eaten all day.” He shuffled around the kitchen, pulling out various pots and pans, trying to decide which thing to make to nourish his love back to the picture of health.

You huffed from your spot on the granite, deciding to just wait because you saw that Sebastian was on a mission. Your eyes drifted around the room, eventually landing on your phone that sat on the other side of the counter. Your stomach dropped at the sight, but tentatively reached for it anyway. That little part of your brain telling you that you needed to know. Clicking the lock button illuminated the screen, your heart stopping when you only saw text message notifications. You looked over to Sebastian, listening as he began singing a Queen song under his breath. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized that he turned off your notifications, always there for you.

“Grilled cheese, okay?” Sebastian threw the question over his shoulder, not turning to look at you, implying that he wasn’t really asking. You swiped through your phone, snapping a quick picture of Sebastian in the moment. He had the Halloween patterned kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, contrasting with the dark blue shirt he wore. Deciding that you were going to be strong, you scrolled to your Instagram, posting the picture to your story captioned, get yourself a sebastian for when you aren’t your best. You locked your phone after you confirmed it posted, sliding the device away from you.

Sebastian turned back to you after plating the two grilled cheese sandwiches he made, a proud smile on his face. He handed you the plate, pushing his hands under your thighs to pick you up again, making your stomach do backflips. One thing you loved about Sebastian was that he could always tell when you needed him. He carried you into your shared bedroom, sitting on the bed with you still straddling his thighs. His back was pressed up against the headboard, but he leaned forward to nuzzle his nose at the base of your neck, pressing a light kiss there.

After he made sure you ate your sandwich, he put the plate on the bedside table, shifting your bodies again. He laid down, his arm under your head pulling you into him. He kissed the top of your head as you snuggled into his side, relishing in the safety that he radiated.

“I love you, Y/N.” His soft words and light caresses were the last thing you remember before drifting off into a much nicer sleep than the one earlier.

[k3rm1e]

hi love,

what about a short reader, like really short (i’m 5’0 lol) meeting ranboo irl for the first time. they get kinda intimidated by the height difference and their love language is physical touch so once they do feel better standing near ranboo it’s like the exact opposite, so now they’re all over him as if he was monkey bars.

also if you do end up using this could you tag me? i really wanna read it as soon as it comes out♥️

playground

hi love,

what about a short reader, like really short (i’m 5’0 lol) meeting ranboo irl for the first time. they get kinda intimidated by the height difference and their love language is physical touch so once they do feel better standing near ranboo it’s like the exact opposite, so now they’re all over him as if he was monkey bars.

also if you do end up using this could you tag me? i really wanna read it as soon as it comes out♥️

hi!! sorry this has taken a while, i am shit at scheduling (like really bad lmao) but i hope you like it anyways!!

cw: cursing 

playground:

  sitting in the airport, you waited for ranboo and his parent’s to pick you up. the california heat was absolutely miserable, burning you up. everyone in the airport seemed miserable, covered in the slick of sticky sweat. leaning your head over the back of your chair, you stared at the fluorescent lights.

  seeing someone shouting your name you picked your head up, only to flop it back down. how fucking tall was that kid…? would he crush you? stomp on you like a large goblin man? take you with his long arms and kidnap you, like slenderman? seriously, what the fuck were his parents feeding that kid????

  after a few more seconds of indulging your strange thoughts of the possible cryptids ranboo may be related to ((mothman possibly??) please?), he walked over and stuck his head over yours.

  “hello!” he stared at you from above, your brain racing with ‘tall man… tall man scary. but tall man friend…? confuse brain: ACTIVATE’ .

  “uh, hello ranboo.” you went to pick your head up from over the back of your chair, clashing skulls with ranboo. tall man = threat. 

  sitting on the floor you held your head, wishing you could simply evaporate in the sky and then be rained down on the earth. maybe droplet-you would land somewhere colder, like greenland. or alaska. knowing your luck, you’d probably enter the fiery pits of a volcano. maybe a desert. life is a misery of pain cursing you to feel the heat radiating of the sun. your existence was the explosion of one of the endless stars occupying outer space.

  “uh, you okay there? you’ve been sitting there for a few minutes now.” when you didn’t respond, ranboo made a confused noise. “i didn’t concuss you, did i?”.

  “no, no you did not.” finally coming back to earth, you looked at ranboo. sure, you had known he was 6’6'' but the knowledge of his height was not the same as seeing him in person. you would just barely reach his height if you sat on the shoulders of a small child. even then, you would still be shorter, as the small child would be flailing around. heh. small children are funny.

  standing up, you walked next to ranboo. with any other person you would be running to hug them. you had finally met one of your best friends, why weren’t you bursting at the seems. the simplest explanation for that is that he is so much taller when your next to him. thought he could crunch you like goblin earlier? wrong. you are jack and he is the beanstalk.

  while he moved his arms for a hug, you patted his arms in a way that felt cryptic. ranboo, already accepting your strangeness, patted you back. after the arm-patting-friendship-initiation ceremony,  you walked to the car. time to leave the stuffy airport.

  throughout the entire car ride, you sat as far from ranboo as you could. when he slid closer to you to show you something funny, whether it was on tiktok or twitter, you tried to press yourself into the car door. yeah, you might’ve been over reacting but who cares? he was a foot and a half taller than you, were you supposed to welcome him with open arms? if anything, it's good you were afraid. it means your survival systems were still (somehow) intact and working properly.

  once you arrived at the house, ranboo gave you your very own tour. within this tour, a pool was shown. a pool that would become your very new home. it was already decently late, which caused the enforcement of sleep. while you each went to your own rooms, you snuck out. pool time, as an escape from the blistering heat.

  in the dark of the night, you jumped in the pool, ignoring the noise you made. finally, a reprieve from the merciless, miserable heat. “finally, sweet, sweet, cool water.” you let our a pleased sigh, reclining in the pool, floating on the surface and lightly kicking your feet.

  with a quick end to your relaxation period, ranboo put his head through his window. “why are you in the pool?? its like two in the morning??” he stared down at you and you stared back. subconsciously, you moved further away from the house.

  “... hot. i wanted a reprieve from the rise of hell.”

  ranboo laughed and yelled back to you. “yeah, i expected that. i’ll be down soon.”

  you yelled back a “wha-!” but he had already moved away from the window. he was coming down there to what? join you in the pool with his tall-ness?

  you heard the back door slide open and out came ranboo. it seemed he also did not have the energy to change, both of you in normal clothing. Running torwars the pool, he jumped in, covering you in water.

  “oh my god! jesus! why is it so cold?!?” his head popped up and he was trying to push all his hair out his face. while he swan towards you, you backed away. he paused. “look, i don’t know if you’re playing some prank on me or whatever, but why are you acting so scared of me? seriously, i was super excited to meet you and i understand if you’re tired, but what’s your deal right now?”.

  you stared at him in silence. breaking the awkward silence, ranboo sighed and went to leave the pool. “... you’re too tall.” you muttered.

  “what?” ranboo turned around and stared at you.

  you sighed, accepting your fate. “you’re too tall. you’re like, a whole foot taller than me.”.

  he stared at you before breaking into laughter. “are you kidding me? seriously? that is NO reason to be scared i’m not gonna hurt you.”.

  you threw your head back. “i knowwww.”.

  ranboo started dying laughing, and soon enough you joined him. breaking out in a coughing fit, you stared at him. “i know, i’m an idiot.” you moved from the corner of the pool and moved near ranboo.

  “yeah, yeah, you are.” ranboo stared laughing at you and you could see him scheming.

  “no. no. nonononononono.” ranboo picked you up and through you into the water as hard as he could. swimming up as fast as you could, you saw him grinning like a fox. “you bitch!”.

  this started a disaster, of splashing each other and throwing people in the water. grabbing pool floaties, you both fell asleep in the water.

  the next morning your behaviors were a bit different.  “ranbooooo. i’m bored. hang out with me.” laying on his floor under an air conditioner, you looked at ranboo as he was editing a new video. from the corner of your eye, you could see a phone pointing at you. he better not post anything on tiktok.

  “i’m editing.” he smiled and kept looking at the screen, ignoring you.

  “like i give a shit. let’s go out. get ice cream.”

  knowing you would never shut up, ranboo gave in to your idiocy. “alright…”.

  quickly getting up, you forced him to take you to the ice cream shop, holding his hand all the way. arriving at the shop, ranboo was forced to pay for both cones.

  smiling, you chuckled. “gold digger…” you heard him mutter.

  sitting at the benches, you leaned your head on his shoulder. “so, what caused this change in personality?” ranboo leaned his head over to look at you.

  “nghhhhh;;;;;;; no.” you laughed at him, knowing you were frustrating him.

  “so you just magically decided i could be a replacement for a playground?”

  “i just got an idea! let’s go to the park! we can play on the playground.” ranboo sighed. you were the embodiment of :3, and definitely a handful.

finally this is out!! i hope you liked this, even though its late. very late… yes! But i hope you enjoyed this. side question - what’s everyone’s favorite ice cream flavor? personally, i always get superman from ice cream shops but strawberry from cartons.

tagged ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@feverish-dove

[txbbo]

I've been debating making this because this is definitely not what my blog is known for and I was worried that people wouldn't want to see it, but with the amount of shit im seeing on twitter it's compelled me to make this because I'm so frustrated.

I feel like I could make 100 posts about 'Cancel Culture' and it wouldn't be enough, so I'm just going to focus on what caused me to write this tonight - the Tommy situation. *Warning for a VERY long post below*

To be clear, Tommy has been in 'hot water' on twitter for the past couple weeks, roughly starting with the KSI collaboration where he made a joke about dream stans.

Last week, when the SBI 'exposing account' got made and twitter hyped it up, someone made a Tommy account and made a thread of things he needed to be '''educated''' on: https://twitter.com/idktommyinnit/status/1379158964148002821?s=20

I'll let you read it for yourself (and come to your own conclusion) but to me.... half of this stuff does not require a twitter thread? Breaking it down accusation by accusation:

1) 'The Mexican accent' - the clips show he is clearly only doing it when copying big Q (who famously exaggerates his own accent) and there is zero malicious intent (Big Q is also IN the 3 clips mentioned in the thread, and obviously didn't tell Tommy it was offensive). There's debates in the comments from people who think it is offensive and people who don't, so I'm not trying to pick a side. To avoid accidentally offending anyone, maybe it is best for him to stop, but the way twitter acts as if he was purposefully doing this to offend people is just not true.

2- 'Making a slave joke' - Even saying that feels wrong, because it suggests Tommy is doing something awful. Instead, they are referring to the 'bit' that Tommy, Techno, Tubbo and Ant were involved in, when Tommy and Techno took Tubbo and Ant as their slave. People are taking this vod and using it to accuse Tommy of being insensitive to Black people, but I think people are just assuming the worst. Slavery existed long before the transatlantic slave trade and still exists today. This is a role-play server - Tommy 'forced' Ant to work for him and used the word slave, which to me is exactly what was happening? People 'murder' others on the SMP, people 'kidnap' on the SMP, people are 'terrorists' on the SMP, and all happen without issue. To add, Ant is a WHITE man. Tommy taking a WHITE man as a slave is not something uber problematic.

3- 'His reply to Techno's 'murder is bad' tweet'. - I get people saying that Techno's initial tweet was insensitive, but saying Tommy's agreement to this from almost over a year ago is something notable and worth addressing is just super nitpicky and is clearly only in there to pad out the thread. It also makes me wonder what other CC's interacted with it and if THEY should be cancelled too (according to twitter).

4 - 'The saying slurs' tweet / jokes about 'whats the worst word you know' - This one I can kinda see how people might not like it. However, it's clearly a 'poke' at his friends, making them seem like bad people. To me, its in the same vein as 'Tubbo is a Tory' or when Tubbo shoots back that 'Tommy is a Nigel Farage fan'. They're obviously not, but its making fun of your friends by saying they are, and mockingly making them out out to be bad people.

5- 'Covid jokes' - People are taking jokes he made about him 'having covid' and saying he shouldn't joke about this, even going as far to linking it to asian hate crimes. I don't even know how to explain that that this is just? not a 'cancellable offence'? I'm sorry but if I hear anyone in my family coughing I make a little joke that 'they better not have covid' and I know other people do. I have someone in my family who is extremely vulnerable to Covid and if they caught it, would quite literally die, but I can understand that jokes like these are harmless. The whole internet had a running joke that we were in a 'panoramic' or 'Panera' or 'insert any word that sounds like pandemic.

This thread got a lot of attention and anything he tweeted afterwards was spammed with the link and there were so many people upset that he hadn't addressed it. I saw so many people say how 'upset' and 'disappointed' they were in him.

Going on to today, this happened: https://twitter.com/khasiid/status/1380611890104139776?s=20

I get it, it looks bad. But for context (which the tweet doesn't give), the reply was only up for less than a minute. It was obvious to me, even BEFORE Tommy addressed it in his stream (clip here: https://twitter.com/cowrpse/status/1380640046202593283?s=20 ) that it was a mistake. In the clip, he clearly acknowledges his mistake and seems embarrassed. To me, this situation should just be laid to rest because a mistake does not need this much attention, but twitter disagrees.

In case it wasn't obvious by now, the tide is turning against Tommy and people are less willing to ignore genuine mistakes and assume the worst.

Today, during his birthday stream people were clearly already waiting for him to mess up. Around half way through, he started saying 'finna' out of context and Tubbo joined in. This led to tons of tweets telling him he was misusing AAVE, and while there were plenty of people willing to be patient and educate, there were also people seeing this as an example of him being a 'bad person' and someone who should be 'without a platform'. I think people forget that not everyone has the same internet upbringing as they do. In general, I think its noted that the misuse of AAVE is something that has just recently been brought to attention. I learned about it through tiktok and stan twitter, and I don't think it's unimaginable that a British 17 year old boy (who is not active on either) has never heard of 'African American Vernacular English'.

Just for a fuller picture, today has also brought about another 'criticism' that I just had to address.

1) 'Tommy made a KKK joke' - Like the 'slavery' point, saying this is extremely misleading. It makes people think the worst. Here's the clip: https://twitter.com/ghostburz/status/1380673589612011522?s=20

Here, Tommy and Tubbo are both joking about Tubbo's 'bit' of naming his alt streams 'aaaaaaaaaa', 'bbbbbbb', 'cccccc', etc and how it would've been bad if it was 'kkkkkkkk' (for obvious reasons). That is literally it. It is a less than 20 second clip. Acknowledging that people woulda thought about the 'KKK' is not him 'not understanding Black issues', its a throwaway joke about the obvious.

Lastly, someone on twitter has made a tommyinnit (address asap) doc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1tZEZtBzikS-EYYkssfFtwVOoFqOwCK0zhStLe6H1wCc/edit

I've basically already covered everything in this document, but I wanted to mention how extremely 'guilt trippy' the whole thing is. I struggled to come up with the perfect word for the situation, and I am open to hearing other peoples opinion, but as I have mentioned none of these things Tommy has been accused of were done with malicious intent, and some I believe don't even need addressed at all.

'slavery is a source of astronomical trauma for black people, and isn’t something to be taken lightly if you’re to look into the horrors of the slave trade."

and "Oftentimes they are the last words we hear before we die and it really is not Tommy’s place to joke about words that affect us so negatively."

Are extremely emotional words for a 17-year-old boy to hear on his birthday, for stuff that I believe has been taken out of context and blown out of proportion.

I really feel bad for him, because such a large proportion of twitter (which ofc is the loudest side of the fanbase) is angry at him and is demanding (as the document says) ''either a stream or twitter thread/twitlonger to addressing this' and 'a long and serious apology instead of a short statement pre-stream'.

We all know how twitter works, and unless his apology is perfect (which to me means apologising for stuff that he should't have to, as explained in the thread), twitter will continue with this weird hyper focus on everything he does, and it's not going to end well.

Twitter's mentality of 'putting everything this person has done that could ever be considered problematic' into one neat little thread is so unhelpful and counter intuitive. I got overwhelmed reading some of the stuff people were saying about him, I can't imagine how he feels.

I feel like I have more to say but at risk of writing an essay longer than my actual work I have to do, I'm going to end here.

[luvdsc]

mark lee sucks at technology.

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.

Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged. 

Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.

Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.

The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”

His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.

“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.

“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”

His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”

“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”

You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.

“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”

“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.

You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.

You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.

“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”

Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).

“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.

“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.

“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”

“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.

“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”

“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”

The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.

“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.

“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.

“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”

“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.

“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”

“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”

“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).

“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play. 

You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”

“No cookie?”

“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”

Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.

Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.

After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode. 

Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”

Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”

His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”

By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.

As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.

“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.

“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”

“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.

“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”

“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.

When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).

“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”

“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).

“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.

“... No.”

You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”

Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.

Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.

After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?

Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold. 

Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.

However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.

You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.

“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”

“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”

“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”

“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”

“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”

“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.

“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.

“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”

Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”

He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.

And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.

You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.

“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you. 

“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”

“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”

“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”

“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”

You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.

You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”

Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”

Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”

You take a deep breath. “This.”

You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.

A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”

You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.

When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.

“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.

“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.

“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.

“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.

“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”

When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”

“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.

“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.

“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.

“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.

“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:

“Can we do number three again?”

“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”

He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.

At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?

Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.

One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!

moominjun commented:

so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?

donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧

nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖

goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴

morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck

tytrack commented:

mark is going through puberty. I apologize

dobunny replied: @.@

goofys.chuckle commented:

are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?

morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????

goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?

goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???

moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO

goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

jenojam commented:

why am I not surprised……

itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉

suhprisemf commented:

mark your head looks flat af

jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂

10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry

letswonwon commented:

whoop whoop

junguwu commented:

OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍

takoyaki_prince commented:

MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘

jisungpwark commented:

rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻

bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔

peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺

yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️

donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔

morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????

officialgordonramsay commented:

didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?

apado_god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻