#mr monkey is so the love of my life

[chlorophyll-tints]

inktober week 1!! but it’s only luffy :3

[eideticmemory]

SNAP OUT OF IT | SPENCER REID

Spencer knows he’s just a coworker. He knows he’s just a friend. He knows you’ve got a boyfriend. He just doesn’t really give a fuck!

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning/Includes: Taken!Reader, DownBad!Spencer, a little angst and a little smut.

Dedicated to wifetthew + future mrs stewart (and sidepiece) who inspire me everyday and don’t even realize it.

Spencer vividly remembers the moment he realized he was in love with you. Spencer remembers everything about you but this moment in particular, he recounts in his mind a lot. You had just joined the unit. He could tell you - you'd only been there three months, two weeks, and five days. You were flying across time zones so by the time you landed, it would be six days. Everyone else had fallen asleep or was nearly there. Save for you two. You tried your hand in a round of chess but you're shit at it so you'd taken to a game of cards. Spencer remembers thinking it was the easiest conversation he's ever had in his life. He could talk and talk and talk until he lost his breath and when he was done, you'd do the same until there was no air left in your lungs either. He shuffled the cards between his fingertips, hanging onto your every word, watching the sparkle in your eye as you spoke. He kept firing out subtle agreements between your words like, 'yeah...oh, I know...absolutely,’ not just because it's impossible to disagree with your pretty face but because you’re so smart. You get it. He actually had the thought: she gets it.

Finally, he thought, someone gets it.

And you felt just the same. You said to him, "Thank you for agreeing. No one ever gives a shit about my foreign film analysis."

"I...I give a shit."

You chuckled at the gentleness with which he swore and although his voice was soft, it was genuine. "I appreciate it. My boyfriend's unreasonably against the horror genre as a whole. I think it's his biggest flaw. I like being scared."

Because you were too busy counting up your cards, you couldn’t see the bright smile instantly drop from Spencer's face. He could feel the shift in his muscles, the way his eyes stretched wide. He promptly shifted his gaze down and cleared his throat, “B-boyfriend?"

"Yeah..." you shrugged. Very casual, very nonchalant. "Three years next month."

"Oh, wow," he replied and it sounded kind of snide but you didn't think much of it. “That's nice."

He had realized he was in love with you three years too late.

Spencer could have accepted defeat, yeah. Absolutely. If there's one thing the boy genius can do, it's compartmentalize. This is work. This is [y/n]. This is my coworker. This is our job. This is our jet. These are the cards we've been dealt. The best thing to do would be to play them as they fall. Yet, he keeps himself awake for six hour flights just to hold your undivided attention, to talk about things nobody else cares about. His eyes linger on you as you deliver a profile and he thinks: That's [y / n]. That's her face. That's her voice. That's the sweater that matches her eyes just right and the boots she wears when we travel down south. If there's one thing the boy genius can't do when it comes to you, it's compartmentalize. How could he?

He finds himself standing by the elevator at four in the morning. There is nothing exciting about being called in at four in the morning, save for the prospect of seeing you. The elevator dings and he stands up straight, poses his satchel just perfectly on his hip. He wants to be picture perfect ready. Like a model directly out of a Backup Boyfriend catalog. Although, when you step out, you don't even notice he's there. You storm through the bullpen, your phone held up to your ear and your head ducked down. You sequester yourself in an awkward corner, far enough that you feel secluded but not enough so that Spencer can't see you. He sways in place, an attempt to look casual, his hair tucked behind his ear so he can hear you better. He picks up strained words like, 'please...I don't know...okay...fine...bye!' It all comes to a sudden end, your thumb landing on the screen with such force that it could crack.

You seamlessly join the rest of the team, shoving your phone in your back pocket. Try as you might to shift your focus, the edge hasn't quite left your body so when Spencer asks, "You okay?" You respond with a curt, "Yeah. I'm fine.”

He thinks: That's fine. That's okay. I can take it. On the jet, you bury your nose in a case file and when your phone won't stop vibrating, you silence it completely. Spencer brings you a cup of coffee and you hardly even process it.

"Cream and extra sugar," he pips because he knows that's how you like it.

"Thanks.”

That's it. Spencer waits for more but it never comes. He sits on the opposite side of the jet, watching you pick up your phone, huff, and type, type, type in a rage. He thinks: I cannot take this.

The case is a good distraction. A relief for him to know that even when you are not yourself, you're still brilliant. You just can't help it. There's a moment where he just finishes the geographical profile and you stand at his side, arms crossed as you look it over. Your gasp cuts through the air like a knife and his eyes land on you instantaneously.

"Spencer Reid." You put your hand on his shoulder and oh, he almost drops to his knees. “You're a fucking genius."

You race out of the room and he exhales a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He grips onto his shoulder and his skin is still red hot.

A win is good. You needed a win. You all needed a win. Makes you feel good for something. Makes the flight home much less suffocating than its departure. On top of solving murders in a rush, the mental gymnastics your brain has endured over the week leaves you exhausted. You pull a blanket over your body and snuggle against the solid walls of the jet. You let out this big, heavy sigh just as Spencer sits down across from you.

“Close call today, huh?” he says.

“Yeah,” you nod. You look up at him with these bleary eyes and they’re so beautiful that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk.

But he does, “All thanks to you.”

You smile. You want to be bashful, to deny the praise, but you don’t have the energy. “Thanks for the pat on the back.”

“Oh, anytime.”

He watches you take another deep breath, your body lulling into further peace by the second. He hates to disrupt it. “You, uh…” he stutters. “You wanna share what’s been bothering you now?”

You glance over at him from the corner of your eye, “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to a profiler.”

You chuckle. He loves to make you laugh. “It’s nothing,” you shake your head.

“You…you know I’m the profiler, right?”

You sit up, another laugh escaping your throat without much thought. It feels nice. “Yeah. Right.”

“So?”

“I’m just��stressed…” you finally admit, though that part was evident.

“Blackjack?” He sets an array of cards in front of you.

You nod, “I have a stressful job. Hit me.”

He flips another card, “Five. Yeah, you do.”

“And…it’s hard when…when things at home are stressful, too. Makes it worse. Hit me.”

Another card, “Ooh, six. That makes sense.”

“Sometimes, I…I don’t know…I let myself get pulled in too many different directions,” you look over your cards, dangerously close to 21, and you take a leap of faith. “Hit me.”

He turns the final card over and it brings you right to 21. The way it unfolds shocks you, pulls you from your brain fog and you break out in a grin. “21? That’s 21, right?”

“Yeah,” he nods. He bites down on the smile on his lip and it’s a look on him you’ve never seen before. You can’t stop staring at it. “All you, money bags.”

You giggle, “Did you rig that?”

“Me? No,” he shakes his head, casually clearing the pile. “There’s no rigging in blackjack.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve heard that before.”

“Everything should be that easy for you,” he whispers. There’s a slight change in his tone that even an untrained profiler could pick up. He glances up to meet your gaze, “I’d rig it all for you if I could.”

Now, he thinks because he’s resetting the table that you’re not focused on the subliminal message in his voice. But you notice. You look down at your cards, look back at him, “Hit me.”

When the boyfriend is a concept, an idea trapped inside your phone, a mirage that you only mention in passing conversation, Spencer doesn’t think much of him. Spencer doesn’t think of the motherfucker at all. You clock into work and he’s determined to take the time he can get with you, any way he can, the only way he knows how.

You get back into DC one night and the sun hasn’t even set yet. Emily and JJ invite you out for drinks and it’s with an anxious nod that you accept. So Spencer super graciously accepts. He strides beside you on the walk from the bureau, keeping you tucked in on the safety of the sidewalk because he doesn’t know how to not shield you. From anything. You order a wine and a glass of water. Spencer sits right beside you and orders himself a shirley temple.

You gasp, “Ohhh my god, I should’ve got that.”

“Here,” he slides the glass over to you.

“Oh, no, no. It’s okay.”

“No, take it.”

“I can’t.”

“But I’m offering. I don’t even want it. Maraschino cherries, yuck, gross. You have it.”

You chuckle and shyly grab the drink, sticking a straw in. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” he nods. And he means that mhm in the way of it’s really no big deal. He’d give you a kidney if he was a match.

He trades you for your water though he doesn’t pay much attention to it. He watches you fall into loud conversation with the other ladies, yours being the only laugh to match Penelope’s in pitch.

You lean into him, cackling, “She’s insane. Oh my god, she’s ridiculous.”

His skin buzzes where your shoulders make contact and his face is bright red from how wide he smiles at you. “Oh, yeah. I could’ve told you that.”

Spencer’s absolutely obsessed with the joy in your eyes, the way you nearly choke on your second shirley temple. The way you’re so close to him. He cannot look away. So when your smile suddenly drops and that joy’s promptly replaced with anxiety, he’s the first to notice.

“Hey,” you whisper to the figure behind him. He turns around and looks the man up and down. “You’re early.”

The Boyfriend shrugs, “Sorry. Hi, everyone.”

He’s not at all like Spencer imagined him. He’s taller. Not as much of a little bitch.

You rise from your seat and wrap your hand around Boyfriend’s bicep. “Uh, this is just some of the team. That’s Emily, Penelope, JJ and, uh, Spencer. This is my boyfriend.”

They all dole out polite waves and smiles. Except for Spencer. He stands up tall and ha, just as he thought, they’re the same height. He gives Boyfriend a stern handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Spencer? Heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Haven’t heard that much about you.”

The ladies exchange confused glances and you exhale a quick breath to cut the tension.

“Well, we’ve been together a while. Too much there to sum up in words, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Spencer nods and here is another smile you’ve never seen on his face before. It’s not genuine. That, you know.

“You ready to go?” Boyfriend asks and you nod.

“Mhm. Bye, you guys!” you wave, falling into the grip of the possessive hand around your waist.

Emily glares at Spencer as he lowers back onto his stool, his eyes not leaving the door even when you’re long out of sight. “You done swinging that thing around?” she mutters.

“Hm?” he hums. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mhm.”

As Boyfriend opens the car door for you, he can’t help but comment, “So that’s Spencer, huh?”

“Yeah?” you buckle yourself in and it’s an anxious few seconds before he’s buckled in beside you.

“Well, it makes sense now.”

“What?”

“The little toothpick’s in love with you.”

Spencer doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that the time you spend on your phone at work becomes more frequent after that. That you come in looking drained and pale even at ten o’clock in the morning. That, carefully, you distance yourself from him. It’s not a coincidence. It just hurts.

As he reads over a case file, he builds a tower of cards. You can’t help but admire the way his brain splits in two, one side reading and the other stacking each piece just right. It’s cool. You think it’s cool, but there’s not a kind bone in your body today and you snip, “Got nothing better to do?” as you sit across from him. “People are dying.”

“People are always dying. Kind of how we get a paycheck.”

“Mm. How altruistic of you.”

“I’m just passing the time,” he continues to stack. He’s very near the top of the pyramid. “People do all sorts of things to pass time.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you know. They spend hours, days, weeks, years…building something. And you know, you would think that would ensure some type of stability or longevity or…anything, right?”

“I guess.”

“But sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes no matter how much time passes or…how much effort you put in,” he places the final two cards on top. “It’s just not meant to last.”

And with a tiny flick of his finger, the whole pyramid comes tumbling down. You can’t help but watch the picturesque scene, the way they float down onto the table in a big mess.

Spencer doesn’t think there’s a chance in hell that you don’t know what he’s talking about. You’re smart. You get it.

You don’t acknowledge it, though.

That night, you can’t sleep. For some reason, you’ve got this idea in your head that if you force your eyes open for a few hours longer, you can make yourself useful on a case that, so far, has no end in sight. The hotel accommodating the team is a nice one. There’s a library on the first floor that they leave open 24/7, perfect for a profiler on the hunt. You flip through the files in the near pitch black, curled up in a chair beside the tiniest lamp in the world. Despite your eye for detail, you don’t even notice when Spencer walks in. Not until he clears his throat.

You look up at him, startled, until you see his face, “Oh,” not the reaction he was hoping for. “Should’ve known you’d find me here.”

“I like to think I’d find you anywhere,” he shrugs. He sits down in the chair beside you and looks over your shoulder. You can smell him from just a foot away but it doesn't affect you. It can’t affect you. “Any luck?”

“No. Care to help?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, great.”

“[y/n], it’s late. Nothing you can do without brain power.”

“I just hate…” you start, the exclamation coming out before you can hold yourself back. Spencer watches you intently, hanging onto your voice. “T-the detergent they use on the linens. Gives me a headache.”

He sighs, “Yeah. Me too. I swiped some extra pillow mints. Want one?”

“Mhm,” you hold your hand out and unwrap the candy instantly. It helps your anxiety.

Enough so that you open up just a bit more, you tell Spencer about the headache that’s been bashing against your skull all day. “But maybe I’ve just had too much coffee.”

“Or not enough.”

You laugh, “Yeah, no, that must be it.”

Your phone pings in your lap and you check the message very quickly, the small smile that once sat on your lips dissipating in thin air. Just when he wrangled a laugh out of you, Spencer thinks. Of course. He watches your entire mood change in the blink of an eye and he fucking hates it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Yeah…tired. Should probably head to bed.”

“But the detergent?”

You chuckle, “I’ll survive.”

On the elevator ride up to your floor, you rest your back against the wall, Spencer perched right beside you. You keep your eyes closed, your hands gripping the bar for balance. The motion doesn’t help your headache. You gulp, clear your throat, and when you open your eyes, Spencer is staring at you. Shamelessly. You furrow your eyebrows at him, tracking his eyes as they focus in on your mouth.

“Are you looking at my lips?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“Can you read them?”

“Mhm.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” that snaps him out of his trance and he stands up straight, shaking his head. The elevator dings and he walks off, exasperated, exhausted, exclaiming, “[y/n], who cares?”

Your jaw drops in shock and by the time you step out to follow him, he’s already marched into his room. You scoff as you burst into your own suite. You crash in bed and you lay there tossing and turning for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s only thirty minutes but it’s long enough. Long enough for this unbridle, illogical rage to build within you. Long enough for your mind to fill with thoughts like: who the fuck does he think he is? What the fuck does he know? Oh, I’ll tell him what he doesn’t know. And you hop out of bed. You storm down the hall in your slippers, knocking on Spencer’s door like, ironically, the feds.

Lucky for you, he was nowhere near asleep yet. He swings the door open and he opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“Listen, Einstein.”

“I’m listening.”

“Just…just because you don't get it doesn’t mean you have the right to shit on my relationship.”

“Who was shitting on your relationship?”

“Stop it.”

“Fine, I was shitting on your relationship.”

“And that’s not fair.”

“But you’re…” and he enunciates this next word very clearly. “Not happy.”

“Don’t tell me what I am. You don’t know anything. You don’t know me or my life. You don’t get to cast judgement.”

“Oh, okay. Okay. Well, then, I’m so happy for you, [y/n]. I am.”

You’ve said all you need to say and you have no interest in hearing any more. You turn around and march away but he persists, “Hey, I really am. I’ll be the first one to buy something off your wedding registry!”

There are no more card games on the jet for a while.

And that sucks, but you’re trying to prove a point here. Spencer knows nothing. Maybe no one’s ever told him that before and maybe that’s why it stings. Maybe that’s why he can hardly look you in the eye, but you’re trying to prove a point here.

You’ve drawn a boundary that should’ve been drawn long ago. Not even because you wanted to but out of spite. Spite can carry you a long way. It has before. The nature of your work makes it easy to clock in and think of nothing else. Focus on nothing other than getting the job done. It’s the moments in between that are hard.

Like tonight, as you’re typing up case notes at your desk. It’s too quiet. It leaves too much room for opportunity. Taking full advantage, Spencer sets a small gift bag in front of you. You tilt your head as you look up at him, your face etched with inhibition.

“I…” he stutters. “I got it a while ago. Thought it’d be a nice birthday present and I won’t see you tomorrow, so…”

You give him a small smile. The ice doesn’t just thaw, it melts. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” you dive into the bag, pulling out the hardcover book and holding it flat between your palms. You release a small gust of air from your nose. You touch the textured font of the lettering along the cover. “Oh, Spencer.”

He has to act like the tone in your voice doesn’t have the biggest effect on him. Hearing his name in such a gentle whisper. He just shrugs, “I recognized the limited edition cover while I was in this library near the art museum. It’s a nice library, you’d like it.”

“I love it,” you breathe before you can censor it. “The book. I love the book. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.”

There’s so much more to be said. The weight of it all vibrates behind your teeth and you grind them together as you gaze at Spencer. He can see your mouth aching to open but he knows it won’t.

“Well…happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope it’s a great one.”

“Thank you.”

And you watch him disappear. You feel your heart sink to the barrel of your stomach, like all the words you’re destined to scream out to him are making you sick.

This nausea lasts well into your birthday. No matter the sheer amount of fuss. No matter the amount of texts or calls or gifts that arrive at your door. You’re sick. Even when you put on your fanciest dress for dinner, you curl up in your office with your new book, finally and for no reason, gathering the courage to open its pages and read the quote recounted on the first page.

“And here you come

with a shield for a heart

and a sword for a tongue”

Happy Birthday, [y/n]

Spencer

You slam the book shut and trap it in the drawer of your desk. You’re sick.

You still eat at your birthday dinner. The love and affection reserved for a day like today helps settle your stomach. You think: I am [y/n]. It’s my birthday. These are my gifts. They are from people who love me. This is my boyfriend. This is my birthday cake. It works, it’s working.

Then he pulls out that fucking ring.

The angle at which he kneels in front of you catches the light just right and the diamond blinds you in the eye. Your mind, along with the entire room, falls silent. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime - silence. When his voice cuts through the thick air, you can see his lips moving, you can hear the vibrations going wah wah wah wah wah. But nothing is as loud as the sound of your own breathing, heavy and rapid. Your hands are over your heart but just to keep it from forcing its way out of your chest. You’re sick.

You’re sick.

Spencer had just gotten in bed. He made it the entire day without allowing himself to call you and now he figures he can force himself to sleep. That is until there’s a booming knock at his door. Now he’s wired. He springs into action like it’s not a potential threat and he throws his body against the door to glance out the peephole.

When he opens it, you are still out of breath. Your chest is heaving and you wheeze with every exhale. His eyes travel down your body, the pretty dress and your beaten and bare feet, the heels dangling from your fingers. The look in your eyes is a mystery to him. It’s laced with exasperation and desperation and he furrows his brows trying to figure it all out. Nonetheless, when he sees you moving towards him, he wraps his arms tight around your waist, opens his mouth and gasps as you kiss him.

He’s quick to close the door behind you, stumbling when you drop your shoes to the ground, but only for a moment. No time for stumbling here. He moans at the sudden grip you take of his hair and his body pushes into yours even more, directing you to his bedroom with just the pressure of his chest.

Never expecting this to happen, let alone tonight, Spencer is quick to swipe away all the books that have piled up on his bed. He promptly takes their place and grabs your waist to pull you back into the kiss. You have to hike your dress up your thighs to properly straddle him but once you, he swears he can feel the warmth all the way to his toes.

Your eyes roll back as he licks all over your neck, attacking your chest with sloppy kisses and sudden bites. You feel his erection raise between your legs and the pressure of it has you moaning directly in his ear. The vibration scratches just the right spot in his brain and he bunches your dress up in his hands, the veins along his arm straining through his skin.

You huff, pull back to look at his face, his eyes hooded and hungry. “What…” you pant. “What am I doing?”

Caught off guard, Spencer can’t do much but blink. And shrug. “What…are you doing?”

You stumble over your words, if that’s what you could even call them. It’s more a collection of whines and one short whimper before you simply carry on. Grab his face, catch his mouth and let it go. Perfect for Spencer, because he didn’t really need an answer.

He follows your lead as you undo the tie on his sweatpants. He pushes and you pull until his throbbing cock is free. You don’t mean to gasp, but you do. It just all feels so unreal, like a dream, like a fantasy. Except it’s not, it’s tangible. You can feel it. You can touch him - and you do. You wrap your hand around him and shudder as he grips onto your forearms. His teeth are clenched tight so it makes it harder for him to kiss you, harder for him to breathe but he keeps you locked in place. If he could talk, he’d beg please don't stop, please. Please, please, please.

And it’s like you can read his mind. Through the ferocity with which he pushes his face into yours, the way his hips buck underneath you, you get it. You’ll give it to him. You pull your panties to the side and just the tip pressing against you sends a visual jolt through your body.

“Yeah?” You whisper. More like - right? This is right? Right?

Almost immediately, Spencer grunts, “Yes. Yes. Yeah,” he could say it in a million other languages if it would get the point across but english is good enough. You lower yourself down on him and thoughtless, he yelps, “Yes!” as he falls back on the bed.

Even though he’s transcended his own body, Spencer keeps his eyes locked on you. His gaze follows your jaw as it drops wide open and both of your moans fall in sync as you start to roll your hips. Spencer’s hand clamps down on your thigh, the other reaching up to touch your face. The tender contact makes your vision blurry but you can still see the way he’s looking at you.

He touches your hair and your jaw and takes a soft sweep over your cheekbone. His thumb runs over your bottom lip. He can feel your breath coming out hot and quiet each time you land on him, the rhythm of your body taking the air out of both of you.

Is this really happening? he thinks. This can’t be happening. But you increase your speed, lower your inhibition, send a shock of pleasure through him so good that he has no choice but to believe it’s real. You catch his thumb between your lips and he grunts, whines out for you, “[y/n]…”

“Mm, yes?” you lay your body flat against his, your hands intertwining with his amongst the bedsheets and he clenches his fist tight, tight, tight, tight. It’s all so much. Stimulation coming from everywhere at once. From your chest rubbing against his, from your pussy tightening around him like you’re nearly swallowing him whole. From the messy kiss your lips tangle in and the ever increasing volume from you both.

Spencer bends his knees behind you, supporting your body when your movements become rushed and uncontrollable. With your hand pressed to his chest and your head thrown back, he’s emboldened enough to grope your breasts, losely place his hands around your throat.

“Oh…” you whimper. “G-god…” and Spencer hangs onto the broken sound of your voice, enamored by the way your eyes cross over one another. He feels like he’s not doing much, like his body is still in shock and most focused on keeping himself grounded. As you crash down on him, he bends underneath the pressure, overwhelmed as each bounce grows more deliberate than the last. Each collision accompanied by a throaty, “Mm…mm…hmm.” Until your thighs come to a grinding halt and latch onto him, the orgasm radiating from your belly to your chest and directly to your head. He responds to your boisterous moan with a breathless gasp, catching you in his arms when you land on his chest.

He peppers your shoulder with tiny kisses, licking his way to your neck, biting your throat because he absolutely has to. Your hips continue in this mindless rhythm, draining every last twitch from your body as he whispers, “[y/n]…”

“Hm?”

“[y/n]…I, mm,” you catch his voice in your mouth, pushing your tongue between his lips. You attack his neck. You push his shirt up his torso just to move down his body and kiss his stomach.

“[y/n]…ah!” and though you love the sound of your name on his lips, you love to hear him scream even more and after you suck his cock into your mouth, he can’t stop screaming. Mouth open, body trembling, ear ringing moans. He reaches down to keep your hair out of your face and his hips jolt a bit rougher than he means to. He wants to look at you but his body is too taut. He wants to hold you in the palm of his hand, to call out your name one last time to make sure this is real. But he shoots into your mouth, his legs flailing around your frame, and all he can do, still, is scream.

You hum. You swallow. You slide off of him with a sharp pop. You crawl off of his body and drop as soon as your head hits the pillow. Spencer’s hand keep track of you, grazing your thigh, sad to feel you leave, begging to keep you close. Even as he struggles to breath, he balls up the edge of your dress in his fist. You lean back against the headboard, looking up at his ceiling fan, your body finally exerting all its energy and unable to move any further. The room has settled into nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and catharsis.

Spencer looks up at you and when you make eye contact with him, there are so many more complicated thoughts you could have. But the only thing that swims in your mind is the slow bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You rest your knuckles on his cheekbone and he promptly grabs your wrist, peppers soft kisses all over your hand.

You owe him something. He has every right to ask. As he opens his mouth, you’re prepared to tell the truth. You will give him nothing but the truth.

“Did you see they’re adapting another Stephen King novel into a movie?”

You exhale a small laugh. Partially because you weren’t expecting it and partially because you had been dying to talk to him about it. “Yes. And I think it’s stupid.”

“Me too! I mean, the premise is promising, I think it can be done, but it’s the…”

“Supernatural element.”

“Yeah!”

“It’s hard to pull off. Major chances of it turning out cheesy and robotic.”

“Yes! Thank you! I’m still going to see it.”

“Oh, me too,” you laugh and his laughter blends in just perfectly.

It can wait. There’s a lot to catch up on. A lot of questions to ask and answer but for now, it’s easy. This, Spencer thinks. This is it. This is actually the easiest conversation he’s ever had in his life. And he’s not gonna fuck it up now.

Author’s note:

Ahh 😝 thanks for reading!!! Like, reblog, comment, all the things!! Just wanted an excuse to post this meme. Stay safe out here 😚

[doctorbeth]

A giant bear and a tiny monkey, from the same home!

Back in August a gentleman reached out to me about his wife's giant panda, Edward (Eddie) Bear. He wasn't just giant by breed, but he was actually a giant at about 5 feet from head to toe.

Here are some diagnosis photos:

In addition to stuffing compression, Eddie had quite a few seam issues, and some (not visible) tears. He came to the hospital for a spa and wound repair. Here he is in his bubble bath (he gets the giant tub).:-)

Restuffing took quite a few adjustments to get his shape right, but soon he was restuffed, fur fluffed, wounds repaired, and ready to head home:

Now Eddie headed home and his family was very happy! They wrote:

"Thank you so much, Beth, for providing the excellent care that our boy needed and deserved.

S and I are 100% satisfied with his outcome, so much cleaner, much less slouched and his wounds are all fully healed.

I wonder how many people realize and act on their true calling in life.

I believe I do with my wood working, and I know you do with Realms of Gold."

Nice, yes? But even better... a few weeks later the gentleman's wife reached out. Now that Eddie was better, she wanted to get her husband's companion, Mr. Monkey repaired. She wrote:

"First off let me start by telling you how happy Les and I are with the care you gave Eddie Bear. He is like new again and we are so pleased! 

Sooo, it got me thinking about Mr. Monkey. Mr. Monkey is Les’ child and has definitely seen better days. I have my doubts as to whether he can be helped because of the shape he is in.  But I thought it was worth a try to inquire."

Here are his diagnosis photos, and if you've been a long time reader of my blog, you may guess my response... he's not nearly as bad as you think and we can definitely help him!

The plan was a spa and recovering Mr. Monkey's brown. The brown area was originally knitted (which I don't repair), but we agreed recovering it in a fur or fabric would add to his stability without changing his personality. So he came to the hospital and....

Here he is in his spa:

Much tinier than Eddie, Mr. Monkey is slightly bigger than a hand!

Of course Mr. Monkey (and Eddie) got hearts of original stuffing... here are the two hearts:

There were several fabric options for Mr. Monkey's brown, and his people opted for a thin minky fur. Here he is all better!

Mr. Monkey headed home and when he arrived his family wrote:

"Mr. Monkey is home safe and sound! He looks GREAT! He said he enjoyed being at the hospital, getting such great care from you! By the way he talks, I think he’s quite smitten with you! He says he’ll miss you!  

Anyway, we can’t thank you enough for your TLC and expertise! 

Don’t you love the red bow tie? It came on a Christmas gift and L snatched it and saved it for when Mr. Monkey returned home. "

And here he is looking spiffy in that new bow tie!

[loafysainz]

Accidentally, Forever | LN 4

lando norris x fem!reader

warn: 10000% fluff

happy reading!!!

Lando Norris and Y/N had been best friends for as long as they could remember. Their love story wasn’t one of grand confessions or slow-burn realizations—it was pure chaos, endless laughter, and the kind of bond that made people around them question how they hadn’t gotten together sooner.

Lando had spent years calling Y/N every ridiculous nickname under the sun—idiot, gremlin, monkey, even “bro” sometimes—but never anything remotely romantic. Not seriously, anyway. But now, standing in their dimly lit bedroom on their first night as husband and wife, the reality of their new titles suddenly hit them both at the same time.

“Honey?” Lando tested out, his voice soft but uncertain, like he was tasting a new flavor of ice cream.

Y/N, already sitting cross-legged on the bed in her oversized pajamas (because there was no way she was spending her first night as a married woman in some cliché silk nightgown), looked at him with wide eyes.

Lando swallowed. “Baby?”

Silence.

They stared at each other.

Then, as if a switch flipped, they both BURST into uncontrollable laughter. Lando bent over, clutching his stomach, while Y/N fell back against the pillows, gasping for air.

“NO, NO, NO,” Y/N wheezed, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “YOU DID NOT JUST CALL ME BABY.”

“I THOUGHT—” Lando tried to defend himself between fits of laughter, his face turning red. “I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CUTE!”

“IT’S NOT!” Y/N practically screamed, smacking him repeatedly with a pillow. “YOU’RE DISGUSTING. GET AWAY FROM ME.”

“I’M YOUR HUSBAND NOW, YOU CAN’T ESCAPE!” Lando yelped, grabbing another pillow and weakly swatting her back. He wasn’t even trying to fight back properly because he was still laughing too hard.

Y/N rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow like a lifeline. “No, but actually, it’s so WEIRD hearing you say that! Like—YOU? Calling ME that?”

Lando flopped onto his back beside her, dramatically throwing an arm over his forehead. “Oh my god. We’re actually MARRIED. Like, legally.”

“Yeah,” Y/N snorted, wiping her tears. “And you just ruined our first night by calling me BABY.”

“Would you rather ‘darling’? ‘Love’? ‘Sweetheart’?” Lando turned his head towards her, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N fake-gagged. “Don’t you DARE.”

Lando smirked, shifting onto his side to face her. “What if I called you ‘Mrs. Norris’?”

Y/N’s whole body tensed. Her mouth fell open. And then she let out an earsplitting squeal before grabbing a pillow and SMACKING him in the face.

“OH MY GOD, NOOOOOO,” she shrieked, kicking her legs. “I HATE IT. I HATE IT SO MUCH.”

Lando was crying with laughter now, barely able to hold onto the pillow in his hands. “STOP HITTING ME, WIFEY.”

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP,” Y/N yelled, still flustered beyond belief. “WHY DID I MARRY YOU? I REGRET EVERYTHING.”

“No you don’t.” Lando grinned, tossing his pillow aside and yanking her into his arms despite her weak protests. “You love me.”

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, finally giving up as she melted into his embrace. “Unfortunately, yeah. I do.”

Lando kissed the top of her head, his voice teasing yet impossibly soft. “Good. Because I love you more.”

Y/N groaned. “Gross.”

Lando chuckled. “Better get used to it, Mrs. Norris.”

“STOPPP.”

But despite her exaggerated protests, she snuggled closer into his arms, feeling a kind of happiness she’d never known before. Because as ridiculous as he was, Lando was hers. Forever.

A comfortable silence settled between them, their laughter finally dying down, replaced by the quiet hum of contentment. Lando turned his head, looking at Y/N with the softest, most heart-melting smile she had ever seen. It was the kind of smile that felt like home, like warmth, like he had never been happier in his life.

“I’m so happy it’s you,” he whispered, voice laced with pure sincerity. “I don’t think I’d ever want to do this with anyone else.”

Y/N felt her heart squeeze, her breath hitching at the overwhelming adoration in his gaze. She didn’t even think before she smiled back, mirroring the softness in his eyes. And then, she leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss against his lips, slow and sweet, as if sealing the words he just said into her heart forever.

Lando melted instantly, his hands slipping around her waist, pulling her closer. When they pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

“I’m so, so in love with you.”

Y/N let out a small, breathless laugh, cupping his face. “Good. Because I’m so, so in love with you too.”

—

The morning after their utterly chaotic first night together, Y/N woke up earlier than Lando. She was still comfortably wrapped in his arms, his body pressed snugly against her from behind. His warmth, the soft rise and fall of his breathing, the way he unconsciously nuzzled into her—it was all so new, yet oddly familiar. 

She didn’t dare move too much, afraid of waking him up, so instead, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and started scrolling through social media. Lando, blissfully unaware, remained buried in the crook of her neck, his face slightly smushed against her shoulder. Every now and then, he’d unconsciously tighten his arms around her, as if making sure she wouldn’t disappear. 

Y/N bit back a small smile, finding his clinginess endearing. She continued scrolling, her screen now playing an edit of Gojo Satoru—white hair, blue eyes, smug little smirk. She watched, completely engrossed, until she felt the slightest shift behind her. 

A low, playful voice broke through the quiet morning air. 

“Good morning, baby,” Lando mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, yet teasing all the same. 

Y/N, caught off guard, let out a small laugh and immediately swatted the hand that was still wrapped around her waist. 

“Ew, stop—so cringe,” she giggled, scrunching her nose. 

Lando only chuckled, his arms refusing to let go. Instead, he pulled her even closer, his lips pressing lazy kisses into her hair. His voice was huskier now, laced with amusement. “You love it. Admit it.” 

Y/N only hummed in response, too distracted by the video still playing on her phone. Lando, finally cracking open his eyes, blinked groggily at the screen in front of her. It took him a second to process before he groaned dramatically. 

“Wow. Nice. Watching edits of another guy first thing in the morning.” 

Y/N grinned before turning in his hold to face him. She looked up at him, eyes playful, and simply said, “Hehe… Gojo’s hot.” 

Lando’s reaction was immediate. With a scoff, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him as he started attacking her face with kisses. “Excuse me? Say that again? Go on, I dare you,” he teased between kisses, his hands already trailing down to tickle her sides. 

Y/N burst into laughter, squirming under him. “No, stop—Landooo!” 

But Lando wasn’t done. He pulled back slightly, his gaze softening as he looked at her—like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. 

“You know… do you ever just—realize how insanely beautiful you are?” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Like, what kind of dream did I wake up from to actually end up with you? I don’t even know what I did in my past life to deserve you. I must’ve saved the whole damn world or something.”

Y/N felt warmth bloom in her chest, her teasing smile faltering just a little. Instead of answering right away, she reached up, cupping his cheek gently. 

“Do you ever realize how insanely handsome you are?” she countered, voice soft. “Like… what kind of dream did I wake up from to have you?” 

Lando stared at her for a moment before groaning, dropping his head against her shoulder dramatically. “Okay, yeah, that was unfairly cute. My heart can’t handle it. I’m literally never letting you go.” 

And, well—he didn’t. At least, not for the next several minutes. 

Because one second, they were teasing and giggling like the best friends they had always been… and the next, the air shifted, laughter turning into something softer, something warmer. The way Lando’s lips brushed against her skin, the way his fingers skimmed lightly along her waist—it was slow, unhurried, almost like he was memorizing every inch of her. 

And before either of them realized it, the playful morning cuddles turned into something a lot more heated. 

—

After spending the whole day holed up in their honeymoon suite, Lando and Y/N finally decided to step out for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. It was one of those fancy, candlelit places—low lighting, soft music playing in the background, the kind of atmosphere that practically screamed romance.  

They were seated at a cozy little corner table, the flickering candlelight making everything feel a little more… intimate. Y/N was skimming the menu when Lando, in the softest, most honey-drenched voice, leaned in slightly and asked, "What do you want to order, baby?" 

Y/N’s head snapped up instantly. 

Their eyes met. 

There was an immediate spark of amusement in both their gazes. They tried to hold it in, but their lips twitched as they struggled not to break into laughter. 

Y/N pressed her lips together, dropping her gaze slightly, while Lando squinted at her with a knowing smirk, as if daring her to say something. But neither of them spoke—they just sat there, exchanging barely contained giggles like two idiots in love. 

Finally, when the waiter arrived, Y/N took the lead, clearing her throat before speaking. With a sweet smile, she said, “My husband will have…” 

Lando froze. 

She didn’t even say anything crazy. Just husband. A completely normal term for a newly married couple. But oh, that didn’t stop his entire brain from short-circuiting on the spot. 

Poker. Face. Activated. 

He was sitting up straighter, lips pressed together, and staring ahead like he had just been personally attacked. But it was useless—because right after, his lips twitched, and before he could stop himself, a slow, completely flustered smile stretched across his face. 

Meanwhile, the waiter nodded, completely unaware of Lando’s internal crisis. Y/N, as if nothing was wrong, continued, “The Filetto di Manzo with truffle sauce, please. And for me…” She went on, placing her own order effortlessly. 

His wife—HIS WIFE—just called him her husband so casually. And not to him, but to someone else. Out loud. Publicly. 

The moment the waiter left, Lando exhaled, looking down with a bright smile and—without even thinking—reached up to fix his hair. His perfectly neat hair. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, watching as he unnecessarily smoothed a hand through his curls, biting back a grin. 

“Did you just—” 

“Shut up.”

Y/N smirked, tilting her head teasingly. “Are you blushing?” 

Lando scoffed, shaking his head, but the growing pink tint on his cheeks told another story. “No.” 

Y/N leaned in with a knowing grin. “Mhm. Sure.” 

Without another word, Lando suddenly cupped her cheek and pressed a quick, warm kiss to it. The simple gesture made her entire face heat up, and now she was the one frozen in place.

By the time he pulled away, Y/N’s face was on fire. “Lando!” she squeaked, hands instinctively flying to her warm cheeks. 

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence, though his smirk completely betrayed him. “I just wanted to thank my wife for ordering for me.” 

That did it. 

They both burst into nervous giggles, laughing into their hands, kicking each other lightly under the table, both way too overwhelmed by the sheer cringe and cuteness of it all. 

Best friends to lovers was a really, really adorable mess. 

—

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of soft gold and warm amber. Gentle waves rolled onto the shore, their rhythmic hum blending seamlessly with the occasional distant laughter of seagulls. The air smelled of salt and coconut, a perfect blend of nature’s embrace and the luxurious scent of sunscreen.

Lando stretched his arms above his head, tilting his face toward the sun as he relaxed into the plush lounge chair. His fingers idly played with the end of Y/N’s beach sarong, a teasing habit he’d picked up over the years of knowing her. They had been talking about the most random things for the past hour—why crabs walk sideways, whether pineapples belong on pizza, and the absurdity of seagulls looking like they always had an attitude.

But then something clicked in his head.

His brows furrowed, a sudden realization making him sit up slightly. Five days. They had been in this private beach villa for five whole days. Five days of stolen kisses, shared sunsets, lazy mornings tangled in sheets, and yet—

“Wait a sec,” Lando blurted out, turning to her with an exaggerated look of betrayal. “You haven’t called me ‘baby’ once this entire honeymoon.”

Y/N, who had been sipping on a fresh coconut with a tiny umbrella sticking out of it, nearly choked. “Huh?”

Lando crossed his arms, his lips pressing into a pout. “You heard me. Not even a ‘babe’ or a ‘love’ or—or—I don’t know, a cute little nickname. It’s been five days, Y/N. Five. Days.”

Y/N’s face warmed instantly, and she shifted uncomfortably, staring out at the waves as if the ocean might offer her an escape route. “What are you even talking about?” she mumbled, trying to sound unbothered.

Lando scooted closer, his face inches from hers now, grinning like the little menace he was. “Don’t ‘what are you even talking about’ me,” he teased, nudging her shoulder with his. “You’re telling me you can’t call me something cute? You call Max ‘dumbass’ more affectionately than you call me anything.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Lando, shut up.”

“Oh-ho, no, no, no. This is important. This is a honeymoon emergency.” He turned on his side, propping his head up on one hand as he smirked at her. “Alright, we’re gonna do this step by step.”

Y/N peeked at him through her fingers. “What?”

Lando grinned mischievously. ��Repeat after me. B—A—B—Y.”

Her jaw dropped as she immediately shot him a glare. “Lando, stop.”

“Nope. C’mon, love, humor me.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “B—A—B—Y.”

Y/N sighed heavily, clearly regretting every life choice that led her to this moment. But under his persistent, teasing gaze, she finally relented. “B—A—B—Y,” she mumbled.

Lando beamed. “And what does that spell?”

Y/N hesitated for half a second before deadpanning, “Bro.”

Silence. Then—

Lando’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief before he burst into uncontrollable laughter, collapsing onto the lounge chair in a fit of giggles. Y/N, unable to hold it in anymore, joined him, her laughter ringing through the private beach like music.

“Oh my god, you’re actually the worst,” Lando wheezed between laughs, wiping at his eyes. “You really just friendzoned me on our honeymoon?”

Y/N nodded, her shoulders shaking. “Bro, I guess I did.”

Lando groaned dramatically before pulling her into his arms, nuzzling into her shoulder. “Unbelievable. Actually unbelievable.”

She hummed, resting her chin on his tousled curls, still giggling. “You’ll live.”

“Oh, will I?” Lando huffed before tilting his head up, pressing his lips to her jaw. Then another kiss—on her cheek, then her nose, then the corner of her lips. “What if I never recover from this heartbreak?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her cheeks burned under his touch. “You’ll be fine.”

“Hmm.” Lando sighed dramatically again before wrapping his arms tighter around her, pulling her onto his lounge chair so she was practically half on top of him. “Guess I’ll just have to cuddle my way through the pain.”

Y/N smiled against his chest, inhaling the scent of salt and sun-warmed skin. “Such a tragedy.”

“The worst.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, as the sun began its slow descent into the horizon. The sky transformed into a masterpiece of pinks, oranges, and purples, casting a warm glow over the private beach. The waves continued their endless dance, whispering secrets to the shore, but in that moment, nothing else existed but them.

Lando tilted his head slightly, peering down at her. “You’re really not gonna call me baby, are you?”

Y/N grinned sleepily against his chest. “We’ll see, bro.”

Lando groaned, dropping his head back against the chair. “I hate you.”

She chuckled, pressing a small kiss to his collarbone. “No, you don’t.”

“…Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed happily, his fingers drawing mindless patterns along her back. “I love you, actually.”

Y/N lifted her head, meeting his gaze, something soft and unspoken passing between them. “I love you too, bro.”

Lando let out an exaggerated whine before flipping them over, caging her beneath him with a playful growl. “You are the absolute worst!”

Y/N shrieked, laughing as he tickled her sides, their laughter mixing with the sound of the ocean. And just like that, under the golden glow of a perfect sunset, Lando kissed her breathless—because even if she was the worst, she was his worst.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[akutasoda]

the fans are always right. right?

synopsis - mr reca seemed a bit more downbeat then your used too, maybe some rather interesting reviews would cheer him up

includes - reca

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight crack, wc - 1.6k

a/n: i uhh had an idea... lost it and tried to salvage what i remembered and this was the result- anyway all the reviews used were given to me by some lovely people ( @tragedy-of-commons, @singularity-sam, @vxnuslogy, @mikashisus, @/milksnake-tea, @/tetrachrxmacy and @theother-victoria) try and guess who's who :))

a huffed sigh escaped you, slouching down in your chair as the clock ticked rhythmically in the background. mr reca was supposed to meet you around fifteen minutes ago. he'd never been late before.

a reasonable explanation would be that he had something more important to tend to. and that would be understandable. but for now you were bored out of mind and leaving wasn't an option as reca could show up at any time - he probably wouldn't be as forgiving if you were to show up after him.

today you two were meant to develop a new script and start on the storyboard for his latest idea. in honesty, you're still not quite sure how you landed this job. you wanted to start getting into directing films of your own but couldn't quite place how to start and so you settled for finding a job as a co-director.

after helping co-direct a few pieces here and there, you got a message from the esteemed mr reca. you had to do a couple (maybe even hundreds…) of checks to make sure you weren't actually dreaming. mr reca didn't exactly strike you as the kind of person to need or even want a co-director.

and yet here you were. apparently he enjoyed the sense of style you breathed into the films you helped direct and thought it would pair nicely with a couple of his. even to this day you find it hard to believe that you still had this job.

but you put your all into it. a lot of trust and expectation was placed upon you and you would be sure to not let him down. even if that meant waiting for him to show up for your appointed meetings.

twenty minutes.

you looked around the room for anything to pass the time, all you could think of was your phone laid idly on the desk. then an idea crossed your mind. reca had recently released a film. perhaps you could read some reviews to pass the time.

you never really expected yourself to be mentioned in any of them. yes you got credits and the recognition for being reca's personally selected co-director but most people still only talked about him in their reviews, which wasn't exactly a problem.

it didn't take long to find a rather reputable review page and so you began scrolling.

you should've expected the first one being a five star review

@bebe_fanpage101 : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- "This film has changed my life. My whole outlook on everything that exists in this world, in fact even in the entire universe. I can never look at anything I know the same way ever again. This film represents emotions most humans could never comprehend. But I can. Thanks to this film I have been awakened to many things previously thought unimaginable. Thank you."

a rather extreme opinion in your eyes, reca did have some “over-the-top” fans. your became intrigued after stumbling across a one star review soon after

@frankenweeniehater4life : ⭐

- "what ?"

[review has been deleted]

maybe it wasn't an actual review, but you stifle a laugh at the next review being from the same person

⭐

- "wrong movie how do i delete a review" (Edited)

perhaps this could definitely entertain you until reca arrived. you idly scrolled through the reviews, only stopping when some peaked your interest or made you smile

@seas_ablaze : ⭐⭐⭐

- "A film that does a lot of monkey business and goes bananas with it."

or alternatively,

@frankenweeniehater4life : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- "i've seen about a million movies and dear god this has to be one of the worst. an absolute slog to get through. the pacing was awful, everything took years to happen. the soundtrack was grating. the actors either put no effort in or way too much- either put them back on the street or send them back to the musical theater. the cinematography was dull at best and straight up nauseating at worst- i had to pause multiple times so i didn't get physically ill. and don't get me STARTED on the stilted script and dull characterization. and the dog isn't even a weenie."

you reckon they might have gotten the wrong film again… but it definitely explained the username-

and at that moment reca finally showed up, he pushed open the doors grumbling something - obviously whatever kept him busy wasn't pleasant. he had walked in with a huff and his expression didn't exactly read that of happiness.

you brushed it off and greeted him like you usually would, something that was greeted with another grumble which you could only guess was a hello of sorts towards you.

watching, you noted how he slumped into the chair on the other side of the desk and it became clear that he wasn't in the mood to get any work done. the silence was starting to get uncomfortable and so you slid your phone over to him, reviews still open.

reca perked one eyebrow up and questioned you “what's this about? we have duties to complete not waste time”

you hummed in response before sliding your phone closer until he picked it up “it's reviews from your latest film, it's not like we'll be getting things done soon and maybe they could help guide our planning” a small pause “they're quite entertaining”

he scrolled for a bit before stopping on one and reading it out loud

@/blink!vxnus! : ⭐⭐⭐⭐

- "film was great and very informative. it made the story far more interesting compared to other documentaries tackling the same story. - 1 because mr reca wasn't in the actual film"

“it's not very helpful, just compliments” he sighed “and wishful fans being normal”

you smiled in response before reaching over as he turned the phone to you and scrolling back up again “this one's a personal favorite, especially the comments”

@/bebe_fanpage101 : ⭐⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- "came for the reca shirtless scene, stayed for the storytelling. no regrets stan robin"

- @/ultimate_recakisser : "I mean I’d be the same as well I MEAN WHAT WHO SAID THAT Speakingofshirtlessrecaifoujdthisonefanartdoesanyonewantmetosendit?"

- @/bebe_fanpage101 : "me. dms. shhh."

- @/iwishsundaywasmywife : "id judge u both. but. im the same way abt bird man so i cant"

reca stared at the review, then the comments, before his face began morphing into something akin to the middle point of shock and disgust.

he sighed “there wasn't even a shirtless scene, these people are… enthusiastic, to be nice”

you hummed in response before suggesting that the lower rated reviews may help more and scrolled until you found some.

@/iwishsundaywasmywife : ⭐

- "Great movie. Plot flows well, characters are charismatic and overall a wonderful viewing experience. Just hate the director."

@/abardslyre : ⭐

- "my gf broke up with me for the director. mr reca count ur ******* days."

you had to hold back laughter at the sight of his face distorting into confusion and a slight grimace making the corner of his lips scowl

@/seas_ablaze : ⭐

- "This is awful, pretentious garbage. In all objective fact, he's an auteur wannabe who makes idiotic movies for the normie audiences who are too stupid to think for themselves. I didn't even watch more than five minutes of it, I just know it's bad from his name attached to it. I never made a movie before or have ever taken a film class, but even I could do better than this disgrace of an art form that only a few can ever hope to master. Hell, I would personally kill all subpar directors myself if I could, I'm just that smart. As Lord Scorsese says: Cinema is dead!"

mr reca sighed, deeply, “i can't decide if this helped or not, but im leaning no at the minute”

you definitely could say you enjoyed scrolling through the reviews more, but it wasn't hard to notice how his demeanor changed. how he wasn't so grumpy and you could've sworn that at one point you'd seen a smile on his face. your idea worked.

eventually you two managed to start discussing ideas - which was more him talking your ear off with his ideas and you listening and writing down anything he told you to. and then he paused.

before you even had the chance to question if anything was the matter, reca surprised you “maybe those reviews could help for the next film”

“what do you mean?” you couldn't believe what you were hearing, your spur of the moment idea to show him reviews to hopefully boost his mood so you could both actually talk about his next film properly worked. it actually gave him ideas.

reca prattled on about how some of the reviews gave him the idea for how to expand his latest idea that had hit a wall and now he could continue to elaborate the idea. it was sort of satisfying to see how passionate he had become despite his earlier attitude.

he then abruptly stopped before trailing off “maybe i should listen to some of those reviews and change genres”

you thought that was a rather drastic suggestion, arguing that his current genres worked perfectly fine and it was his speciality, his signature if you would. but then he started mumbling again

“maybe if we went that route… then you could…” he was trailing off, you could barely piece together his coherent sentence but you could pick up on “based on us”

“what? could you repeat that again mr reca?”

“what?”

mr reca was never easy to work with.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn, @https-sourlimes

[minastras]

the poet and the rosarian // changmin

With his million watt smile and magnetic presence, Ji Changmin has had a lifelong 100% adoration rating. You would know: you’ve been attached at the hip since you were three years old. He’s always been obsessed with the idea of falling in love, chasing relationship after relationship in search of his soulmate. You think you’ve already found yours, but you’d never be good enough for him.

at a glance: university au, childhood best friends to lovers, secretly in love x oblivious idiot trope, fluff and angst but i hope it’s comforting above all, PINING, gender neutral reader, ft. 98z

words: 14.5k

warnings: alcohol consumption, minor death mention

notes: this is my favourite fic i’ve ever written so please look upon it kindly <3 (also spin-off for juyeon in the works so stay tuned!)

edit: spin-off completed! find it here xx

——————————

i. some people turn sad awfully young.

You were generally a well-behaved kid growing up with one exception: you weren’t with Ji Changmin, the neighbourhood menace and your best friend. Some (your parents) called him a terrible influence. Others (Ji Changmin) argued he helped bring you out of your shell, throwing a rope around your waist and dragging you kicking and screaming behind him.

Alone you were serious and withdrawn, but with him you were a handful. He was the one who forced you to talk to the other kids on the playground instead of hiding behind him and letting him do the talking for you. The only time you weren’t trying to set people’s rubbish bins on fire or doing dangerous flips off the playground monkey bars was when you were at the house at the end of the street.

You and Changmin went there often; the elderly man Mr. Lee there lived alone and welcomed the company. He’d give you both chores to do to keep you out of trouble and paid you for your efforts. Changmin took care of his rose bushes, and you dusted the bookshelves.

One day, Mr. Lee asked Changmin to harvest twelve red roses while he supervised his work with a watchful eye. You sat at the kitchen counter while he carefully arranged the roses in a tall glass vase, enraptured by the deftness of his usually shaky and frail hands.

“Who are those for?” Changmin asked.

Mr. Lee smiled, the type of syrup-sweet smile adults only gave to children. “It’s my wife’s death anniversary.”

You pointed to a small, black-and-white photograph of a woman sitting neatly in a silver frame on the TV cabinet. “Is that her?”

“Yes. We were high school sweethearts,” Mr. Lee began, smiling wistfully. “I lost her four years ago, and I miss her more and more everyday.”

You sat and listened politely as he told you about her illness, hands resting on your knees, thinking you should make an effort to visit him more often. Beside you Changmin was tearing up, his bottom lip trembling in the way little kids’ lips always did when they tried not to cry.

“Don’t be upset,” Mr. Lee chuckled, ruffling Changmin’s hair. “Everyone returns to the universe eventually. Here you go.”

He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, dropped a small pile of coins into yours and Changmin’s outstretched hands, and sent you on your way.

The walk from Mr. Lee’s house to the corner shop wasn’t a long one. He meant to teach you about the value of money, but being the children you were, you two always blew all your earnings immediately on sweets.

Changmin usually talked on the way there, but that day he was strangely quiet.

“I wonder when I’ll find my soulmate,” he mumbled after a long silence. “When I grow up I’m going to love someone as much as Mr. Lee loves his wife.”

——————————

It very quickly became clear as the two of you grew up that Changmin was everything you were not. He was a forever-smiling boy who attracted people to him like iron to a magnet. Every adult in the neighbourhood doted on him, and everyone at school wanted to be his friend.

Why wouldn’t they? He was one of those people who sucked the marrow out of life, who gave all of himself to anyone who asked. He loved life so much he was overflowing with it.

But he never left you behind, despite kids far cooler and more popular than you vying for his attention. On weekends, instead of going to the parties he was constantly being invited to, he went to Mr. Lee’s house with you to take care of the elderly man’s rose bushes.

After school, too old and proud for the playground but too nostalgic to let it go, you sat together on the curb and watched the cars fly by. He would point out the ones he liked, saying, “I’ll buy that one for my mom someday.”

You’d smile. “You and what money?”

And then he’d shove you and call you a cynic.

In your binary star system, he was the sentimental one, crying on Saturday movie nights and writing you birthday cards that got longer and sappier by the year. While you loved him with all your heart and had no doubt he knew that too, you could never find a way to show him that. And you were certain that someone like him, who felt so deeply and loved so freely, would get fed up eventually.

“Come sit with us, Changmin,” the star football player of school offered to him during lunch once when you were fourteen, staring at you with disdain. Behind him, the entire cafeteria was watching. Changmin reached for your hand and laced his fingers with yours.

“No thank you,” he said sweetly, with his trademark dimpled smile that blinded you every time you saw it.

Perhaps you weren’t binary stars at all. Perhaps he was the only star — pure and golden and dazzling — and you were his planet, illuminated by him only insofar as you were in his orbit. You didn’t mind, though. Comets couldn’t have bright tails without debris around them to ignite. Not everybody could be special.

“I’m so nervous,” Changmin whined, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you vigorously. You were fifteen, standing with him in the corridor as he clutched a bouquet of six red roses to his chest, courtesy of Mr. Lee.

“You’ll be fine,” you assured him.

The soon-to-be recipient of the bouquet, Dain, emerged from around the corner. Dain was one of the prettiest girls in school and the apple of Changmin’s eye for the last month. He’d told Mr. Lee about her and asked him if he, too, became giddy when he looked at his wife back when they were teenagers.

“Here I go,” he declared, his hands shaking. You had no doubt in your mind that Dain would accept the flowers; it was Ji Changmin, after all.

It took you far too long to realise you were hopelessly in love with your best friend. You were sixteen. It wasn’t a grand bold declaration that he was choosing you over the popular kids in front of the entire school, or a green-eyed epiphany from one of his sappy romantic gestures to whoever he was in love with at the time.

No, it was one of your Saturday movie night sleepovers. It was his turn to choose the film, so of course you were watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre. As usual, he laughed throughout the film while you sat frozen in fear under the blanket.

That night, after you retreated to your bedroom to try and sleep despite still reeling from the movie, Changmin opened your door. You screamed, jumping out of your skin.

“Sorry. I came to check on you,” he said softly.

You sighed, heart still racing, and closed your eyes to regain your composure. “I thought you were Leatherface,” you groaned, throwing the orange stuffed octopus he gave you for your twelfth birthday at him.

He giggled, caught the octopus, and walked over to your bed. “Okay, move over.”

“Why?” you frowned.

“Move over. I’ll keep you safe,” he promised.

That was the moment, when he climbed into bed with you and tucked your octopus back into your arms and pulled your head against his chest.

The thing about crushing on someone you’d known for so long was that he didn’t make you nervous like other crushes did, not really. He wasn’t a source of anxiety; he was a sedative. You stopped thinking about the movie and relaxed into his touch, burying your face into his soft maroon hoodie that smelt like fabric softener.

“I’m here now. He can’t get you,” he whispered, running his fingers through your hair.

His presence seemed to make everything go away — the faint knocks you kept hearing outside your window, the dark shadows you kept spotting as your paranoid eyes played tricks on you.

You never told him, obviously. You shared every other aspect of your life with him, but this you had to keep to yourself. Through his dozens of crushes and relationships, through the piles of chocolates he received every Valentine’s Day, you gritted your teeth and never said a word. Such was the condemnation of a one-sided love.

——————————

Changmin liked giving roses to people; it was his thing. It started when he was eleven and gave a red rose to his crush at the time. A single flower became a handful, and a handful became a deliberately arranged bouquet wrapped in gauzy tissue and matching ribbons. Mr. Lee was always happy to let him nick a few roses from his garden whenever he wanted — it was for love, after all.

The habit continued all the way into the end of high school. Changmin swung past Mr. Lee’s house after school that day with you to pick up some roses. It was the day before his then-girlfriend Mikyoung’s birthday, and he wanted to surprise her.

He still vividly remembered that night. He was almost eighteen, standing outside the girls’ track team’s locker room waiting for Mikyoung to emerge after her training. You were stationed down the corridor with his phone in your hand, ready to film the surprise.

“I thought you were dumping Changmin today.”

Mikyoung’s voice was light and breathy. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. I’ll do it soon.”

“Why the rush? He’s cute.”

“He’s too clingy. I thought he’d be cooler, with the way everyone talks about him,” Mikyoung answered. “Whatever, I got what I wanted. I was never gonna keep him around, anyway.”

Changmin froze. Surely things like this didn’t happen in real life. Surely people this cruel didn’t actually exist.

He was vaguely aware of a presence behind him, but he couldn’t make himself turn around until you actually called his name.

“Min? What’s wrong?” you asked, only for your attention to be drawn away by the voices inside the locker room.

“Yeah, you made it, girl. You dated the Ji Changmin.”

“You better break up with him soon. It’s my turn next, remember?”

Changmin didn’t notice his grip on the bouquet getting progressively tighter and tighter until the thorns of the roses pierced through the wrapping paper and into the flesh of his palm, the stalks crushing in his hand.

“How do you even know he’ll like you?”

“Please, he’s a serial monopolist. I just need to bat my eyelashes and call him babe and he’ll be mine.”

“You mean monogamist, you moron,” you muttered to the girl you couldn’t even see. He would’ve laughed at that — it wasn’t often that you spoke so bluntly and with so much contempt — but there were other things on his mind.

“I want to go home,” he said quietly, not to be heard by anyone but you.

You looked ready to burst into the locker room and give Mikyoung a piece of your mind, with a quiet rage blazing in your eyes he wasn’t used to seeing from you, but the second you heard him it dissipated.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking his free hand, “let’s go.”

It was a short and silent bus ride back to his house; Changmin hated talking when he was upset and you were the only person on the planet who never forced him to. Nor did you say anything when he aggressively acted as though everything was normal, bringing an armful of snacks up to his bedroom and turning his speakers on to play music as he usually did whenever you two hung out.

He tossed the bouquet carelessly onto his bedside table and shut the door behind him, not wanting his parents to see it and ask questions.

“What happened to your hand?” you asked. “Come here, I’ll help you.”

There were superficial cuts on the heel of his palm from the roses’ thorns, though none were deep enough to bleed and most barely broke the skin.

Changmin said nothing, only sitting cross-legged on his bed with you and letting you brush liquid bandage over the cuts. You hummed along to his playlist as you did, even though he knew you didn’t like this song.

“Why would she do that to me?” he finally said, fighting off the ache behind his eyes he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You sighed sympathetically. “I don’t know. Min. I’m sorry.”

He never understood why people said they were sorry for things they had nothing to do with. If it had been anyone else he might have gotten annoyed, but he could never get annoyed at you.

“Don’t say that,” he mumbled, the ache now too much to bear. He palmed away his tears and sniffed. “You always apologise when other people hurt me.”

At last, you looked up at him and smiled, although your eyes stayed sad. “Do I?”

Changmin took the bottle to put it back into his drawer, blinking rapidly, trying to hide his face from you.

“You were right to not like her,” he admitted, hoping his voice didn’t waver.

“I never said I didn’t like her,” you said.

“You didn’t have to. I knew the minute I told you I asked her out,” he told you, still holding back tears. Then, he broke into a soft smile and poked your cheek. “You’re a bad liar.”

The air in his bedroom was stifling. You walked out to the convenience store two streets over for instant ramen like you usually did on nights like this, bringing your food to the playground where you used to play as kids.

The playground was always empty at night, quiet and peaceful. It made him nostalgic, as lots of things did these days. Just a few years ago he used to run through these deserted streets with you almost every night, filling the cold air with laughs and giggles, basking in moonlight and the glow of adventure. You sat at the bottom of the blue plastic slide, and he chose one end of the wooden seesaw.

“Why did you bring those along?” you asked, pointing to the roses in his lap.

He held them out to you. “For you.”

It was a dark night, with thick clouds obscuring what would have been a full moon and one of the playground lights not working, but he could still see your smile as you took the bouquet.

“Are you going to text Mikyoung?” you asked with a cautious glance, ready to change the topic the second you detected any discomfort on his face.

“I’ll confront her tomorrow. I want to do it in front of everyone. On her birthday,” he replied.

He was a more vengeful person than he liked to admit, but he had hurt burning in his ribcage and it needed to go somewhere. It was clear from the look in your eyes that you disapproved of this plan, although you said nothing. You’d always been the magnanimous one.

He knew how people saw you, although he never knew how to fix it, or if you wanted him to fix it at all. You were ‘Changmin’s friend’: his saturnine, slightly cold, aloof sidekick, notable only because of him.

He didn’t care for popularity, nor what everyone else thought of you. But as much as he pretended to be above these labels, there was something about your reputation that made him feel incredibly special, that he was the only person with the luxury of truly knowing you.

The silence between you two was thin, airy. He’d never once felt awkward with you, even when your silences dragged on. Your eyes met his again for a split second.

“Do you ever think I’ll find my soulmate?” he mused.

“I think we’re too young to be thinking about that,” you answered, which wasn’t the first time you had expressed this sentiment. But you always entertained him.

“Don’t you want that, too?” he asked. He’d asked you this before, but you had never given him a straight answer.

“I don’t know. I’m scared,” you said.

“Scared? How can you be scared of love?”

You bit your lip in thought, always so measured in conversations like these, carefully thinking over each response before you spoke, never saying anything you didn’t mean. Unlike him — impulsive, reactive.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself,” you eventually replied.

In a strange way, he felt like he knew what you meant.

——————————

ii. hiding in the belltower.

Despite having a happy childhood, you had never been a happy child. You had loving parents, a roof over your head, and the best best friend you could’ve asked for, so why did you always feel like there was an emptiness within you that was destined to never be filled?

The night before you were set to board a bus that would take you to your new city and close the door on all you’d ever known, you and Changmin were lying on the side of the hill near your house, staring up at the night sky. It was a remarkably clear night, cloudless, brimming with stars.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“How I didn’t think leaving would be this hard,” you said after a lengthy pause.

Changmin rolled onto his side to face you, making you turn to him too. “Me neither.”

Your breath hitched in your throat when you came face-to-face with him. His eyes, warm and brown as they always were, felt like they pierced through you. He had the kind of eyes that could make anyone feel special, that he liked you just a little more than anyone else.

As scared as you were, you’d made your marks on the small canvas of your tiny hometown, done and seen all there was to do and see, and you were ready to leave. You had your sights set on the top fine arts programme in the country and he enrolled in the very same one. We’re a team, he said. But you knew he had a longing to leave, too.

It didn’t take long for Changmin to acclimate; he made friends quickly and easily, to whom he soon introduced you — the performance major Juyeon and the fashion major Chanhee.

“If you gave them a chance I think you’d like them,” Changmin said to you one evening, lying on your bed while you were hunched over your desk, studying. He’d just asked you to come along with him to dinner at Chanhee’s apartment (who was lucky enough to live off campus, unlike the rest of you), and you declined.

“I do like them,” you said.

Everything always seemed so easy for him — the way he fit in everywhere, adapted to anything. You hadn’t belonged in your hometown and you didn’t feel like you belonged in this one, either. Maybe there was no place for you, anywhere.

He kicked your desk chair, like he did whenever he wanted you to pay attention to him. “So why aren’t you coming?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” you answered.

You and Changmin could have two conversations at the same time: what was being said and what each of you really meant. He was the only person in the world who heard the words you crossed out in your mind before they were spoken. In this case, they were, what if they don’t like me?

“Don’t be stupid. You’re not intruding,” he scoffed. Why wouldn’t they? I like you.

“Are you sure?” But they’re not you.

He threw your stuffed octopus at your face. It was one of the few keepsakes you’d brought with you from home.

“They asked me to bring you, idiot.” Anyone would like you if you let them see what I see.

So you joined them for dinner. And every dinner after that.

You studied with Chanhee in the library a lot — more than you did with Changmin, even — because he was the only one who didn’t distract you when you needed to get work done. And you sought refuge in the café where Juyeon worked when the air conditioning in your dorm room broke, which was often.

If you weren’t in the library, Juyeon’s café, or your room, you were in Changmin’s. It was only natural that the group coalesced around Changmin, that his dorm room almost immediately became your base of operations.

You sat on his bed one day, your back against the wall and your laptop on your lap while he lay beside you scrolling idly on his phone. Juyeon and Chanhee were on the floor building a Lego spaceship.

“You’re typing very angrily,” Chanhee said to you. “What are you doing?”

You looked up from your laptop screen, realising that you had, in fact, been hammering away at the keys.

“I’m writing a story for my creative writing class,” you replied.

“It’s about soulmates,” Changmin added, waving his hand around with a theatrical flourish.

“Ew,” Juyeon said.

Changmin swung his leg off the bed to kick Juyeon, but ended up hitting Chanhee on the back of his head.

“Ow!”

“It’s a cute story!” Changmin scolded, ignoring Chanhee’s yelp of pain. “It’s about how our neighbour met his wife.”

You sat in silence, listening to Changmin recount Mr. Lee’s entire backstory in excruciating detail. Under normal circumstances anyone would have swiftly lost interest, but he had a knack for holding onto people’s attention.

He’d never really been the same after that night with Mikyoung in high school. He didn’t fall head over heels anymore, didn’t ramble on about his crushes with sparkles in his eyes, didn’t give his partners flowers. But even then, he still often spoke of falling in love. It seemed like no amount of heartbreak could quell his desire for it.

Juyeon turned to you. “Can I read it?”

“No,” you answered.

“They won’t even let me read it,” Changmin whined.

Chanhee gasped dramatically. “Not even Changmin? But you two are basically one organism!”

You had spent the better part of the last few years fighting to purge your unrequited love. Pushing your feelings away got easier over time, although the green light at the end of the dock never fully went away. Initial hopes that it was just a sandbox love failed to materialise, and you were starting to think you had to live with it your whole life — an ache you couldn’t outpace.

Changmin slammed the lid of your laptop shut to get your attention, staring intensely at you in faux anger, with his trademark dimpled smile you could never look away from. “See? You should let me read it!”

“You should submit it to the student filmmaking guild,” Juyeon suggested. “They’re always looking for scripts.”

You instinctively shook your head without really hearing what he said, because the mere thought of serving up any part of you on a silver platter for others to see was enough to make you recoil.

“Submit it! Submit it!” Changmin chanted, slapping your knee with each word. “They’ll definitely choose it.”

“You haven’t even read it,” you said, messing up his hair in retaliation.

Changmin stopped hitting you and pouted. “I’m sure it’s good; everything you do is.”

Sometimes you wondered if it would be easier to get over your feelings if he wasn’t so sweet to you. Part of you wanted him to betray you or ruin your life — anything to let you hate him. 

Because people of his calibre fell for the glamorous girls with perpetually bouncy hair and all matching jewellery, the charismatic boys with broad shoulders and bewitching eyes. Those with a dazzling history of attractive ex-boyfriends and girlfriends, the girls with DMs full of messages and the boys with ins into all the hottest clubs. People like him didn’t fall in love with people like you.

——————————

The approaching end of your first semester caused you to go into a bit of a tailspin; you thought you’d be happy by now. You were in your dream city and your dream programme, with a generous scholarship and new friends. It was all you ever wanted, and yet the misery remained. Perhaps happiness was not made for you. 

“You’re really not coming?” Juyeon asked, pleading. He and Changmin were leaving for a party, while you and Chanhee were staying in for the night at his apartment to study.

Chanhee gestured to himself, swaddled in a hoodie and bundled up under the blanket on his sofa. “Do we look like we’re coming?”

Changmin was already halfway out the door, stomping his foot and nagging Juyeon to hurry up as you were talking. Juyeon shoved his feet into his boots and clumsily tumbled out of the door with a hurried goodbye.

“I thought Changmin was an introvert,” Chanhee griped under his breath once they’d left, returning to his laptop.

You laughed and sat down on the other end of his sofa, your notebook perched on your knees. A good full hour went by before either of you broke the silence, when Chanhee glanced up at you over the top of his laptop screen.

“Why aren’t you going home with Changmin for the mid-year break?” he asked.

“I have a lot of assignments due,” you said. Chanhee wrinkled his nose in disapproval of your obvious lie. You sighed, “Fine. I don’t want to go home.”

“Do you not miss your family?” he asked.

“I do, that’s why I can’t go. I don’t want to be happy for two weeks and then get homesick all over again when I come back,” you said. “It’ll be harder to leave the second time.”

Chanhee stared intently at you with his chin resting on his palm. “If you visit often enough it won’t feel so crushing,” he pointed out after a brief silence. “Does Changmin know?”

“I told him I had too much work to do,” you said.

“I’m pretty sure he knows you were lying,” Chanhee said with a bemused smile. But he kindly dropped the topic after that, turning back to his work with a pat of your knee.

——————————

Changmin had always had a clear mental picture of each major milestone ahead of him: moving out for university, meeting his soulmate, proposing, buying a house with them, settling down…

His first year hadn’t even ended yet and he was already getting anxious. He’d dated three (Juyeon would’ve said two and a half) people in university so far and none of them had lasted more than two months. He’d long since moved on from Mikyoung, but the precision strike to his heart was harder to let go. It sat in the back of his mind on every first date, every time he asked someone to be his partner, after every break-up.

He was thinking all of this because his mom had just called to tell him Mr. Lee had passed away.

Mr. Lee had been old the entire time Changmin knew him, but the thought of his mortality somehow never crossed his mind. He knew it crossed yours, because you’d mentioned the possibility of this precise scenario twice.

The news didn’t upset him that much, which in itself was more upsetting. Granted, as you and him got older you stopped going round to Mr. Lee’s house as often, but Changmin was disturbed by how quickly his brain had warped a man’s death into selfish thoughts of his own coming-of-age.

He stayed in the dance studio for a couple more hours after getting off the phone with his mom before he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to go see you. His feet seemed to move on their own, taking him straight to the minimart and then to your dorm room.

“Come in,” you called, hearing his signature knock.

He keyed your PIN into your door lock, a pattern burned into his muscle memory, and let himself in. You were seated at your desk with books strewn everywhere and your laptop balanced precariously in the middle of the chaos.

“Hi,” you greeted, noticing the single white rose in his hand. “What’s the occasion?”

Your tone of voice was flat, but he could tell you knew why he was there. It was so obvious to him — the distance in your eyes. He chose not to even acknowledge your pretence, closing your door behind him and handing you the rose.

Buying it was a strange experience. He’d walked into the mart not really knowing what he wanted to get for you, only that he wanted to bring you something, when he saw the flower display stand in the back of the store. He’d picked the largest, brightest, whitest rose for you, a single long-stemmed flower wrapped in clear cellophane rather than the shorter bundles clipped from Mr. Lee’s rose bushes he was used to dealing with.

“Are you okay?” he asked. You took it, fingers curling around the single stalk. 

“How did you know I knew?” you asked, looking down at the rose instead of at him, all but confirming his conclusions.

Changmin sat down on your bed, hooked his foot under the leg of your desk chair, and yanked you towards him and away from your desk. You were so transparent.

“You’ve been listening to the Mario Kart Wii soundtrack for the last three hours,” he sighed. “You should turn off your Spotify activity.”

You laughed, but it was an empty laugh, and nudged his knee with yours. A few seconds passed before you looked up, studying his face carefully.

“Are you okay?” you asked, echoing his earlier question.

“I asked you first,” he pointed out, stubborn.

At that, you finally stopped pretending. He didn’t know why you bothered — it was impossible for you to hide from him — but you always tried anyway.

“I wish we could go to the funeral,” you said quietly. It was an admission of sorts, in your own roundabout manner, that you were in fact not okay.

“Me too,” he said, which wasn’t a lie, but the words had come out by rote and not because he actively wanted to say them. He knew you would never judge him; he’d made lots of idiotic choices and not once had you ever criticised him unfairly. It was this that compelled him to continue, “Is it bad that I don’t really feel anything?”

You turned the rose over in your hands, pausing to think.

“I don’t think scrutinising the validity of your emotions is something you should be doing,” you said after a while. It wasn’t the first time you’d told him that, that trying to moralise the way he felt was never a worthwhile endeavour.

And he knew you were right; you always were. He watched as you set the rose on your bedside table and immediately started picking at your nails, a tic of yours that kicked in whenever your hands were empty.

“I should have gone home with you,” you muttered, eyes shining with tears, “I should have gone to see him.”

He frowned, reaching out to take your hand. “Hey, don’t say that.”

From the very beginning he’d never been as perceptive as you were. He hardly ever knew what to say when you were upset, although you always did when the roles were reversed. It was one of his greatest regrets, but he liked that you chose him to take care of you regardless.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning you forward and lying down on your bed. You complied and lay down beside him, letting him thread his arm around your shoulder.

He hated all your mattresses. They were far too soft for him — truthfully he didn’t understand how you could still sit up straight. Every childhood sleepover at your house netted him a two-day long backache at minimum, but he never had the heart to tell you no when you asked him to spend the night.

“Thanks for being here,” you mumbled into his hoodie, your cheek pressed against the fabric.

“Of course,” he said. 

Changmin spent last night at Myungseo’s place, the girl he’d been casually dating for the last month. This morning, he told her they should see other people. Why? Because he caught her rolling her eyes at him when he laughed at a TikTok on his phone. She did that often; like his happiness was a blight on the earth.

He felt like an idiot, being upset about something so banal while you were grieving a death. The worst part was that he didn’t even like Myungseo that much, not really, and yet his heart was so easily bruised.

“Is my laugh annoying?” Changmin asked (his back was already starting to hurt).

“No. Why would you say that?”

He shook his head instead of answering you, and you didn’t press him further.

“We should move in together. Let’s get an apartment,” he said suddenly.

You craned your neck to look up at him, frowning, as if this was somehow a ludicrous suggestion. Both your dorm leases were up at the end of the year and there was no way either of you could afford to live alone, so it surely just made sense. But you’d never once brought up the possibility to him, probably because you knew he was looking for his next serious partner to move in with. The idea that you could have been holding that back just for him made him feel guilty. Lots of things made him feel guilty, it seemed.

As he got older a sinking feeling in his chest had begun to develop, a deep fear that seeped all the way into his bones. You used to keep a notebook of quotes or lines of poetry you liked which he flipped through on occasion out of curiosity — you still had it, although you didn’t add to it anymore these days because you called the concept of it pretentious and your teenage self insufferable.

Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you.

That was the only quote he remembered (and to be honest, the only one he liked) from your notebook, and he knew it word-for-word. It was that quote that sat in his bones, he thought. Maybe he was doomed to bear it for the rest of his life.

——————————

iii. how did i forget to live before i lived at all?

A couple of weeks before his second year began, Changmin signed his first lease with you. He couldn’t help but be slightly upset at how it all turned out — he’d always imagined he’d move into his first apartment with a partner — but he would obviously never say that out loud. The guilt of knowing he was treating you like an inferior replacement to a relationship was crushing enough.

Moving into his first apartment was too big a milestone to feel real, at least not immediately. Even when he went to Ikea with you it didn’t feel real; perhaps that was because you found Ikea strangely entertaining as children and went there far too often. You used to go to the kitchen timers section, set all of them to go off in a minute, then run away and watch the ear-splitting chaos from afar.

“We should get a wine rack,” you said, your arms full of stupid knick-knacks you definitely didn’t need. “Juyeon gave us that nice dry riesling.”

The second you collected your keys for your new apartment last week, you invited your friends over, ordered pizza, and ate dinner on the floor in your padded jackets because you had neither furniture nor heating. As housewarming gifts, Juyeon brought the riesling and Chanhee brought a sizable stack of polaroid pictures of your little friend group. You put them all up on the living room wall together.

Changmin knew you well enough to know you only suggested the wine rack because he liked wine, but you never wanted the kind things you did for him to be obvious. He grabbed a wine rack.

“When I eventually move in with someone, I’m gonna buy those fake leaf garlands,” he pouted, still sulking a little. You’d vetoed them a few minutes ago, arguing they would get unbelievably dusty and annoying to clean.

“Someone? You mean Serim,” you said, clearly distracted for reasons unknown to him. He could tell by the shallow dimple in your chin that formed whenever you pursed your lips in thought. Serim was his new girlfriend of a few months.

He hummed, looking at a set of wine glasses. “Maybe not. I don’t think she’s right for me.” Serim had a way of making him feel small, dumb, breaking off bits of him to feed her own ego.

You looked up from the crescent moon-shaped vase in your head. “Are you going to break up with her?”

“Probably. Eventually,” he sighed.

Two more trips to Ikea and a week later, the apartment was finally coming together. You both dedicated that weekend to putting together the non-essential furniture — he worked on a shelf while you assembled a shoe rack.

“Oh, we still need to get rid of the old TV cabinet,” he noted, remembering the hideous green thing blocking the entryway. 

“I can do it tomorrow while you’re in class. Juyeon said he’ll help me take it downstairs,” you told him.

Changmin squinted at his own instructional manual. “You and Juyeon have gotten pretty close,” he observed, one of those things he said without thinking just because he wanted to talk to you.

You only half-heard him, searching for your allen wrench. “Hm? Yeah, I guess,” you said.

That made him jealous, even though he knew it shouldn’t have. He was too used to being the only person who got to be close to you — to the point that Juyeon and Chanhee being unable to make it for your regularly scheduled Saturday night dinner felt like a return to form for him.

The two of you had dinner out on the balcony that night, the crown jewel of your apartment and the main reason you’d picked it in the first place. You opened Juyeon’s riesling for the occasion: your first Saturday night dinner in your new home.

“It’ll be nice to have breakfast here,” you mused, filling his glass before your own.

That turned out to be true. He spent many a morning doing just that with you, mornings of sunny side ups and secondhand smoke from your neighbours downstairs. Mornings were easier for him; nights always seemed to cut through him like a knife.

Changmin tapped his wine glass against yours with a smile, and the clink felt like a christening.

“We should give Juyeon and Chanhee some roses,” he suggested, nodding to the plant pots behind you on the balcony. The main reason Changmin had insisted so vehemently on finding an apartment with a balcony was so that he could grow roses. It felt like the right thing to do; Mr. Lee would’ve wanted him to continue the tradition.

“It’s been a while since you gave someone roses, rose boy,” you teased, peering at him over the rim of your wine glass.

“I gave you one a few months ago!” he refuted.

You waved this away. “I don’t count.”

He rolled his eyes and sipped his wine.

Yes, nights weren’t so difficult anymore. Changmin liked walking home after dark and looking up to see a warm square of yellow in the window, telling him you’d gotten in before him. He liked the idea of carving a little soft world out of the big cold one just for him and his favourite person. He liked being able to take the weight off your shoulders each day when you walked through the front door.

——————————

You did listen to Juyeon, in the end. The students film guild put out their yearly call for script submissions just as you finished your assignment, and you turned it in. You weren’t quite sure why — it was a decision entirely incongruous to the way you lived your life — but you did.

Changmin was the only person you told, because you weren’t sure you could take the embarrassment of the others knowing if your script was rejected. When you made it past shortlisting, you kept it to yourself. There were other more pressing matters at hand.

He broke up with his girlfriend of five months, Jinah, right around the same time and it hit him hard. Normally you would have attributed this to him being too nice, too trusting, too willing to jump into relationships. Many people just wanted the opportunity to declare they had dated him, like he was a video game achievement. But Jinah was not one of them. She treated him well and genuinely liked him — life just had a way of breaking hearts.

“This one seems different,” Chanhee whispered to you over the café booth, as if the not-present Changmin could hear him. “Jinah was actually nice, too.”

“It was his most serious relationship in a while,” you agreed, glancing at your phone. Changmin had promised to join you both at Juyeon’s café, but he hadn’t shown up nor answered any of your calls.

Juyeon walked over during a lull in customers and placed a fruit tart and a caramel slice on the table. On the house, as usual. 

“Is he okay?” Juyeon asked.

Chanhee shrugged. You shook your head.

“You don’t look okay either,” Juyeon said to you, unsubtly nudging the caramel slice towards you. It had become a habit of yours to get one whenever you were having a bad day.

“I’m fine, just tired,” you said, which was for once the truth, but you took the caramel slice anyway. “Changmin’s been having a lot of people over. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Ah, rebounds,” Chanhee sighed, his chin propped up on the palm of his hand. “We should do a movie night or something. To cheer him up.”

The bells hung above the café doors rang as they opened, but it wasn’t Changmin. You deflated slightly, glancing over at your phone yet again.

“I think he just wants to be left alone for now,” you said. “But I’ll ask him.”

Over the next couple of weeks the frequency of Changmin’s hookups slowed, he started hanging out with the rest of you again, and he stopped playing exclusively breakup songs around the house. You were busy relaying this intel to Juyeon at his café one day when you got an email from the film guild, subject line: Congratulations!

You didn’t even bother opening it to read the rest, simply throwing your stuff into your tote bag and tumbling out of the café with a cursory goodbye to Juyeon cast over your shoulder. You raced home to tell Changmin, bursting at the seams with excitement as you swung the front door open.

“Changmi-” You stopped in your tracks, face falling. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had someone over.”

There was a girl on the sofa beside him, kissing his neck, and he had his hand in her lap. She glared at you, clearly not pleased with your interruption.

“What is it?” Changmin asked, not-so-gently pushing her away.

“Nothing. It’s not important. It can wait,” you answered, backtracking. You were a terrible liar; you could not deny your feelings for him to save your life. The only thing that kept you from discovery was him never asking the right questions.

He sat up and combed through his hair with his hands, frowning. “Are you okay?”

It was unbearable sometimes, the way his voice became so soft and tender whenever he could tell you needed him. Of course, you could never hide from him. He knew if you were upset by how you opened the door.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll tell you about it later,” you said.

With that, you hurried into your bedroom and closed the door behind you.

Your heart had been hardened with practice over the years, or so you’d thought. Maybe it was just an off-day, or maybe you could only keep up the charade for so long.

It wasn’t until you heard Changmin and his date move to his bedroom — their whispering and giggling and him slamming the door shut — that you cracked and reached for your phone.

“Hi, what’s up?” Juyeon greeted, picking up almost immediately despite being at work.

“I’m in love with Changmin,” you blurted out.

That was exactly it. You didn’t love him, you were in love with him. It had consumed you for so much of your life. It made you sick.

There was nothing but stunned silence on the other end, your shocking revelation rendering Juyeon speechless. Even without being able to see him you could picture his expression, jaw dropped and eyes round and blinking.

“O-okay… When did…?” he asked, pausing after each word.

“Since we were sixteen,” you replied.

He sighed loudly. “Oh, you’re one of those.”

Juyeon, at least when it came to love, was Changmin’s polar opposite. He avoided romance at all costs, called it humanity’s greatest scam, and thought it was a supreme waste of time.

“Hey, I called you in my time of need,” you retorted, forcing some lightness back into your voice. That was noteworthy in its own right, that after so many years you had finally admitted your feelings to someone other than yourself.

Juyeon coughed. “Right. Sorry. Did something happen?”

“No, I just… he brought a girl home and-” you paused, “I’m normally better at coping with these things.”

“What changed?” Juyeon asked.

You didn’t know. All you knew was that this had been chipping away at your heart piece by piece for years, and you were running out of pieces.

When you didn’t answer, Juyeon continued, “You won’t tell him, right?”

“God, no,” you said.

“Good. It’s not worth ruining your friendship for love,” he lectured, despite you already agreeing with him. 

Maybe that was why you decided to call him — you knew he would understand. Chanhee might have tried to convince you to take a leap of faith, but a cynical anti-romantic like Juyeon would recognise your fate for what it was: a tragicomedy of epic proportions.

You took a deep breath and let his words percolate. It was one thing to realise the sentiment, but another thing entirely to hear it from someone else.

“I did what you suggested,” you said, the compulsion to change the topic and forget what you’d just admitted to overwhelming you in that moment. “I submitted my script. It was chosen.”

Juyeon screamed. You winced and moved your phone away from your ear.

“Congrats! You deserve it!” he shouted down the line, clapping wildly.

“Thanks, Juyeon.” You were grateful he couldn’t see how weak your smile was, although you were sure it seeped into your voice. There was a reason you called him instead of FaceTiming.

“Do you want to come over tonight?” he asked. “We can order food. Chanhee’s coming too. Get your mind off him.”

Neither of you could bear to say his name.

The old you would have turned down his offer without a second thought, choosing instead to trap yourself in a despairing fortress of your own making with no one but yourself privy to your thoughts.

“Okay. Thank you,” you said quietly, hoping he would be able to read between all your layers of gratitude.

——————————

A few days had passed since that night, and you still hadn’t brought up what you’d wanted to talk to Changmin about. He knew something was up with you, but he couldn’t tell what. Maybe you were annoyed with him. You always said you didn’t mind him bringing people over, but he also wasn’t sure you’d tell him if you did.

“I have news,” you announced as soon as he walked through the front door, holding something behind your back. There was a weight to your words, an unusual heft that immediately made him concerned.

“What is it? Are you okay?” he asked.

You handed him a stapled sheaf of papers, twiddling your thumbs. If he didn’t know you he’d think that was just a figure of speech, but you did literally twiddle your thumbs when you were anxious and he teased you about it constantly. It was an adorable habit, like how you tied rubber bands around all the jars you struggled to open to make them easier to grip onto.

“Remember my creative writing assignment?” you began, with a tentative edge in your voice he wasn’t used to hearing. “I submitted it to the film guild, and it was chosen.”

Changmin let out a high-pitched screech, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you vigorously, jumping around. “Really? Really? That’s amazing! I knew it!” he giggled. His heart swelled with pride, more pride than he knew what to do with.

You joined him in his celebrations, laughing along with him, but there was still something you were nervous about.

“Is this a secret? Does anyone else know?” he asked, clutching the script to his chest.

You shook your head. “Only Juyeon.”

Changmin’s face fell. That didn’t seem right. That went against the laws of the universe, against life as he knew it. How could you tell Juyeon first?

“Oh,” he said, not even trying to hide his dejection. “You told him before you told me? Why?”

He was self-aware enough to realise he was turning your success into a story of his own heartbreak, to feel repulsed by his narcissism and disgusted by his jealousy. But he couldn’t help it, because it was you. It was written in the stars that you were supposed to put him before anyone else, and he was supposed to do the same.

Your eyes softened, instantly filling with regret, and you reached out to take his hands between yours. It stung more precisely because he knew how tightly you held your cards to your chest.

“Because I was worried,” you answered.

He frowned. “About what?”

“That you wouldn’t like it.”

The absurdity of him not liking something you did wasn’t lost on him, but some part of him understood what you meant. To him, there was no question more intimate than: do you like it? It revealed what you cared about, showed another’s importance to you, opened a direct line to one’s heart.

“You’re the first to read it,” you assured him, squeezing his hands, probably mistaking his silence for more hurt. “I’m not letting anyone else read it but you.”

He glanced down at the script in his arms. The apology clear in your tone made the guilt of his response settle in now.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Who you told first isn’t important. I’m proud of you.”

You beamed, bright and dazzling; your parents always commented on how you only lit up like that when he was with you.

——————————

iv. you are the knife i turn inside myself.

It surprised you how quickly the novelty of living with Changmin wore off, because within months it felt like this had always been your life; you had always lived in this apartment with this schedule and these friends. You’d always had Chanhee’s polaroids on the living room wall and caramel slices from Juyeon’s cafe in the kitchen and Changmin’s weekly bouquet of roses harvested from the balcony sitting on the dining table.

“Who’s directing your film?” Changmin asked one night on the sofa, peeling an orange for you two to share.

“Kevin Moon,” you said. “I think he’s an art student. Chanhee knows him.”

“Will you get to meet him?” Changmin asked, shoving an orange carpel into your mouth with great inelegance.

You shrugged, your mouth too full to speak, and he waited for you to finish eating with a bemused smile. “Maybe. He invited me to the start of production party, but I’m not going.”

“But you have to go,” Changmin whined, throwing a piece of orange peel at you.

“No,” you shook your head, baulking at his comment. “I won’t know anyone there. I already told Kevin I was busy-”

Just like that, Changmin plucked your phone from your unsuspecting hand and sprinted away, cackling and shrieking.

“Hey!” you shouted, running after him. But he was faster than you and always had been. You chased him around the living room a couple of times, only barely catching up to him even though he was furiously typing away on your phone while he ran, jumping on his back to tackle him to the floor.

“This is assault!” he screamed, a high-pitched whistle that made your ears ring, wildly batting your hands away.

Finally, you managed to wrestle your phone back from him (or, more likely, he finally let you win).

“What did you do?” you groaned, scrambling to your feet when you saw your chat with Kevin pulled up on the screen. You (Changmin) had just eagerly announced you wanted to attend after all, and, of course, Kevin responded with equal enthusiasm.

Changmin threw his arm around your shoulder and pulled you in for a side hug, giggling and ruffling your hair. You were still staring at your phone screen, too dumbfounded to even register his hold on you.

“That’s not how I text,” you finally managed to get out.

He looked at you, confused. “It’s how you text me.”

You bit your tongue and pushed his hand away, sighing as you reread the texts. He had reacted to Kevin’s final message with a heart, something you never did with anyone but Changmin himself.

“I’ll come with you! I’m your plus one,” he declared proudly, beaming. Even after all these years, you never understood how he could be both so obnoxious and so endearing.

So there you were walking into director Kevin Moon’s apartment, Changmin in tow, wanting to crawl out of your own skin. The apartment was small and clean but buzzing with activity, although the music was soft and the crowd was thin. You were relieved to find it less of a university rager and more of an understated hang out. There was a neatly set up drinks table void of any hard liquor by the kitchen archway that looked barely touched.

Changmin squeezed your hand (because of course he was holding your hand) and smiled at you, the very smile of his that made the constant buzzing anxiety in your head fade.

“See? This isn’t so bad,” he said.

You would never admit it, but he was right.

“I just need to say hi to Kevin, then we can go,” you said. 

Right on cue, a black-haired crescent-eyed man strode over to you.

“Y/N? I’m Kevin, the director,” he greeted with a wide smile. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you said. “This is Changmin.”

“Hi,” Changmin beamed.

Kevin returned the greeting before turning to you. “We were actually just about to start the speeches. Would you like to give one? You are the writer, after all.”

What kind of university party had speeches? A film kid’s party, you supposed.

“I’m not great at public speaking,” you replied, shy.

Changmin let go of your hand to sling his arm around your shoulder, grinning mischievously. “Can I give a speech for them?”

You looked at him in horror, but he pretended not to see it.

“Uh, sure. I’ll gather the cast and crew,” Kevin agreed, politely downplaying his surprise.

Changmin skipped after Kevin and jumped right onto the coffee table, grabbing the TV remote and holding it up to his mouth like a microphone. He held out his free hand to you. You wanted nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground and bury yourself in it, not least because seemingly everyone in attendance at this party was now filing into the living room at Kevin’s request.

But Changmin looked down at you, his eyes pleading, the softest of smiles on his face. You sighed, took his hand, and he pulled you up onto the coffee table. Even after you found your footing on the glass (which you had serious doubts was sturdy enough to support both your weights), he didn’t let go.

“Everyone,” he began, talking into the remote. You suppressed a smile.

Of course, being the person he was, he captured the attention of the room with just one word. The crowd fell silent instantaneously.

“Everyone, please give it up for your screenwriter, Y/N!” he shouted, spawning a confused rumble of applause that only made you more anxious. You were standing on a coffee table in a stranger’s house, surrounded by more strangers, holding hands with the most attention-grabbing person alive. When your hand started to shake, he squeezed it.

“Y/N will never admit this, but this script means a lot to them,” Changmin began, swinging your joined hands back and forth. “It’s a very important story to us both, and I’m so excited for it to be told.”

He hadn’t even introduced himself, you realised belatedly, like the only thing on his mind was giving this stupid speech for you. He paused, taking a deep breath and turning to you. All his showmanship melted away, the persona he put on in situations like this. He was still using the remote as a microphone, but even that didn’t undercut his words. Despite all the attention on him, his gaze never wavered from you. But this was how he was — in a room full of people his eyes always found yours first.

“You’re so smart and talented, and now people will finally get to see it,” he said, running his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m so proud of you, really. Not just for your script, but for putting yourself out there.”

You weren’t sure at what point in your life feeling shame when people praised you, or even paid attention to you, became your modus operandi. You felt that shame now, so strong it was almost unbearable. But Changmin wasn’t done.

“You’re a star, okay?” he said, more insistent now. He shook your hand urgently like he could tell he was losing you to the room, training your attention back onto him. “You’re my star. I hope you can see yourself the way I see you.”

It was when you forced yourself to meet his gaze that you noticed he was tearing up. You hadn’t seen this side of him in a long time; it came out less and less frequently as he got older. But this was who he was deep down, the type of person who felt so freely and deeply that he got drunk on life, intoxicating everyone around him and wrapping them up in his whirlwind.

“I’ll be in the audience of every show,” he promised, smiling through the glassiness of his eyes. “I’ll be your fan until the day I die.”

When you were sixteen Changmin had quite dramatically broken up with his girlfriend at that time because he found out she and her friends were mocking you on her private Instagram stories. He did this in front of your entire class before walking right up to you, grabbing your hand, and skipping off.This didn’t feel like that. He wasn’t getting back at anyone; he wasn’t proving a point about moral integrity or kindness. He was just talking to you, private despite his audience, like you were hiding yourselves within yourselves.

——————————

As soon as you and Changmin got down from the coffee table you sequestered yourself in the corner of the kitchen. He very graciously and loyally stayed by your side instead of mingling like you knew he wanted to.

“Wasn’t that a good speech? Did you like it?” he giggled, hopping around and slapping your shoulder in giddy excitement.

He did that a lot, which was fine when you were kids but problematic when he was a fully grown man who didn’t quite seem to grasp his own strength. It started hurting around the time you turned fourteen, although you never had the heart to tell him to stop. He smiled so brightly when he did it, after all.

“It was a great speech,” you admitted, although your heart was still bleeding into the cavity of your chest. The pain came not from the knife that had been lodged between your ribs for years, but from Changmin grabbing the handle and twisting it as he spoke.

Across the room, Kevin waved to you. You waved back awkwardly, which Changmin of course noticed.

“You should go talk to him,” Changmin said, pushing you towards the director so forcefully you nearly tripped and fell flat on your face. By the time you regained your balance, he was gone and Kevin was standing right in front of you.

“Hey, I meant to say this earlier,” Kevin prefaced. “I just wanted to tell you I loved your script and I’m really excited to bring it to life with you.”

At his gentle disposition, you relaxed. You needed to stop reacting like a spooked deer every time someone other than Changmin (or by now, Juyeon or Chanhee, you supposed) talked to you.

“Thank you,” you forced yourself to answer. Your whole life you’d felt like a puppet jerked around by invisible strings, carrying out every expected perfunctory action without anyone noticing how practised your motions were. “And thank you for picking my script.”

Kevin waved this away with a smile. “You’re welcome to drop in on table reads or filming sessions whenever you want,” he offered, gesturing behind you. “As is your boyfriend.”

You paused for a moment before the realisation hit you, turning around to see what he was pointing at.

Changmin was standing in the middle of the room (of course, because he was a middle-of-the-room person) talking to one of the main cast members, the male lead. He caught your eye earlier — tall, charismatic, and strikingly handsome. You swallowed the familiar bitter taste of inadequacy and turned back to Kevin.

“We’re just friends,” you recited, a practised phrase, each word a sharp blade slicing your tongue and making it bleed. Just, as if friendship was somehow less than. You felt the marionette strings around your wrists and ankles tighten.

“Oh, I misinterpreted,” Kevin said politely. It was a reasonable interpretation, with the ‘plus one’ text and the hand-holding and the tooth-rotting sweetness of Changmin’s speech. “But, hey, feel free to bring him along regardless.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it, really,” you said, just barely having enough time to get your sentiment across before the stage manager came to drag him away to another more important conversation.

Someone tapped you on the shoulder and you turned around. It was Juyeon. He had signed up as a crew member in secret right after he found out about the film and was brought on as a boom operator (because he was tall, you guessed). So had Chanhee, in costumes and makeup. You learnt that only when Kevin posted the cast and crew roll online.

“You good?” Juyeon asked, empathetic, his brows drawing together in concern. “That speech was… wow.”

“I think Kevin can tell and it’s stressing me out,” you blurted out, not answering his question.

“Kevin can tell what?” Juyeon asked, before taking one look at your face and realising what you meant. Rather unsubtly, his gaze flitted over to where Changmin was.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Why did I submit this script?”

“Because you were brave and took a leap of faith,” he said, swatting your shoulder as if to punch out your self-doubt. “You still haven’t told Chanhee about you… being in love?”

At that, you looked up in alarm. “No. Did you tell him?”

Juyeon calmly shook his head, not registering your panic. “Was I supposed to?”

“No, just checking,” you breathed out, relieved. He seemed slightly proud that only he knew.

“Good. Chanhee’s one of the suckers. I’m sure he’d tell you to shoot your shot,” he said. “You people are so annoying.” You were about to retort that you weren’t one of them — a Changmin-esque hopeless romantic — but why else would you be in love with the same person for years? Perhaps you just didn’t know how to hold love, or let it hold you, without its thorns ripping holes in your skin.

——————————

Changmin always thought you spent far too much time on eBay (and Facebook marketplace, and GMarket, et cetera), but even he had to concede that your secondhand shopping habit made the apartment his favourite place to be. You procured the best furniture and decor, and he styled it to perfection.

You and him picked up a new shelf yesterday from a creepy old man’s creepy old house. Getting murdered over a shelf wasn’t his preferred way to go, but he wasn’t going to let you go alone.

The shelf was soon filled with your most prized possessions and all the stupid trinkets that had been consigned to the junk drawer since you moved into the apartment. Random bits of sea glass collected from some school trip or other, dance competition trophies and chess tournament medals, the orange stuffed octopus he’d won for you from a claw machine when you were twelve. Your mementoes were so intertwined he could barely tell them apart — a shrine to the double helix of your souls.

“Hey, new shelf,” Juyeon said when he and Chanhee came over for dinner the next day.

“Pretty, right? Y/N chose it, and I picked the wood stain,” Changmin beamed.

“Where is Y/N?” Chanhee asked.

“At class. They’ll be home soon,” Changmin replied.

Then he shrieked, remembering something. Chanhee jumped, but only slightly, considering how loud the sound was, and Juyeon barely reacted.

“I have to show you something!” Changmin yelled, sprinting into his bedroom and reemerging with a thin book with a leather cover.

He held up the book with a proud grin. “Isn’t it cool? I printed Y/N’s script and got it leather-bound. Look, the title is embossed. Their name, too.”

Chanhee reached for the book, running his fingers over the indented letters on the front cover. The leather was soft, glossy, and clearly not cheap, with a beautiful patina.

“What’s the occasion?” Chanhee asked, flipping through the pages.

“Was it expensive?” Juyeon asked. Different priorities, these two.

Changmin rolled his eyes. “It’s for the wrapping of the short film, and yes.”

He didn’t usually spend much money on you, nor did you on him. The most either of you ever dropped on each other was a fancy meal here or there, perhaps a nice sweater or jacket if one of you saw something in a shop you knew the other would like. This book was the most expensive gift he’d ever gotten you.

“Do you think it’s too much?” Changmin asked, watching Juyeon inspect the bespoke craftsmanship of the binding on the book’s spine.

Chanhee smiled, not teasing him for the first time ever. “No. I think they’ll love it.”

Changmin left not long after that to pick you up from class, because it started raining and you didn’t pack your umbrella that morning. He waited outside your lecture theatre, watching a stream of your classmates trickle out the doors. You were usually one of the first to leave.

Finally, you emerged, your eyes lighting up the second you spotted him.

“Hi,” you breathed. “What are you doing here?”

Changmin waved his umbrella around in answer. “You forgot yours.”

In hindsight, he probably should’ve just brought yours. Yours was sturdier and his had two broken ribs. 

“And you didn’t wear your coat today,” he added, holding out the hoodie in his other hand. You smiled and put it on.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I bumped into Kevin,” you said.

His ears perked up. “Kevin? What did he want?”

“Nothing. He just showed me his concept boards and asked me what I thought,” you answered.

Changmin forced his broken umbrella open. It would have to do — at least the rain wasn’t too heavy. You and him quickly fell into step side-by-side on the narrow pavement.

“He seems to talk to you a lot.”

“I think he’s just trying to include me,” you said, in neither agreement nor refutation.

“Maybe you should ask him out,” he suggested with a teasing lilt. “You have a lot in common.”

You simply smiled and shook your head.

He had never quite understood your reluctance to date. You said no to every single person who tried to ask you out, which never grew less bewildering with time. Even at Kevin’s start-of-production party it was instantly obvious, at least to Changmin, that Kevin wanted to talk to you — but you didn’t notice in the slightest.

It was a quiet night, dark and chilly with only the sounds of raindrops hitting concrete to fill the silence. It was exactly the kind of night that made him painfully aware of his own melancholy. You stumbled, slipping on the wet pavement, and he grabbed your elbow to steady you.

“Are you going to Yuri’s tomorrow?” you asked.

Yuri was a classmate Changmin had been seeing for the last month. It wasn’t serious yet, but he was already getting the feeling she was tiring of him. As always, he could not keep people from slipping through his fingers.

“Probably not,” he replied. “We fought. She said I’m moving too slowly. So I guess I’m supposed to have asked her to be my girlfriend by now.”

You looked at him curiously, perhaps wondering when he’d become so bitter. He wondered that too, more and more these days, in fact. But you remained silent, somehow sensing his arm was starting to ache and taking the umbrella from him.

“Do you ever feel like no one actually sees you?” he asked, rain pelting down around him. “They want to be your friend or they fall in love with you, but it’s not actually you?”

“Sort of,” you said, in a tone that implied you knew how you answered wasn’t really that important.

“That once people crack you open they realise there isn’t anything inside you and move on? You’re just empty with nothing to offer anyone?” Changmin said. He wasn’t talking about Yuri anymore.

You’d reached your apartment building. He looked up at the warm yellow square. He could see Juyeon and Chanhee’s silhouettes in the window — the former standing still while the latter appeared to be draping fabric over him. Working on costumes for the short film, he presumed.

“You have yourself to offer,” you answered after a long pause. “That’s not nothing.”

Changmin remembered reading about false front architecture as a kid, when he was in his cowboy phase. Those Wild West buildings in America with elaborate front facądes to hide how plainly and shoddily they were built by White colonists. He felt a strange affinity for them even back then, when he was just eight or nine, however odd it was to see oneself in a building.

“Thanks for coming to get me, Min,” you said, ushering him inside the lobby ahead of you.

He watched with a smile as you shook the water off his umbrella with more force than was probably necessary and battled with the broken ribs to get it to close. Your right shoulder was soaked, evidently a result of you shielding him from the rain over yourself.

“Of course.”

——————————

v. wishing, wanting, yours for the taking.

To celebrate the wrapping of Kevin’s short film, your friends were throwing you a surprise party at your regular Saturday night dinner. Well, it was no longer a surprise to you — a result of their total inability to lie — but you appreciated the thought nonetheless.

Changmin sent you and Juyeon to the supermarket to ‘pick up a few things’, none of which were necessary for what he and Chanhee were cooking for dinner, to get you out of the house for an hour or so. You worked your way through the bogus shopping list anyway, humouring them.

“Y/N?”

You turned around at the sound of a vaguely familiar voice.

“Hi, Jinah,” you greeted, nudging Juyeon to get his attention. He waved politely, although he seemed to only recognise her after you said her name.

“Hi! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Jinah smiled. “How’s Changmin?”

Her question took you aback. You paused, and even Juyeon raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry. That was so rude,” Jinah blurted out, embarrassed. “How are you?”

“It’s fine. I’m alright, and you?” There you went, feeling like a marionette all over again.

Jinah was unbelievably pretty, the sort of face that belonged on the silver screen or in luxury advertisements rather than in your neighbourhood supermarket’s snacks aisle, the sort of person Changmin dated. You understood why he took so long to get over her.

“Yeah, I’m well!” she answered, bubbly and cheerful, before she hesitated. “I’m really sorry about that. I just- I guess I shouldn’t be burdening you with this.”

Juyeon was beginning to fidget next to you, shifting his weight from foot to foot and awkwardly poking at the food in the shopping basket on his arm. You just smiled and waited for her to continue.

“How is he? Is he- I mean-” Jinah cut herself off with a sigh, upset with herself for even trying to ask you that. “It doesn’t matter. We didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry. It must’ve been difficult,” you said.

She forced herself to smile. “I guess he was the one who got away. We’ve all got one of those, right?”

You bit your lip. “Right. We do.”

“Well,” Juyeon interjected, far too loud, clearly having been waiting for his chance to jump into the conversation for a while. You suppressed a laugh. “We should probably get going.”

“Ah, yes. I didn’t mean to bother you,” Jinah said. “I’ll- I’ll see you guys around.”

Juyeon hurried you to the self-checkout the second she was out of earshot.

“You handled that well,” he observed, on scanning duty as usual. “I was half-expecting you to offer to put her back in touch with Changmin.”

You looked at him, baffled. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you like shooting yourself in the foot,” Juyeon answered. “Because you don’t think you deserve love.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in love at all,” you countered, mainly because you didn’t want to let his last statement just sit in the air like that.

But the whole walk home, up until your hand was on the front door knob, his words swirled incessantly in your mind.

You opened the door to a shower of pink confetti.

“Surprise!” Changmin, Chanhee, and Juyeon shouted in near-perfect unison.

Changmin jumped on your back and ruffled your hair with a giggle. “Why aren’t you surprised? Did Juyeon spoil it?”

“You all did,” you laughed, looking around the apartment.

The table was set, food all cooked and ready, with a fresh bouquet of roses as the centrepiece. Chanhee (you presumed) had hung string lights all around the living room and dimmed everything else, lending the apartment a warm, intimate glow. Golden foil balloons spelt out ‘congratu’, which Juyeon would later explain was because he ran out of money and hadn’t thought to just commit to ‘congrats’.

“Look!” Changmin exclaimed, jumping off your back and shoving a helium balloon in your face. It read: it’s a boy film! He did the same thing when you made the dean’s list in your first year of university, with a happy birthday dean’s list! balloon, crossed out and scrawled over in black marker.

“Ah, the food’s getting cold!” Chanhee whined, pushing you all towards the table.

You obediently sat down, Changmin lit the decorative pillar candles, Juyeon poured the champagne, and Chanhee started shovelling ridiculous amounts of food onto your plate.

“We bumped into Jinah earlier,” Juyeon told Changmin. You turned to the former in surprise, having expected him to keep it a secret. “I don’t think she’s over you.”

Changmin looked up from the ladleful of soup he had precariously hovering over your bowl, his expression inscrutable. Being unable to read him was not an experience you were used to.

“Isn’t that such a rom-com trope?” Chanhee teased. “The old flame, the lingering feelings, the reconnection-”

“I don’t believe in that stuff,” Changmin said, laughing slightly.

You looked at him — at his slight smile and the flickering candlelight making his skin glow — and then at the vase full of red and pink roses he’d harvested and arranged that morning. The extra care he’d put into them had been your first clue that he was planning something.

“Since when?” Chanhee asked in shock.

Changmin laughed, saying nothing, pouring your soup. Then, he cleared his throat and raised his champagne flute. You and him had found the set of four in a secondhand shop, and he always gave you the glass without any chips or scratches.

“This is Y/N’s party,” he said, changing the subject. “To Y/N!”

——————————

Changmin and Chanhee did a good job with the decor, if he did say so himself. His bouquet was even better than usual, as was his food. Chanhee matched the red candles to the red roses and found the perfect combination of string lights and lamps to lend the whole apartment a dreamy orange glow.

“What?” you asked over a spoonful of soup when you spotted Changmin staring at you out of the corner of your eye. You were eating heartily — you seemed to only eat that well when he cooked for you — your cheeks stuffed with his tofu stew.

He smiled fondly and shook his head. “Nothing. Is it good?”

“Yeah, it’s always good,” you replied.

Changmin wondered what a stranger would think if they looked up at your apartment window from the street below, at the square warmer and dimmer than usual. They couldn’t possibly hear Juyeon and Chanhee fighting over whose turn it was to pick the dinner playlist or see the balloons on the wall next to the TV. But maybe they could make out the silhouettes of four friends gathered around the dinner table, feel the love held in the space.

“I have another surprise,” Changmin announced, producing the leather-bound book from a bag stashed under his chair and handing it to you.

You took it carefully, breaking into a wide smile when you saw the title of the short film and your name embossed in the brown leather. In awe, you held the book up to the candlelight, marveling at the masterful stitching of the perfectly bound spine.

“This is beautiful,” you said. “Thank you.”

He threw his arm around your shoulder, excited. “Open it, open it.”

The very first page held an inscription he’d agonised over for hours. You read it aloud.

“To Y/N, my past and present and future —

I’m so proud of you and so lucky to know you. Let’s stay together for a long time.

I hope I get to grow old without ever letting go of your hand.

Love,

Changmin.”

Even in the relatively dim glow of the candles and the string lights, Changmin could see your eyes shining with tears. When was the last time he saw you cry — when Mr. Lee passed away? He pulled you into his side, patting your shoulder.

“Thank you, Min,” you breathed, running your fingertips over the neat blocks of his handwriting. “I love it.”

“Aww,” Juyeon cooed. Sitting beside him, Chanhee had his phone out, filming the moment dutifully as always.

——————————

It was well past your bedtimes when Juyeon and Chanhee finally headed home for the night, but both of you were still far too wired to sleep. Changmin curled up on the sofa beside you with a cup of chamomile tea in his hands.

“Thank you for doing all this, Min,” you said, leaning against him with your back to his chest and his arm around your shoulder.

“Of course.” He picked a stray sliver of pink confetti out of your hair. “I really am proud of you, you know?”

“It’s just a student production,” you mumbled, shaking your head at the fondness in his words. Even though he couldn’t see your face, he could hear your embarrassed smile. You used that word a lot, just, and often you used it against yourself. It made him sad.

He sipped his tea, humming along to your playlist under his breath. It’d been a while since you moved into this apartment. Maybe it was time for him to buy better Bluetooth speakers than the cheap ones he brought with him from home when he first moved here.

“You know how Mr. Lee and his wife broke up after high school, then got back together after six years apart?” Changmin asked after a long silence.

“They met again at a funeral when their old classmate died tragically young,” you recited obediently, a story Mr. Lee had told you both many times. Seemingly able to sense he had something important to say, you sat up and turned to face him.

He pursed his lips, pensive, not really wanting you to shift away from him. “When Juyeon brought up Jinah, part of me was hoping I’d be happy. But I didn’t feel anything.”

You placed your hand over his. Whenever he got like this, there was a pillowy sadness in your eyes. You were always there to take his pain and despair and press it into your own heart, so they were not his to bear alone. He didn’t know how or why you put up with him for so long, sure that if he showed this side of him to anyone else they’d be gone in an instant.

“I guess I was waiting to see if I’d magically fall back in love with her when I heard her name again,” he admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. “What’s wrong with me? Why does everyone else have someone made just for them, and I don’t? Am I a bad person?”

You ran your thumb over his knuckles, your voice warm and tender. “You’re not a bad person, Min.”

He had never been a stranger to this shame, this limitless regret, and yet, he was unable to stop it from slicing him open. It lingered in his bones.

“And for what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone has anyone made just for them,” you added.

“I know, I know, soulmates aren’t real,” he mumbled, just barely cracking a smile now. “You’re becoming just like Juyeon.”

But you had a point. Everyone he dated cast a gold idol in his image, only to smash it to pieces and melt it back down the second they realised he was just a person like anyone else. How many people had ever seen him as he really was, and not as an idea?

“Well, say soulmates are real — the red thread and all that,” you posited thoughtfully, reaching out to swipe away a tear from his cheek he hadn’t even noticed was there. “Of the people you dated, why did you choose them?”

He looked at you, holding your hands between his, sitting cross-legged on the sofa. “I didn’t. They chose me.”

You smiled, shaking your head and leaning forward. “But what do you want in a soulmate? What makes you happy?”

“You, mainly,” he replied, with no hesitation. “Juyeon and Chanhee. Our apartment.”

That same sadness in your eyes was back, even though you were smiling. He remembered that look from Kevin’s party, when you were both up on the coffee table together. It was there that night in the playground when Mikyoung broke his heart and he gave you the roses intended for her. He always recognised it, but he never knew what to make of it.

”Why?” you asked.

“Because you’re kind. And you actually see me,” Changmin said.

Why did you make him happy? He was happy seeing you smile like you were now, your cheeks raised and your eyes crinkling at the sides, feeling you play with the silver rings on his fingers in this space you’d made for each other.

“Everything just makes more sense when you’re around,” he told you, an unfamiliar warmth blooming in his chest. “Nights are less lonely. Washing dishes is more fun.”

You didn’t take your eyes off of him, nor pull your hands out of his grasp. It hit him in that moment — an overwhelming wave that crashed down around him, cleaving at his heart and clawing at his soul — why the stars always shone brighter around you.

Something in his face must have shifted, because your expression changed without him having to say a word. Your eyes widened, your shoulders rose as you held your breath.

“Oh,” he whispered.

Your pillowy sadness at last gave way to shy trepidation. How long had you waited for him to meet you here?

“I’m yours, Min,” you said, so soft as to be almost inaudible, squeezing his hand. He could feel a tremor in your fingers. “You know it.”

He’d spent a lifetime chasing this elusive concept, magical and abstract and surreal, trapping himself in an impossible quest to disguise the depth of his want. But he didn’t regret it, not really, because everything in his life had led him to you. Every mistake, every heartbreak, every laugh and every tear.

Changmin leant forward and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, but there was a stillness in the room nonetheless. Maybe it was you, grounding him, making it bearable.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his breath catching in his throat.

“Please,” you whispered.

Slowly, he closed the distance between you, your lips meeting, hesitant and careful at first, before you kissed him back, making him come alive. He cupped your face gently, fingers trembling on his skin, and your palms rested on his chest. You could probably feel his heart racing through his clothes. You tasted like red wine and black cherry lip balm.

He pulled away and rested his forehead against yours, brushing his thumb across your cheek. Your fingers traced the outline of his jaw, warm on his skin.

“I love you,” he mumbled, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from lifting.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem so terrifying anymore. He wondered if you remembered that quote too, if you carved it into your bones the way he did.

“I love you,” you echoed.

Changmin pulled you into his arms, hiding you from the world. You were two halves of a whole, held up to the light, unmasking each other.

Love was in the rose bouquets he arranged with you, not to gift to you but just to spend time with you. Love was in the way you held his hand and the way he tucked you in when you fell asleep on the sofa. Love was at the dinner table and out on the balcony and under his umbrella with two of the ribs broken.

——————————

thank you for reading!

-minastras <3

[ckret2]

Would utonium tell aku about the other child he has (if he even remembers at all that he accidently made Jojo into Mojo Jojo, cause he forgot about that completely until Mr. Mojo's Rising and then that info is never brought up again, so utonium might really have forgotten it) or would aku discover it himself

Personally i think that—now that he's been so pointedly reminded—Prof Utonium remembers his history with Jojo. But like, he doesn't think about it in depth on a day to day basis. first and foremost Mojo Jojo is the evil villain who keeps trying to hurt his sweet little girls and take over the world... and also he used to be Utonium's awful lab assistant.

So I don't think he'd think to tell Aku about Mojo. Obviously since Aku's such a good guy (pause for the studio audience to laugh knowingly) he's primarily interested in hearing about the heroes made from his essence! And all of Utonium's research on Chemical X's properties—how it can be used, what causes it to bond or not bond with other ingredients/beings—why, it can do all sorts of strange things to a body if a bit of it is accidentally ingested, look at this! ("That explains a strange fever dream I had this one time I was sleeping off a terrible cold.") And THAT is what Aku gets told about Chemical X and how it's been used.

The girls probably tell him about some of their villains—he knows about the gang of green teenagers, the weird pink bear, the evil genius monkey, the LITERAL EVILEST WORST GUY EVER (Aku's like oh sometimes i had tea with HIM in my other timeline, nice to have a familiar face around), this suuuper annoying rich girl that wants to join their team... and that's kinda as much detail as he gets. They are tiny children, it does not occur to them that Aku might, like, want to KNOW that Mojo got his genius from Chemical X, like it simply doesn't cross their minds that that might be relevant to his interests.

So he's not finding out until they have an actual fight with Mojo somewhere he can see it. idk how this get finagled. maybe mojo attacks their house. maybe the girls were dragging aku out on the town because they want to play at the park and prof utonium was busy and aku ran out of excuses and that's where mojo attacks. maybe mojo takes the girls captive and aku's like oh hell no i was teaching them eye laser tricks this afternoon and i am NOT letting that get pushed back to next weekend again. or maybe mojo overhears the girls mention that they've got a "new dad" and he waits until everyone else is out of the house to break in like "you are now my hostage, for I am taking you as a prisoner back to my place of residence which is not this dwelling but another location that is not here, and you will be coming even though you do not want to due to the threat of force which I am willing to levy against you should you not cooperate with my—" and aku's like "well, i suppose i could stand to go out more."

but however it happens, he's pretty quickly like, so, this chimp that looks like me and sounds like me and is evil like me and craves to rule the world like me... why does he smell like me.

once somebody explains oh yeah he got chemical x'ed too it's thirty seconds maximum before they're going "SON?! 🥹" "FATHER?! 🥹"

whether or not he immediately starts loudly praising mojo's villainy is dependent upon whether the girls are around when aku makes this discovery. If they ARE around and shouting YOU CAN'T HUG HIM HE'S THE BAD GUY he's just going "a father's love is unconditional." He'll slink out at 3 a.m. to find mojo and tell him the truth. but however it happens, aku's making sure mojo knows he's SO PROUD of his son and his life choices

which is probably the first time anybody's ever said anything like that to mojo. He might start crying.

I think I'll go with "the girls are there during the first meeting so aku has to sneak out to tell him the truth later" just because the setting of that conversation makes such a big difference.

If you've just met the being responsible for making you who you are today and he tells you how proud he is of you? Sure, that's pretty flattering, especially if he's just seen your mountaintop property volcano lab with all the big cool weapons and machines you designed and built yourself and you got to tell him about your big ambitious evil plans. Like hell yeah your brand new demon daddy's proud of you, there's clearly a lot to be proud of.

on the other hand, if he comes to you after he's just watched you get beaten, defeated, and humiliated, if he looks at you with your clothes torn and your face bruised sitting on a cot in a cold jail cell... and THEN he tells you he's so proud of you?

devastating.

[teabunnee]

Emesis Blue actor au

Transcripts from the interviews after the immense success of indie film EMESIS BLUE

Clip 1 

Fritz: It was interesting to do horror, not too dissimilar to my former roles, except without the comedy. One of the most difficult was simply staring at the camera, I had to create an immense amount of emotions with no words, or facial movements while Tavish was around, making silly faces. I had to pretend I was an owl. 

Clip 2: 

Jeremy: you should’ve seen my Ma when I told her about the part she got. She was so psyched! Though the head bust they made of her was freaky as hell. She keeps hiding it in the weirdest places-

Ma(offscreen): You laughed! 

Jeremy: After I almost peed my pants! You left it on a plate! 

Ma: That wasn’t me! That was Tavish! 

Jeremy(muttering): Of course it was. 

Clip 3: 

Ma: My son actually played two roles! He’s the man with the long arms and hands. Not sure what that was about, to be honest.

Jeremy: Oh man, the prop hands! You know, they look creepy in the movie, but walk around with massive sausage fingers in the daylight? I looked like a monkey! Got a few laughs out of everyone at least. 

(Jeremy looks at the camera and holds out his massive sausage hands, grinning) 

Clip 4: 

Ma: Mr Murnau was a dear to work with on the set, such a gentleman, even with all of those burn prosthetics they put on him! All of that heavy makeup and thick scars…He looked like a different person! 

Murnau: I’m used to playing the suave gentleman, but the detective in the film is a savage character. Savage, and complex. I drew a lot from old noir films. He was an interesting role. A man who engineers his own destruction. 

Clip 5: 

Dell: You can say this was a family production, especially for me. But that just meant we all hung out together more. I’m glad my brothers had the chance to shine, not to mention I liked the tux they got me.  

Fritz: the cognagher twins were quite the marvel to watch on set, one minute they were the men who offered to fix my car, the second they were this…terrifying murderous duo! 

Murnau: They were very well spoken individuals, and they play off each other very well. They always seemed to know exactly what the other was planning. 

Clip 6:

Dell: Yeah, they loved the Shining, why you ask? 

Clip 7:

Tavish: My best mate? Doe! We had a lot of fun on set together. We still go bar hopping! 

Doe: Tavish was our prankster on set! Always hiding things or spooking us during cuts. Course, I was there to help him out! 

(Clip of the famous frozen Demo scene, only once soldier leans again demo’s chest, Demo suddenly comes to life and screams, startling soldier.) 

edit: Drawings start here!

[carleycore]

Very In love with Gojo so I imagined this as myself LMAOOO

Warnings: Kids and parenting ig???

Morning sunlight streams through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your bedroom. You stretch out under the covers, feeling the comforting weight of the quilt around you. Next to you, Gojo stirs, his white hair tousled and a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he notices you waking up.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice still husky from sleep.

"Good morning," you reply, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his lips. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer.

"Ready to face another day of chaos?" he teases, knowing full well that life with two energetic kids is never boring.

You chuckle softly. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Gojo reluctantly untangles himself from you and gets out of bed. You watch as he stretches, his muscles flexing under his pajama shirt. "I'll get the coffee started," he says, winking at you before heading to the kitchen.

You take a moment to savor the peace before the children wake up. But it doesn't last long. Soon enough, you hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet running down the hallway, followed by excited giggles.

"Mama! Papa!" Your five-year-old daughter, Aiko, bursts into the room, her hair a wild mess. Right behind her is your three-year-old son, Kenji, clutching his favorite stuffed animal.

"Good morning, my little monkeys," you greet them, scooping Kenji into your arms while Aiko climbs onto the bed.

"Papa's making pancakes!" Aiko announces, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Oh, is he now?" you reply, smiling at the thought of Gojo in the kitchen. His cooking skills have improved over the years, but his pancakes are still a special treat.

You carry Kenji to the kitchen, Aiko trailing close behind. Gojo is indeed making pancakes, flipping them with a flourish that makes the kids clap in delight.

"Look at you, Mr. Chef," you tease, setting Kenji down so he can watch his father in action.

Gojo turns to you with a grin. "Only the best for my family," he declares, handing a plate of perfectly golden pancakes to Aiko.

Breakfast is a lively affair, filled with laughter and the sweet scent of syrup. Gojo helps the kids with their plates, making sure they have just the right amount of butter and syrup. You can't help but smile as you watch him interact with them, his eyes full of love and warmth.

After breakfast, the day unfolds in a series of small, joyful moments. Gojo helps Aiko build a castle with her blocks, while you read Kenji his favorite storybook. There's a trip to the park, where Gojo pushes the kids on the swings and pretends to be a monster chasing them around the playground.

By the time evening rolls around, you're all pleasantly exhausted. Bath time is a splashy, giggly event, with Gojo ending up just as wet as the kids. Once they're clean and in their pajamas, it's time for bed.

You and Gojo tuck them in together, reading one last story before turning out the lights. Aiko insists on a kiss from both of you, while Kenji snuggles down with his stuffed animal, already half asleep.

With the kids finally settled, you and Gojo retreat to the living room. You curl up on the couch together, his arm around your shoulders.

"Today was a good day," you say softly, resting your head against his chest.

"Every day with you is a good day," he replies, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You smile, feeling a deep sense of contentment. Life may be chaotic and unpredictable, but with Gojo by your side, you know you can handle anything.

As you sit there in the quiet of your home, you realize that this is all you ever wanted—a loving husband, beautiful children, and a life filled with simple, precious moments. And with Gojo, you have all that and more.

[numberonenat]

i asked chat gpt to make a playlist based on my candy love characters...

here's part 2 and 3: others / dateables ul + chani

here's what it gave me:

castiel:

"make me wanna die" by the pretty reckless

"ignorance" by paramore

"welcome to the black parade" by my chemical romance

"bring me to life" by evanescence

"sugar, we're goin down" by fall out boy

"i write sins not tragedies" by panic! at the disco

"sk8er boi" by avril lavigne

"boulevard of broken dreams" by green day

"dirty little secret" by the all-american rejects

"i hate everything about you" by three days grace

"numb" by linkin park

"so cold" by breaking benjamin

"gasoline" by halsey

"the kill (bury me)" by 30 seconds to mars

"i miss you" by blink-182

nathaniel:

"fix you" by coldplay

"fireflies" by owl city

"hey, soul sister" by train

"how to save a life" by the fray

"i'm yours" by jason mraz

"all of me" by john legend

"love song" by sara bareilles

"banana pancakes" by jack johnson

"you're beautiful" by james blunt

"the way i am" by ingrid michaelson

"thinking out loud" by ed sheeran

"bubbly" by colbie caillat

"say something" by a great big world

"make you feel my love" by adele

"count on me" by bruno mars

lysandre:

"supermassive black hole" by muse

"personal jesus" by depeche mode

"sweater weather" by the neighbourhood

"mr. brightside" by the killers

"do i wanna know?" by arctic monkeys

"intro" by the xx

"shake it out" by florence + the machine

"summertime sadness" by lana del rey

"creep" by radiohead

"running up that hill" by placebo

"closer" by nine inch nails

"only happy when it rains" by garbage

"1979" by the smashing pumpkins

"sour times" by portishead

"teardrop" by massive attack

kentin:

"good vibrations" by the beach boys

"walking on sunshine" by katrina and the waves

"don't stop believin'" by journey

"good time" by owl city

"here comes the sun" by the beatles

"happy" by pharrell williams

"sun street" by katrina and the waves

"shut up and dance" by walk the moon

"i'm a believer" by the monkees

"africa" by toto

"i'm gonna be (500 miles)" by the proclaimers

"dancing queen" by abba

"mr. blue sky" by elo

"all star" by smash mouth

"on top of the world" by imagine dragons

armin:

"video killed the radio star" by the buggles

"don't stop me now" by queen

"bohemian rhapsody" by queen

"take on me" by a-ha

"livin' on a prayer" by bon jovi

"sweet child o' mine" by guns n' roses

"every breath you take" by the police

"another one bites the dust" by queen

"don't you (forget about me)" by simple minds

"eye of the tiger" by survivor

"we will rock you" by queen

"don't stop believin'" by journey

"sweet caroline" by neil diamond

"boys of summer" by don henley

"hotel california" by eagles

i actually like this a lot lol

this is always so fun to make even if they don't make sense so yeah qskjvfhdjw

i'll make a part 2!!!

[newkatzkafe2023]

I love your work. Almost no one talks about Netflix monkey king. So May I request a reader who is kind oblivious to the fact that everywhere she goes it like those cartoon disasters. Like she could walk and a giant boulder almost hit her. The poor monkeys are the one who take the brunt of the damage and you are concerned but completely confused. Basically reader a bad luck magnet and doesn’t realize it

This reminds me of 2 things Candy by robbie Williams and Mr Bean🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

(Lmk Wukong) He is so stressed being with you everyday especially when your so unnaturally clumsy. You bever seem to be aware of your surroundings and just skip and walk while looking at your phone or just walking around smiling. Just to have a beam almost fall on you, a car almost hitting you, and to cause people to trip over and next to you. Wukong is mildly jealous That you can cause mayhem without lifting a finger, But it's also greatly cospinning and that causes him to take damage from your clumsiness. It's a good thing you love to give kisses for his boo boos🥰🥰🥰

(Nezha Reborn) you are like a black cat, a adorably sexy black cat that roams the streets with flowers in her head. Everywhere you go Is chaos and calamity happens, and the crazy part you have no freaking idea😣😣. Wukong Is dumbfounded by the stuff that happens around you like seriously How do pianos fall from the sky?!??! Why is it when you walk past a open window and explosion happens, and then the final straw is when you look on your phone and Cause a bus to hit a flag pole. Yeah Wukong Find himself Being the responsible one and Getting Is consequences to your bazaar events, but it's so cute that you turn around and show concern for him as you kiss his wounds.

(HIB Wukong) IT'S LIKE HE'S RAISING 3 BABIES AND ONE PIG!!!!!!🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 if it's not silly girl wondering off, Luier's curiosity getting the better of him, or pigsy doing something that's probably gonna get him kilt or arrested. It's you and your bad luck and Absent mindedness, like seriously, are you so stuck in your bubble? You don't see much of the world around you. Wukong luckily calms down about this because It's not like you're trying to stress him out and make him worried it's just your so damn accident prone🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ Granded it's on Wukong for baring the blunt to most of your accident but at least you take such good care of him at the end😚💋💋🧡

(MKR Wukong).............First he has to protect master Tripitaka............now he has to watch and protect YOU TOO?!??!?!?! Wukong has never seen someone so accident prone in his whole life. Like seriously HOW ON EARTH AND YOU STILL ALIVE?!??!?! Then you would have the nerve to finally pay attention to what you are doing and show concern for him when he's looks All dishevelled and beat up. You'll often pout and take out an first aid kid to come and take care of him, You drive Wukong crazy with your Terrible luck and Absent mindedness but oh my god your so sweet🥰

(Netflix Wukong) He's running around like a chicken without a head when it comes to you and your bad luck. Seriously, how are you so unbothered and unaware of your surroundings not to mention how you can just travel around like nothing is gonna happen to you. At first, Wukong thought someone was one to get you, but after a long time of watching your back, he learned about your ever so Crappy luck and he had to take the area damage. At least your always so extra affectionate when it comes to his daily injuries Making sure to kiss all his boo boos.

(BMW Wukong) Sigh you can be quite the handful for him everyday. Wukong can literally feel his own eye twitch as he watched you walk in a the field in the middle of a battle. Luckily for Wukong nothing seem to hit you infact Stranger things happen Whenever you showed up, like arrows missing you drop your book, or people hitting someone else while you bend down to fix your dress. Then the old booby trap bit when you walked into a bunch of traps and somehow only he got injured, While you come out unscathed he just doesn't understand and for once it drives him insane. At leat when you finally noticed his current condition you stop to nurse him back to help.

(Destined one) Can you believe he is adapted and got used to it quite quickly. He silently watches you on the daily so he is quick to notice you and your wildly bad luck. The Destined one has also noticed that you don't seem to mind your own clumsiness and terrible environment. In fact, what's kinda weirded him out was the fact that you don't seem to even notice it or more like your completely unaware. He takes note of this as you wrap up his latest injury, Due to your calamity.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🤕

[melanieph321]

10 DAYS OF REQUESTS

(DAY 4)

Kenan Yildiz x Reader - Deal Breaker Part 3/3

PART 1 PART 2

Summary - Reader meets Kenan during dinner at her house.

Enjoy!🤭

The dessert was devoured almost in complete silence. Only the efforts from your mother seemed to cut through the tension that seemed afloat.

Something must have gone wrong with the deal because your dad and the investor, Kenan's dad, seemed a bit distant in their gazes, refusing to meet each others eyes. Matter of fact, their eyes seemed to solemnly focus on you and Kenan, who had ended up next to each other upon your return from the "tour of the house."

You would have taken more notice about everyone's stiffened mood hadn't it been for Kenan and his hand on your thigh, squeezing the flesh between his fingers, teasing to revive the tingle between your legs. It hit you, however, with the clearing of your mother's throat and her red eyes beaiming at you that your bedroom was located directly above this very dining room.

"Oh my god."

"What?" Kenan whispered, hearing the low mumbled that left your lips.

"I—"

"Kenan." His dad hissed, seeing his son cozying up to his business associates' daughter.

"Yes, dad?" He said, clearing his throat as he leaned away from you, his hand still on your thigh.

"It's time you thank Mrs Y/L/N for the lovely dinner. We should be heading back home soon.

Kenan looked to you and then to your mother. "Of course." He nodded, fixing a smile. "Thank you for the hospitality Mrs Y/L/N and...." He turned to your father but immediately lowered his head with your dad's fuming gaze. "....my father and I should be heading back home soon. However, first, I would like to ask if it's okay for Y/N and I to accompany her friend to a concert tonight?"

"Huh?" You frowned. Kenan ignored you however.

"You see, she's got tickets to this great band that we both like. Arctic Monkeys. You've heard me speaking of them, haven't you, Father?"

His dad's gaze transformed with the wrinkle of his forhead. "You mean that noise that you like to play in my car?"

"Exactly." Kenan lit up. He then shifted towards you. "Your friend is still waiting for us in her car outside, isn't she?"

"Erm...maybe. Probably."

Kenan's sudden amusment shifted something amongst the people around the table. Including you.

Seeing you and Kenan get along sparkled hope of a relationship between your families. Your mother did at least attempt to utilize the idea by saying that Tati was the name of my friend, a responsible young woman that didn't smoke and would have you and Kenan safley back home after the concert. Ten minutes later the two of you were running down your driveway, hand in hand, laughing at the fact that you're parents mostlikely heard the two of you fuck.

You hopped into Tati's car, startling your friend that sat half asleep, waiting for you to give into her stubbornness. You did so with the help of ....

"Who's he?" Tati murmured as she came to, taking notice of the stranger in the backseat of her car.

"Tati this is Kenan. Kenan this' is Tati my best friend."

"Nice to meet you," He said, offering her his mischievous grin. Tati fell for it, of course, just like you had. "I heard that you like Arctic Monkeys. Would you mind if I joined you two to the concert?"

Tati threw a baffled glance your way, watching you eagerly nod your head.

"Of course you can." She said, turning back to Kenan. And just like that, the three of you were in for what would be the best night of your life.

It was a small venue, which allowed you to see the band from up close. Although Marco and his friend's were there, you never saw them or ran into them. How could you, when you were too busy dancing the night away to your favorite songs, your best friend by your side and Kenan, clinging to your neck where his lips stayed attached throughout the entire night.

PART 1 PART 2

DON'T MISS - 10 DAYS OF REQUESTS

(DAY 1)

(DAY 2)

(DAY 3)

[yamy-brett]

Happy 91st Birthday, Jeremy. You are sorely missed.

From JEREMY BRETT PLAYING A PART by Maureen Whittaker. Quotes by Jeremy Brett.

"It all started for me on 3rd November 1933. I began life with everything a child could wish for. We had a huge, glorious, country house on the outskirts of Berkswell, near Coventry, with tennis courts, squash courts, horses and dogs and a wonderful, terraced garden created by my artistic mother, Elizabeth. The family was spoiled rotten, for we had three live-in staff, plus four other people who came in to help. We always seemed to be entertaining a houseful of fascinating people; the door was always open.”

The Grange, where Peter William Jeremy, was born, is a beautiful house with sweet smelling flowering wisteria on the front elevation and nestled in a magical vista of gardens, landscaped by Elizabeth, known as “Bunny”, who was the centre of this loving family.

The Huggins family was a significant part of the delightful Berkswell village in Warwickshire. William and Elizabeth had decided to move to the rambling, attractive Berkswell Grange in 1929 to accommodate a growing family. The three boys, John, Michael and Patrick, needed somewhere to play and to ride, so a large, impressive house was chosen in nearby Truggist Lane. The house featured seventeenth century timber framing, and nineteenth century additions, including a tiled roof.

Due to its grandeur and welcoming hostess, the Grange was the centre of village events, of Christmas parties, of afternoon teas and of music and entertainment.

William and Elizabeth were both keen archers, so it is no surprise that Jeremy took this seriously and belonged to the Woodmen of Arden, a notable club for the sport. “The whole family were taxophilites. Actually, my mother was a brilliant archer, won many awards. She had a special lightweight bow, and when I was growing up, I used her hand-me-downs. Looking back, I must have been about four or five when my father gave me my first lesson. The outfit is really glamorous – Lincoln green cut-away tailcoat, buff waistcoat with gold buttons, shite slacks, shite shoes and a New Zealand style hat that turns up at the side…”

Archery Week was hosted by the Huggins family at the beginning of August each year and to accompany the competitions on the extensive grounds at the Grange, they featured special balls for about 30 or 40 people for dinner, followed by dancing in the ballroom. “The dancing finished so late that breakfast was often served to the guests before they left for home the following day.”

“Naturally, I’d been practising like mad for the occasion. Firing at 100 yards I nervously let the arrow go. It wobbled in the air and my astonishment landed smack in the middle of the target. I was made Master Forester on my first day – a title which carries with it sitting at the High Table. Socially, archery can be pretty heaving going. That day the lunch ran to 12 toasts and I remember staggering out afterwards full of venison and summer pudding, cheeks pink from the port and nose still twitching from my first pinch of snuff…”

He told one interviewer that he had “a marvellous youth with every kind of animal under the sun, from ferrets to rabbits to mice to horses, to monkeys even. It was like a paradise, and a gorgeous home.”

Jeremy had a very special relationship with all animals. He welcomed dogs as earnestly as he welcomed his friends and often on his knees to greet them, face to face. His own dog, Mr. Binks, was a Jack Russell terrier that he affectionately called his “hound of heaven”.

Elizabeth’s reputation was always one of kindness to others, especially towards the homeless in the community. Gypsies and vagrants were frequent visitors expecting to be fed, have a wash or receive fresh clothing, and Williams shirts or trousers, could often be seen on these visitors leaving the Grange. Mrs. Huggins would go out and find Gypsies, taking them back to the Grange – the Colonel would come home from work to find a “Gypsy encampment with great cauldron in the walled courtyard, and clothes being dried in the saddle-room.”

During the Coventry bombing on 14th November 1940, in which more than four thousand homes were destroyed, including the 14th century cathedral, Jeremy’s mother, alerted by the sirens, the noise of exploding bombs and the sight of leaping flames across the open countryside, left her family to drive to the nearby town to what she could to help those who were caught up in the devastation. “The whole city was ringed with leaping flames, bathed in brilliant moonlight and a few searchlights were sweeping the smoke-filled sky.” Consequently, one family was taken into the Grange and 42 members of the extended family lived there until alternative accommodations could be found. There was no question in her mind about the decision; it was simply her first and characteristic response to suffering. “She was a dazzling woman, half Irish and fully Quaker, and ran our home, a large country house deep in the Black Country outside Coventry, in a sort of Flower Power way, always filling it with people that she’d picked up. I remember her bringing home a whole family called Weston during the war, and all of them stayed in our stables.”

Elizabeth Huggins had an enormous effect on the growing Jeremy and some would say that he was very like her in his response to others. “My mother had this extraordinary way of making us flower, and she had open doors and windows in her soul – that’s the only way I can put it. Everybody came to my mother. She was like a light of great warmth.”

What an amazing beginning to a brilliant gentleman.

This is just the very beginning of JEREMY BRETT PLAYING A PART by Maureen Whittaker.

[feyhunter78]

PLEASE UPDATE IM BEGGING THIS IS MY BRAND NEW LIFE SOURCE RN

I'm gonna assume this is about Pink Pastels, and gladly give you what you're asking for👀

Pink Pastels Pt 6

Description: It's time for Gabi's field trip, and wouldn't ya know, you and Miguel are in the same group.

Pt 7

Miguel’s never been a chaperone before. During Gabi’s Kindergarten field trip he was away on a business trip, but this time he made sure to be there, not just because Gabi’s class was going to the zoo, and she loves the zoo, but because of you.

There’s this need to protect you, like an itch beneath his skin. He can’t forget the look of fear on your beautiful face, or the way you clung so tightly to him, desperate and terrified. The crunch of that man’s bones beneath his fists, the fear that ran through your attacker as Miguel tore into him, talons and fangs covered in his blood, crimson drip, drip, dripping down to the pavement below, it was an almost ecstasy.

Your broken and discarded shoes are hidden in the back of his closet, along with your hairband. It’s pathetic, really, the makeshift shrine that’s beginning to form, and he knows that his actions could so easily borderline being creepy, but you’re his. He knows it. You’re meant to be together, and he’s simply showing his devotion.

“Papá, Papá, we’re here.” Gabi tugs on his shirt sleeve, her face lit up with pure, innocent excitement, and he resists the urge to crush her to his chest and never let her go.

“I see, where do you want to go first, Mija?” He asks, adjusting her baseball cap and making sure it’s snug on her head. He doesn’t want her face to get sunburned, but she hates the feeling of sunscreen, so they compromised.

“I want to see the hippos!” She says, bouncing in her seat as she turns to talk with her friends behind her, little, high-pitched voices discussing and debating which animals were the best.

“Mr. O’Hara, here’s your map, and safety packet. I trust you went over the info online ahead of time?” You hand him a manila envelope, smiling brightly at him.

Your hair is down today, the crown of your head covered by a white bucket hat, and you’re wearing jeans with a sage green T-shirt that reads SRE Field trip, in big white block letters. He’s wearing the same, everyone is, to ensure if a child is lost, they can be easily returned to their group.

He takes the packet from you, nodding. “Of course, can’t leave my chaperone partner to do all the heavy lifting.”

You laugh a little at that and continue down the bus aisle, handing out the remaining packets.

He lets Gabi pull him off the bus and is soon swarmed by five first-graders, each one a friend of Gabi’s—she makes friends so easily, something he can’t take credit for.

“Okay everyone has their groups, please stay with your chaperone, and your buddy, don’t go wandering off, and meet back here, at the entrance at three o’clock.” An older teacher says, before she gathers her own group and heads through the zoo gates.

You bend down to face the kids, an excited smile on your face. “Alright, what animal are we seeing first?”

“Hippo!”

“Lion!”

“Monkeys!”

“Seals!”

A chorus of answers rings out, and you turn to Miguel. “Mr. O’Hara? Do you have any suggestions?”

You look so pretty, the sun shining down on you, the casual outfit, the way you tap your finger against your lips in thought, clearly putting on a show for the kids. If he ignores all the others and focuses on only you and Gabi, he can almost imagine this is a family outing, not a field trip.

“Last time I was here, they had snow leopards?” He feigns ignorance, but when your face lights up, he feels that intoxicating shot of dopamine.

Snow leopards are your favorite animal, the one you’ve voiced your desire to go see many times while in the school’s teacher’s lounge. One which has cameras, that Miguel has access to. Obviously.

“They still do, they’re my favorites.” You confirm what he already knows, and the children immediately change their answer to match yours.

“Why don’t we go there first, then if the kids see any animals, they want to visit on the way there we’ll see them afterwards?” He suggests, still acting oh so innocent.

“What do we think? Everyone agrees with Mr. O’Hara?” You ask the children, straightening up and throwing him a smile when they all agree to his plan.

Miguel stands back behind you and the children, watching as you join them up at the glass, helping them read out the informational signs, and marveling over the big cats.

The environment set up for the leopards is lush, full of greenery and stone. Perches and outcroppings meant to mimic their homelands, and mounds of snow that they seem to disappear into, reappearing with a flash, causing Gabi and her friends to jump back in surprise then burst into giggles.

You soon join him, your arms tucked behind your back as you watch your students. “I think this is one of my favorite days of the year. I know it’s stressful, and tiring but seeing how excited they all are, just really makes me happy.”

“Gabi loves the zoo, we come here every year on her birthday.” He tells you, desperate to include you in their life, if only through shared pieces of personal information. “I’ve got all the photos in my office, my coworkers’ joke that by the time I retire I’ll have half my office wall covered.”

“I used to go to the aquarium when I was a kid, there’s something about standing underneath those giant tanks, with the way the light plays through the water—it’s breathtaking.”

You’re breathtaking. He wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I know the feeling.”

You smile shyly at him, and for a moment he’s back on the side of your building, watching you through your window. He didn’t intend to be there, to watch you, he only wanted to ensure you were okay. You were fast asleep, hair askew, in a soft looking oversized t-shirt, the moonlight dancing across your peaceful face.

He couldn’t tear himself away, enraptured by the sight.

You let out a huff, and in his peripheral, he spies the name on your phone. Todd.

He hates Todd.

“Everything okay?” He asks carefully, his eyes on Gabi.

“Yes, sorry, just some personal issues, nothing serious.” You say quickly, sliding your phone into your pocket.

“Ms. Y/N, can we go see the hippos now?” One of Gabi’s friends, Emma, comes up to you, looking up at you with big blue eyes, her hand tugging at your shirt.

“Is that what everyone else wants to see?” You ask, gaze sweeping over the other children.

“Yes.” Emma says confidently, running off in the direction of the large animals, Gabi following closely behind.

“Girls!” You call out, looking from them to the others.

“Go, I’ll bring the others.” He reassures you.

You take off after them, and he gathers the remaining four children, who huddle around him like ducklings.

“Is Ms. Y/N mad? She looked mad.” One of the little boys—Tony, named after the Avenger or a family member, Miguel isn’t sure—asks him, chewing on his bottom lip.

This is that Tony, Gabi’s told him about this boy, how he’s very nice, and funny, but gets scared easily. She likes him, maybe not in a way she yet understands, or that Miguel is ready for, but if his baby girl has to have a crush on anyone, an easily scared little boy isn’t the worst.

“She’s probably mad at her dumbass boyfriend.” Dahlia, a girl he can tell is from the Bronx by her thick accent, speaks up, and it’s all he can do to keep from laughing at the scandalized look on Tony’s face.

“Don’t tell Ms. Y/N I said a bad word, but that’s what I’ve heard Ms. Melissa call him.” She says quietly when she sees Tony’s face.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He promises.

“Gabi’s right, you are the coolest.” Dahlia says, grabbing his hand and swinging it back and forth as they walked.

The coolest? He wanted to run ahead and scoop his daughter into his arms, she thought he was the coolest.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia

[ladyfauxhawk]

Fandom IRL: what do you keep for you and what do you share?

Last night I was spinning my newly-acquired copy of Change the Show, and doing some house cleaning.

The speakers were turned up, I'm wailing "nothings ever gonna be good enough," and Mr. FauxHawk walks in, home earlier than expected from a late meeting.

I froze. I felt like a teenager. It was...embarrassing?

Like, he knows I have a fandom life that includes an Arctic Monkeys obsession. He's sweet about it, but will tease me about the most surface-level TLSP stuff (ie "are those men still flirting with each other") and watched me literally scream at Jarvis Cocker when we saw Pulp. I'm not shy about My Loves™️.

But part of me was not ready to introduce him to Miles Kane. And it feels, well, silly. I'm trying to understand why I feel so protective of him and his music.

I need fandom opinions, friends. Is this something that ever happens to you? HELP

[cursed-peanut]

About the reunited au (tw suicide)

What if after realising how bad sukuna is reader ends her life instead of moving someplace very far and starting a new life. I mean she finds herself in a completely different era and the man who she loved for so long isn't who she thought he was. Plus the guilt from sharing stuff about gojo, i could imagine she would have a very hard time and it would be interesting to see how sukuna would react if she ended the turmoil for herself in this way. Would he destroy everything in a fit of rage or feel responsible and guilty for her death and stop? Idk i think this could be interesting but i do realise its a quite heavy topic so no worries :)

TW// SUICIDE

This is definitely something that could happen.

Reader was last in the real world 1,000 years ago, the world has changed hugely since then. Sure, they know some things about the new world (curtesy to the students at Jujutsu High and Gojo) but everything’s so new and overwhelming. So starting anew in a world Reader doesn’t know would be daunting and terrifying.

The only consistent person in Reader’s life was Sukuna, but after finding out who he truly is, Reader would become even more lost in this new world. With the realisation and guilt that Sukuna was exploiting Reader’s love to get information about Gojo and then Gojo’s death, everything would shatter.

In every version of the ending, Gojo’s death will always be the tipping point for Reader. He’s helped them so much and was a great guy who only wanted the best for Reader.

I can 100% see Reader being so devastated and overwhelmed that they would end it all.

Sukuna would be absolutely destroyed by Reader’s death, and even more so because they took it themself. He would blame himself for Reader’s death (which it is), and then it would go one of many ways.

Sukuna would become so depressed and ashamed, he would end it all as well.

Sukuna would become so angry about Reader’s death, he would destroy the world, kill everyone and then himself.

Sukuna would carry on with his plan for the perfect future in the name of Reader’s legacy and memory. However, he would never truly be happy as they are not there but he continues to live his life anyway as punishment for pushing Reader towards their demise.

Sukuna would stop all the killing, make amends with everyone and try to become a better being for the sake of Reader. However, he still would be unhappy as his one true love is gone and he will never see them again thanks to his blindness and stupidity.

There are many more possibilities where he lives, but if he does, he would never be truly happy. Reader is the only person he actually cares about and to have them dead is effectively killing Sukuna.

————————————

Taglist: @makuzume @spicyhyunn @pearlescentwonderland @namjooningera @six-eyed-samurai @natriae @domainofmarie @lixern @fluttershyfangs @girlyuuta @anabort @yu-87 @sukunaglazer4ever @madison777x @nothankyew @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @dervngedgf @calisnewworld @ilybbg @the-banshee @mostnormalsukunastan2024real @williamafton26 @alinacore @mythoswarrior-23 @megantheefann @mindless-rock @kimsunoo2003 @anayesha1 @lelelenlenn @shyshybabyy @unlikelystay @shigemis0ra @iloveboysinred @eresel4mordemivid4 @meo66 @frozen-waffles @awispywillow @youngghostpeachslime @mrsslytherin00 @lazyperfectioniste @whosmarjj @princess-peachys @itawifeyy @sugurubabe @lalalandincraz @hanniebanggi @mrs-monkey-d-luffy @sukunadckrider @shadowlover321 @mwtsxri @lysaray @kakashi-addict @blindbabycadder @qmsvpx @bakedpotato12 @poisnhoneyy @wooasecret

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